#but they never really got to the partnership part of the story
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Illicit 10
Here we are, babes. The last official part of the main Illicit story. It’s bittersweet because I finally completed something lmao but also, I really love them and their story.
Safe to say this isn’t the last you’ll see of them. I’m fully planning on doing little flashbacks and check ins with them, feel free to let me know what you would like to see/if you have any unanswered questions. Thank you for reading!
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Illicit masterlist
WC- 3.3k
Warnings- mention of wounds, stitching, having children, marriage talk, nightmares, etc
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“Harry, for the love of god, please be careful of your arm.” Y/N winced in worry as the man carried firewood over to their fire pit. He had not been taking his injury half as seriously as he had been taking Y/N’s concussion, treating her like the ‘delicate little bird she was.’ He’d gotten an eye roll for that. Of course he wasn’t letting her help lug the wood for their night in front of the fire. She’d requested with sleepy eyes earlier in the morning to make smores because they’d been in her dream and Harry was giving her basically anything she wanted.
“M’fine, baby.” He laughed, appreciating her concern but knowing the injury barely stung anymore. “The stitches are coming out tomorrow, and we pushed it, keeping them until then. Only kept them because you wanted me to.”
It had been about 2 weeks since the attack and they’d left for the lake house. As much as he knew it was terrifying for the both of them, he was utterly relieved to have Katherine behind bars. He’d made sure to keep updated by his contact in the force to know what was happening with her case. Apparently she had really lost it, but Harry didn’t give a fuck. He wanted her to rot behind bars, to live miserably and have Y/N be safe without the threat of some crazy ex-who-isn’t-an-ex looming in the background.
Harry had kept work to a minimum, only logging in to oversee the decisions he had to make. There had been no calls besides the nightly one with his COO to ensure things were running smoothly. Other than that, his entire attention had been on Y/N. They’d barely left the house considering at first Y/N had been a bit embarrassed of her injuries. Another reason he’d hate Katherine until the day he died. Harry always was one to hold grudges, he was infamous for it. She’d never know peace if the man had anything to do with it.
They were healing incredibly well, Harry taking the time at night to set her on the bathroom counter and wipe them clean and apply the healing ointment to them. The only one that was more than a fading scab was the one on her head along with the slight discoloration the black eye had caused. Other than that, he was more than relieved to see her bouncing back. The only thing that plagued him still was the nightmare.
His nightmares.
They’d always start the same, almost a play by play of what had happened to him walking into the home and up the stairs- only when he got there it had been too late. In his nightmare, the knife had already taken Y/N’s life and he couldn’t do anything to save her. He always woke up before the knife struck him, but it actually hurt him. It was a little difficult for him to admit to her, always wanting to be the strong one when it came to their pairing- someone for her to lean on fully- but she had cried once he told her and insisted that she wanted to be there for him. That a partnership was made out of balance and while she could offer him some of the same things he did for her, she was more than capable to be his emotional shoulder to cry on. It had been a tough thing to come to terms with but this week seemed to be healing. Not just physically, either.
“Ms. Greta, please tell him to take it easy.” Y/N pouted at the older woman who brought out the tray of s’more making supplies. She’d made sure to add the peanut butter cups as requested.
“I’m afraid if he won’t listen to you, he won’t listen to anyone.” She chuckled. “Men will be men, and that includes straining their physical health for the macho man act. One day they learn we do know what we are talking about.” A little wink was sent her way as Harry huffed, arranging the wood in the fire pit with a grumble.
“Because I’m fine.” He stressed, standing up straight and crossing his arms. “It’s healed up nicely. I’m more than capable of setting up a little fire.” Crossing over to Y/N, he stole a kiss before grabbing the lighter and a few other things. “Just sit pretty and let your man do the work, baby. I’ve got it.”
There was a snort heard from both women but Ms. Greta was now off the clock, wishing them a good night before retreating into the house. As much as he loved having the woman around, he really was obsessed with this alone time with Y/N. There was the residual guilt he had over her being treated less than ideally because he was juggling the faux relationship and the contract, but he knew now that he was going to have to take a bit of a step back from work in order to do that. He’d delegate as he was supposed to be doing to begin with, assign more to his assistant, take Y/N more places and on more dates out in public. He couldn’t fucking wait to attent events with her and show her off.
He’d been waiting months to let people know who his heart belonged to, and he was finally getting the chance to do so. It was obvious now since the articles had been a media frenzy over the attack, things leaked he couldn’t pinpoint. The only thing he had been commenting on was the fact that Y/N wasn’t a mistress, Katherine wasn’t his lover that was scorned, and there was no true excuse for the actions. It was a good thing in hindsight that they were there, alone. No one had a true clue about the location and he didn’t feel like being hounded by paparazzi- though hopefully they knew better now than to test him and his hatred for the cameras.
One thing that had been burning into him, though, was a question he’d been wanting to ask her. One he knew that was a bit unorthodox but a necessary one nonetheless.
She sat across his lap, his hoodie covering her tank top and denim shorts as her legs swung slightly while they waited for the fire to burn a bit hotter so they could roast their marshmallows.
“When would you like to get married?” He asked. “And how many kids are we thinking about?”
The girl nearly snapped her neck as she looked at him with wide eyes, the not so casual question leaving his mouth as if it was him asking what she wanted for dinner. Harry always did find a way to shock the hell out of her but this was definitely one of the top questions that had caught her off guard. Secretly, she’d assumed Harry had that all figured out. He always made sure to let her know how much he appreciated her opinions and her thoughts, that they were important to him- but he was a planner. Harry was the man in charge and she was happy to let him be. It took a lot of weight off of her shoulders that she wouldn’t admit to anyone else actually weighed on her.
“Uh…” She blinked at him a few times. “I’m not sure. Kinda figured you’d be the one to pop the question. But honestly… Maybe a year? A few months? I dunno.” There was a slight lump in her throat. “I’ve no doubt I want to be with you the rest of my life so part of me feels like I’d probably be fine eloping right now if that was something you wanted but… We haven't really had the chance to be a couple out in the open. While I doubt that’s going to change much considering we feel so strongly, I think it would be kind to ourselves to let us iron out some of the details first before we fully tie the knot.” There wasn’t a right or wrong answer but it still made her a little nervous to answer. “As for kids? I’m not sure. 2? 3? I’d probably say we have one first and figure it out from there.” It wasn’t like they’d have to worry about resources externally but she knew Harry valued family more than anything and he’d want to be an active father. He’d already indulged that detail to her one night when they were particularly loved up. However, neither of them had any children so they didn’t know the workload it would entail, nor did they know how they’d work as parents. Of course they’d figure it out but it would make it a bit more clear on how many they could handle.
“First of all, as much as I’d love to call you my wife right this second… I could never deprive you of the wedding you deserve.” Y/N had told him about the fact that she had always dreamt about her wedding as a little girl. She had pinterest boards full of themes and wedding dresses she’d want to try and cake designs. He wasn’t about to deprive her of those things for his selfish needs.. Harry knew he was indeed a selfish bastard in every other facet of his life, but when it came to Y/N and his soon to be family? That was his only exception. “My mum would probably keel over dead if I did that too. Trust me, you’re going to get your princess wedding.” There was no debating that. “And for kids… I’d love to give you many, many babies.” His tone turned smooth, a little smirk lighting up his face and the twinkle of his eye. “But I think I agree. My idea had been 2-4, but I’ll take as many as you’ll give me. Always.” His hand pulled her in so he could press a kiss to her cheek, muttering a soft declaration of love.
“Love you more.” She sighed, leaning further into his chest. “I’m so happy that we can live our lives when we get back. I know it’ll probably be a little crazy but there's no more hiding. We can go out and hold hands and kiss, people are going to know we belong to each other.” The giddiness on her face was bittersweet. “I’m so excited to be with you properly.”
The tinge of guilt hit him full on in the stomach, making him frown as he looked into the fire. He knew he had fucked up several times on this journey and Y/N just had a lot of patient and given him a lot of grace when he knew for a fact most other people wouldn’t- but that made it feel a little worse. He’d been wrong in not ditching the contract immediately. “Baby?” He said, voice quieter as he met her eyes. “I’m sorry. Genuinely sorry that I’m a stubborn son of a bitch and I didn’t just dissolve the contract and take on a lawsuit. I should have done it the day I met you because I knew you were going to mean a lot to me even there. I… I know I’ve told you a lot how you were the first and only person to ever make me feel the way you do, but it’s more than that. And my hard headed shit got us into something awful. I know I fucked up and you are more generous than I deserve but…” His fingers tenderly moved the hair from her face, stroking her cool cheek. “I’m going to work every single day for the rest of my life to make it up to you. I’m going to make you the most spoiled, well traveled, happiest woman I possibly can.” His voice stayed quiet as he searched her eyes for any hint of resentment but somehow there wasn’t any there.
“H.. I knew what I signed up for. You’d been nothing but honest with me the night I ignored you. You laid it all out for me. I knew that you were taken in name only and I liked you so much that I agreed. I never felt like I played second to her. You can say a lot of things about you, lovely, but subtle isn’t one of those things. You never made me feel like she was important. I understood how important your business was to you- it’s the most important thing to you. Did I like seeing you with her? No. But you made it so clear to me that I was yours and you were mine, I never felt like… I never had any competition.” Y/N tried to soothe the ache she knew he felt. Of course she hadn’t liked people thinking he belonged to someone else but she knew he loved her. The most she had ever been loved, the most unashamed.
“First, I have a correction- You are the most important thing to me. I’d give it all up for you.” That wasn’t a sentence anyone could take lightly, nor one he would ever thought he would say. It used to be the truth, but now it was far from it. “You are my life.” His gaze bore into her own as he cupped her cheek. “There was never any competition. If we want the honest truth, I thought I’d marry as a business decision. I thought I’d probably not have any kids considering I only ever wanted children out of love. I was happy working until I was gray and about to keel over. Business was my only reason for being, and it wasn’t something I minded- but you gave my life so much more, so much color, my angel.” He’d never sounded more fond in his life, looking at his heaven sent gift perched in his lap. “I didn’t realize there was more to life until I met you. You opened my eyes and made my heart soften. I give a shit about a lot more than numbers now and it’s because of you.”
People could say he did it himself but he knew the truth. Without meeting Y/N his life would have been the same robotic function it had been since he got out of uni, and he wouldn’t have complained. He’d never know how much he would miss out on. “I thank whoever in the world sent you to me every damn day and you know m’not religious. You are my miracle. It made me feel so fucking sick walking in that house and thinking you were hurt, I have never in my life felt that sort of terror. But I’d do it all again in order to keep you.” The scar on his arm was a reminder of that.
“I love you, H. The most in the world.” Her eyes watered a little as she smiled at him. “I’m sorry you got scared. I was scared too, scared she would do worse with that knife though I’m still upset you got hurt at all. But I’d go through every bit of it again too.” She sniffled, feeling his thumb brush under her eye as a tear fell. “I know I want everything with you. The marriage and babies and our own house with a pool, if that’s something you want too. You’re the love of my life.”
“And you’re mine.” He mumbled, pressing his lips to hers. “M’gonna spend every day proving that to you. Just wait and see, my angel. My heart is yours.”
—-------
Nails dug into Harry’s back as he rocked slowly into his girl in their brand new home. One he’d bought her as a surprise when they arrived back into the city, leaving their old memories behind in the other penthouse and moving on to the next chapter in the rest of their lives.
“H-Harry…” She bleated, holding on to him while the other hand grabbed his face and pulled his face down so he could be kissed. “Thank you. You always take c-care of me.”
His pace as slow and deep, pressing in as far as he could go on the brand new sheets they’d picked out together. The sunset bled into their room as they breathed each other in, wrapped up in their covers on their first night sleeping there. He’d spared no expense making sure he got the best of the best for her. He was dedicated to the cause, dedicated to proving to her that she was the most precious thing to him in the world.
“M’always going to take care of you, my love.” He nudged his nose against hers as he dipped his hips to get deeper inside of her. It was like they couldn’t get close enough to one another, her legs wrapped snug around his hips while he kept himself up with one hand, the other under her neck. The term making love was fully about this. It was unmistakable. “You were made for me.”
He couldn’t wait to spend every morning like this for the rest of his life. The man who used to cringe at the idea of fucking anyone face first now had it as his preferred position, wanting to make sure he could see every second of her reactions to him. She was snug around his cock, taking him like it was her only job in the world. He’d had no problem doing only this for the rest of his life.
“And you were… you were made for me. We’re made for each other.” Y/N nodded, pressing another open mouthed kiss to his lips as he kept the steady pace, hitting the delicious spot he always knew how to find. “You know my body perfectly. It’s yours forever.” It was both the truth and a bit of a taunt, knowing how much he loved when she spoke like that.
“You are. You’re mine and m’all yours, never have to share me. I love you so fucking much, Y/N.” He whimpered as her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging on it as she was filled over and over again. He hit the perfect spot and was trying to get her to cum, trying to have her finish all over him so he could do the same and stay deep inside for a while. Craving this sort of closeness was an addiction, one he didn’t plan on cutting. The obsession with Y/N grew each and every day. “I can’t wait to make you my wife.”
The woman whined out his name at the last sentence, tugging him closer with her legs as she soaked up every bit of heat from him. It didn’t matter what happened, who tried to get in their way- they would always belong to one another. There was an understanding between both of them knowing this love was bone deep, soul deep, it only deepened by the day. When it felt like they couldn’t love each other more it just kept growing, no matter how full they felt. It was everything.
A love like this was something people revered as pure, perfect, something that everyone craved and yearned for. Something out of a book or a movie, the sort of feeling that trumps all other people and situations. Their passion and yearning for one another had been cultivated in anything but pureness, it was made in the dark. It always made him laugh a little to know that such a concept had blossomed into a real, tangible thing that he could feel between their bodies, something he could see when he looked at her, something he could taste when he kissed her.
A love that stayed between the lines wasn’t the type that grew stronger- that’s why he smiled when they called it illicit.
#jarofstyles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry writing#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#harry styles blurb#harry styles writing#harry styles au#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#harry angst#harry fluff#harry smut#asshole h#asshole Harry#illicit
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i’ll slither from eden back home to her
a mr. & mrs. malcolm neil foxworth story
rating: E
word count: 5,184
after burying mrs. steiner, malcolm foxworth leans forward and presses a dry kiss to olivia's mouth.
an au ending for that night.
read on ao3!
#yes hello they have rotted the hell out of my brain#i am who i am#flowers in the attic: the origin#olivia foxworth#malcolm foxworth#olivia x malcolm#ooc and totally insane#just casually writing this smutty thing while rewatching the show and having an aneurysm that my brain went SMUTTY FIC with these two#also thinking about the story where olivia uses her braincell and actually sends alicia and christopher away before corrine is born#and these two beautiful children showing up at the door with their dying mother#and i don't know where the story would go but i thought about it and like i said BRAIN MOTHERFUCKING ROT#i also strongly blame max irons#his face is too soulful sometimes and it's just like 'no. no we cannot give malcolm foxworth feelings'#but he does it anyways! and olivia's whole story is already so complicated#and max irons's performance makes her story even MORE complicated to me#and just. BRAIN. ROT.#i have a very fucked up soft spot for hateful marriages that turn into weird codependent partnerships that just are so delicious#but they never really got to the partnership part of the story#though again i say watching olivia and malcolm roll around on the ground of corrine's room trying to kill each other#was just PEAK romance for me#*to a techno beat* NICHE. NICHE. NICHE. NICHE.#this is.....something#if there's anything this should get tagged as let me know#cause like i don't even know#chaptered fic
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The Final Fifteen is about Terry Pratchett's Death
read on Ao3
The final fifteen is obviously a major plot point, and serves a role in a story that was written long before Terry Pratchett was ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But the scene itself wasn’t written until just a few years ago, during the writing of Season 2. In fact, the scene came about during a park bench conversation between Neil Gaiman and John Finnemore.
Others have noted that the non-romantic kiss that signals the story moving into the third act is a Neil Gaiman staple. The function of such a kiss, from Gaiman’s perspective, is to communicate.
In 2023 we are seeing a lot of stories written by men, for men, about men who are best friends and discover that their friendship can go deeper than the norms of society would usually allow; that platonic and romantic love are not so far apart, and perhaps the better word for a relationship that can be described this way is intimacy.
Neil Gaiman has made it clear in interviews that his friendship with Terry Pratchett was deeply intimate. They began collaborating on what would become Good Omens in the 1980’s, endured a tumultuous experience together through the first publication, wherein Neil offered to martyr himself on behalf of Terry if the book failed, and then spent the better part of two decades touring the world, meeting the people who loved their work. Neil would even off-handedly remark that Terry’s fans were so cheerful, and Neil’s seemed like they were ready to kill themselves; wouldn’t it be nice if they got married? From the outside, it looks very much as if Terry was Aziraphale-coded, and Neil was Crowley-coded, working together in an unexpected partnership to make the world a little bit more tolerable for the humans inhabiting it. I am not conjecturing that Neil and Terry had romantic inclinations the way their fictional characters do, but I think it is fair to say that their opposites-attract intimacy became an important part of who each of them were.
In 2007 Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with posterior cortical atrophy, a rare form of Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, he began to lose himself, and knew that the person he used to be was slipping away. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, and die as himself, but England did not and still does not allow for voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. He advocated for the right to die but never achieved it, and ultimately succumbed to the disease in 2015. Neil Gaiman has spoken a lot on the topic of death, and one answer of his that resonated with me reads:
Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person.
It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard.
~~~
The entire show is seeded with references to Terry Pratchett, but the most important one is the one that’s missing. Neil Gaiman cameoed as a sleeping moviegoer in S1E4, but a long time ago, he and Terry had discussed cameoing as sushi restaurant-goers, because sushi was weirdly prominent in the book. That cameo would have been in S1E1. But when it came time to do it, Neil couldn’t. Not without Terry.
Neil: I was gonna say our location is a Chinese restaurant we’d had turned into a sushi restaurant. So Terry and I, Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it.
Douglas: You never told me this before either. I might have pushed you into doing it, had I known. I think you were right not to tell me.
Neil: I was keeping it to me self ‘cause I was always like: Oh, maybe I’ll be… this will be my cameo. And then I couldn’t. I was just so sad, ‘cause Terry wasn’t there. And it was probably the day that I missed Terry the most of all of the filming - it was just this one scene ‘cause it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.
~~~
In the Final Fifteen, it is clear that Crowley and Aziraphale want to stay together. They love each other. They each know that the other loves them. There’s nothing that needs to be said, no convincing that their bond is true and real and precious.
But Aziraphale has to go to Heaven, and Crowley cannot follow him there.
I cannot speculate what it must have been like for Neil to endure losing a friend who, though I’m sure he desperately wanted to still be in his life, he also knew that life had become a burden to him, and grieved that Terry was not able to choose the time and manner of his departure from this Earth. This sort of complex grief, we fan-ficcers know, is the kind that is often best processed through story-telling.
I think that what we see Crowley going through in the Final Fifteen, alongside its importance to the story arc of Good Omens overall, is Neil processing his grief at losing his friend Terry Pratchett, and even the kiss, that violent, terrible, awful kiss, was the symbolic representation of Neil saying goodbye.
#neil gaiman#terry pratchett#aziraphale#crowley#good omens#good omens 2#good omens meta#ivoc#this meta ended up being only about 2/3 the length of my usual metas and somehow that feels appropriate because Terry's life ended too soon#and the jarring brevity of this piece parallels that feeling of sudden unexpected loss#for me anyways I don't know about you guys#if this made your eyes even slightly moist you are obligated to reblog to help someone else feel their feels#I don’t make the rules#but them is the rules#blessed by Beelzebub
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Long Way Down Part One
Part Three
Here's the story of married Harry who's a dad to three small kiddos, and married for over seven years to Y/N. Marriage is always hard work, but what happens when being married to a pop star becomes too much for Y/N?
WARNING-slight references to sex, curse words
This is angst angst and more angst. There are other parts to the story, and with enough feedback, I'll post more to this story.
Word Count 4.7K
“Japan. Chile. Australia. Oh, and let's not forget Madagascar. Mada-Fucking-gascar, Harry. Who goes to Madagascar? Why the one and only Harry Styles? That's who. You realize most people never see any of those places in an entire lifetime, right? But you, you went to all of those places THIS YEAR!” Y/N stomps to their daughter's room picks her up from her crib, hoists the baby on her hip, and walks out of the nursery and down the hall.
Harry follows her to the kid’s bathroom. "Y/N, baby, it was all for work. I don't care about those places, don't even get to enjoy them."
"It doesn't matter. You still got to go. And that's in addition to your normal New York, LA, often Paris or Rome. Those places are just another day at the office for you. Do you want to know where I've been? Whole Foods. Baby Gym. Holmes Chapel. The park. School runs. Yep, that’s about it. Oh, the doctors, and kids' birthday parties; on wild days, a friend comes for a glass of wine when I can finally relax at 9 PM. So don’t do this with me, not this time.” She begins to undress the baby. She’s seething but keeps her voice down so the little one isn’t upset.
“Do you know how many days you’ve been home since the tour ended? I’ll tell you because I know exactly. 26. You could’ve paid someone to do your dirty laundry and brought home clean clothes. Even the slightest gesture to show you get how hard it is around here.”
“I’m sorry. I was so focused on just getting home I didn’t even think of having them done.” Harry turns on the bath water and tests the temperature.
“Oh, poor thing. Traveling the world in the lap of luxury must be torture.”
Harry walks to the door. "No, Y/N, no. You know what a tour is like. You've been on the road with me. You know how utterly chaotic it is. Yes, I should've thought about the laundry, but I didn’t.”
She places the baby in her bathtub seat, squats, and begins soaping her up. “Of course, you didn’t think of me.”
Harry is leaning on the doorframe of the bathroom now. “Babe, swear if you give me just a bit to decompress, I'll be happy to give you whatever ya need. We’ll take a family vacation, go someplace nice, the five of us, any place you like, you pick.” He extends his hands in her direction.
“You've been home 26 days. That's how long you've had to decompress.” She uses air quotes around decompress. You've done zero loads of laundry. I do at least four a day, trying to catch up with everything. Laundry never ends even when it’s just me and the kids. You leave a trail of mess in every room. You do nothing to help, nothing. It’s like you’ve completely checked out on the fact this is supposed to be a partnership.”
“My job isn’t just dancing around in sparkly trousers for an hour or two. I’m fucking exhausted too. You’re not playin’ fair, Y/N.”
"Thing is, I'm not playing at all, Harry.”
“A vacation with the five of us is a vacation to you, Harry, not to me. I love you guys, I really do, but I need a break. I needed this just for me. I wasn't asking for much, Harry. Five days for myself, time to decompress, as you call it. I wanted to be with my friends and sisters, but you know what, never mind. Go. Just go. We’ll talk about it when I’ve put her to bed.”
“I’ll put her to bed.” He closes the door behind him when he steps out.
Harry hears her singing Adore You. The song always makes the baby smile. Y/N can’t be completely furious if she’s still singing his songs. Harry couldn’t be more wrong.
When Y/N finishes with the bath, she wraps her daughter in her little duck towel with a hood and exits the bathroom. Their son’s door is cracked down the hall, and she hears Harry talking with him. She stands just outside the entrance to eavesdrop.
“That sounds like a good time, buddy. I’m glad you had fun with your friend. Did you make sure to hug him and say thank you before you left his house? Did you thank his family for having you over?”
“Yes.” He sounds so tiny for someone who wrecked Y/N’s nerves with his big voice the entire time Harry was gone.
“So, let’s get snug as a bug in a rug.” Harry wraps the blanket over their son and kisses his forehead. "Have a good sleep, and we'll have some fun in the morning, yeah?”
“Love you, Dad.”
Harry walks across the room and turns off the light. “Love you even more, bud. See you in the morning.” He closes the door when he leaves the room.
“Thank you.”
“He’s m’ son too, Y/N.” Harry walks toward the couple’s room, head hanging down; he drags his finger along the wall.
He doesn’t stick around to help put Lola down, be it because he forgot he said he would put her to bed or he's just upset.
Y/N walks to Lola’s nursery, dries and lotions her, dresses her for bed, and places her in the crib, hoping she will go down without a fight. "Love you, punkin’. Good night.” She kisses her and stands near the bed. She waits to see if she cries. When she only babbles, y/n turns on the baby monitor and nightlight, then crosses the room, turning off the light as she exits, but only closes the door partially.
Y/N heads toward the bedroom, dreading how the rest of the evening will go. Harry is sitting on the bed reading a book about Japanese art, his readers slide down his nose as he pretends to be intensely focused, but she knows him and knows he’s not focused.
She walks to the dresser, opens a drawer, and gets some pjs. She’s too pissed off to bother with a shower but goes to the ensuite to undress. “Don’t have to pretend you’re reading Harry.” She changes her clothes and tosses the dirty clothes in the hamper, does her skincare, and brushes her teeth. She picks up a pair of Harry’s gross, beat-up sneakers as she enters the bedroom. "These are nice," she says, tossing them across the room.
“Cut the crap, Y/N. I know what you're doing. You're not getting a fight out of me, so toss all the shoes you want. I'm not going to argue with you. The passive-aggressive stuff stopped working a long time ago."
She exhales and sits on the bed. "Not being passive, Harry, just aggressive. I'm tired. I'm so tired." She falls back on the bed.
He crawls over to her and plants a kiss on her lips. “Mmm, minty.” He smiles.
“Yep.” She closes her eyes.
He kisses her again. “Come over here; Let’s have a snuggle and a good night’s sleep.”
“I can’t tonight. I just can’t.” She sighs as she climbs to the pillows, placing her head down on the fluffiest one-her favorite one.
“Can’t what?”
“Have sex.”
“Wasn’t trying to.”
She rolls her eyes. "Okay. I don't know your pattern exactly; whenever you want to get frisky. Just met you, have no idea what you're like when you want to pretend an argument didn't happen, makeup, move past it, and get what you want.”
Harry’s eyes narrow. He swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow. I can’t believe you just said that. That’s one of the worst things you’ve ever said to me. To imply I manipulate you for sex.” Harry stands, grabs his pillow, and walks to the door. “I’ll be in the guestroom.”
The following day she slowly opens her eyes and reaches over to Harry, but he’s not there. She thought that after he cooled off, he'd return to bed. She thought he’d slip under the covers once he knew it was safe and she was asleep. But he didn't come back to bed. She sits up and looks around the room. Gross sneakers are still across the room, three of Harry's hoodies over the recliner, one of Lola’s toys, and an empty water bottle next to Harry’s wallet -the room is a disaster. She sighs, rubs her face, and flops back down. The house is quiet, almost too quiet. Why is it so quiet? In a panic, she sits up, throws on her robe, and walks to the door. She flings it open and rushes down the hall. When she gets to Lola's room, she pushes open the door; the light is off, and Harry, bare-chested, sits in the recliner, rocking her. "Is she sick? What time is it? Where is everyone?"
"No, she's not sick, Y/N, she's m’ daughter, and she needed a cuddle with her daddy."
"Oh. Look about last night…."
"Not right now, Y/N. Let me enjoy this. Archer and Poppy are in the playroom watching a film. They’ve had their breakfast.”
She nods and leaves the room. She can’t hold back her tears as she walks to the kitchen. But her tears abruptly halt when she enters the filthy kitchen. Harry obviously made breakfast for everyone. Pancakes and bacon are covered with a cloth and a note with Mumma written in crayon to let her know it is hers. But the tenderness she feels doesn’t last long as she scans the kitchen. The dirty plates, cups, pots, and pans litter the kitchen and breakfast nook. The stove is splattered with grease and batter, and God knows what else. She starts to gather the dishes to clean them and load the dishwasher. Once everything is in the sink, she sits at the table in the breakfast nook, picking at the plate of food left for her. She isn’t hungry. Lately, she never is.
"Not as good as yours, but not half bad.” Harry breaks the silence as he stands next to the fridge arms folded over his muscular chest.
“Where is-“
“Living room in her pack-n-play.”
“Okay.” She picks up a slice of bacon and bites into it. She tosses it back on the plate.
She stands, walks to the sink, and begins cleaning off the excess food.
“I was going to do that as soon as I got done with the baby. I didn't have time to juggle it all."
“Really? Didn’t have time? Couldn’t juggle it all? That’s rich.” She shakes her head and chuckles as she places the cutlery into the designated basket in the dishwasher.
He shakes his head, looking at the ground. He cocks his mouth to the side and clicks his tongue. "Touche." He walks over and begins placing the dishes in the dishwasher.
She moves, allowing him the glamorous opportunity of a lifetime. “Wonder when the last time you did this was. Long before X-Factor, I’m sure.”
“Don’t.” Harry scrapes off a dish.
“But why not? You get to have all the fun. You get to do all the talking. You get to see all the things. Meet all the people. You get it all.” She leans against the counter, tapping her fingers.
“Y/N, I’m warning you-don’t.”
Her eyes widen, and she stands with a smirk on her face. This man bought all the audacity. “Warning me? Warning me? What are you going to do if I don't stop? Nothing.”
To get her attention, he throws a glass, aiming it at the sink, but not realizing the force behind it, it crashes into the stainless steel and shatters.
They both jump back, then freeze.
He reaches toward Y/N. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to."
“Get out. I mean it, Harry. And I don’t mean the kitchen. You leave this house. You leave this house now, and don’t come back.” Her words are low and deliberate as she stares at the floor.
“That was out of order what just happened. I'm sorry; you know I'd never lay a hand on you or do anything in the world to scare you. Don't know what came over me."
“I said get out.”
“Excuse me? Don’t come back to my own frickin' house? You've got to be kidding. I'm doing no such thing, Y/N. Will I go downstairs and stay in the entertainment room or sleep in the guest room? Sure. Will I take the kids out for the day? Sure. But leave? No. We’ve never spent one day apart in anger, and we aren’t starting now, so get that idea out of your little head.” He points to his temple, gritting his teeth.
“Fine, then I will.” She pushes him out of the way when she passes him to leave the kitchen.
Harry follows her. “You’ll what, Y/N?” He grabs her arm, attempting to stop her.
“Get your damn hand off of me, you big bully.” She jerks away, storming toward the bedroom.
Harry goes to the living room to get Lola. He hears their bedroom door slam. Poor girl is probably scared. She’s never heard people shout before, especially her mama or daddy. And now her mama says she’s leaving? The words don’t even sound right when Harry says them to himself. Harry approaches the bedroom, tapping on the door. “Y/N, the baby, it’s time for her feeding.”
She marches toward him and takes the baby. “Of course it is; one more thing your pathetic ass can't do around here. Now, get out." She pushes against the door.
Harry walks out and closes the door.
***
Downstairs, Harry talks to Poppy and Archie, making sure that if they heard the yelling, they aren't scared. "Arch, you okay, bud?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t look up just keeps playing with the Barbie and Ken dolls.
“Pop, you doing okay?"
“Yes, daddy. Are you?” She walks over and hugs his legs.
“Yes, baby, Daddy is fine. Are you guys in the mood for a trip to the zoo? Maybe some pizza and ice cream after?
“Yeah.” Poppy detaches herself from her daddy and jumps up and down.
“Can we go now?” Archer says, dropping the dolls and standing up.
"We can. Let's go get dressed, yeah?" Harry walks toward the stairs to the home's main floor.
The kids follow him up.
“Are mumma and the baby coming?” Poppy asks.
"Not sure, baby girl.”
Archer interjects. “If they’re gonna yell, I hope not."
Harry turns around. "There won't be any yelling, buddy, but that's not nice what you just said. We never say things like that, especially about your mummy or baby sister. We always want them included in whatever we do, always. Don’t ever say anything like that ever again.”
Archer is crying now. "Sorry, Daddy, I didn't mean it."
At the top landing of the stairs, Harry stops and kneels to Archer putting his arms around him. "Come here. Let's hug Daddy, yeah?"
Archer slowly puts his arms around Harry’s neck. “Didn’t mean it, Dad.”
"I know, buddy, we're all having a bad day, but what is the one, very most important rule in this house."
“Treat people with kindness.” Archer releases himself from the embrace.
"That's right, treat one another with kindness and love and goodness."
Archer sniffles. “I will.”
“All right, to our rooms, we go.” Harry leads the kids into the hall.
Harry feels like his heart just broke in two. The one thing they’d both agreed on before having kids is they would raise them in a peaceful home. They both came from divorced parents and knew what it was like when the family was immensely unhappy.
Harry ushers the kids to their rooms once back in the central portion of the house. "Okay, lollipop, do you need daddy's help getting dressed? Or do you want to try by yourself today?"
“I can do it, Daddy,” Poppy says. She pushes her blonde curls off her face.
"Good girl. Now, if you need me, call me, okay? And if you want something hanging up, remember no climbing; call for me, and I'll get it.” Harry pats her on the back.
“Okay.” Poppy skips to her room.
“Arch, do you need help?" Harry asks, following Archer as he walks to the room next to Poppy's.
“No, I got it.”
"Okay, guys, I'm going to help mummy with Lola. I'll be just down the hall."
Harry takes his time to get to the end of the hall. He taps on the door before entering. “Love?” He pokes his head in the door.
“Yeah.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.” She snuggles the baby closer as she nurses her.
“Gonna take the big kids to the zoo. Can I take Lola?”
"She's your baby too, Harry. Please don't ask me a question like that. Of course, you can take her.”
“All right, by the time I'm dressed, she should be finished, and I'll get her ready." Harry walks to the bathroom.
“Pretty sure I’m capable of getting my child dressed,” she mumbles.
Harry snaps around. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Y/N?" He's angry, but he keeps his voice down. "First, I do nothing, and then you pop off like that when I try to do something." Harry turns to walk back to the ensuite.
"Daddy's a grumpy pants, isn't he, baby girl? It's okay; you've got a mummy. She’ll take care of you, just like she always has.”
Harry stomps out of the bathroom, mouth full of toothpaste. “No, Y/N. No. You aren’t going to do that shit," he says, toothpaste foaming from his mouth as he flings the toothbrush and points it toward her.
She sighs. “Okay, Harry, whatever."
“Whatever? Whatever?” I’m done with this Y/N. Do what you will, hate me if you want, but don’t bad mouth me to our kids.” He walks again to the bathroom sink, and turns on the water, rinses his mouth out, dries it off.
“It’s not exactly like she understands what I’m saying.”
"Not exactly the point, Y/N.” He returns to the bedroom, then walks to the recliner, grabs a hoodie, and puts it on as he approaches the bed. "These babies are my entire life, Y/N. You know that, so think what you will of me as a husband, lover, and partner, but don’t you ever talk about me like that to our children.”
She’s burping the baby now, patting her on the back. “The kids are your entire life? I get it. Performing is your first love. No room for me.” She pulls her bottom lip in with her teeth and stares at nothing, looking at anything but Harry. Her eyes water, holding onto her tears.
Harry walks to her side of the bed. “You know that’s not what I meant, baby.” He sits on the bed next to her, his voice calmer now.
“No, I get it, Harry. Trust me, I do. I wouldn't blame you if you stopped loving and wanting me. Furthermore, why would you want any of this? I mean, look at this whole thing, and then there’s me. I’m a mess.”
“I’m looking at you. I see you. What are you talking about? And I love this mess, and I love you.” He places his hand on her knee. He pushes his eyebrows together and searches her face.
“It’s over, Harry.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re tired and frustrated, but that’s life. It’s not over.”
"It wasn't a question." She hands Lola to him and stands. She tugs at the bottom of her t-shirt, the shirt she borrowed from him when they were dating and never gave it back. It's faded and stretched out, a picture of One Direction but with the words Spice Girls written on it.
Harry says nothing and watches her. She walks to the closet, grumbles, and grunts, knocking about with a few curse words sprinkled in. Once she finds what she's looking for, she returns to the bedroom, drops a suitcase on the bed, and then unzips it.
"Y/N, baby, what are you doing?"
"I told you I'm leaving. You didn't think taking the kids to the zoo would stop that did you?"
“This is crazy. I’m gonna put Lola in her crib. I’ll be back.” Harry stands, walks across the room, and exits.
A few moments later, he returns. She removes clothes from the dresser. Harry approaches her and places his hand on her elbow. "Baby, let's talk about this. You can leave me, in theory, until we can figure something out, but you can't just walk out on the kids."
She shrugs him off her. “Don’t touch me. There is nothing to figure out, not between us. As for the kids, of course, I'm not leaving them forever, don't be so dramatic, but I am leaving for now."
She goes to the bathroom. Harry can hear her gathering items from the vanity. He sits on the bed, dropping his head in his hands, then lifts his head resting his fingers tips under his chin. He stares at two crayons on the floor under the dresser. He makes that his sole focus, unable to look at her when Y/N returns and tosses the cosmetics bag into the suitcase. She huffs and sighs.
“I might not help as much as I should. I get it, but this, this is one time I’m not lifting a finger to help you. So you can cut the sound effects.”
There’s a soft knock at the door before the handle turns, and small hands push the door open. “Daddy, are we going to the zoo?”
Tears have started to roll down Harry’s cheeks. He wipes his face and sniffs before Poppy comes in. “Yes, baby girl, but give Daddy a minute. Go play nice in your room. I’ll come to get you when it’s time. And Poppy, please wait to be invited in before opening the door. You know the rules.”
“Okay.” Satisfied, she pulls the door closed.
"You see that, Y/N. Our kids need us. Our kids know when something's wrong. They heard our shouting earlier. We can't do this around them." He stands and walks over to her. "Listen, let me call Mitch and Sarah, and see if they can take them for the night, yeah? Or Jeff and Glenne might not mind, then we'll get dressed, go have a nice dinner, come home, and relax, just the two of us.”
“Why so you can get laid, Harry?”
"Y/N, where is all of this coming from? That's the second time you've remarked that I’m somehow this sex-crazed maniac that has to jump through hoops to trick his wife into having sex with him, yet you also say there is no way I could still want you.”
She shoves sneakers into the suitcase. “Oh, believe me, I know you can find someone to have sex with, no doubt about that." She shakes her head and smirks. "Never had any problem getting that, did you?"
“What is wrong with you? Do you think I’ve been with someone else? Is that what’s got you like this?”
She continues throwing things in the suitcase, then zips it up. She returns to the closet, retrieves another bag, unzips it, kicks it along the floor, and continues packing. “I told you. I can’t do it anymore. I’m tired. I’m forgetful because I’m overwhelmed. Important things aren’t given their proper attention. I mess up more often than I will admit. This isn’t good.”
“If this is about going out of town on that girls’ trip, then go.” He extends his foot and closes the top of the luggage. “Have fun. Go, but don’t ruin our family just because you weren’t getting your way.”
“Fuck you, Harry. Because I wasn’t getting my way? It’s not that. It’s that it’s always about you. Always. It’s when are you leaving, when are you coming back, coming in late from the studio, FaceTiming at 3 AM just so I can see you and hear your voice, important events, meetings, everything is about you, and I'm sick of it. You know you're the one that wanted a third baby, or hell, a second baby, for that matter. I was happy when it was just the three of us, all traveling together, but you wanted a larger family, and as usual, I wanted to give you what you wanted.”
He stands next to her, reaches over and takes her face in his hands, and turns her toward him. He sees her face, but she’s a stranger. He hadn’t noticed the new lines between her eyebrows, the dark circles under her eyes, or the sallow shade of her skin. “Tell me you don't regret Poppy and Lola. Please tell me you don't regret those two perfect little girls. Because I love you, Y/N, but if you tell me you regret them, I can't forgive you. Ever.”
She pulls away. "I do regret the timing. I should've insisted you take a multi-year hiatus before expanding our family because I made my life worse to make your life better."
He drops his hands from her and walks across the room to the window, which overlooks the expansive garden below. “Worse? How could anything about those babies make your life worse? Take it back before I say something that can’t be unsaid.” You knew what you were signing up for, Y/N. You knew the life I live and how hard it would be, but you said ‘I do’, you agreed this was the life we would live,” he says.
“You don’t see that even then, it was about you. It was what I agreed to, but what about me? What did you agree to do for me? What sacrifices were you willing to make? I gave up my career, so I could give you a home, take care of the kids, and always be available to support you in anything you needed me to support you in, travel with you." Sitting on the bed, she shoves her legs into her denim flares and stands. She walks over to the dresser and retrieves a black sports bra.
Harry turns to her. "Okay, what do you need? What do you need my support with? Besides the house, the kids? What is it that you’re missing?
She removes her t-shirt and puts on the bra. "Everything."
“You've got to give me specifics, love. Have to help me here, at least with this. I can't read minds, baby. Believe me, if I could, this wouldn't be happening." He walks to her.
She pulls on a lightweight black sweater. "I need you to know me, Harry.” She goes back to the luggage, bends down, and zips closed the second bag. “I needed you to pay attention, to see that I’m drowning here.”
"Okay. We'll have the maid come more days during the week, and we'll get a sitter, nanny, or whatever will make life easier for you. After the three nights in Manchester, I'll devote my time to you. But I have a contract I have to do these nights in Manchester, besides it’s kind of home. We can stay at Mum’s. All of us go together.”
“It’s not just about the housework or the kids. And I don’t want to follow you to Manchester. I need you. I need a husband, a partner, not a sugar daddy who keeps knocking me up.”
“Oh, get off it. Lola's over a year old, and never do I push you for sex, not ever.”
“Whatever.” She pulls the two suitcases upright, rolls them to the door, exits, walks down the hall, and passes the three bedrooms along the corridor. She can't stop, or she'll never go; if she stays, she'll make things worse. She knows she's on the brink of breaking completely.
Harry is behind her.
They make it to the front door, and she slides her feet into her loafers. As she opens the door, she turns to him. "Everything you need to know about your kids is in a folder on my desk in the office. There’s frozen milk in the fridge.”
He reaches out, but she shakes her head. “Don’t.” She snatches her purse from the hook by the front door.
"Y/N, please, baby."
"Goodbye, Harry." With that, she steps out, dragging the luggage behind her. She doesn't look back.
#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x reader#harry styles blurb#harry styles angst#harry styles fic#harry styles new
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THE CHAIN -> e. roundtree
PART THREE: the six
PAIRING: eddie roundtree x fem!reader
WARNINGS: swearing, drinking, drugs, minor injuries, blood, very suggestive content, implied sex (NOTE: some warnings for this story include MAJOR spoilers for this series down the line, so I'll put those beneath the cut. If you don't want to get the story spoiled, then just ignore it ― but I did want to provide the chance for you to get an idea of how the story will go later down the line if you have any sensitive topics you'd like to avoid. please prioritize your mental wellbeing!)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I fear I may have screwed up the timeline, but oh well! Hope you enjoy!
WARNINGS (SPOILERS INCLUDED): reader has a life threatening illness. Discussions about death and loss, depictions of grief, hospitals
SEVENEIGHTNINE (1975-1976)
The recording of their first album tested The Six's strength ― not only as a band, but as friends. And Y/n, who had never really been a part of the band during its songwriting process, was quick to realize that there was friction between the same band members again and again. Most notably, Billy and Eddie.
KAREN: Eddie wanted more freedom with what he was playing, Billy thought that since he was the frontman that his word was law...it's the same old story you've heard before. They were in a constant dick measuring contest and neither one of them wanted to admit defeat.
WARREN: Billy was my friend. Eddie was my friend. But when you put them in a room together and told them to make a song, they were the most annoying motherfuckers you'd ever met.
One day after a particularly harrowing songwriting session, the band found themselves back at the house in Laurel Canyon. The place that was usually filled with talk and music was silent, the telltale sign that they had brought work home with them. but what else were they supposed to do? They worked together, they lived together. The lines between work and home were becoming dangerously thin.
Y/n couldn't stand the silence. At her house, there had always been something going on ― her mom would be talking on the phone, someone would come in injured and she'd fix them up. At the very least, she'd keep the television on so she could get a good nights' sleep. But that night it was dead silent. Sickeningly so.
So Y/n got out of bed and wandered into Eddie's room. She didn't acknowledge his presence as she walked in, stopped in place suddenly, and collapsed onto the ground, staring up at the ceiling.
Eddie watched the whole thing from his bed, his guitar in his hands. He expected that maybe she'd say something, start a conversation and whatnot, but she didn't. She just went on, staring at the ceiling as though she had all the time in the world and a perfect reason to be there on the floor.
So he spoke first. "Hi."
"Why can't you just get over things?"
EDDIE: Out of the blue, no hesitation. "Why can't you just get over things?" I knew what she was talking about. Me and Billy had been at each others' throats for weeks, ever since we started writing the damn album. She wanted to know why I couldn't just pack it all in and take the hits as they came.
"Um―"
"Because here's the thing: you guys both have so much pride. Soooooo much. So much it makes me want to slap you guys across the face and remind you that you're human, not gods. And, look, I get it. He walks all over you sometimes and that's not cool. But sometimes it feels like you're pushing back just to be contrarian. Like you don't really disagree with what he's saying, you just disagree with the fact that he's the one saying it. You get my drift?"
EDDIE: Like I said, she doesn't sugarcoat things. She'll tell you what you are and if you don't like it? Tough.
Eddie paused, leaning back. She was right; he knew that much. And maybe he did argue with things just to argue, but so what? They weren't The Dunne Brothers anymore, they were The Six. Implied equal partnership. And still...
"He's thinks it's his band, Y/n."
"Then talk to him about it."
"I can't."
"Why not?" Y/n sat up, a crease formed between her brows.
He wasn't quite expecting that question. But, after a bit of stumbling, he came to what he thought was a reasonable answer: "Because he doesn't listen."
Y/n just looked at him like that was the dumbest thing he had ever said. "Well then make him listen."
"Yeah, alright. and how the hell am I supposed to do that?"
She didn't answer immediately, thinking. Eddie thought for a moment that he might have won.
EDDIE: There wasn't really a way to win an argument with her. Not really.
After a moment she turned to him. "A war isn't just two guys screaming at each other, Ed. They need soldiers, armies. Let me be your army."
"Why?"
"Because I don't like watching you get pushed around. It's kind of...sad."
"Thanks."
"You asked."
They lapsed into silence again. Y/n laid back down on the floor, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. When she spoke again, it was so quiet, Eddie wasn't sure at first if she was talking to him or to herself. "I just...I'm on your side, okay? So don't make it any harder to be."
EDDIE: I never quite got that, you know? "I'm on your side." I had no idea why she'd be on my side. Billy was the frontman, Billy was the guy you looked up to. And there she was, trying to help me out without me even asking. I guess I thought, am I really that pathetic? [Laughs] I probably don't want to know the answer to that.
I don't know why she was on my side, I really don't. But it was good to know. Made me feel like, aside from all the melodrama that came with rock n' roll, I had something to hold on to.
By the time SevenEightNine was done, the CEO of Runner Records, Rich Palentino, was not impressed. In fact, in his opinion, the entire collection of songs they had collectively poured their hearts and souls into, did not have a number one single among it. Teddy Price decided to take things into his own hands, and that's when Daisy Jones got involved.
The plan was to take 'Honeycomb' ― a song Billy had written about the life he had promised Camila ― and add a female vocal onto it, a sort of call and response duet.
Needless to say, Billy was not happy about the arrangement.
GRAHAM: He had just gotten back from rehab and was finally making things right with his wife and his daughter, and they wanted to bring a new chick in to "fix" his song. I can see why he was upset. I just think that he could've handled it better.
EDDIE: He threw a fit. So, naturally, everybody tried to do things to appease him. Graham had the idea that Karen could sing the female part.
KAREN: Like I said, I can back up a chorus, but I can't hold my own.
EDDIE: Y/n was thrown into the mix.
KAREN: Eddie put "Y/n" and "solo" in the same sentence and she looked like she was going to vomit. We moved on.
GRAHAM: Eventually Billy got the gist that Daisy was what we needed. At least, Teddy thought so. And Billy would take Teddy's word over his own any day of the week.
BILLY: I thought, "Fine. If this Daisy girl wants to try it, we'll let her try it."
Daisy was brought into the studio within the next couple of days, marking the first time she ever officially worked with The Six. She was generally well received by all its members (except maybe Billy) and found a fast friend in Y/n.
Firstly, they were the closest in age, and, when you're thrown into a new environment surrounded by strangers, that tends to be what you gravitate towards. That, and Y/n had the special ability of getting the boys to shut up long enough to let her do her thing. That was especially important.
DAISY: The first time I got into that studio to record, the rest of the band crowded at the window, staring at me like I was an elephant in a zoo. It was unsettling. I was probably on the verge of yelling to them to give me some room to breathe when I saw Y/n and Karen dragging them out by their collars, kicking them out of the room until they were the only ones left. That meant a lot.
Despite Billy's every attempt to complain, Honeycomb was released featuring Daisy Jones. Billy was stubbornly pessimistic about the whole thing, of course. And by the time the recording and mixing of 'Honeycomb' was done, it was completely different from the song Billy had first pitched. He felt that his vision had been trod upon in a most disrespectful manner, so much so that, when it was first played, start to finish, for the entire band, the walked out the second the record stopped.
They all watched him go with confusion ― the song was good. It was great, even, but Billy hated it so much that he couldn't even stand to be in the same room as it. And this was before Camila started coming to recording sessions, so no one really wanted to follow him out. Especially not Eddie.
So after the door slammed, they all spent a tense few seconds looking around, sharing confused and annoyed looks over Billy's outburst, and when it became clear that no one was going to do a damn thing about it, Y/n sighed and got up. "Looks like I have to do everything around here, huh?"
She found Billy outside, leaning on the hood of his car, staring at the slowly heating pavement in the California sun. He had his hands crossed over his chest, not unlike a kid who had just gotten his toy taken from him. He didn't look up when Y/n stepped outside, but he spoke the moment she was within earshot: "We're not releasing it."
The reply that came back was a sharp, loud laugh from Y/n. "Fuck you, we're not releasing it. It's a good song. Probably the best one we've ever made."
"You don't get it," Billy shook his head, "that's my song that she's singing. Mine. The one that I wrote about my wife."
"It's not about your wife, Billy," Y/n said. "It's an apology to your wife. You asked us all to make it and we said yes, so don't go acting like you're the goddamn puppet master pulling all the strings. You asked us to make the song, and we said yes. And it's our band. Your song, our band. Sometimes we have to make decisions that don't please your every fucking whim because it's our band and we want to take it as far as we can. And this song, Billy? This is how we do that."
He said nothing, continuing to stare at the ground.
"We're releasing it as soon as we can, and the world is gonna lose its fucking mind. At least you can go home and tell your wife that everyone loves her song."
Billy looked up then, some of his scowl melted away. Y/n grabbed him by the wrist, uncrossing his arms and pulling him back towards the studio. "Now the least you can do is go be civil to your bandmates and to the girl who just made us a number one single."
Eventually she succeeded in dragging him back into the recording booth, to the surprise of everyone already there.
"He threw a fit; I told him to shut up and get over himself. So, when can we release it?" Y/n asked, looking to Teddy.
BILLY: Just like that, she told me to get my act together and got me back in that studio. It was a little harsher than it had to be, but it worked. She had perfected the art of making someone realize how much of an asshole they were being at that point. I think she used it most on me. Occasionally Warren.
If it weren't for her, I don't know if I would've gotten back in that studio. Because I don't know if anyone else would've walked out to get me.
Just as Y/n had predicted, 'Honeycomb' quickly sailed to the top of the charts. It generated national attention, with the whole world seeming to suddenly ask the question, Who the hell is The Six?
Daisy Jones had singlehandedly brought them to the top, and it pissed Billy Dunne off to no end.
The rest of the band, however, was enjoying their newfound celebrity. Their album, SevenEightNine, came out soon after, putting them on the road for their first tour ever. Daisy was set to be their opening act ― which, again, did not exactly please Billy. But she was a magnet. Where Daisy went, people seemed to follow.
As the days counted down before they left, they did what they knew best: partying. Y/n, in particular, found herself spending increasingly more and more time with Daisy.
DAISY: Not everyone was on board with me having a hand in the band's success, I knew that. But I had a place at the Marmont that had a pool. And back then, that was all it took to be okay in Y/n's book.
―
[The following is a transcription from an interview with Rolling Stone. On June 2, 1975, Jonah Berg sat down with Y/n L/n to discuss the band's recent success and life on the road.]
JONAH: Where do you think you'd be right now? If you weren't in a band, I mean?
Y/N: [Pauses. Smiles] Somewhere in the ocean.
JONAH: No thoughts as to a career?
Y/N: You didn't ask about a career. You asked what I'd be doing right now. And that's it ― I'd be in the ocean. And I'd be in whatever career got me there.
[This marks the end of the transcript.]
―
WARREN: The girl is a fucking fish.
DAISY: She'd go under for as long as she could, come up for a single breath, and go back under again. Over and over and over. You can't get a single word in that girl's ears when she's in the water.
KAREN: Y/n had a habit of getting...obsessed. With people, with music, whatever it was that caught her interest and held it. And Daisy...[pauses] Daisy did that.
EDDIE: I'm not so sure it was a great thing that Daisy and Y/n became friends when they did.
In Laurel Canyon, Y/n was often the first to come home. In fact, whenever another band member stumbled in, they could most likely count on the fact that if they shouted, "Y/n, I'm home!" they'd hear her yell "Good. Go to sleep!" in response. But that night, it was not the case.
After all the band members had returned for the night, Y/n was still at the Marmont with Daisy. Her hair and clothes were still drying from when she had jumped in the pool an hour previous ― well, she either jumped or she was pushed. She couldn't quite remember now.
Dozens of people had crowded around the pool, drinking and doing whatever drugs came their way. More than once, Daisy and Y/n would stop their stroll to knock back some pills passed their way or do a line off a pool table. Y/n started to wonder what time she had to get home when she noticed Oh, the sun is coming up. Has the sun always been that purple?
"Daisy, what time is it?" she asked, looking to her left. But Daisy had disappeared. There was a splash, and suddenly Daisy was floating in the pool with her nicest Caftan dress billowing around her. She looked like some kind of mystical sea nymph, or so Y/n thought.
"DJ!" Y/n yelled at her, catching her attention. "I need to go home."
Daisy, of course, wouldn't hear of it. Parties didn't end until she thought they were over. "No, no come on! Just stay a little longer!"
"I can't, I...we have rehearsal in the morning."
Daisy sighed, splashing somewhat disappointedly. "Mkay. Fine," she sighed, swimming over to the edge, "can you at least help me out?"
She held a hand out, which Y/n took. Stupid decision, of course. Daisy just pulled her into the pool, causing an eruption of cheers around them.
As she hit the water, Y/n briefly thought that she had some reason to be upset with Daisy, but she couldn't quite remember why. Within a moment, all discomfort had disappeared, completely forgotten, and she was perfectly ready to stay as long as Daisy wanted.
That was, until she came up for air and saw Billy standing there at the edge of the pool.
For a moment, Y/n just stared up at him blankly. Then, she splashed water on him. He looked at her in confusion and she explained, "I had to make sure you were really there and I wasn't just making you up."
"Y/n, it's time to go." he said.
"Oooookay," she said slowly. "I'll get a taxi in a little bit."
"No, this isn't some kind of courtesy call. It's time to go now."
Y/n huffed in response, swimming over to the side. She was too tired (or doped up) to argue. Really, Billy's presence reminded her that she had a house with her own bed. And she realized right then how much she really, really wanted to be in bed.
"Who told you I was here?" she said as she attempted to hoist herself out of the pool.
"Eddie did," Billy replied, helping her out. "Something about you not knocking."
"That son of a bitch," she muttered. "Where is he?"
"Back at the house. Asleep."
"I want Eddie. Get him here."
"You'll see him in the morning."
Y/n, not satisfied with that answer, pushed Billy away, anger curling her hands into fists. "I don't need you to tell me what to do, Billy. I'm a fucking adult. I know when I've reach my limits."
Billy looked at her. Mascara and eyeliner had traced gray lines down her face. Her hair and clothes were soaking wet, clinging to her, dripping onto the pavement. For a second, the hardened look on her face reminded Billy of the day she wandered into their garage and stole the drum sticks straight from Chuck's hands. She didn't look much older now than she did then.
"Just get in the goddamn car."
"No."
"Get in the car."
"No!"
"Y/n, you're bleeding."
She looked down suddenly and noticed a deep cut on her right hand. She frowned at it, but didn't seem that surprised at its existence. "That was there when I got here."
Billy more or less forced her into the passenger seat of the car, where she hung her hand out of the window, letting the blood drip onto the pavement rather than onto the seats.
In the less than ten minute drive home, Y/n talked until she was laughing hysterically at her own jokes, stuck her head out the window and howled at the moon, and finally sat in silence long enough that she started to cry.
Eddie woke up that night to a book hitting him in the face. He jolted awake, looking around wildly. And then, in the dead silence of his room, Y/n's voice came from the doorway. "Snitch."
She shut the door after that, and he heard her stumbling footfalls down the hallway.
And while that should've been the last time Y/n partied with Daisy, it wasn't. She went the next night, and the night after that. The knocks on Eddie's wall became less and less frequent until they stopped all together.
Daisy became her favorite pastime.
"You're in love with Eddie, right?" Daisy asked. They were both lying on the ground outside at the Marmont, letting their heads hang over the pool so that only their hair soaked in the water.
At her question, Y/n shot up, her wet hair drenching her back with cold water instantly. "What?"
"Oh, sorry," Daisy said, still hanging there. "I just thought...you know..."
Y/n did not, in fact, know. She turned to Daisy, a crease formed between her brows. "Why would you think that?"
Daisy sat up then, her impossibly long hair acting like a weight that she had to struggle against to sit up. "You're always lookin' at him when you're rehearsing. At a certain point it was like...I could count on the fact that when I walked into the studio, you'd be right next to him."
As Daisy spoke, Y/n felt herself frowning deeper and deeper. Eddie...Eddie was her best friend. That was for sure. He was the one she went to when she wanted to talk to someone.
Three thoughts emerged as Daisy talked.
One: I am not in love with Eddie Roundtree.
Two: I'm in love with Eddie Roundtee.
Three: It's so obvious it's sad.
Daisy kept talking, oblivious to her sudden revelation. "I get it, you know? If you really like him, you should just go for it. He's a nice guy, and he looks at you as much as you look at him."
Y/n excused herself then, claiming she felt sick. Well, that was mostly true ― she did feel sick. But not the type of sick that drinking generally made her. The kind of sick that came from thinking too hard, too quickly.
But instead of coming back, she left the Marmont, walking home with bare feet. She was still dripping with pool water, freezing her ass off the whole way home, but she was too deep in her own head to really realize it.
She made it back just as the sun was starting to come up, falling asleep on the couch rather than in her room. She slept fitfully, waking up every half hour or so thinking she had said something in her sleep that she couldn't take back.
The next night, she didn't go back to Daisy's. In fact, when Eddie heard Y/n's bedroom door shut before midnight, he frowned, wondering momentarily if she had just imagined it. Then, to test the theory, he knocked. It was the tune to the newest song by the Kinks. He didn't think too long about the song, really, he just wanted a response.
For a moment, none came. He waited patiently, silently, for any response. There was none.
Sighing, he settled back down on his bed, deciding that that was the last time he'd knock. There was no point in knocking to no response.
But a few moments later, the response came ― this time at his bedroom door.
He paused, sitting up, part of him wondering if he'd completely imagined it. Either way, he had to check. He got up, leaving his bass on the bed, heading to the door. He opened it and Y/n stood in the doorway, hair still wet from a shower.
"Hi," she said quietly.
"Hi."
And then, before he had the chance to say anything else, she stood on her toes and kissed him. He was so taken by surprise that he practically froze as he kissed her back, only to be unfrozen by her pushing him further into the room and kicking the door shut behind them.
EDDIE: [Pauses. Takes a deep breath] Oh, wow. Um. Yeah, sure. Yes. I did…I did love Camila. But, everyone loved Camila, you know? Maybe it was…at one point I thought maybe…[pauses] it’s not important. The love I had for Camila…it was painful. It was so much stuff that had nowhere to go, so it just sat. Weighed me down. And Y/n was the first person who, I don’t know, made it lighter.
The next morning when Y/n woke up, she was clearheaded for what felt like the first time in years. The sunlight didn't make her head pound, she didn't feel nauseated, and she didn't have to check herself to see if she'd acquired any news injuries from the night before.
When she rolled over, Eddie was there, still asleep. Her lips parted slightly at the sudden reminder that the previous night hadn't been a dream. And the reminder of Eddie's presence next to her reminded her that there were, in fact, several other people in the house.
She sat up and saw Eddie's shirt at the edge of the bed. She reached for it, leaning over and tapping Eddie on the shoulder. "Hey," she said. He stirred a bit. She held up the shirt. "Can I borrow this?"
"'Course." he responded sleepily. "You leaving?"
"Oh, don't worry. I won't be far. Just down the hall" she said with a smile. He laughed slightly at that, and she gave him a quick kiss on the side of his lips. She tried to get up then, but Eddie caught her wrist, pulling her back down to him. He wrapped an arm around her, pressing his lips to hers. She found herself smiling as he kissed her, a chill running down her spine.
Eventually he let her go and she slipped his shirt over her head. She went for the door, pausing before opening it. "We're going to talk about this later, by the way."
Eddie frowned. "What's there to talk about?"
She paused, thinking. "Maybe talk is the wrong word for it."
She gave him a sly smile, causing him to roll his eyes and bury his head in his pillow. She laughed quietly, opening the door as quietly as she could and shutting it behind her. And as she went to walk into the hallways, she saw Warren standing there, a beer can in one hand.
WARREN: She looked at me with this doe in headlights look, and I just knew she was going to ask, so I told her before she had the chance.
"We have thin walls."
WARREN: Man, the look on her face right then. [Laughs] Priceless. I was so drunk the night before, I didn’t hear shit, but one look at her—the messy hair, the smudged makeup—you just knew. I was happy for ‘em. For once it felt like I wasn’t waiting for the shoe to drop, you know? It just…dropped. I was happy for them.
Y/n said nothing to him, simply turning and walking away, causing Warren to chuckle to himself.
Billy and Camila moved out of the house in Laurel Canyon soon thereafter, wanting to have a home to call their own. That left the more, well, irresponsible band members to themselves.
One day, Warren returned to the house to find Graham, Karen, Eddie, and Y/n on the back porch, slumped in chairs, staring at the air in front of them like they were waiting for something.
"What are you guys on and can I have some?"
WARREN: It was mescaline, because of course it was.
"How long does it take to kick in?" Warren asked.
Karen shrugged. "Depends on the person."
A few seconds later, Warren suddenly stood up, stumbling slightly. "Whoa..."
Y/n giggled, then frowned. She moved her head back and forth, side to side, like she was weighing it. "Guys, my head is getting really heavy. Too heavy. How much should my brain weigh? Can brains gain weight? Do I have an overweight brain and I didn't notice it until now?"
"If you had an overweight brain, you wouldn't have failed math." Warren said. "Now, I-I feel on a molecular level, you know, like me and the canyon, we are..." he trailed off, then clapped, "Ha! No, we're the same, man."
Karen laughed. "Warren and Y/n are feeling it, clearly."
Graham laughed, and then suddenly he went slack, eyes wide. "Oh shit..." he put his hand over his stomach, "I can't feel my heart."
As Karen went to make sure his heart was actually beating (which, of course, it was ― he was just looking in the wrong place for it), Y/n turned her attention to Eddie. He was staring at his hands like it was the first time he was seeing them. She looked at her own, waving them in the air like she was trying not to hurt the air.
Y/n and Eddie had kept their, well, for lack of a better word, tryst, from the rest of the band members. Except, of course, Warren who had found out completely by mistake. As Y/n inspected her hands, she let one fall to the side, landing on Eddie's thigh.
He looked at her, eyebrows raised. She bit her lip to hide a smile.
"No, Graham, it's there."
"Karen, I can't feel my heart. It's gone, man."
Y/n slid her hand further up his thigh, trying her best not to giggle at the way he tried to keep his cool under her touch.
"Can-Can we call a doctor or something?"
"Graham. Move your hand up."
Graham frowned, looking down. Then moved his hands to the correct place and, upon feeling his heart beating steadily underneath his palms, sighed in relief. "Oh. Thanks."
Eddie suddenly stood up, startling all of them. Without a word, he took Y/n by the hand, pulling her back inside. Y/n giggled then, already going to unbutton her shirt.
Karen and Graham watched them go in confusion. "What the hell is up with them?" Graham asked as the door shut behind them.
Warren just raised his half empty beer can in their direction. "L'Chaim," the declared, then drank it all in one sip.
Thanks to Honeycomb, The Six had been put on the map. They were touring for their first album with Daisy Jones as their opening act. It was on that tour that they all got their first taste of real fame of screaming crowds and fanatic fans.
Towards the end of the tour, the decision was made that Daisy would join the band, and they would soon become known as Daisy Jones & The Six. After the tour, they were on their way to creating their first album with Daisy on the team.
EDDIE: Things were perfect. Well, I didn’t think they were perfect at the time. I still wasn’t getting along with Billy, I didn’t feel like I had any creative control, I basically felt like a second-class citizen even though I had been there from the beginning. But I had Y/n, and the band was successful. If I had been able to put down my pride and look at my life from a couple steps back, I probably would have thought, damn…this ain’t bad.
I never really guessed how bad things would go downhill after that.
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#eddie roundtree x reader#daisy jones and the six#daisy jones & the six#daisy jones and the six fanfiction#daisy jones & the six fanfiction#eddie loving#eddie roundtree#billy dunne#graham dunne#karen sirko#camila dunne#warren rhodes#warren rojas
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"Neytiri is such a hypocrite! She hates Spider for being human but Jake is a human too!!!" except that Jake's and Spider's situations and how they relate to Neytiri's are completely different though
Neytiri taught Na'vi culture to Jake personally and was there to watch first-hand as his perspective changed and he gradually fell in love with Pandora and the Omatikaya people. And being able to watch that process, having a level of personal investment in it as his teacher, was a major factor in her falling in love with him in the first place.
Neytiri didn't simply "fall in love with a human", not really. She fell in love with a human who in her eyes became Na'vi, and that part is significant.
I don't think Neytiri really views Jake as a human, not anymore. Though she knew it existed, she never actually saw Jake's human body until the final battle in A1--well after she'd already fully established her relationship with him in his avatar body--and even after that she probably didn't spend much time with him in human form because he permanently transferred to his avatar body shortly thereafter. She's still aware that he was born human of course, but as of the end of A1, despite the eyebrows and extra fingers, Jake is throughly Na'vi as far as Neytiri is concerned, and she watched him get there every step of the way.
She just doesn't have that experience with Spider (at least, not yet--we'll come back to that).
"Well, she SHOULD'VE taught Spider like she taught Jake!! Why didn't she??!"
Why should she?
Remember that she wasn't particularly jazzed about teaching Jake at first either. She didn't volunteer for the position, she only did it because Mo'at explicitly ordered her to. No one's assigned her to teach Spider like that. She's got enough to do during the day with her regular clan duties and raising her own four children; why, exactly, should we expect her to go way out of her way to take enough special interest in Spider, someone whose presence she's kinda iffy about to begin with, to teach him the ins and outs of Na'vi culture like she did for Jake?
"Well, she shouldn't have been iffy with his presence at all!! That's not fair!"
Ok, let's back up a bit. Hear me out before you start yelling.
Neytiri has been through a ridiculous amount of serious traumas in her life, most if not all of which have come at the hands of humans. She witnessed/experienced firsthand:
her sister getting shot and killed.
the Tree of Voices getting bulldozed, an incredible sacred location to her culture where she and other clan members could come to commune with their ancestors, including her now-dead sister.
her ancestral home being brutally destroyed, killing many more of her clanmates in the process.
her father dying in the aftermath of the destruction.
Seze, meant to be a lifelong partnership, getting shot and killed while Neytiri was connected through tsaheylu, meaning she probably experienced not only the heartache of loosing her ikran companion but also the physical pain of the bullet
...yeah, is it really any wonder she feels kinda iffy about humans? And Spider specifically has the added factor of being the son of not just any random human solider but of Quaritch, whom Neytiri had personal beef with.
Now, is it fair to Spider to be judged for the sins of his father and/or species? Of course not. Spider is an innocent party, and has done nothing wrong.
But is it unreasonable, based on everything she's been through, for Neytiri to look at Spider and be reminded of Quaritch etc., and to be uncomfortable with that? Not really, I don't think, and if we could stop demonizing her for it that'd be great.
No, Spider does not "deserve" Neytiri disliking him. But expecting Neytiri to quickly, nigh-magically just get over all of her human-inflicted trauma in order to love or even like Spider right away is a lot.
Key words: right away. Because guys, I think we're forgetting here that these character's stories are not over yet. We're on movie 2 out of 5. That's not even HALFWAY through the story!!
Yes, Neytiri still has issues she needs to work through, areas where she still needs to grow--of COURSE she does, because her story is not over. If she, or the other characters, were already perfect, there would be no story left to tell--or at least, not a very interesting one. Characters need room to grow, otherwise they become boring (isn't that the whole problem with the dreaded "Mary Sue"?)
Same with Spider, his story is not over yet. He and Neytiri still have PLENTY of time to work things out and develop their relationship, among other things, however they need to.
And I do think that their relationship is something that will be explored and resolved by the end. Said resolution might not come until A5, but I think it will come.
Overall I just don't really think it's fair to vilify Neytiri simply because that resolution didn't happen in Spider's childhood--y'know, before the real meat of the story even got started. Have some patience, friends.
tl;dr in a vacuum is Neytiri "in the right" for disliking Spider based on his ancestry? No, of course not. But is she a bad person for struggling to like/trust humans in general after all the very real and very serious traumas she's experienced? Also no. Is it something she needs to work on, sure--but give it time, and let's see how the story develops.
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LORE POST #1
Redesign of my Chat Noir redesign to go together with my rewrite which I will talk a lot about under the cut. I'm pretty set on this design too and will link it at the beginning of the fic when I get ten chapters completed and ready to post :3
What is different from canon, why I am changing some things, etc. Feel free to just read my thoughts around the design if you want to read my fic without any guidelines of what I'm planning so far for him
BUT I won't spoil anything major dw
The design:
I've changed chat noir's design so it would blend in more at night. The preferred the sleek black tones over the glow in the dark green I gave him before. I take a whole lot of inspiration from the PV of miraculous ladybug in these designs so of course his hair is still floofy.
When initially designing Chat noir, the tips of his hair are darker since I really liked that trait some other redesigns gave him so I included it without making his whole head of hair black.
I got the idea to base his design off of rust and RAN with it! He still has some greens in his design but they've shifted closer to yellow green and gold for the color scheme!
I've liked the idea about the clothes in the hero designs looking more cloth like too so I've incorporated that into the design with pockets and a zipper cause I can. Since Adrien has been thinking about being a superhero for a while, his design is more thought out were it could be.
EDIT: Forgot to mention!! Ladybelle has a lil more black in her design and now chat has a little more red! :3 matching
I saw some concept art of Chat Noir with a hat at one point and I loved it so much I wanted to keep it in to a certain extent, SO Marichat moment all the way. I decided to add the bells back into his design (I missed them) and took inspiration from @/callimara's Chat Noir design.
Chat noir will still be very cat like in this and I thought it'd be funky if his feat were like a cat's
Overall it isn't much of a design change for some aspects but I really like how it turned out!
K story stuff now:
I want to get ten chapters done before I post chapters again on the first fic since I don't think I did the best job introducing what I've changed. This isn't talking about adrien agreste's life this is more his role as Chat Noir. I'll get to adrien when I get his redesign sheet finished
(any part of this section might be edited in the future but this is basically part of my ideas)
Honestly a whole lot of the fic(s) is(are)
Fault of canon? -> Solution
I've been developing for two years now and I just gotta write it out... Entirely hinging on my execution sigh
Chat noir's powers are now on a more equal footing with Ladybug's (Ladybelle now) and I'll get more indepth when I post Ladybug's redesign and stuff but basically
The miracle box is a mix mash of several miraculous's from other boxes due to an event Guardian Marianne caused. Supposedly, she unleashed the Rabbit kwami of time on the guardians in an act of defiance. Resulting in rips in time eating away the members present for such an event, burning to death in fire. Marianne managed to run away with the miraculous's she could obtain and do her best to live her life knowing what she's done.
The Ladybug and Cat miraculous are a duo pair. Strongest when used in a partnership. Many are tempted to use both at the same time for what the powers merge to become but this isn't the strongest path.
Tikki and Plagg are soulmates you could say. They aren't really romantic but they are bonded for life. Never one without the other.
They are the only miraculous pairing in the new mixmash of the guardian box. Eventually Marianne gives the responsibility to Master Fu, her lover, before the rabbit comes after her as well.
I'll talk more about the changes I've made to Tikki's character in Ladybelle's post but as a part of the Miraculous cure, something all pairing miraculous's have to purify evils and darkness, it requires both parties to be present. Usually some form of touch or communication initiates the Miraculous cure
"Pound it!"
Chat noir can use his power alone to defeat evils but it's like cauterizing a wound. He doesn't figure this out for a bit.
I'll talk more about the miraculous cure in Ladybelle's post
This is still a part of the story I'm working on but:
the miraculous of destruction gets more powerful the longer the user wields it. With techniques and familiarity, Chat noir will be able to make black pockets of nothing just from a touch. Yes I'm including this from the concept art. Though he'll only get this later down the road
Chat noir is still a form of escapism to Adrien and part of his character arc is realizing he can't rely on it like that. A large part of adrien's character I'll talk about in adrien's post ties into Chat Noir too
I'm still figuring out some plot points for him so this is where I'll end this off. But I will say I'm planning on Chat Noir getting more time with the kwamis and more of a role in the Guardian arc and guardian stuff in general
#guardian marianne au#jotg au#journals of the guardian#chat noir redesign#miraculous ladybug rewrite#miraculous ladybug#chat noir#marichat#ladynoir#MDN art tag#my art#adrien agreste
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Having had time to process the Season 5 finale, and read people’s very interesting takes on it, my one remaining issue with it is…Adrien and Marinette’s character arcs.
Looking at Adrien first...he was on a journey, man. He started out so naïve and helpless, like this precious little bundle of light and joy who wanted to love everyone. You knew it wouldn’t last. You only hoped he retained that spirit even after he was broken...and you knew he’d break hard.
We watched him grow. Strike Back was huge. Season 5 was huge. We saw him speak up and try to take action. That fight with Gabriel in Representation? One of the best things in the show, in my opinion – what I’d been waiting for, for five seasons.
But what I’ve been saying for years is…I didn’t want him to be ‘saved’. I wanted him to save himself - with her support, of course. After all that growth, I didn’t want him to continue to be the damsel in distress. It doesn’t matter that it’s a boy being saved by a girl, this time. Sure, that turns tables, but it’s not enough. Boys shouldn’t need coddling any more than girls. I wanted partnership.
Maybe I built it up too much in my head. It doesn’t help that I wrote my own Season 5 before the TV version started airing. I guess it’s taking me some time to let go of my ideas and accept that none of it went remotely the way I expected. In a way…that’s a good thing. It’s good to be surprised. Just…
I wanted Adrien to face off with his father, knowing who he was. I wanted him to see his mother and learn the truth of it all. I wanted him to get that closure. I didn’t want everyone continuing to lie and keep him in the dark as if he’s still the same naïve, helpless, precious little bundle of light and joy he was at the start of the whole story.
I’m okay with Gabriel winning. I was actually hoping that would happen, because it’s a great idea. It was also such a Chekov’s gun – we had to see it happen, after all that teasing. Not to mention, there was no way they’d simply kill Gabriel or lock him away in prison, because both would have been too anticlimactic after all the drama. We needed something big and we got it.
I just wanted Adrien to be there for it. Not off-screen, locked in a room. And I know, I know, he took part in the battle in his own way, by having the self-awareness to remove his ring in order to save humanity and avert a Cat Blanc scenario. But Ladybug doesn’t even know what he did. She doesn’t know the extent of the part he played. She thinks she saved him. But he saved her, too…and everyone else in the world…and even he probably doesn’t realise that in full, because he doesn’t know just how bad it could have been, had he learned Monarch was his father.
Looking at Marinette…she has spent this whole show keeping secrets from people. Cat Noir really deserves to know about Cat Blanc - how much trouble has that secret caused? Now she’s keeping from Adrien the whole fact that his father was the villain, and that it all revolved around his mother. When is she going to learn that it’s not up to her to decide what someone should or shouldn’t know? That she doesn’t need to treat this boy like fragile porcelain? You cannot be in a relationship with someone where you treat them like a child. That’s called being his mother, not his girlfriend or partner.
Unless she doesn’t know. I keep coming back to this, in my mind. Maybe in this reality, she’s under the same delusions as Adrien and remembers things differently. Maybe she’s been duped into thinking Gabriel was a hero, too, because he changed everything for everyone in it, including her. If so…yeah, that’s really interesting…and horrible….
But I still wish Adrien had been there.
I just wanted him in the basement. Is that too much to ask for??? In Risk, we saw him pick up that eyepiece thing Felix left behind in the mansion. He pocketed it. He was meant to use it at some point, to find the spots on the painting and find the lift and find the basement. It never materialised, I think because they changed plans when the show got signed for more seasons. That scene was meant to happen and I can’t stand that it didn’t. I accept everything else. I just wanted him in that finale.
And as awesome as Marinette was, unifying the miraculous like no other holder before...it kind of showed that she could do the whole thing without him...and I’m not okay with that. She needs to know what he did.
So, now I’m back where I already was, waiting for everyone to realise he isn’t made of glass and he can stand on his own. Come on, Adrien, come on – show them all what we know you’re made of!
#ml meta#ml analysis#ml re-creation#ml recreation#ml spoilers#ml s5 spoilers#ml s5#ml adrien#adrien agreste#ml marinette#adrinette#adrienette#ml gabriel
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Sex worker Alcina x Y/N
18+ Minors DNI
Alright, so I had an idea after watching Pretty Woman (Although, it’s really nothing like the movie except for Alcina being a sex worker) This is dark and pretty angsty. It will get lighter as the story progresses, but I wanted you to be aware. This part is more like a set up to Y/N and Alcina meeting. I hope you like it! Let’s get into it!
Alcina leaned against the wall of the dimly lit alley, her voluptuous figure outlined by the flickering streetlights. She took a lazy drag from her cigarette and frowned. Time for work again…
From the time Alcina became an adult, it seemed that people always made harsh judgements about her. She’s aware of the rumors and reputation her name carries. She’s heard all of the same tired insults before.
She’s promiscuous.
She’s fickle.
She’s selfish.
… She searches for affection from strangers because she never got it as a child.
Well… She tends to agree with that last statement, at least.
Alcina descends from aristocracy. House Dimitrescu, to be precise. She actually held the title of Countess for a while back in Romania. Her parents expected her to follow in their footsteps and promote the family’s legacy, but she never wanted all of that.
Alcina couldn’t take sitting through stuffy dinners and entertaining guests like some kind of novelty act. She knew her parents were just going to set her up with some pompous heir and want her to start a family. To be the perfect, doting wife. However, once Alcina set out on her own, at the age of 19, she was determined to reinvent herself into the type of woman she wanted to be. Not what others expected.
Coming from a privileged background with overbearing, helicopter parents, she had to learn how to take care of herself quickly. Suddenly being thrust into the real world was a culture shock, but she adapted and did what she had to do.
She started out as a server at a small diner. Just something to pay the bills. However… She always dreamed of being a singer and she did the work to make connections. She went to clubs and bars, mingling with musicians and building friendships. Her charisma attracted others easily and it didn’t take long before she was invited join a few bands.
Things were great for a while. Gigs were plentiful and she even had to quit her job at the diner because she was so in demand. But… Eventually work started drying up. She was getting older and the fresh-faced young adult she used to be was now gone. Her voice was tired, shot. She couldn’t perform at the level she needed to anymore. She became desperate.
She took odd jobs anywhere she could. She even started dancing for a few nightclubs. People were entranced by the rhythmic movements of her hips and body. Much like with her singing, she became a highly sought after entertainer. It seemed she had pivoted and was once again back in command of her life. And… That’s when she met someone who would change her life for the better. Miranda…
One night after a show, Alcina was approached by an immaculately dressed blonde. The women hit it off and began talking happily. Miranda showered her in compliments and Alcina clung to her every word. She had finally gained someone’s approval. Someone who praised her. Someone who didn’t judge her. It felt… Good. Miranda proposed a partnership. She managed a lot of dancers in the area and wanted to take Alcina on as a client. Alcina said yes. She was addicted to the attention she received from Miranda. She wanted to impress her.
Miranda got Alcina booked for shows left and right, she bought her gorgeous outfits to wear on stage, and she even began paying the rent on Alcina’s apartment so she could focus on honing her craft. Alcina was happy. Fulfilled. She looked to Miranda like a mother figure and Miranda considered Alcina her daughter. The two had found family in each other and made a good team.
A few months into this arrangement, Miranda decided to… Branch off into new ventures with Alcina. Unfortunately, the clubs took a hefty share of all of Alcina’s profits and it pissed Miranda off to no end. She wanted the younger woman to be paid what she was worth. People wanted to objectify Alcina? Fine. But they were going to have to pay a hefty price first. So… She got an idea.
One night, when Alcina went back to her dressing room after a set, she saw that Miranda was already there… With company. Miranda offered a reassuring smile and introduced Alcina to the people in the room. It… Didn’t take long for Alcina to realize what Miranda wanted her to do with them. She took Miranda aside and questioned her, but the blonde placed a gentle hand on her arm and beamed. “This will be a great opportunity for you, my dear. Won’t you try? For me?” She asked.
Alcina couldn’t tell Miranda no. She trusted her. So, if Miranda thought this was a good idea, she was going to believe her. She nodded and immediately did what Miranda asked of her. She thought she would feel really uncomfortable afterward, but Miranda’s affection and praise washed all of it away. She would do anything for Miranda.
The blonde made sure Alcina was safe and she was very selective of the people she brought to meet her. Under no circumstances did she stray too far from Alcina as she worked and she always accompanied Alcina back home after she was done.
This arrangement went on for several months and Alcina began to primarily work the streets instead of dancing. She and Miranda made a good living for themselves. Miranda would scout out potential clients and Alcina would take care of the rest. Alcina was finally… Loved. Unconditionally.
But, all good things must come to an end, it seems.
Over the course of a few months, Alcina started noticing that Miranda looked… Tired. Gaunt… Sick. The sparkle in her gorgeous silver eyes dimmed. She barely ate and began to sleep a lot. Alcina urged Miranda to go see a doctor one day, but the blonde surprised her and sat her down, giving her a gentle smile. “Alcina, do you know how much I adore you, draga mea?” She asked and gently cupped her cheek.
Alcina nodded. “Of course, Miranda,” She said, confused by her question.
Miranda sighed and cleared her throat. “There’s… Something you need to know, my dear. You deserve the truth,” She said, looking down.
Alcina had a bad feeling. Something was wrong. “Okay…” She said quietly.
Miranda once again met Alcina’s gaze and gave her a heartbreaking smile. “Alcina. I’m… Dying, my dear,” Miranda revealed, a tear rolling down her cheek.
Alcina felt ice shoot through her veins. What? This can’t be true. No. The only person she had in this world… No. Alcina broke down. She began crying and screaming. Miranda’s heart ached at Alcina’s reaction. She wrapped her arms around the younger woman and shushed her softly. She felt… Guilty. She didn’t want Alcina to have to fend for herself.
“There must be something we can do!” Alcina pleaded through her tears.
Miranda smiled softly, but shook her head. “No, my dear. I am so sorry. We must accept what’s to come,” She said.
The two held each other and wept. They would be separated and there was nothing they could do about it.
Alcina took care of Miranda around the clock, but her health deteriorated fast, and two months later… She died peacefully in Alcina’s arms. Held by the one person who loved her the most.
Alcina was devastated. What was she going to do now? She closed in on herself. She drank. She slept. She cried. How could she go on? It wasn’t fair. All she wanted to do was hide herself away, but… She had bills to pay. She needed to start working again. Only this time, she’d have to do it alone.
And now, almost a year to the day of Miranda’s passing, Alcina once again found herself looking for customers. She shook away the tears that threatened to fall and bitterly flicked her cigarette away.
But, little did she know that, once again, someone would come into her life and change it for the better.
Enter you.
Note: Phew, this one was actually kind of challenging to write. I had trouble at parts conveying my ideas and trying to fit specific details in. Also, I want to make sure that I say I will not tolerate hateful comments about sex workers. This is a safe space and you will be blocked if you are disrespectful. Thank you. I hope you enjoyed!
Masterlist
#alcina dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu#re8#re8 village#re8 lady dimitrescu#alcina dimitriscu x reader#lady dimitrescu x reader#alcina dimitrescu x y/n#mother miranda#alcina dimitrescu x reader#resident evil village#resident evil 8#resident evil#resident evil imagines#lady dimitrescu x y/n#angst#angst drabble
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masterlist | foli jolly xmas list
my only wish: part one
jack daniels x single mum f!reader
summary: typical hallmark movie. he’s never been one for christmas - he hates the tacky decorations and the ear drilling music, but maybe the owner of a small town bakery and her children will change that.
warnings: mentions of drugging/use of sedatives, minecraft talk, swearing, nothing really to note yet, but this story is rated explicit so is strictly 18+ ONLY.
word count: 4.1k
a/n: gif by moi. happy december! christmas is officially within reach and i am fucking buzzing. i originally started this last year but with the arrival of mini foli, i never got around to working on it/finishing it sooo better late than never i guess? lmao. cringe cheesy hallmark romance coming right up! i hope you angels enjoy x
“It’s fuckin’ November.”
Jack glares at it, picking up his distorted reflection in the absurdly large golden baubles being clipped onto the branches and curling his nose slightly at the ruffle of cheap tinsel as it gets draped and wound around the thick body of the tall tree. He studies it with a heavy air of judgement, deciding very quickly that it’s tacky.
What’s with the plastic shit nowadays? Where are the real trees? The ones that throw off heady waves of pine and shed their dry needles all over the damn floor?
And why the hell is everyone so hell bent on celebrating Christmas so damn prematurely? What’s the rush? Everyone celebrates through November and it leaves no excitement for December. By the time Christmas eventually rolls around, surely everyone’s sick of trees and gaudy decorations and that damn chirpy ear drilling music —
Tequila tsks lightly, slapping his friend's arm affectionately as he continues on to Champ’s office.
“Aw, c’mon man, don’t be a grinch! Gotta get that Christmas spirit flowin’.”
He was a Christmas person, Whiskey discovered. December the year they met, partnership still fresh and admittedly unstable, the man had been humming Christmas songs and munching on gingerbread and candy canes like they were going out of fashion. If it wasn’t for his damn good company and decent sense of humour, Whiskey probably would’ve requested a transfer.
Whiskey grunts, tearing his eyes away from the bright and merry decorations and following along after, fingers running along his belt and tucking in any stray untucked pieces of shirt that had rucked up during his walk.
“I ain’t a grinch – it’s November. Act accordingly.”
Tequila’s still laughing and poking at the so-called Scrooge when they breeze past Champ’s ever busy secretary and into his office, delivering a breezy two fingered salute as the man in question turns from gazing out of the floor to ceiling window running along the length of the room.
Champ eyes them both seriously, features pulled into tight scrutiny, before he smacks his lips quietly and levels his gaze on Jack.
“You still stealing gifts and telling kids Santa ain’t real?”
Tequila hides a snort in his palm and Jack gives a little glower, unable to keep his lips from twitching.
“I’d never.”
Champ’s face eventually breaks into a grin and he gives a low chuckle, lowering himself into his chair with a small exhale that blows out from around the press of his lips.
“I will admit I’ve never seen the appeal of celebrating a month early.”
“Thank you,” Jack’s head rolls to eye Tequila critically.
The man remains unbothered and lets his shoulders lift into a small shrug, a grin stretched across his lips. “I don’t even care. The second spooky season ticks over midnight on October 31st? It’s Christmas.”
“You’re a damn embarrassment.”
“Man, you love me.”
“Fellas,” Champ rumbles with mirth and catching both men's attention, “enough now. Shall we get to it?”
Time rolls by as Champ gives Tequila his next mission and Jack listens attentively, throwing in his opinion when asked and preparing for whatever is coming his way next, but in a strange turn of events, nothing comes. He frowns as Champ finishes up the meeting, slipping the thick framed glasses from his nose and throwing them softly onto his desk.
“Uh, sir?” His confusion only grows when it becomes clear Champ had nothing for him. “What about me?”
“What about you? You are takin’ some leave – startin’ this afternoon,” Champ says, reclining into the aged leather upholstered backrest and watching the deepening twist of Whiskey’s features with a shine of amusement.
Leave? Is he being stood down? He wasn’t aware of any misdemeanours or wrongdoings during the latest missions — everything had gone smoothly, despite the minimal hiccups along the way… but that wasn’t anything unusual, hiccups were a part of the job. He hadn’t been reprimanded for any decision or direction…
Do they find him lacking? Sure, his back protests every now and then, but he was still in his prime. He had years left, with aims to get somewhere higher up when he could no longer do field work. Do they think he doesn’t have it in him anymore?
An odd feeling of desperation builds in the pit of his stomach. This is his life. What would he do without it?
“Sir, I assure you I’m more than capable of handlin’ any assignment –”
“I know that,” Champ cuts in, soft and reassuring, “but you’ve accumulated quite the collection of vacation hours.”
Whiskey blinks in bewilderment, “... and?”
“You’re a workaholic,” Tequila whispers teasingly, lips tugging up into an amused side grin. “Means you need to get a hobby, man.”
“I have hobbies,” he snips in return, defensive.
Silence overcomes the office space and it feels slightly stifling. He swallows, readjusting himself in the seat to sit straighter as his eyes dart between the disbelieving expressions of both Tequila and Champ, and what makes it worse is nothing comes to mind as quickly as Jack needs to prove them wrong.
There’s not a damn thing to back up his argument. Does he work too much? Maybe. That’s not a bad thing – he’s damn good at his job. Sure, he spends more time out in the field than at his home, but again, that’s not a bad thing… he’s just busy. What does it matter, anyways?
Their brows raise, sensing their little victory, and Jack wets his lips, ready to deflect.
“Why’re you so interested in what I do in my free time anyway? I’m fine, I like to keep busy.”
“There’s keepin’ busy, and then there’s overdoin’ it,” Champ says in disapproval. “We’re not havin’ one of our best agents work himself into the damn ground. You’re takin’ a vacation and that’s it.”
In search of some back up on the matter, Whiskey exhales softly through his nose and lets his eyes roll to his partner, who remains uncharacteristically quiet. Tequila pointedly avoids his gaze and takes an interest in picking at his cuticles as he slumps down in his chair.
“You in on this?” Jack accuses, a twinge of irritation grating his tone.
Tequila blinks innocently, his eyes finally meeting his friends. “What? ‘course not.”
Giving a quiet grunt, Whiskey turns back to Champ and sighs.
“And if I refuse?”
They can’t fire him, they wouldn’t. Would he be stood down? No field work for so many weeks? Couldn’t he just gift his vacation hours to someone else? Hell, Tequila loves any excuse to get away — he’d give them all to him if it meant still working like normal.
Champ smiles, anticipating his reluctance.
“Ginger’ll activate the sedative Tequila here put in your drink and we’ll see you right to your accommodations.”
Jack's eyes snap back to his partner, his nostrils flaring.
Tequila smiles guiltily, “Merry Christmas?”
—
Glen Ridge is a small town with a modest population, but was surprisingly open and welcoming to tourists, used frequently by travellers for its snowy peaks just bordering the town centre.
With the centre buried deep in the valley, the mountains provide a pretty picture no matter what street you walk along, and the thick forests sprawling opposite give a sense of comfortable seclusion, like you were closed away from the world in a wonderful little winter paradise.
Even Jack can’t deny the roll of calm that overtakes his body as he enters the town limits, taking in the smiley faces along the sidewalk and the charming old school feel of the shops and cafes lined along the road.
It’s picturesque, practically straight out of a movie.
His cabin has the same feel much like the town did — old, comfortable, cosy. The timber structure of it was nestled amongst some towering trees, with a wonderfully creaky porch swing sat stationary on the porch. Inside reflected the out, with stained timber shiplap walls stretching towards the tall cathedral ceilings running throughout.
It was nice. As far as accommodations go, it wasn’t bad for a forced vacation.
He wanders, finding the bathroom, and then the master bedroom, the large what looked to be handmade king bed looking wonderfully welcoming with a hand stitched throw, thick duvet and fluffy pillows. No, not bad at all.
There’s a single bottle of Statesman Whiskey sat centre on the kitchen countertop, with a large emerald coloured envelope perched against it. He eyes it in vague curiosity, and plucks it from the stone top before fingering the envelope flap out of the way and pulling a card free.
An overly joyful cartoon reindeer greets him and he grunts at it, rolling his eyes and flicking the card open, wincing at the sudden screech of Christmas music playing loudly from it.
Merry Christmas, Ebenezer. Don’t be pissed at me. Enjoy your break, old man.
The icy resentment that had grown in the pit of his stomach cracks slightly, giving way to an affectionate warmth and understanding. Sure, he’d been pissed at the kid for not giving him a heads up and slipping him a sedative, but Tequila had meant no harm or cruelty. He wasn’t built like that, not with those who meant something to him.
Regret tugs at his insides the more his eyes trace the words. He didn’t say goodbye before he left, admittedly quite sour over being practically forced out of work. He wasn’t going to be humiliated by being sedated and carried to his vacation spot, and the irritation over the situation had only grown as he cleaned up his desk and passed along the work he still needed to complete to other agents.
It felt wrong.
He hadn’t even been allowed to take any of his usual work tech from the office. No laptop, no tablet… hell, Ginger even put locks on his phone. He wouldn’t be able to reach the Statesmen headquarters, or any other agents privately, and vice versa. He was truly on his own, with no temptation of work clouding his mind and keeping him from enjoying some down time.
He doesn’t even know where to start.
Jack sighs as he wanders back into the main area, his hands finding his hips as he looks around his lodgings, taking in the cosy feel of the lounge and the vacant fireplace, soot and flame remnants licking up the brick.
“Well,” he drawls dryly to himself, “now what?”
—
“Just in town for a few weeks,” he smiles at the stranger, jaw clenching with the effort of keeping the growing irritation out of his features.
It’s the same answers over and over. The townsfolk were incredibly kind and open, often stopping along their way to ask how he is, what he’s in town for and how long is he staying, but with each question having the same direction as the ones asked by previous passersby, the small talk gets old fast.
He lingers in the cereal aisle of the small grocery store, smile turning somewhat stiff as the conversation moves on, answering any other questions directed towards him with a patient expression. Are you single? What do you do for work? Have you travelled much? Where are you from?
Despite the impatience steadily building in his system, he ensures to keep his attitude easy and charming, quickly winning over the trio of elderly ladies crowding him into the breakfast foods until they seemed satisfied with the information he had provided.
His cheeks ache from the force of keeping up appearances and he ensures to make it quick upon leaving the store with his groceries, ducking his head and hiding behind the yellow tint of his sunglasses to avoid meeting any other strangers’ eyes who seemed keen for a chat.
It almost works.
“Hey mister, would you like to buy a cookie?”
Jack’s steps falter at the younger voice, and his head turns to find a boy standing behind a little foldout table just outside the sliding store doors. His eyes drop to study the individually bagged gingerbread men, each obviously decorated by the hands of a child with uneven icing and odd designs.
“He don’t look much like a festive gingerbread man,” Jack says, pointing to a particular cookie and the bright blue icing covering it in some sort of blocked blob.
“That’s because he’s wearing diamond armour,” the kid replies frankly, the silent duh obvious in his tone.
What the fuck is diamond armour?
“Is that right? You do these yourself?”
“My mum bakes them – she’s got a bakery. I decorated them, though. I made the icing, too. My sister says she likes it. She’s kinda why I’m selling them – I want to buy her the doll she’s wanted all year.”
“That’s real good of you, kid. She’s lucky to have a brother like you.”
“So…?”
“So what?”
“You gonna buy a cookie or what?”
Jack snorts in amusement, shaking his head. “Maybe another day.”
“You’re gonna say no to a kid trying to do something nice for his baby sister? It’s Christmas, mister.”
“And?”
“Well,” the boy shifts, a small frown pinching his brows, “what if I don’t have enough for her doll? I’m trying to do it all by myself and I made her a promise, but if I break my promise she’ll be crying on Christmas and I would’ve let her down and I can’t let her down because I’m her big brother and she should be able to believe in me and if I can’t do this, then she won’t talk to me and I love my sister and I want her to talk to me and… and —”
Tears build in his eyes.
His lower lip startles to wobble.
Ah, hell.
First day in town and he’s already making a kid cry. Tequila would never let him live this down if he knew. A quick look around tells him no one had caught him terrorising a child — yet — so he juggles the bag of groceries into one arm and dives a hand into his back pocket for his wallet.
“Alright, kid, alright… I’ll take the fancy diamond fella.”
It’s funny how quick the tears dry up once the money is handed over and stashed in the little tin covered in cartoon stickers. He’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book – hook, line, and sinker.
The kid grins in triumph, popping a small blue bubble of gum between his lips and Jack frowns playfully at him, unable to stop the pull of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Well played, kid. Does that kind of stuff work a lot on your mama?”
The boy shrugs loosely, popping another bubble of blue gum. “Nope, stopped working on her years ago. Works all the time on strangers in lame cowboy hats, though.”
The brief wave of surprise gives way to a heavy flood of amusement and a laugh rumbles from deep in Jack’s chest, his grin widening, “You’re alright, kid. What’s your name?”
“Gabe,” the boy grins in return, cheeks creasing with dimples.
“Gabe,” Jack hums, “I got my eye on you. You’re lucky I don’t string you up like a Christmas ham for insultin’ my favourite Stetson. Am I free to leave now, or are you gonna trick me into buyin’ more?”
“Depends… how much money you got?”
Jack laughs again, shaking his head and continuing on his way, tucking the blue man into his grocery bag and grinning at the loud goodbye Gabe shouts after him.
—
You eye the handsome stranger from your place in the kitchen, unbothered as flour flicks up from the bowl in your hands and dusts the front of your apron. He’s alone as far as you can see, and when you squint extra hard, you find no ring on his finger when his hand rises to fix the Stetson perched on his head.
A cowboy?
And a very pretty one at that.
“You’re making a mess,” comes an amused murmur next to you, and your eyes immediately fall away from the cowboy and drop to the noticeable catastrophe in your hands.
“Oh, fuck!”
Most of the mixture had flicked out of the bowl due to the distraction currently standing at your shop counter studying the treats on display. José chuckles, a wet cloth already in his hands and he gently ushers you to the side to take care of the small disaster.
“Go on, go talk to him,” he grins, wiping your mess away and chuckling lowly at your wide eyed panic.
It’s the possibility of embarrassing yourself that keeps your feet firmly planted in the safety of the kitchen. You were… shaky at best, your experiences with men lacking after focusing on nothing but the kids and the bakery for the last few years. You preferred it that way, you think. No distractions.
You didn’t have room for someone in your life then, especially after everything. You didn’t have the patience to foster a new connection at that point in your life, you didn’t have time to dedicate to another… but you can't deny the ache of loneliness that surrounds your heart now. The focus and dedication of building a new life came at a cost, and the empty feel of a bed every night reminded you of that harsh fact.
“No, no I can’t. Besides Stacy’s already doing a great job of—”
“Stacy, I need your help back here!” José calls before you can stop him.
Startled, your head whips back to the front of the store.
“No, no, no—”
It’s too late.
You hear Stacy politely excuse herself from assisting the handsome cowboy and then she’s entering the kitchen with a smile, more than happy to be dragged away to a fresh batch of pies by an all too smug José. You give him a soft glare and sigh, wiping your hands down the front of your apron and stepping out into the front, not wanting to keep your customer waiting for too long.
“Hi,” you greet politely, heart picking up a bit in your chest as his eyes fly to you, “sorry about that. How can I help you?”
His smile is rich and warm when he looks at you, and it’s impossible to not let the small bud of attraction building in the pit of your stomach grow stronger. He straightens, the leather jacket hanging from his shoulders parting around the thick burgundy scarf wound around his throat as his hands bury in the front pocket of his dark denim jeans.
“Hey darlin’, I’m after s—”
It’s typical. Of course something would have to go wrong, someone would have to interrupt. It’s so typical you should’ve expected it, but you still jump in surprise. The door slams open and Gabe rushes in with a loud “Hi Mum!”, bringing a sharp breeze of icy air into the shop, before running back behind the counter and brushing past you to dump his school bag in the corner.
“Hi baby. I’m so sorry,” you murmur, turning back to the man, heat washing along under your skin as the stranger’s eyes dart between you and Gabe, “this is my son.”
A grin slowly forms on the strangers lips, and your stomach tightens at the sight of it.
“Yeah,” he drawls deeply, “we’ve met.”
Apparently only just now bothering to notice that you had a customer and were in the middle of serving him, Gabe perks at his voice. His body straightens and he openly grins at the stranger, obviously pleased to see him and your brows furrow lightly in confusion.
“Hi, lame cowboy!”
Your confusion evaporates.
You’re mortified.
“Gabriel!”
Your son had always been… lax with his verbal filter, but never at the level of insulting strangers. What is he playing at? The heat in your cheeks grows until they throb, and you fight the urge to run back to the protection of the kitchen.
Leave it to your son to insult the first truly attractive, seemingly unattached, man to walk into town in what feels like years.
“I’m so s—”
“No, no – he’s fine,” the stranger quickly cuts in, his smile still friendly and your internal alarm calms slightly. “It was a comment from our conversation yesterday.”
“He bought the diamond armour gingerbread man,” Gabe explains. “Did you like it?”
The stranger looks down at him, a more serious expression overtaking his features. “I’ve gotta be honest with you, kid… hand on my heart, it was the best damn gingerbread man I’ve ever had.”
Your insides twist at the compliment, thrilled that he enjoyed something you had baked, and a self satisfied smile threatens to spread across your lips. His eyes fly to meet yours and your smile turns somewhat shy under his approving gaze, the teasings of his own smile causing the corners of his lips to twitch.
“I’m glad you liked it,” you say softly, heart running wild.
His lips part, but Gabe beats him to the punch.
“Did you want another one? I have some leftover from yesterday – hold on, wait right there!”
Gabe turns and disappears into the kitchen without another word. Silence falls over you and the handsome stranger, but it doesn’t seem to feel uncomfortable… in fact, it’s quite the opposite. You give another small smile when your eyes meet, relishing in the warmth running along under your skin.
“Haven’t seen you around before,” you note with a tone of interest, leaning against the counter. “Are you just passing through…?”
“Jack,” he supplies with an easy smile, “Jack Daniels.”
“Like the whiskey?”
His smile widens, and he turns to lean a hip against the front of the counter casually. You become hyper aware of the fact that there’s just the width of the counter between you and it does nothing to calm the flutter of butterflies building in the pit of your stomach.
“Exactly like the whiskey. I’ve got a cabin for the holidays… boss decided I work too much.”
You laugh softly, head tilting as you appraise him, studying each line and crease of his face with appreciation. “Well, do you?”
Jack gives a small unbothered shrug, a deep chuckle oozing with guilt falling from his throat. “Probably, but I got nothin’ else to do so it keeps me busy. Plus those bills won’t stop comin’ in.”
“I know the feeling,” you reply.
Your index finger dances along the cool countertop as you deliberate your next question, clinging to the small wave of confidence you've been riding since stepping out of the back.
“Does your other half not think anything of your work habits?”
You hope the way the question is phrased doesn’t come across as completely fucking obvious, but you know you’ve failed when a wider grin starts to pull at his lips, something more playful seeping into his eyes. His gaze flickers over your face, briefly dropping to your lips before rolling back up to meet yours and the small action comes to settle low in your stomach.
“No other half to complain about it, I’m afraid,” Jack replies wistfully, and it’s exactly what you want to hear.
“Oh,” you breathe softly, tongue coming out to wet your lips, “that’s too bad.”
Gabe reappears in the next moment, halting whatever direction that particular conversation was heading, and you smile softly at him, stepping aside to let him lay the remaining gingerbread men on the counter. He quietly orders them into a neat line before looking expectantly at Jack, his fingers tangling together in waiting.
The man in question studies each man carefully, lips pursing in thought as he bends to get a closer look.
“I’ll tell you what, kid,” he murmurs, crossing his arms on the counter and levelling his gaze with Gabe’s, “I’ll take ‘em all and give you a nice tip for your great service, and you go buy your sister that doll — deal?”
Gabe hurriedly nods, his lips stretching into a wide grin as he eagerly shakes the hand Jack holds out to him. You warm further at the kind gesture, unable to stop the ache of your smile as Gabe eagerly packs the cookies into a bag and accepts the offered cash with a heartfelt thank you, his giddiness obvious as he beams up at Jack.
“You both take care now,” Jack smiles, his Stetson dipping as he gives a nod of farewell.
Cowboy.
“Don’t be a stranger, Jack,” you call to him, welcoming Gabe into your side as he presses himself close to you.
Jack half turns as he leaves, giving you a radiant final smile that you're sure will haunt your thoughts for the rest of the day.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”
-
everything pp tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80,@danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @karolydulin, @pedrostories, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @cannedsoupsucks, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair, @alexxavicry, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist, @outercrasis, @thisshipwillsail316, @toxicfrankenstein, @hotchlover, @ew-erin, @mishasminion360, @jitterbugs927, @penelopeimp, @woodland-mist, @pedro-pastel, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell, @1andthesame, @elegantduckturtle, @captain-jebi, @magpie-to-the-morning, @sharkbait77, @sleep-tight1, @musings-of-a-rose, @karlawithacapitalk, @woomen23, @frasmotic, @songsformonkeys, @loonymagizoologist, @aynsleywalker, @ruhro7, @bluestuesday, @what-iwish-you-knew, @princess-djarinn, @totallynotastanacc, @girlofchaos, @pjkimrn, @bangaveragewhitewine, @trickstersp8, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate, @ms-loverman-066, @bunniwarrior, @detectivecarisi-1, @tintinn16, @iceclaw101, @bport76, @thatpinkshirt, @tusk89, @withakindheartx, @curiouskeyboard, @pedropascalsx, @sirpascal, @racetrackheart, @patisseriel, @timpletance, @titabel, @xdaddysprincessxx, @dnxgma, @astronomeoww, @dindjarinswhore, @alwaysdjarin, @mando-amando, @mx-ferelden, @trinkets01, @jxvipike, @thesmutslut, @thereisaplaceintheheart, @scentedthingtidalwave,
jack daniels tags: @pedrohoe04, @stardust-galaxies, @androah, @wildmoonflower, @quica-quica-quica, @stevenmylove, @lawfulgranola, @dins-cyare, @eatommo, @serini-ty, @bbyanarchist, @raphaelaisabella, @breakfastonpluto19, @churchofrain, @joelmiller81, @h-hxgirl, @mischiefnevermanaged94,
#folijollyxmas#jack daniels x reader#agent whiskey x reader#jack daniels x f!reader#agent whiskey x f!reader#jack daniels x you#agent whiskey x you#pedro pascal x reader
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Forbidden - Part 2
Wanda Maximoff x Reader
Masterlist | Be notified of my stories
Summary: Meeting the perfect woman at a party has three complications: 1) you're married; 2) she's your student; 3) she’s too good to let go.
Word count: 6.859 || Pronouns: she/her
Warnings: smut [18+ only!]
A/N: And it's finally here! I can't believe it took me so long to finish this chapter, I'm so sorry hahaha I hope you all enjoy it though!
You do NOT have permission to repost or translate my work on any platforms (even with credit)
Series Masterlist | Previews part
───── ⋅ ✮ ⋅ ─────
“You’re home.” The surprise in your voice disguises how mentally tired you are, your hand loosening the knot of your tie as you furrow your brows. Blond hair stuffed in the refrigerator was the last thing you expected to see when you got home.
“I am.” Carol says as she fits in an upright posture, a bottle of beer in her hand and a sloppy smile on her face. “I was on the phone with your dad this morning and he told me you had settled in, so I stopped by.” The information makes you frown, setting your bag on the kitchen counter after you get rid of your shoes. “Why were you on the phone with my dad?”
“We’re closing another partnership.” She says simply, using a dishcloth to open the glass bottle. You barely give her a hum of understanding, moving to the sink so you can pour yourself a glass of water.
Ever since you and Carol started to grow serious, your father offered her a partnership. You weren’t sure what a Football player would offer a tech company such as Stark Industries, but Howard found a way to make it work, advertising more and more training-oriented products, always with your wife as the poster girl.
To say that the deal has enriched not only your father but also Carol is an understatement. And the partnership that was wonderful at the beginning, became your biggest nightmare as your marriage began to sink, and your father became more and more emphatic about you staying in it.
“You should call him, he misses you.” The blonde speaks after a few minutes of silence, turning to face you with her hip resting on the kitchen counter. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you finish your water unhurriedly. You’re pretty sure what she meant to say is that he misses the opportunity to micromanage every single aspect of your life. “And so have I.”
“Oh, have you?” You hit back as you wash your glass, sarcasm dripping from your words, completely unconvinced. “Come on, Y/n, can we not do this right now? I just got home.” Carol complains tiredly, a loud huff leaving her lips before she speaks, but you remain silent, your back to her as you keep your place by the sink.
When your relationship with the blonde started, you were sure there would be no other woman in the world for you. No one would ever be able to make you so happy, to love you as she did. That was your truth for so many years, and although there’s a part of you that still wants to believe that, it grows weaker every time you see pictures and videos of her from the times she spent away.
Always with some other girl, her hands around her waist or neck, laughing as she used to do with you, whispers in ears that used to flip your stomach but now just made you sick. There was never something more incriminating than that - although, to you, all of those images were incriminating enough.
But with every fight, every shouted accusation and lame excuses, Carol always found a way to keep you believing her, to make you ignore the small voice in your head that told you to leave. Of course, the insistent pressure from your family helped her a lot with that. Still, she couldn’t stop it from hurting.
“I’m gonna go shower.” You let her know when you’re done, wiping your hands on the back of your pants. “I could join you.” She tries, moving closer, but you screw your eyes shut to disguise your irritation. “Today was really tiring.” You cut her off more harshly than you intended, and your wife's hurt expression makes you sigh. “Maybe some other time.” You suggest, rubbing the bridge of your nose, and the blonde forces a sad smile as she nods slowly. “Sure. I’ll make us some dinner, then.”
She doesn’t wait for a response before she turns around and makes her way back to the refrigerator. But you’re pretty sure you saw a few tears pooling in her eyes, so you sigh softly, your jaw locked as you move closer to her.
“I’m glad you’re home.” You tell her with a hand over her shoulder, and Carol turns her face to you the same moment, her surprised expression lit by the refrigerator light. “Me too.” She answers with a smile, and you force one in response before you leave the kitchen.
⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅
The rest of the term is hell.
Seeing Wanda every Tuesday and Thursday is killing you slowly, no matter how she chooses to behave for the day. Sometimes, she’ll ignore you completely, keeping her gaze down on the pages of her notebook for the two hours that your class lasts. At other times, she’ll keep her gaze at you, barely blinking, her jaw tensed, her expression letting you know that, if she could, she would jump on your neck.
What makes it all the worse, is that she keeps ignoring your attempts to reach her, all your calls going straight to voicemail, all your texts completely ignored. And the worst part is that you can’t even blame her. She’s right. You lied to her, even if you didn’t use your words to do so. You disregarded her trust in you and you’d forever hate yourself for it.
“You look too depressed, even for an artist.” A voice you’ve grown accustomed to sounds in your ears as you walk towards your office, and you giggle softly, slowing your pace so that the redhead can catch up with you. “I’m not an artist, I’m a professor.”
“I think this explains your suffering better.” Natalia retorts with amusement, making you laugh some more. The two of you then make some small talk as you walk together to the faculty building, greeting a few acquaintances and students you meet around the campus along the way.
“Doing anything fun for the Holidays?” The Russian Professor asks when you reach your office door, and you move the books you were holding to only one of your hands so you can unlock the door. “I’m going to visit my parents in their winter cabin, so no.” You tell her, which makes her laugh. “What about you?”
“Visiting my parents too.” She answers with her arms crossed, resting her shoulders on the door frame as you move inside the room, placing your belongings on your desk - completely messy due to the end of the term. “They said they met a ‘nice guy’ they wanted to introduce to me, so I’ll make sure to be extra gay once I get there.” Natalia tells with a roll of her eyes, and you let out a giggle. “I hardly believe someone would ever doubt your homosexuality.”
“Thank you, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” The redhead says in an overly dramatic tone, with her hands over her chest and pretending she’s about to cry. You laugh as you shake your head in amusement, and the other smiles before asking, “Are you going home yet?”
“No, I have some grades to double-check before I leave.” You let her know as you dramatically plop yourself down on your chair, making her laugh. “Alright. Happy Holidays, Y/n/n.” She wishes with a kind smile, to which you respond with one of your own as you say. “Happy Holidays, Nat.”
The redhead leaves your office after that, closing the door behind her. As you turn your laptop on, you check your phone once again, just in case she has answered you. Of course she didn’t, the stack of messages sent staring back at you. So you let out a long sigh and, shoving your phone back in your pocket, you start to work.
⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅
“Wanda! There's delivery for you! Again.” Yelena changes her shouted tone for an annoyed grumble as she says the last word, forcing a smile at the delivery guy as she signs the tablet he offers her. Wanda, from her bedroom, sighs, already knowing what it was before having to see it with her own eyes.
Not content with filling her cell phone with calls and texts, your new approach was gifting. Well, not new, exactly, once you’ve been doing it since the end of the past term. To make matters worse, your gifts were always thoughtful. First, you sent red roses and a note, apologizing again and saying you chose the flowers because you remember she had some decorating her room. Yelena and Kate suggested she throw them away, however, and they ended up on the terrace of the building, burning the flowers on a portable grill one of the neighbors lent them.
The next gift was a box of chocolates, but what surprised Wanda the most was the small golden kosher stamp, certifying that the product follows the Jewish dietary law. Living in the States and with a routine as chaotic as any college student's can be, Wanda always has a hard time following the rules that her religion sets, most of all when it comes to food. But she tries her best to do so and she couldn’t help thinking it was really sweet of you to be this thoughtful. Although her friends suggested tossing in the trash the letter that came along with the box, all the girls agreed that throwing away chocolate would be a crime, so they kept that one.
You also sent a Gray Wolf plush - the national animal of her birthplace - and a book about the history of the city of Kraków. Neither Yelena nor Kate understood what that last gift meant, but the brunette did, and she decided to keep the story to herself, ignoring her rosy cheeks and her friends' complaints to take the gift to her room.
So yes, Wanda was still very pissed off and hurt by the entire situation. But your persistent, thoughtful gifts were finding a way to get to her heart. And she hated it.
“Uh, is it chocolate again? I loved the ones she sent last week.” Kate gets to Yelena before Wanda does, leaving her place in the kitchen - where she was preparing a sandwich - to approach the blonde and whatever it is she has in her hands. “It’s not for you, Bishop.” Belova scolds, moving the silver box away from the other girls’ hands, and Wanda chuckles at the interaction.
When she’s close enough, Yelena hands her the box - which is only slightly larger than a shoebox. Kate and Yelena fall silent as they watch Wanda holding the item in her hands, and examining it for a moment before taking it to the kitchen counter. When the brunette opens the lid, the other two girls frown in confusion, but she has a small smile on the corner of her lips.
“What flowers are those?” Bishop is the one who asks, watching as Wanda takes the bouquet carefully out of the box, the small white flowers enhancing the beautiful green of the leaves. “Lilies of the valley.” The brunette answers with an easy smile, her eyes never leaving the flowers, and Kate takes no time in googling it on her phone. “It's a flower of forgiveness.”
“It’s also Sokovia’s national flower.” Wanda adds, her smile growing as she fails to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. And as Kate lets out a soft ‘awn’, Yelena crosses her arms, snorting. “That’s not desperate at all.”
“I think it’s kinda cute.” Bishop retorts to the other's sarcasm, receiving a warning look. “Don’t encourage it!” The blonde grumbles, lightly hitting her friend's arm for emphasis. “What? It is! She’s really trying!” Kate hits back, defensively, but Yelena only snorts again. “She used our friend! She just wanted someone to have fun with in her boring married life. A poor, innocent girl to discard after a one-night stand...”
“I’m right here.” Wanda grumbles with an unamused expression, earning from Yelena an apologetic grimace. “I don’t think that’s necessarily true.” Bishop responds to her friend's previous comment, folding her arms with a pensive expression. “Like, would she be sending all these gifts if it was that meaningless? I mean, it’s been months.”
Belova lets out a disbelieving laugh, rolling her eyes. But when they rest on Wanda’s face again, she frowns. “Oh no, you’re thinking, stop thinking!” Yelena warns, but the brunette doesn’t let go of her thoughtful frown. “Kate may be right though.” She says with a shrug, putting the flower back on the box, and the blonde takes her annoyed gaze to the taller one in the room. “Are you happy?”
“Look, I’m not saying she’s not wrong about what she’s done.” Kate defends herself, her gaze shifting between Wanda and Yelena. “She still lied to you and, worse, she’s still married.” The brunette can’t help but let her eyes fall on the flowers you sent as she hears her friend, and she decides to close the lid so she can think straight. “But, I don’t know, maybe you mean more to her than you think you do. What did she say when you confronted her, again?”
“She said it didn’t have to be the last time, but I didn’t let her say more than that.” Wanda recalls with her arms hugging her own body to protect herself from the memories and the messed-up situation she’s in - without much success, however. Kate snaps her fingers. “See? Maybe she does like you and wants to be with you, even if she’s married. Oh my God, this is so exciting!”
“Are you listening to yourself?” Yelena asks, completely baffled, drawing all eyes back to her. “She’s our professor. You can’t date your professor!” She reasons, but Kate just snorts dismissively. “Of course you can! It’s super hot too, everyone wants to do that.” The comment makes Wanda laugh softly with amusement, shaking her head. But Yelena is still annoyed by it all. “It’s illegal.”
“I’m not underage, Yelena, I’m capable of making my own decisions.” The brunette speaks for the first time after a while, an eyebrow raised in her direction, but the blonde shakes her head. “It’s not about that, Wanda, it’s against the university rules, she’ll be fired.” The comment makes the brunette furrow her brows, she hadn’t thought about it that way before.
“You better tell your sister about that.” Kate breaks the silence with a teasing smirk that makes Yelena almost growl in anger. “That’s it, I’m leaving.” The blonde doesn't even finish talking to start stomping away towards the exit of their shared apartment. “Lena, come on, it was just a joke!” Bishop tries to hide a smile as she follows the other girl out and Wanda laughs softly at the other two before looking at the box on the counter again, staring at it for a while before deciding to take it with her to her room.
⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅
Going back to school after the winter break ends also means seeing you again and Wanda wasn't sure how she felt about it. She was still mad at you for everything you’ve done to her, of course. But after almost three months - and your constant gifts and trying to reach out to apologize - the brunette couldn’t deny she was getting soft.
As she walks with her friends to your classroom - Kate by her left shoulder and Yelena by her right one -, Wanda feels her heart skipping two beats with every step she takes. The other two girls, completely unaware of the brunette’s struggles, keep talking excitedly about something she wasn’t really paying attention to, but was trying really hard to do so.
Now, Wanda wasn’t sure what was going to happen once they finally reached the classroom. Maybe your eyes would meet and you’d smile at her again, and she’d be incapable of not smiling back and everything would be fine. Or you wouldn’t even spare her a glance, having grown tired of waiting for her. What she did not expect, however, is that one of her classmates would be talking to you - or rather, flirting with you.
“I told you, everyone wants to date a professor.” Kate comments by her side as she follows Wanda’s furious gaze with her own to where you were talking to Anna Marie, who had her hand resting on your arm lightly. “What’s wrong with people wanting to date their teachers?” Yelena grumbles as she pushes her friends to some chairs close to the exit, and Wanda has a hard time taking her eyes away from you to walk.
“Well, it’s not every day we have a Professor who isn’t seventy years old.” Kate comments with amusement, placing her stuff on the table. “And, with all due respect, Wanda, but she’s kinda hot.” The girl’s elbow hitting her side playfully finally tears the brunette’s eyes from the front of the class, blinking a few times to recollect her thoughts. As Kate laughs softly, Yelena grumbles displeased. “Gross.”
“You’re just mad about it because half of your friends want to sleep with your sister.” Bishop retorts with amusement, and Yelena grumbles once again, changing her desk so that Wanda is sitting between her and Kate. “That’s it, you’re not sitting by my side.” Kate only chuckles softly, but the brunette hasn't been paying attention for a long time.
In the front of the classroom, Anna is still talking to you - and with her hand still annoyingly on your forearm. But you push her hand away politely and, although she can’t hear from that distance, by the motion of your hand the brunette thinks you told the other girl to go sit down.
As Marie finds a place to sit, your eyes scan the room, stopping when they meet Wanda’s. At first, she’s frozen, not sure if she should look away or keep staring. But you offer her a small smile - nearly invisible at that distance -, and avert your gaze the next moment when the brunette doesn’t reciprocate, her blood still boiling inside her veins.
So you start your class as naturally as you can and, as the hours go by, you have no trouble noticing that today is one of the days Wanda looks at you as if she wants to jump on your neck.
⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅
From the next class on, everything changes.
You were drinking from your water bottle on Thursday when Wanda arrived with her friend, and you almost choked at the sight of her. Instead of the casual clothes she usually wears to class, her lower half is very poorly covered by a miniskirt, and the tight-fitting tank top she wears exposing a fair amount of her chest have you drooling.
To make matters worse, once her eyes meet yours she sends you a smirk full of meaning, her lower lip trapped between her teeth before she looks away. The interaction is brief, but it’s more than enough to make your brain malfunction for the rest of the class. The way the brunette is clearly having fun with the whole thing doesn’t help.
And that’s how the classes went. Wanda showing up in shorter and shorter clothes, messing with your sanity whenever your eyes landed on her, either by biting the pen cap, crossing her arms with the sole purpose of making her breasts even more evident under her cleavage, or even spreading her legs apart slightly so you can see the color of her panties - sometimes, when she was sitting close enough, you could even see the dark stain of her arousal.
You had no idea where all that was coming from. But - as much as you liked it - it had to end, because you were getting increasingly distracted in class, to the point where some students noticed your uneased posture, and asked if you were alright. So, one afternoon after the class was over, you called her over.
“Miss Maximoff, do you have a moment, please?” You asked, trying to sound as unaffected as you could, beckoning the younger girl to approach you by your table. “Yes, Professor?” The brunette asks as she does so, her innocent voice sounding unnatural in the face of the little smirk on the corner of her face.
You find yourself wondering how the hell she can look so pretty all the damn time, especially with that red dress that was too short for the sake of your mental health and a black jacket over it that highlights the red locks of her hair. Your eyes almost linger on her mouth for too long until the noises of your students leaving attract your attention again. So you clear your throat awkwardly, pretending to look through some papers and missing the way her smirk grows wider. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss the third topic of your essay, I don’t think it is very clear to me.”
“Well, Professor, what I meant by that is that one of the pillars of art is desire, isn't it?” She points out the discussion you had in previous classes, but you can barely listen, too busy trying to keep your brain working properly as she rests her palms over the table with her stretched out, highlighting her cleavage… “Every piece of art seeks to arouse a craving in its consumers, an irresistible hunger they cannot deny-”
“Wanda, you’re killing me.” You interrupt with a groan, your voice low so the few remaining students won’t hear, your hand loosening your tie to try and relieve the heat - which obviously doesn’t help. “I don’t know what you mean, professor, I’m just explaining my essay.” The brunette hits back, and although her posture is dismissive, her amused tone gives her away, making you sigh in surrender. “Can we talk? Please, I-”
“I’m sorry Professor, I have another class in ten minutes.” She says with a forced apologetic grimace, checking the time on her phone. “Maybe I can go to your office after dinner time?” She suggests before you can complain, taking a step closer to you, and you have to resist the urge to take a step back, gulping harshly as you nod your head dumbly. The effect she has on you… You’d never be able to explain.
“S-sure, I’ll be waiting for you.” You manage to stutter out, your eyes glued on her lips when she offers you a broad smile. “Okay. See you later, professor.” She says her goodbyes, and doesn’t wait for your answer before walking away. Not that you would’ve been able to, too focused on the sway of her hips intentionally done to catch your eye.
⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅
You can barely focus on any of your classes after that, and all your interactions happen on autopilot as all you can think about is your meeting with Wanda after dinner. And when the time finally comes, you’re passing back and forth anxiously around your office.
The knocks on your door startle you slightly and you take a few seconds to check your reflection in the small mirror on the corner, fixing your hair as you walk to the door. The wooden piece swings to your right at your own strength, revealing on the other side the brunette you’ve wanted to see since the very first second she left the classroom earlier today.
It hasn't been long since then, only a gap of a few hours. But the atmosphere between the two of you has already changed completely, a dense cloud of uncertainty and anticipation dancing around the both of you, growing thicker with each passing moment of you staring into each other's eyes.
“Hi.” Wanda is the one who breaks the silence first, her posture - once determined and defiant now almost insecure, with one hand firmly around the bag's strap and the green irises struggling to remain in yours. “Hey.” You say back just as softly, moving to the side just enough for the girl to enter your office. She offers you a minimal smile as she does so, and it’s right there that you realize how much you’ve missed it these past months.
The click of the door closing behind you is the prelude to a long moment of silence that follows between you, broken by the faint noise of students and faculty walking around campus. Wanda stops facing you in the middle of the room, her back to your desk, appearing uncomfortable in that place she had never been before. You watch her in silence, your mind racing with everything you wanted to say right now, your chest tightening preventing you from doing so.
“Wanda, what’s happening?” You condense all your questions into one, the lump in your throat turning into a tired scoff. “One day you hate me, won’t even look at me if not to glare at me as if I were the worst person in the world - not that I can blame you for that, of course, but... In the next you are…” You point at her, remembering the stunt she pulled in class earlier, and once again the words fail you, leaving you unable to say anything but repeat the question, “what’s happening?”
The brunette remains silent. Her eyes drop from yours, her jaw locked and her expression thoughtful. She seems to be searching for the right words, you imagine, and you don't push her to do so, remaining silent, watching her with as much patience as your anxious brain allows you. A little longer than a minute later, she sighs.
“I saw you talking to Anna before class the other day.” Wanda tells, a tone almost shameful. You furrow your brows in confusion, but your obliviousness only earns you an annoyed grunt from the brunette. “She was flirting with you so bluntly, in front of everyone and I… I was so angry, I just…” You finally remember the day she mentioned, when one of your students came to you before class started. But you barely pay any mind to it, too curious about the words the girl in front of you is holding back from saying.
“I don’t want you looking at any other girl but me.” A low gasp leaves your lips at her confession, your mouth agape with surprise. “I don’t.” You say wholeheartedly, your restless mind suddenly empty. “Your wife wouldn’t like to hear you say that.” The brunette accuses bitterly, one eyebrow raised as her features contort into an angry expression. “I’ve seen pictures of the two of you. You look cute together, happy.”
“And you believe everything you see on the internet, I suppose.” You return her sarcastic tone with an amused yet devoid of humor one, a dry laugh escorting your words. Wanda looks at you with curiosity this time, and you put your hands in your pockets, looking away as you tell, “Carol and I are not happy, we haven’t been in a long time. My marriage, it’s not… It just doesn’t work anymore.”
“And why don’t you end it?” Wanda asks in a heartbeat, the expression on her face indecipherable when you look up at her again. “It’s complicated.” You answer simply with a shrug of your shoulders. The last thing you wanted right now was to talk about the misfortunes of your failed marriage. The answer doesn’t please the brunette in the slightest however, who scoffs in disbelief with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes as she murmurs, “of course it is.”
“I mean it.” You hit back firmly, and wait for her to look at you again to speak. She's reluctant to do so at first, but when her eyes finally meet yours, they're hurtful, and you sigh wearily. “I wanna end things. I do. I just… I’m just finding it hard to find the right time to do so.” Your words are honest, but they don’t convince Wanda, who merely nods in understanding, looking down at her feet once again.
“Did you, hm, did you like the gifts I sent you?” You try to change the subject, because the last thing you want right now is to see her sad, even if you can’t do much to change that. The brunette seems to have a similar line of thinking, because when she looks up again, her expression is playful.
“Was that you?” The teasing question makes you let out a chuckle, looking away at your shoes and missing the way she smiles at you. “I did.” She answers finally, her tone softer this time. “Kate loved the chocolates, by the way, she’s been looking for them everywhere. Where did you find them?”
“I had a friend help me out.” You answer vaguely, and Wanda doesn't want to think too much about the butterflies in her stomach at the mere thought of you talking about her to other people. Fortunately for her, she doesn’t have to, because your approaching footsteps catch her attention, and having you so close again makes her brain stop working for a second.
“I’m really sorry, Wanda.” You change the tone of the conversation once more, the glint behind your eyes as pleading as your tone when you reach out for her hands. “I never meant to hurt, much less to use you.” You assure her honestly, and the brunette tries not to be so distracted by the soft caress your thumbs offer the back of her hands. “I should’ve been honest about my situation and about what I want.”
“And what do you want?” The younger girl asks, her tone so low you’re sure you only heard her due to your closeness. “You.” You don’t think twice before you answer, appreciating the way she holds her breath. Her pupils are blown and they fall to your lips that same second, but you fight the urge to kiss her to keep talking. “And I know I’m married and I’m your professor, the situation couldn’t be any worse. But that doesn't make me want you any less.”
“I want you too.” The brunette confesses back, a short smirk at the corner of her lips at the low gasp you let out. “I-I don't care about these things. I know I should, but… I just want you, in whatever way you can be mine.” She finds herself saying, surprising not only you but herself at the sudden utterance.
“Are you sure about this?” You ask, your eyebrows frowning in a way that displays all your uncertainty. But Wanda’s smile only grows, nodding her head in an almost silly way as the words make more and more sense to herself. “Yes.” She answers verbally not long after, her eyes coming back to your own in an attempt to reassure you further. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“I’m gonna kiss you now, then.” You’re smiling as you let her know, a smile that only grows as she lets out a silly little laugh, nodding her head again as she agrees, “okay.”
You take no time in leaning in, and the brunette takes even less to meet you halfway, your lips touching for the first time after so long. The muscles of your bodies relax in untold synchrony, your mouths finding a perfect rhythm as easily as the first time they did so, all those months ago.
Her hands find the sides of your face at the same moment that yours take a hold of her waist, pulling her closer to your own body. The sigh she lets out makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, but before you can deepen the kiss, she is pulling away to say, "God, I missed you so much."
"I missed you too." You confess equally breathlessly, your lips brushing together as you speak. "There hasn't been a moment in these last months that I haven't been thinking about you." The brunette's contented giggle is all you get in response before she leans forward again, kissing you harder than before.
The fabric of her dress slides up as you caress her sides, and you instantly remember the scene from earlier, pulling away once again and chuckling softly at the small whimper of protest she lets out. “You look beautiful in this dress by the way.” You praise, letting your gaze descend on her figure as you admire her briefly.
“You’ll like me better without it.” Wanda’s words are rushed against your mouth, and she gives you no room to speak as she kisses you again, her hands firmly in your hair to prevent you from escaping her again. To her delight, you had no intention of doing so, kissing her harder instead.
As her tongue dances around yours, you push her gently yet hurriedly, walking a few steps with her until her hips hit the hard wood of your desk. Wanda doesn’t hesitate when they do so, sitting atop the piece of furniture and wrapping her legs around your middle, pressing your body against hers further. One of her hands untangles from your locks only to tug at your tie, and you lose all your sanity at once, groaning against her lips as your hand invades her dress without warning.
The brunette breaks the kiss with a loud gasp as she feels your fingers push the fabric of her panties aside, and lets out a sinful moan when you stick two of them into her at once, your digits sliding with ease through her arousal. You are quick to kiss her again, swallowing her moans as they escape her throat. But the wet sounds of your hand fucking her so hard echo around you, making your own core burn.
As her orgasm approaches, Wanda leads her hands to your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin through the fabric, her mouth failing to keep the rhythm on yours. So you move your own to her jaw and neck, biting and sucking on her skin just enough so it wouldn’t leave a mark.
The brunette, on the other hand, focuses all her strength on being quiet, her eyes screwed shut and her lower lip trapped between her teeth to prevent any of her moans and whimpers from coming out. But it’s all in vain once you press your thumb on her clit, and Wanda has to bury her face on your shoulder, biting your skin to muffle the sounds she’s unable to keep to herself.
You only stop when her trembling hand rests over your wrist, and you smile to yourself at the mess you made out of her so quickly, missing her warmth the same instant you pull your fingers out of her. The brunette sighs at the lack, her walls clenching around nothing as she tries to recover from her climax. You kiss her sweaty forehead as you wait, smoothing the skin of her thighs with your hands, unaware of the way the touch makes her tremble.
Not after long, Wanda lifts her face from your shoulder, and her smile is the last thing you see before she kisses passionately. You barely have the time to reciprocate it before her fingers find your belt, and your grip on her thighs immediately intensifies in anticipation. But before she can go any further, her phone is ringing.
"Shit." She grumbles as she pulls away, hastily engaging in finding the device inside her bag. "H-hi, Pietro!" She greets as soon as she finds the cell phone, an excited and surprisingly innocent tone. You, on the other hand, blink a few times, trying to keep up with the sudden change of events, your hands still on her legs under her dress as you try to catch your breath.
"No! No, I'm coming, I just..." You watch as the brunette talks to the person you don't know, your chest tightening a little in anticipation for the longing you know you will be left with after she's gone. "I had an inconvenience to sort out." She finishes her own sentence finally, and when you raise a single eyebrow, she rolls her eyes with a smile. "But I'm done, I'm on my way... Okay, bye."
"An inconvenience?" You ask teasingly as she hangs up, taking a few steps back so she can stand up. The question earns you a brief chuckle from the brunette as she gets to her feet again. "Sorry, would you rather I told my brother I was busy fucking my Professor?" You laugh back at her joke, grimacing a response that makes a smile grow on her face before it fades away. "I have to go now."
"Five more minutes." You mumble as you pull her close again, your arms secure around her waist. "I can't." Wanda says amidst a giggle, even though she makes not the slightest effort to disengage from your embrace. "I have to pick my brother up at the airport." She tells you, laughing some more when you grimace in displeasure.
"I'll return the favor, I promise." The brunette promises, her hands over your chest and a suggestive tone that matches her smirk perfectly. "Hmm, it's the second time you say that but who's counting?" You tease with an easy smile, biting back a laugh when she narrows her eyes in your direction. "I will return all of them, okay." She lightly slaps your shoulder to display her own displeasure, taking advantage of the action to wrap her arms around your neck. You let out a low chuckle, murmuring in understanding before rubbing your nose against hers affectionately.
"But now I gotta go." Wanda comments against her own will, her stomach doing somersaults at the display of affection. But she doesn't comment on it, and you sigh in surrender. "Okay." Your arms leave her middle to give way to your fingers intertwining with hers as you guide her toward the door.
"Oh, wait!" The brunette snaps the fingers of her free hand as if remembering something before you reach the office exit, earning her a curious look from you in response. "Is there really something wrong with my essay or was that just an excuse?" she asks worriedly, and you can't help but giggle before assuring her, "I haven't read it yet actually."
Wanda murmurs in understanding, but it doesn't take long for a smirk to grow at the corner of her mouth, looking at you mischievously. "I'm hoping you'll be nice while grading it, professor." She comments suggestively, tracing her fingertips lightly down your collarbone. You swallow dryly, pushing away the effect she has on you to smile teasingly back. "Are you using me for good grades, Miss Maximoff?"
"It's more of a bonus, really." She retorts with a shrug, and you let out an amused laugh with a slight roll of the eyes that makes her smile. "Well, I'll have you know there will be no favoritism." You retort with a playful tone of reprimand, but Wanda doesn't back down, raising an eyebrow at you instead.
"Is that so?" She steps forward to ask, her breath brushing your skin along with her nose on yours. "But I thought I was your favorite." She comments with a pout, giving you puppy dog eyes that you have no trouble realizing would make her get you to do anything for her.
"You are, but we can't let other people know that, can we?" You retort with amusement, tilting your head to the side and adjusting your posture so as to put a little more distance between the two of you. Although she tries to disguise it, you can tell by her expression that she's annoyed that her teasing hasn't worked, and you have to hold back a giggle as you admire the scene.
"Besides, it's not like you need it anyways, you're already my best student." You praise wholeheartedly, earning a contented smile and rosy cheeks in return. The adorable sight makes it impossible for you to hold back any longer, and you soon lean forward, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. The brunette giggles as she reciprocates it, but before she can even bring her hands to the sides of your face, you are pulling away.
"You should go now." You comment, and the brunette's eyes widen slightly as she remembers that her brother was waiting for her at the airport on the other side of town. "I should." She agrees with a nod of her head, but soon her countenance softens, looking at you with sparkling eyes and an easy smile. "Bye, Y/n."
"Bye, Wanda." You say goodbye in the same tone, a smile on your face matching hers perfectly and that only grows when she pecks your lips goodbye. You finally open the door for her then, and the brunette casts you one last look before walking out of your office. You watch her walk away until she is out of your field of vision before returning to work at your desk. And for the rest of the evening, you have a silly smile on your face.
Part 3
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Tangled Alliances
Summary: When faced with sickness in your community in an already post-apocalyptic world, it is up to the strained professional partnership of you and Joel Miller to embark in a perilous and difficult journey in order to retrieve life-saving medicine. With your destinies intertwined, shrouded in tension, you confront the unforgiving challenges of your environment together, gradually forming an unexpected bond. Will that be enough?
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader, f/m
rating: 18+, minors dni
series warnings:, pre!ellie, during outbreak, set in TLOU 2022, age gap (28 & 52), swearing, mentions of violence, also actual violence, mentions of sickness, heavy angst...., fluff, trial & tribulations, severe weather, a lot of fucking animosity and hostility, enemies to lovers ???, infected people, tension...TENSION!!!, bickering, copious amounts of alcohol, inebriation, y'all don't get along...but y'all also have to, smut!!!!...a semi-slow burn, anxiety, exhaustion, NO USE OF Y/N.
chapter warnings: Mentions of backstory (involving the death of readers parents), bickering, bad langauge, tess is mother, mentions of sickness and death, aclohol, sharing a tent (wink wink), cheeky morning wood, just a sprinkle of smut if you squint its not really smutty but not completley clean, bad luck ??, tension. lots of it, intrusive improper thoughts.
word count ≈ 8,3k
Estimated reading time: 37 minutes, 4 seconds (225 wpm)
a/n: This is the first part of a series i am writing!! I haven't actually written fanfiction since i was like...15, so be very very kind and gentle and patient with me because i am literally just a girl.....i have dusted off the cobwebs & busted my writing out of its retirement to create a story to quench my current joel miller obession. This storyline is actually inspired by a dream i recently had and i am very excited to reeeeally get into the series as i have a lot of plans that i cannot share with you right now.... also sorry if the tags are wierd i gennuinely have no idea what the fuck to write. Part two will come pretty shortly (don't get used to it) because after i awoke from the dream i literally wrote almost 20k words in one sitting so im splitting it up and giving this one some time to see if people are even interested in reading more...please enjoy!!!!!!
Part One: Hostile Beginnings
You were nearly seven years old when the outbreak started. To you, the world crumbled before your feet in what seemed like an instant - shattering the very ground on which you stood. One day after school, you saw your own mother's jugular be ripped straight out of her neck from the mouth of your neighbor, an old and fragile woman who used to babysit you from time to time. Before running away in fear, you saw your mother bleed out, right there on the lawn you used to play in. You never saw your father that day, and neither did you ever again. You always accepted that your father's fate was that he most likely died in that little cubicle he worked in. Or that he now spends the rest of his life infected. Whichever the case, it doesn’t really matter to you, you don’t think about him anymore.
You got away with your life by the skin of your teeth that day. That little girl ran until her tiny legs could carry her no more. Your English teacher, Theresa, had found you in a ditch, sobbing. You had been wearing the same outfit you did that day in class, a purple shirt with a flower on it, along with some blue pants. Theresa didn't have the heart to leave the little girl behind, so she took you under her wing.
Throughout the years, Therese - or ‘Tess’ as you liked to call her - taught you how to survive this very unfortunate world disaster. While you were still young, she taught you to crawl into small holes to retrieve food or water, and to hide whenever you felt something was wrong. She taught you to trust your instincts. She taught you to be resilient. Resourceful. In later years, you were taught to use a gun, to mend knifes, to defend yourself - how to navigate this apocalypse safely.
When you got older, Tess made use of you in her line of work. Smuggling. And you were good
This is how you got to know the man named Joel Miller. A cynical, gruff man of very few words. But, he always got the job done. You and Joel didn’t interact much. Now that you think about it, you hadn’t met him more than.. what? 5 times before today? even less so had you spoken with him. Tess didn’t want you to work alongside Joel as she believed his methods could sometimes be…taking unnecessary risks. He could sometimes be reckless. And you were not a risk she was willing to take. Not yet.
Ever since finding that shattered little girl all those years ago, Tess always felt an unwavering, deep sense of responsibility to keep you safe. She owed it to you, and she owed it to your parents. You were now a full-grown woman, 28 years old - and Tess knew you had a strong head on her shoulders. With the years, the fierce overprotective nature gradually softened. She gradually unfolded her wings of trust, and sent you out on more and more jobs. But, it wasn’t until recently that she felt comfortable enough to let you work with Joel. Nothing big, none spanning more than a day or three. To her dismay (but yet also relief), the two of you ended up ultimately proving to be an incredibly efficient team. However, the two of you could not get along even if your very life depended on it.
It was a silent alliance. It had to be. Otherwise, you’d end up getting on each other's nerves and damn near kill one another. Joel always made it incredibly clear that you weren’t friends - he wasn’t there for pleasantries, he was there to finish a job. Not that you objected. The less condescending shit you had to hear him say, the better. You didn’t care much, either way. You were a professional - after all, you had done this since you were a child. This was your reality. You never had much choice.
Lately, a lot of people in your community have fallen very, very sick. It is some sort of pulmonary bacterial infection that starts off with a fever, and will leave you coughing up blood a couple of months later. A slow killer, but a killer nonetheless. Some of the older folk have already started dying.
“No, absolutely not, Valerie” you heard Tess’s voice come from downstairs. You just happened to walk past to hear it. “It’s way too risky”. These words piqued your interest.
“She is our best option, and you damn well know that” Valerie, a woman you live and work with says, a stern undertone in her voice. You slowly walks towards them, walking down the stairs without making a creak, eavesdropping.
“This would take months to complete..” Tess sighs, adding in, “We don’t even know if we have that kind of time, folk’ are already dyin’. We don't even have no idea how heavily surveilled it is”
“Do we have a choice? We’ll run out of our own supply within a month if we’re lucky. They will all die”
Tess is quiet, you could almost hear her thinking if you listened hard enough. You enter the room, “What’s going on?” you ask
Tess stands still and shares a look with Valerie before looking at you, sighing and crossing her arms. “We have received intel that there is a massive supply of vital medical equipment as well as medication, medication that we need. It’s In a settlement controlled by some sort of… faction. They call themselves the ‘reclaimers’. Nasty bunch. We need the medication, and well.. If our sources are correct, which they haven't failed us before, it’d be enough to not only cure the folk round here; but we could also sell for an enormous profit. We could make a lot of money. Maybe buy a new truck. Supplies. Guns….”
“I’m in.” you say, without hesitation, cutting her off. Tess shakes her head, she opens her mouth to speak, but you interrupt her before she can “I can manage myself, you made sure of that.”
Valerie looks at Tess with a ‘I told you so’ look. “You’d have to walk for, probably, months on end just to get there and back. They’re west, somewhere in Montana, located deep into the forest. You have never been on a mission that lengthy, and it's fucking cold as shit - and it's only going to get worse”
“What’s our other option here? Let people die?” you ask, and pause. They stay silent. “I wouldn’t accept if I didn’t know I was capable of handling something like this, Tess….”
You look at each other for a long time. She knits her eyebrows together, somberly, and shakes her head. She doesn't know if she can let you do anything like this. Not because she doubts your ability - rather, she cannot get herself to put you in that type of danger.
“You heard the woman…” Valerie says smugly.
“Fine”. Tess says, slightly annoyed and probably feeling very protective. “I need to stay here and take care of some things, keep track of the radio and such.. Valerie needs to tend to the people here. It…It would be you and Joel.”
This takes you slightly aback. On one hand, even though Tess might think his methods are unconventional - she trusts him, and you trust her. Besides, you have worked professionally very well before and always get the job done. But on the other hand…it’s Joel fucking Miller.
“Months on a job with Joel Miller? Fuck me…” You scoff. Tess’s lips curl into a slight smile evidently trying to hold back her laughter. She knows the kind of disdain you feel for him.
“There’s no one else I’d trust to send you away with on a mission like this. Except for me, of course” Tess says, leaning against a wall. “Are you still in, even if it’s him?”
“Well.. i don’t really have a choice now, do i?” you say, and they chuckle. “When would we leave?”
Tess pauses. “You’d have to leave tomorrow” she studies your demeanor, waiting for you to opt out. Hoping in a sick, twisted way that you would - since that would mean that you’d be safe. You don’t hesitate. “He doesn’t know…yet. But, I know him. He would not turn this job down. Besides, he owes us too much, he can’t”
You nod. “Well…he’ll probably be as pleased with working with me as I am with him” you say, rolling your eyes.
“It’s about time the two of you get over that little feud of yours” Valerie interjects, you send her a warning look
“Ain’t my fault he’s fucking unbearable” You point at her, gesticulating your annoyance already brewing by the mere thought of him. She shrugs.
“I’ll call him on the radio - let him know.” Tess says.
--
“With her?!” You hear Joel’s voice boom down from the hallway, annoyance evident on his voice. ‘yup. i was right’ You think to yourself, chuckling as you’re eavesdropping from the other room. They start start walking towards the kitchen, where you are stood. When he sees you, he nearly rolls his eyes, stopping in his tracks. “Well. Looks like we’ll be partners.”
You smile tight-lipped, nodding and holding back an eye roll of your own - trying your best to be civil. “Seems that way”
“We leave at 8. ‘Expect you to be ready by 7 forty-five” He commands. You nod at his instructions. ‘One minute of a partnership, and he has already taken the leading role. Fucking jackass.’ you think to yourself. “Better get some rest”
“Yeah, no kidding…” You mumble to yourself, sneering. He gives you a warning look. One that says ‘don’t start’.
Knowing there’s no point in furthering this conversation as tensions are already high, and you have months to argue with him, you turn to walk “I’ll go pack then” You announce, turning around.
“And try not to piss me off” Joel says loudly as you walk away. You just hold up your middle finger and leave the room. “Real mature!” He scoffs as he looks at Tess with a look that says ‘can you believe her?’, she just shrugs.
That night you packed all that you would need - supplies, food, weapons, a tent…the everyday outing must haves in the midst of an active apocalypse, also…for the cold. Of course, you are not a total stranger to it, living here in Boston, but you also know that the cold here won't compare to the temperatures you are about to face - as you know walking through the north of the US in late autumn, early winter will not be an easy feat - and in a little tent, at that. It was estimated you would be gone for about a couple of months, at least - which is by far the longest job you’d ever been on. But, it was essential.
That morning you wake up particularly early, to make it a point not to be late. Wouldn’t want to give Joel the satisfaction of berating you. You can already feel yourself wanting to spite him. Tess helped you carry your things down, not that you needed help, rather she felt bad for sending you to do something like this. Capable or not, she had a …. Somewhat motherly instinct for you. She also gave you the map with the places you’re headed, where you’re meeting the informants, where the safehouses are located and so on - and gave you the same rundown as she did for Joel, keeping the both of you informed. You are now stood in the kitchen, with your things in your arms. She paused and looked at you, having trouble finding the words, feeling herself getting choked up by the reality of the situation. Before you can diffuse the fears you see swirling in her head, she holds you tight. “You be real careful of yourself, got it?”
“Yes m’am.” You say, voice slightly strained by the suffocating tight hold she has around you. She lets go of you, and cups one side of your face with her hand, and smiles with glassy eyes. She shakes her head as she takes a step back, as if to snap out of the sentimentality.
“Now go and get that medicine.” she nods, trying to sound emotionless and strong. You nod and turn to walk out the building. “Oh, and… give him a tough time. Joel, I mean” She laughs
“You know I will” You wink, as you finally leave the house. Tess stands there with an awful feeling inside the deepest parts of her. She was meant to be the one to protect you, and here she is; sending you off to a mission where she doesn’t even know the magnitude of the threat it poses to your life. But, it’s too late now. Way too many people are depending on you.
You continue walking out, as you lean against the truck parked outside. You’re not going to drive far with it, only 10-12 hours or so. They wanted to transport it somewhere else to sell (since the ongoing surge of illness has eaten away at your community fund), and since it was on the way Tess figured it would not hurt to cut down the length of the trip just a little bit. You stand there for a while, until you check your clock: ‘7:46am’. You snigger by yourself. Without noticing, Joel was walking towards you, gear in hand
“Right in time, for once” He mumbles.
“You’re the one who is late, Joel” You correctly point out.
“It’s one minute, stop yappin’” He says, walking over to the truck, throwing his stuff into it and getting into the driver's seat, slamming the door. What a cheerful man.
You throw your bag into the car “I don’t understand why you’re the one driving” you mutter, getting into the passenger seat
“You know exactly why. Now shut it before I rip off ‘ya jaw and shove it up ‘ya ass.” He says, matter-of-factly, putting the keys in the ignition, turning it and starting the engine, looking forward.
“Ooh, very kinky, Joel” You say sarcastically, taunting him.
He puts his foot on the clutch, as he shifts the gear. “Keep talkin', and I'll leave ya here.” he says and starts driving.
“If only I’d be so lucky…” You mutter silently, watching out of the window as he pulls out on the narrow road through the tall buildings, keeping away from the major roads as they are heavily used by FEDRA.
“I heard that” He said, pointing at his ear, eyes on the road.
“I’m glad your hearing is working, old man. Gives us a bigger chance of survival” you chuckle
“Old man?” He asks, insulted by what you said. “I'll show ya old man if you don't shut the hell up.”
You roll your eyes, and decide to sit this one out. You know it’s not worth bickering, as you have a long, long road ahead of the two of you. “That’s better” He said after a little while of silence. You roll your eyes once again, deciding with all your will and might not to respond with a snippy comment, as you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of giving him the reaction he so obviously is searching for.
You two drive for hours and hours without saying a word, sitting in the thick tension that is between the two of you. It wasn’t necessarily a comfortable silence, rather a silence that comfortably didn’t mean you had to talk to him. After 7 hours, you can start seeing the shift in the sky, the colors indicating the impending sunset that's occurring.
“Maybe we should find somewhere to find shelter? Suns going down. “ You point out.
“I could work that out myself, thanks” He mutters. “We've still got a few hours left of daylight. Push on.”
“So I’m guessing your plan is that we sleep in the car?” You question, looking at him. He doesn’t leave his eyes from the road.
“Yup.” he says. Well, you couldn’t think of any better plan, to be fair. A truck is not a bad place to sleep given the alternative.
After about an hour or so, the car starts suddenly sputtering. “What the fuck?” Joel mumbles, as he quickly checks around the dashboard to see if there’s any indication as to what’s going on. You look over at him, quizzically. “Fuck!!” He shouts, hitting the steering wheel so hard that it honks, as the car comes to a halt. “That’s just…that’s just fucking great” He says, trying to restart the engine - to no avail.
“So much for your plan on ‘pushing on’” you said, looking out at the quickly darkening sky, mocking him. He looks annoyed at you, as he gets out of the car, to check the hood. When he does, a light amount of smoke seeps out.
Well, that sucks. But, you try to remind yourself that this truck was always going to be a temporary luxury, and you got 8 hours into the 12-hour trip. Oh well, more time with… Joel.. Sigh..
“Engines out” He grumbles, waving the smoke away from his face as he closes the hood again, standing and watching hopelessly at the car with one hand on his hip. “We’re not too far from the trucks drop off spot, guess we’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”
“So we just leave it here?” You ask
“Got a better idea? We’re in the middle of nowhere, nobody gonna steal it.” He answers.
“It’s your head, miller…” You mutter. He chooses not to answer to your snark.
“I say we still sleep in the car. It’s better than a tent.”
You nod in agreement “In the middle of the road?” You ask, looking at an already annoyed Joel. He grimaces, whilst he mocks what you just said
“No, you idiot, we’ll have to push it” he stated, looking around the road to see a good spot, and ended up pointing at a spot by some trees a couple meters from the road. “And it ain't an easy feat. Let’s see if you got the strength to push a two tonne vehicle, little miss”
You shrug. How bad can it be? Joel gets in the car and makes sure its gear is in neutral, as the both of you stand at the back of the car, starting to push. It takes some time, and Joel was right that it was, indeed, not an easy task. By the time you got the car by the trees you’re both catching your breath, Joel sweating profusely
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You say between breaths, holding your hands on your hips. He’s bent over in exhaustion.
“Oh bite me” He hisses. You try not to laugh. “We’ll have to leave it here, try to radio Tess somewhere along the way, so they can pick it up - at least before someone steals it”
You nod. It’s gotten dark, it’s time to sleep. So, you climb into the truck and start leaning back your seat to get as comfortable as you can. Joel does the same.
“So…” You say, breaking out the map. “We’ll have to recalibrate… it’ll be…what I'm guessing… 2 to 3 weeks to walk to our first meetup spot with the informants.” I sigh, already tired.
Joel nods. “I'll carry ya if ya get tired” He teases, looking over at you as he lays back in his seat.
“Right back at you princess” You answer without a beat, changing the pins in the map, folding it back and lying on your side, away from Joel. He smirks at your answer.
“Y’sure got a mouth on you” He says.
You roll your eyes as you close your eyes “night”, you mumble, ready to sleep.
“G'night” he lies back on the seat and put his hat over his face before falling asleep.
--
The morning after, you wake up in a stir. The car was very cold, and the sun was just rising. You look around, and find that Joel is not in the car. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, and realize he’s popped the hood to check if there's any way to salvage this car. He sees you move around your head and peaks on the side of the hood
“g’morning, darlin’” he smirks. Is he more annoying than usual or is it because you just woke up? You can't decide. You furrow your eyebrows. He chuckles to himself at how displeased you seem to be awake. You were, after all, never a morning person. “We gotta get movin’”
“Yeah, yeah..” You mumble, getting out of the car to stretch and go to the backseat to collect all your things. Sleep still in your system, the two of you start walking along the road. After a while, you opt to walking through some hills, as Joel got more and more paranoid of meeting someone on the road. You walked for what must have been…14 hours, only taking a small break to eat something small that Tess had packed, sitting on two different places and not exchanging any words. The sun started setting, the sky turning an orange tinge.
“We better find shelter..come on” He said, looking around and seemingly found a spot not too far away - yet secluded enough to sleep for tonight. He increased his walking pace in a determined manner. You follow along not too far behind. Suddenly he stops dead in his steps.
“Jesus fucking Christ” He whispered to himself, anger and frustration very, very evident in his voice
“What?” You ask, eyeing him a bit worried about his reaction.
“God fucking damn it” He whispers to himself “Dammit - I forgot my tent. We'll have ta sleep in the open. Hope you ain't afraid of the dark…”
“Speak for yourself. I brought mine. I ain’t sharing.” You say, resuming your steps.
“You're a real treat to travel with you know that.” He says, looking at you stood still, frozen by his own frustration as he is kicking himself for forgetting that damn bag.
“I bet I am!” you yell, as you have managed to walk a bit further along than he has. He sulks as he continues walking.
You both decide on a safe spot to make a shelter. Joel and you start instinctively preparing to make a fire and collecting anything that will burn. To his dismay, a light downpour of snowflakes suddenly fall from the sky. You look up and laugh at the sheer irony of the situation, the frustration of the day just piling onto Joel. And it’s only the first day at that. “Ain’t that a bitch, huh, Miller?”
“Gotta be fucking kidding me” He groans. “That’s just great”
The two of you start a fire, and put two cans of soup on it for dinner. He is sitting against a rock, drinking whiskey, looking as happy as you could in his situation (spoiler alert, he is sulking). You are putting up your tent, which you dutifully brought (unlike Joel) and you pause as you catch a glimpse of the sad man who seems to be very stressed with the current predicament he has found himself in. He is visibly freezing his ass off. You feel strangely bad. He can't sleep in this cold…
“Look, miller” you pause, he looks at you. “You’re going to die in this cold. Let’s just share tents. Ain’t nun weird.”
He scoffs, and looks back at the fire, taking a sip of the whiskey “I'm good”
You sigh. “Stop being such a fucking Stoic and get over yourself. If you share your whiskey, I’ll share my tent” you say. Maybe by making a deal out of it, it’ll be easier for him to accept your help, you thought.
He thinks for a while. He weighs out his options, as if there is not only one he can realistically go with - which is to accept your help. “Fine. Half-and-half?”
You nod, somewhat happy that he accepted, yet less happy of the reality - which was that you have to share a tent tonight. “Half and half” You repeat, nodding. You walk towards him and sit next to him.
He gets another cup from his bag and fills it with his cheap, illegally brewed scotch, and passes it to you. “That’ll warm us up nicely” He said. It tastes like piss and firewood.
“Aye” You say. “How did you manage to remember bringing your whiskey, and not your tent?” You ask, with a slight hint of laughter to your voice.
He huffed. “Priorities” He smirked, turning to you.
“Well. I hope you have brought enough to maintain your end of the deal” you say, taking a sip. He silently lifts his bag, emitting a number of clinking noises, entailing he has probably got enough to last him weeks. Maybe a week now that you are involved.
“Seems like an unnecessarily heavy weight to carry” you remark, taking a sip of the strong liquid.
He stays silent for a while. “You’ll understand it soon enough” is all he says. Not knowing what he meant, neither caring all too much, you shrug and kept drinking aside each other in the dark silence. You eat the soup when it’s done, too. You pulled your legs to your chest to maintain more warmth, as it feels as though its getting colder by the minute, a few stray snowflakes falling onto the ground and quickly melting away.
“Didn’t think you were so damn sensitive to the cold” he suddenly said.
“M’not, it’s fucking freezing” you say, breathing out.
“Don't think I don’t see you shivering, princess” he says, with a sly smirk on his mouth
“Right back at you, princess” You say, mocking the way he said it to you. “Don’t fucking call me that ever fucking again, by the way”
“Someone’s a tad touchy, ain’t they?” He laughs, taking a swig from his whiskey
“Shut up, Miller”
“Why? M’igetting on your nerves?” he asks, sarcasm swelling in his voice.
“Always have been” You quickly retort.
“I’d say it’s mutual”
You nod, as you kept drinking. The whiskey has become a lubrication for the regular anguish you’ve felt in the presence of Joel. Now you felt no more than subtly irritated. The drunker you got, the happier you were of the deal you did with him. You kept drinking in silence, until you’ve drained about a quarter of the bottle - which might seem like a little, unless you calculate the amount of food you’ve ingested compared to the whiskey you’ve drank. Your cup is, once again, empty - and you guide the cup towards Joel, who dutifully fills it with more.
“Here ya go, princess” he says sheepishly, and you turn to give him a warning look
“I’m serious Joel, I’ll knock the teeth right out of your mouth if you keep calling me that.” You say, rather aggressively.
“I’d like to see you try” He snorts out.
You decide not to answer, as he is clearly getting a rise out of antagonizing you. You roll your eyes and chug the rest of your cup. So did, Joel.
He, again, filled your cup. “You seem happy I brought the whiskey. Like you could use some of it” He comments
“No shit. I’ve got two to three months on a mission with you. And it’s only the second night” you shrug. “Not to mention that we have to share tents…”
“I ain't that bad” He chuckles.
“You’re drunk” you add.
“So are you” he quickly responds.
You nod, and sit in silence for a while - both, quite drunk. “I’m fucking tired. You tired?”
You feel a bit loopy from all the alcohol, but stand up and agree, walking over to your tent. The closer you get to the tent, the more you realize just how small it really is. I mean, it’s small for just one person, imagine how cramped it is for two? Surely, the both of you cannot fit in there - what the hell have you gotten yourself into? You think to yourself.
Joel walks slowly towards the tent as he watches you look into the tent, worriedly. He looks himself, and the same thought passing your mind right now has suddenly dawned upon his, “Oh, boy….” he mumbled
“Yeah, I know.”. You are both stood there, looking, for a while - until you initiate and climb into the tent, and lie down on the right side - making as much space for Joel’s body as you can.
“This ain't gonna be comfortable, not one bit...” he says, as he lies down next to you in the tent, in a clumsy and stale motion.
Your bodies are uncomfortably pressing together, without there being enough room to move away, nor was there to shuffle to a more spacious yet also non compromising position. You tried lying back to back, as it seemed the natural and least intimate way to lie next to one another, thus facing away from one another. Still then, there wasn’t enough space to spare personal space - not in this tent.
“God this sucks.” you mutter from one side.
“You got that right.” He answers from the other.
You groan, as you try to get comfortable, nudging your elbow into his back in the process. He huffs out of pain. “You're making it worse.”
“Shut up. I’m just trying to get comfortable” You say, feeling an unrest in your body - one that the whiskey was not strong enough to numb.
“So am I” He gets more irritated as you keep nudging into him.
Finally, you settled to lie on your side, facing away from Joel. He takes the newly found empty space and lies with his arms against your back. You groan. “Your arms are hurting my back” he does not seem to care, and stays silent. You finally give into defeat, as the mixture of the sleepiness and alcohol slowly seems to overtake your body and you both fall asleep.
Somewhere at night, you had rolled over. Joel was very warm, so naturally, subconsciously, you drifted closer to the source. With your face against his chest, he was softly awoken by the warm breaths coming out of your mouth, in small snores. He looked down, and saw you sleeping peacefully, right against him. He lied completely still, not sure if he should wake you up. The snores were not loud enough to keep him up, so he presumed that is the price he’ll have to pay to sleep somewhere warm tonight, so he tried closing his eyes and fall back asleep, repeating in his head not to look anymore at you - and just go to sleep.
Suddenly you wake up, the morning after, head plastered against Joel’s chest, with his arm slung around your body, and your arm slung over his shoulder. It felt comfortable and warm….strangely.. Good lying like that, but you didn’t know how to react. It was utterly intimate and had crossed the border to cuddling very long ago. And oh god…is that your saliva on his shirt? Did you drool on his chest?! You were so close to him that you could smell the stench of whiskey on his breath, no less your own bouncing from his chest and back to your nostrils. You were basically on second base with the man, without ever remembering if you fell asleep that way or if you had done it in your sleep. I mean hell, you barely remember getting into the damned tent…’we must’ve gotten very drunk’ you thought to yourself. You must’ve rolled over and not thought about it.
You lie frozen, unsure what to do in this situation. If you jerk too much, you’ll wake him - but if you don’t move… he’ll see what you are seeing as of right now - which is you two in an extremely compromising situation. Maybe you could turn around? But then it would border spooning…curse this god-damn tent!
As if awoken by your thoughts, Joel’s body moves as if he’s waking up - and in a hasty and rushed move, he jerks his arm away from you - as if he just went through the same train of thoughts you did when you woke up. “What the fuck” He groaned, looking at you in an.. Almost disturbed manner.
“Fuck.. Uh, mornin’..” You peep out, embarrassed. Kicking yourself for not acting faster before he woke.
“Morning” he says in a rushed voice as he looks around, slightly panicked. None of you know what to say, an awkward silence hanging over you. He is quick to peel away from you to climb out of the tent. “We gotta get going” he announced.
“Y-yeah” You say, sitting still in the tent, processing the situation. When you have mustered enough strength, you crawl out of the tent too - stretching as you stand up. You pack up and walk alongside each other in silence, might as well have been miles apart. The weight of your unspoken closeness from the previous night's ‘cuddling’ lingers in the air, you were both a bit thrown off, sharing the occasional glances at each other, unsure of how to address what had happened, or whether it was better left unspoken. There wasn’t much to say, to be honest. I mean, what was there to say?
You got quite accustomed to the silence, to hearing nothing but the sound of your footsteps, wet against the humid grass. You’d think that walking for hours on end without the distraction of conversation would be something that would bother you, it proved to do the opposite. Without it, It was as if the world around you had muted its colors and sounds, leaving only the barest minimum of sensory input - which made time somewhat fly by. The aching in your feet and legs slipped to the back of your mind. You wondered if Joel was quiet because he was doing the same.
You also wondered what his thoughts were regarding this morning, and how you woke up. You didn’t talk about it, that’s obvious enough…but, what was he thinking about? Maybe he didn’t think about it at all - it was, after all, innocent, you rationalized. Was he also trying to decipher the mixed emotions you were feeling without giving them too much weight - since that might make them real, after all? You can’t deny just how safe and comfortable you felt, regardless of who it was.
Joel spotted you glancing at him here and there, he was equally aware of the tension. He, too, couldn't shake off the memory; He couldn’t help but to replay the events of last night in his mind, wondering if it was merely a product of shared body heat or something deeper. I mean, he could have just pushed you away…yet the unexpected warmth of your body against his, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as you slept, your breath hot against his chest.. It had been an intimate moment, and he couldn’t help but…enjoy it. However, he was as stubborn as ever, unwilling to broach the topic nor delve into the act itself. Instead, he focused on the mission at hand, pushing the awkwardness aside, shaking his head, not wanting to think too much of it either.
As you continued on the journey, the trees began to thin out, and you found yourself standing at the edge of a clearing, the sun going down behind a mountain up ahead. You looked at Joel, who seemingly had the same thought you did - it was time to find shelter. He took the map out of his bag and looked around. “We aren’t too far away from a safe house” he grumbled.
You nodded, taking out a map of your own, trying to help him in the search of said safe house. As you slowly approach the road leading to the building the weather began to change. Dark clouds gather in the sky, and the first few raindrops fall, pelting against your clothes. The urgency of getting under a roof became more apparent, so you quickened your pace.
Your breaths are visible in the cold, damp air, and the water has seemingly seeped into your clothes - leaving you feel colder and heavier. The cold made your thoughts kept circling back to the tent. The unexpected warmth of Joel's body against yours.. ‘God damn it. Get a grip. it's not even day four, and you're losing your mind.’ You thought to yourself.
Finally, you reached the safe house, which wasn’t what either of you had hoped for. It was an abandoned decrepit building, a relic of the world before the outbreak, with a roof that had seen better days. It was a stone building, partially hidden away by the tall unkept grass surrounding it, as well as tall trees huddling around it, vines growing on the walls. It was probably old 20 years ago, let alone now… The building was leaking from the roof and had gaping holes in the walls - making the shelter far from ideal. It offered some protection from the rain, but not much else. It was, however, better than getting drenched in the pouring rain and being exposed to the elements. You closed the door behind you and took a moment to catch your breath, looking around.
“Well.. This is the best we've got for now” He finally muttered as the wind howled through the gaping holes in the walls.
You look around and find it was pretty empty. There wasn’t any furniture, just a chair. Floor filled with scattered garbage and miscellaneous, dusty items from people who have been here before. The water is dripping from your clothes onto the stone floor beneath you, creating a puddle. "We need to get out of these wet clothes," he finally stated, his voice practical and no-nonsense.
You knew he was right, but the timing of it made it slightly uncomfortable. He knew he was straining on the already strange atmosphere that has been looming over the two of you since you found each other in the brace of one other. However, you also knew the reality of the situation. Your pride was warring with the necessity of the situation. The chill in the air and the knowledge of the dangers of hypothermia prevailed, and rational thought found its way back to you. You have months left to travel with Joel - and undressing in front of him to ward off sickness should not be an embarrassing thing, it ensures your survival and should be nothing more - is nothing more.
He could see the hesitation in your eyes, as you shivered, teeth chattering. He looked around for any dry fabric he could find within the safehouse—tattered old blankets and worn-out jackets. It wasn't the most comfortable solution, but it would have to do for now. He picked up a jacket. “Here.”
You nodded in agreement and began peeling off your drenched attire. Joel did the same, his back turned to maintain some semblance of privacy. Finally free from the soaked garments, you are quick to put on the jacket, zipping it, covering your body enough to feel more comfortable. You start wringing out the excess water from the clothes you wore, leaving a puddle of water there. You avoided even looking in the direction of Joel, who you know is (most likely) currently butt naked. Instead, you find a moth-eaten blanket in a corner of the room that the rain hadn’t reached. Shivering uncontrollably, you wrap it around your waist, covering your exposed legs. You could see a not so naked Joel who had found some pieces of clothing to cover himself, thankfully. He was now hanging his wet clothes against the singular chair that he moved to one of the few dry spots in the house, so you opt to do the same. The room was still far from warm, and the leaky roof didn't help matters, but, at least you were in dry clothes, if you can call them that.
You spot the ever so tiny wood burning stove in the corner of an empty adjoining room. You check if there’s any wood in there, and to your surprise there is - however, not much of it. Enough for tonight, and that’s all that mattered. You started a small fire and quickly huddled up against it for warmth. Joel walked into the room, as he’d seen the light from the fire from the corner of his eye. He nodded in approval as he silently walked towards you, sitting down next to you to also keep warm. You both sit there in silence, waiting for the clothes to dry.
Joel broke the silence, his voice softer this time "We'll have to wait out the storm here, and then we can continue our journey." You nod, agreeing.
As the night wore on, the humidity in the room strangled the feeble fire you had managed to kindle earlier, ultimately snuffing it out. The temperature inside the safehouse plummeted, and it became apparent that you couldn't rely on the fire for warmth any longer “Damn it” You mutter, shivering once again, trying to revive the fire - to no avail.
What was also apparent was that the two of you were so obviously treading around the one thing you knew would help warm you up, very much proven by last night. Unsure, feeling awkward, you didn’t know if you should bring it up. Proudly, you both sat there in silence. The memory of the previous night and the warmth that entailed lingered in the back of both of your minds. It had been an unspoken but undeniable source of comfort in the midst of the harsh world you inhabited, and now, with the cold seeping into your bones, and the urgency to get warm overtaking the awkward tension looming over you, the thought of that shared warmth became impossible to ignore.
Without saying a word, you shifted closer to Joel, seeking his body heat. Joel, initially surprised, looking over at you, understood the unspoken request and shifted to accommodate you. It was an unspoken agreement, a silent acknowledgment that you needed each other's warmth to survive the harsh, cold night.
With a shared understanding of practicality and mutual vulnerability, you created a makeshift sleeping area consisting of zipped up sleeping bags, dry blankets and whatever else fabric you could spare that would dampen the solidity of the cold, damp floor. This was where you settled as you finally lay side by side. You tried to find a comfortable position, mirroring the way you had slept in the tent the night before, with him against your back. Your bodies pressed together, and your breaths synchronized in the cold darkness, neither of you speaking about it, rather you let your bodies instinctively gravitate closer, seeking the heat that the other provided.
In the quiet of the night, as you shared body heat to stave off the biting cold, the tension that had lingered between the two of you began to seemingly fade. Despite the uncomfortable surroundings and your strained relationship, you both found a strange comfort in your shared warmth and the familiarity of each other's presence. There was no need for snark, nor sly remarks; pissing each other off. Neither did you have to discuss the somewhat uncomfortable, albeit innocent yet necessary, situation you’ve found yourself in. The cold was unforgiving, and your priority was to avoid hypothermia. You were, after all, nothing but two survivors making the best of the harsh and unforgiving circumstances given to you, finding solace and comfort in each other's company, even if it was unconventional.
He hesitantly kept his arms to his side. Joel broke the silence, clearing his throat, his voice barely a whisper, "I never thought I'd miss that damn tent." trying to diffuse more of the tension.
You slightly laugh, feeling a slight cramp in your body from the duress of the situation. The laugh eased up some internal tension you didn’t even know you were holding onto. “It was for sure warmer than this” You chuckle.
He smiled. And that was that. You were both admittedly exhausted, and drifted off into a very well-earned sleep, lulled by the heat radiating between the two of you. Secretly, you couldn’t help but to wish for the extra warmth that came from his arms around you, as it did yesterday, holding you impossibly close, keeping you safe in his big strong arms. Little did you know that he was thinking the same, but it was simply a line that Joel couldn't bring himself to cross. You had already navigated enough awkwardness and unspoken emotions that night. That didn’t stop him, however, from subconsciously doing so in his sleep - just as he did the night before.
Morning came, and you were awakened by the sun shining through the window, and onto your face. To your surprise, you felt your body be wrapped in the warmth of Joel's embrace. He must have instinctively put his arm around you whilst he slept. At first, you felt a sense of contentment. It was strange, but also undeniable. It was a reassuring feeling, knowing that he was there, holding you tightly - just as you had secretly hoped. But, as your senses fully woke up, you became acutely aware of something else - a firm pressure against your back that couldn't be ignored. You froze, your eyes widening in shock, and your heart raced as you registered the presence of Joel's erection pressed against your back. Joel was still asleep, as far as you were concerned. His breath heavy and warm on your shoulder, light snores leaving his mouth. Your mind raced as you tried to process the situation. You two had already crossed so many boundaries during the night to stay warm, but this felt like an entirely different kind of boundary altogether. Was this intentional? Or just a physiological response to their proximity?
Was there a sick, twisted part of you that engulfed your mind with fantasies of alleviating the pressure burning in the pit of your stomach with the (from what your back could feel was a very appropriately sized) dick prodding at your back? Yes. You were only human, after all. Were you going to do anything about it? No. You knew this was not intentional, not realistically. You’re a grown woman and know that he couldn’t control it just as much as you couldn’t control your deep guttural reaction to such an… event.
You debated over your next moves, unsure of how to navigate this uncharted territory. If you move away, he will wake up, realize he has a boner and think it scared you off. But if you lie there, hoping it goes away, and he wakes up with a raging boner still in full swing rubbing against you - he’d be mortified. Him, being a proud man would never live that down, and would probably not talk to you again, or at least not know what to say, in the midst of his own embarrassment. After yesterday, and the progress you made in your ‘partnership’, you couldn’t help but to dread the deafening silence that came with the impending awkwardness. You’ve been through so much already, and have yet to even get close to finishing this mission. So much left yet to go through. You have crossed so many bridges, this is just one of them. This was just a fleeting moment and not as significant as it might feel in the heat of the moment. It’s not a big deal, not really, just bodies doing body stuff. Or at least that is what you are telling yourself.
Carefully, you adjusted your position ever so slightly, shifting your body away from his rock solid member to relieve the pressure between your bodies, all the while ensuring that you didn't wake him from his peaceful slumber. It was a delicate maneuver to maintain the pretense of sleep, but you hoped it would be enough for you to potentially feign ignorance, just in case he was awake. You, flustered by the situation and the thoughts lingering in your (albeit perverse) mind, could not fall back asleep. Rather, you lied there letting your thoughts run wild. Couldn't hurt to indulge into harmless fantasy?
A couple of moments later, you could feel shifting next to you. Joel slowly woke up, feeling the oh so familiar throbbing that welcomes him in the mornings from time to time. Joel comes to his senses as he gently wakes up, quickly remembering the way he fell asleep against you and how much of a compromising position that would be for him right now. He quickly snapped his eyes open to see, to his relief, that you had moved away in your sleep, or at least so he thought. ‘Phew’ he thought to himself. He quickly sprung to his feet, leaving the room - hoping it goes away before you wake. He was not entertaining the idea of taking care of it, it could be too risky.
Him waking up reminded you of his existence, which filled your lust driven mind with an enormous guilt and shame regarding your thoughts. He didn’t have control over that, and your insatiable mind went and ran with it. You quickly shook the thoughts off and tried to think of something else as you laid there, unsure how to proceed..
You laid still until you heard Joel packing his bag. You took it as an indication that you were out of the woods, and had dodged a bullet - even though the both of you are flustered by it, without the knowing that the other one knew. You get up, and start folding the cloth and blankets that made up your ‘bed’, and walked out to the room with the bags and packed. Joel didn’t say anything.
“G’mornin’” You announce your presence. He, already hyper aware of it, hums as a response. You don't look much into it, relieved he isn’t treating you differently considering last night's sleeping arrangements. When you packed up, you put your backpack around your shoulders, your rifle around your neck and the rest of your gear clinging to the bag. You look at Joel, who is watching you as you pull the straps of the bag. You look up and nod. “Let’s go?”
He nods. You’re off.
#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#the last of us hbo#tlou hbo#joel tlou#tlou serie#tlou series#the last of us#joel miller x f!reader#light angst#light smut#joel miller x you#here goes nothing
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Threadbare (3)
Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader
Part Three: Rupture/Fracture (see previous or series)
Summary: Steve skirts the line between protector and absolute doofus. Your fashion show begins.
[Image submitted by ask and does not reflect reader's race or body type. It's just a visual of the gown described in this chapter. Also from an unknown source. Credit to the creator.]
Warnings for canon-level violence and some mild language. This story is rated Teen. WC 4251
Captain America: Man of Action.
Steven Grant Rogers? Eh, not so much.
It’s a risky strategy—to do nothing—but Steve’s run out of ideas.
He doesn’t know what’s upset you. He doesn’t know what Tony does know. He doesn’t have a backup plan to his initial, lame, ‘date’-in-the-diner-downstairs idea, and yes, he knows that was pathetic in-and-of itself. Steve got the words out, though, didn’t he? That’s progress in the trench warfare he’s waging on the one thing that still completely intimidates him: womanhood.
That’s not to say Steve is fighting against you and all you are, but he doesn’t know where he fits in anyone’s equation of life and partnership. Relationships imply relating to each other, and he lives in a tower with superheroes, a billionaire, highly-trained agents who are all ranked above the other 99% of their classmates, and several legitimate aliens.
This does not instill him with confidence on his relating-to-the-average-human skills.
Before Steve was a super soldier, he was also pretty shit with women. It never got better because there was no time to try.
Since Steve has time now, he’s convinced he’ll do something stupid, and that’s really why he sits on his laurels.
This behavior apparently frustrates more than just Steve.
“So how’s your girl?” Sam Wilson asks nonchalantly, petting his beard while watching the final assessment of their newest recruits.
“Faulkner looks injured. His form is off and he’s slower than usual.” Steve makes a note on his tablet.
“Yeah, guy got kneed in the berries for a bad pickup line at the bar last night. Don’t change the subject.”
“Not necessary,” Steve grumbles in avoidance.
Sam scoffs. “You didn’t hear the pickup line.”
“Guy gets hit like that and you think that makes me want to talk about dames more?”
“Ladies, Cap, go with ‘ladies.’”
“Old-fashioned man with—“ he yells out “—find your balance, Pritchard, then block—“ then sighs “—old-fashioned notions.”
“This might surprise you, but we noticed. Maybe you should make some effort to be in her space, huh?” Sam jots something down. “I’m just saying, she spent weeks here. With you. Close. Convenient. Maybe it’s your turn?”
Steve scans the fighters across the room, his brain processing nothing he’s seeing for a moment.
“Maybe it is…”
Steve isn’t actually doing nothing, per se; he’s simply keeping tabs (respectfully) from afar. He sets up an alert for your location if the posted cops call in anything whatsoever. He’s got an alert for Richard Fisk, too, and that has let him know that the man who threatened you has spent one overnight in jail on the opposite side of the city within the last week. It reassures Steve that Kingpin’s son is not wholly focused on you. Maybe this will all blow over? That’s good, right?
Your storefront’s curb still sports a police cruiser, but inside aren’t the same two men from your run-in with Fisk.
Steve rolls the garment bag he brought off his shoulder and does not take an extra deep breath right before pulling open the door. It’s a normal breath. He’s fine. Fine.
Again, as several other times before, you’re nowhere to be seen.
“Oh my god,” your fourth assistant squeaks from behind the counter.
He knows his name. They know each other’s names—clearly—but have never met.
The young man stands taller. “Oh…my god. Hell-oh.”
Steve…is not sure whether the once over your youngest employee gives him is flattering or objectifying but rallies to get to his point.
“You must be Byron,” Steve tries casually, suppressing the awkward smirk rising with gentle heat to his cheeks. “I was wondering if the lady of the house was in to return this.”
Steve’s glad he has the jacket as a prop, something to do with his hands as he nervously glances toward the upstairs where he knows you live anyway. You’re here. He knows it. You’re working, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt you. He has no other options, or at least, no other options that don’t make him feel a bit creepy.
“‘Fraid not, sir. But—“ Byron gathers his wits more admirably than Steve seems to be “—I’m sure I can help with anything you require, Mr. America.”
“Just Steve is fine,” he smiles back. Steve scans the open fitting rooms for Dominica or any of the others he has a rapport with, but no such luck. “And just the jacket.”
“What seems to be the problem with it?”
“Oh, no, it’s not mine. I was just standing in for a fitting when I got called away and…accidentally took it.”
Byron eyes Steve suspiciously. “You…you stood in…for the fit of another client’s jacket? Another client that…looks like you?”
Steve rolls his shoulders in discomfort. “She asked me to,” he defends lamely.
Byron keeps looking at him as if Steve’s grown an extra head instead of just a head taller than his original stature. “Ok,” your assistant shrugs, “let’s see who the marker is for.”
Steve shoves the hanging bag in Byron’s outstretched hand, nervous again. He shouldn’t have come. This was a bad idea. Damnit, Sam, stay in your lane.
Deftly, clearly recalling a move he’s executed thousands upon thousands of times, Byron unzips the bag, tucks the opening under the shoulders of the jacket, runs his hand down the left side seam, and flips up the corner to peek at the lining.
Steve sees a glint of metallic he never noticed.
“Remind me of your middle name, Mist—sorry, Captain Rogers.”
“It’s Grant,” Steve blurts without thought. “Why?”
“This is your jacket, sir, down to the threads.” Byron smiles, a glistening white band of teeth bared for the enjoyment of all, and gleefully spins the garment around to show a delicately stitched ’S G R’ in silver against the deep purple.
Steve’s cheeks are on fire.
“But…” he stammers. “That’s not…” Steve hunches over the counter as if it will settle a bet his mind and heart are arguing.
You asked about the color…and he said he loved it.
You shyly asked if he’d spare the time to help you…and he jumped at the chance.
You made him a custom jacket and tricked him into having it fitted.
Steven Grant Rogers: Idiot.
“Captain!” a voice exclaims from the stairwell. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Tarik shuffles down the last few steps looking a little worse for wear and sidles up beside his coworker. His gaze drops to the counter.
“Oooh, I see ma’m’selle went with the midnight—“ Steve doesn’t understand the next few words he uses and Tarik notices the glazed look. “The shine,” he clarifies. “Gives it that color-changing look.”
Byron leans to his left. “He says he wants to return it.”
As soon as Tarik tries to lift the hanger up though, Steve pulls it back.
“No, no. Not returning. I only…thought…” He tucks the jacket back under the protective liner, scrambling for an answer. “I didn’t know…it was for me,” Steve tries once more, like that helps to explain anything. “Hey, can I ask you both a question?”
The young men put on perfect customer service faces and wait.
“Is that unit outside keeping everyone safe in here? I mean, do you all feel, ya know, covered, I guess?”
They look at each other quizzically.
“Yeah, I guess,” Byron shrugs.
“Nothing’s happened,” Tarik mutters.
While Steve is pleased to hear that, his concern for you isn’t exactly diminished. “But she’s never here alone, right? Is no one staying overnight? You’re not…worried about Fisk?”
“We’ve been working some insane hours since the overhaul,” Tarik admits, but there’s no chance for Steve to ask what that means. “Doma was here until three in the morning, so she’s off today. Abby’s set to come in—“ Tarik checks his watch “—an hour or so for Ronny.”
“It’s family dinner night,” Byron jumps in. “Mom’ll kill me if I miss.”
Steve softens. His ma would be the same way if she… “Family dinner night,” he repeats, holding the garment bag a little closer. “Right, and no other unnerving customers bothering you?”
The younger assistant gulps and continues to stare.
Apparently, Steve counts as ‘unnerving.’
If there’s no threat anymore, then truly how the hell is Steve supposed to get closer to you again? In the most bizarre way, a villain looming over you was the perfect excuse for Steve to spend all that time and effort on you, and shifting back to ‘normal’ scenarios of dating a civilian isn’t exactly in his wheelhouse.
“Ok then,” he drawls, “would you—if it’s—if you wouldn’t mind letting her know I stopped by?” Steve waits for Tarik’s polite nod, fighting the urge to say you can call him. You could have called Steve this entire time. He left his personal cell at the fittings, so you absolutely have the number. If you haven’t used it yet, there’s probably a reason.
He finishes with a lame, “I’ll be on my way. Have a good evening and dinner with your family.”
Steve’s being supportive. He’s just here as an extra set of hands should the need arise. He’s absolutely not being a creep. He only sits atop your roof watching one cop return from the routine perimeter check in case you need help.
He won’t bother you, he doesn’t expect anything, and he can’t even see you. There’s nothing untoward about it.
Steve crosses his arms across his chest and watches the sun go down but with much less of a view and a swath of boring gray clouds all over. “For safety,” he grumbles lowly. “That’s all.”
He justifies staying because the cops neither spotted him nor cased the top of the building. He’s filling a gap in your security. It doesn’t, however, alter the fact Steve is skulking around the rooftop of the girl he likes, but he’s here. He expects nothing in return except the piece of mind that you’re okay.
Maybe some would find his night shift boring, but Steve brought his sketchpad and can see just fine in the ambient street light. The freedom to sit and draw all night long is wonderful.
No one watches him. No one looks for him. His phone sits at his hip, and since the Team think he is with you, no one calls.
Abby finally leaves at 1am, yawning a goodnight to the officer in the passenger seat and walking away unfazed. Steve even hears the man ask if she wants an escort home, but your assistant says ‘no.’ From the way the offer is worded, it’s as oft repeated as it is rejected.
If Fisk were going to leverage one of your employees, he’d have made that move by now, and Steve’s impression of Kingpin’s son is the man enjoys direct control. He wouldn’t want you obedient to keep others from harm. Fisk wants submission. He wants you to do what he says for him, not for anyone else. The irony is that Richard Fisk isn’t intimidating enough on his own and uses the muscle of bodyguards to complete the illusion of strength.
Steve knows the type. He’s only worried when he’s not close enough to handle Fisk himself, if it comes to that.
Luckily, the night passes quietly, and close or not, Steve doesn’t have to do anything. The rounds of perimeter checks are like clockwork while the lights glow from your apartment onto the thin windowsills below him.
Steve huffs. That means you never officially turn in. He crosses his arms again, wondering if you fell asleep at your drafting desk.
Byron returns, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wearing an actual fur vest, at 5am.
The cops change shift at 6, the cruiser replaced by an identical car and two very similar passengers.
Byron emerges right at 6:10 with coffee for the officers in hand—two insulated tumblers—and fifty minutes later, one of the pair takes the cups back inside before his round.
Steve naps in the gentle spring sun as if this is truly a vacation, waking hungry enough for a late lunch and a walk in the park a few blocks over.
This is probably the park you stroll when overwhelmed, and stressed, as you probably are right now, but you never come out. He keeps walking, passing close enough to see your shop before another lap, and another. He gets a strange amount of enjoyment from trying every street vendor setup nearby until he’s back on the roof before sunset, remembering how you tucked your feet up on the folding chair and under the blanket about a week ago. It’s stupid that feels like forever ago.
Steve sighs before leaning comfortably on the cool concrete and his little bedroll.
He wishes he had the stones to barge in and demand you take a break, but the access door he’s staring at only opens from the inside and he doesn’t want to end up like Faulkner.
The white noise of the city must have lulled him to sleep. He’s startled from his propped-up position by a thunk on the slab at his back.
There you are, letting go of the mug from one hand with a phone in the other.
“Hold your horses, Stark. Let the man get his bearings,” you hoarsely joke before pulling it away from your ear and extending it toward Steve. Your voice sounds good in the morning.
Of all the things rushing through his mind, all he gets out is, “what time is it, Button?”
You give him a small, tired smile and stand back up from crouching at his side. Your bare feet teeter while one side of your open robe sash brushes the ground.
“Time for you to learn to take your charger on sleepovers, sweetie,” Tony’s voice blares. “No breakfast in bed for you.”
Wiping sleep from his eye, Steve focuses on you stretching your neck from side to side.
“You okay?” he mouths.
The same tired smile flashes as you nod.
“What’s that racket? You two sleep with the windows open? How hot did that room g—“
“Tony,” Steve interrupts, more forcefully than intended, “what’s happened?”
“Three ping fire.”
“Don’t you mean three alarm fire,” Steve groans and buries his face in his palm, shifting to wake his tingling legs.
“Location pings, Casanova, and as the dude with a suit intended as a walking fire hazard, I’m not exactly in a position to steal that department’s lingo. Ya feel me?”
There’s silence while Steve picks up the dead phone at his hip and pockets it. “No, I do not feel you.”
Tony releases a raspberry on the other end. “I am suppressing half a dozen jokes to make you feel supported in your romantic endeavors right now. I hope you appreciate that effort.”
Steve picks up the mug left beside him and moves to say ‘thank you.’ It’s not a travel cup like Byron or Abby brings out to the cops which Steve assumes means this was your drink. Tony must have called while you were waking up, too.
“Your efforts are—“ Steve turns to see an empty roof again “—unnecessary.”
You’re gone. The access door closed again.
“I bet you’re already halfway here,” Tony muses. “You doing that power-run thing?”
The call disconnects and Steve lets it fall with his arm, limp in his lap. He sips at the steaming tea for mere seconds before it occurs to him.
If he texts himself from your phone, he’ll have your number.
“Damnit,” Steve exclaims when the locked screen taunts him.
Thank god the Team doesn’t actually know how bad he is at this. It’s embarrassing, really. He deserves to skulk around on concrete treetops and sleep on stone.
He leaves the mug and phone by the door before rushing off. He notes how impressive it is that not only is the roof access door so quiet that he didn’t hear it twice, but that also counts as a security concern. He might just be splitting hairs. He’s also impressed by how you could sneak up on him. Perhaps he’s gotten too comfortable with even the fake idea of being with you, but the fantasy is pretty great.
As Steve runs back to the Tower, all he can think about is how perfect breakfast in bed sounds, and it’s distracting enough to slow him…just a little.
Fighting helps. Kinda. Or rather, fighting takes Steve’s mind off of other things right up until the tide of battle turns and Tony Stark has a spare second to insert himself into Steve’s life as well as everyone’s comms.
“So what’s it gonna take for you to really do this thing?”
Steve doesn’t understand at first because he’s busy checking in on the agents around him like he’s supposed to be doing. Stark, on the other hand, casually flies toward the hidden base of their enemy’s operations.
“What? You thought you fooled anyone?”
“Not the time, Tony,” Steve gripes, sending the shield in a bouncing arc off two trees and three bad guys. Honestly, he also did think that everyone bought you two together. Why wouldn’t they? It was convincing enough to haunt Steve.
“Guy’s not usually jonesing to drive a golf cart if he’s already on the bullet train, if you know what I mean,” Tony blusters.
“Really, Stark,” Wilson yells from his position on the other side of the valley, “a train metaphor was your best choice?”
Steve purses his lips in response, slamming into one guy, using the momentum to jump, and kicking another guy dead in the chest. That guy ricochets back into a third. The third guy’s gun goes off and drops two more guys. Steve still doesn’t want to have this conversation, even if the actual attack situation is going well for his side.
“I’m just saying if he needs some help sealing the deal—“
“—leave him alone, Stark—“
“—then I can put in a word.”
“Oh!” Steve pops the shield straps back over his arm after mowing down another line of men. “Like you put in the words that made her leave?! What the hell did you say?”
Dang it. If you and Steve were really dating, he’d already know the answer to that.
“Easy, Straps and Abs, it was a test.”
Sam beats Steve to it. “And did she pass?”
There’s a burst of sound and an explosion in the distance.
“Um. She got pissed, for sure, but I don’t know yet. I may have suggested that she only liked Cap for being, ya know, a shiny, blond beefcake.”
“You used those exact words, did you? I take it back,” Sam mutters. “That is the most hypocritical thing Stark’s ever said.”
“Somebody’s gotta top me,” Tony snorts. “Might as well be—“
“Are you KIDDING?” Steve finally breaks.
“It’s important to me that she likes you for you. Sue me—though I’m obligated to warn you you’ll be stuck in litigation for—“
“Stark!” both Steve and Sam shout in frustration.
The leagues of bad guys lose formation as their base crumbles and their radios cut out. They exchange confused looks and disagree on whether to continue attacking or retreat.
“Relax,” Tony purrs before Iron Man touches down in front of Steve. The helmet opens. “I’ve got a ticket to the Tovarich Spring Show with your name on it, and I think…” Tony scans the floundering group just as backup jets arrive to help arrest the survivors. “We’ll be home in time for Rogers to put on a ballgown and hop in a pumpkin.”
One spot of purple in a sea of white.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
“Ma’am, the screens you wanted set up are all positioned, and we are ten minutes from showtime,” the stage manager says in seeming slow-motion beside you. “Ma’am,” she tries again when you don’t answer. You’re too distracted by the wrong arrangements.
“I ordered butterfly bush…”
“What?”
“I ordered…I didn’t order white roses,” you croak.
Fisk’s signature flower sits on every table, lines every aisle, adorns the entire rim of the runway, and you did not order them.
Richard ‘The Rose’ is messing with you. It makes your blood boil more than it makes your hands shake because he’s not going to get what he wants. You’re not going to give it to him, but you are going to show what you can do. He can’t take credit for your work. He will not own you.
“We don’t have time to change them—“
“He’s here!” Abby bounds over, gripping your shoulder, panting after running all the way from the press tent. “Captain Rogers is here. He’s wearing the jacket.”
A nervous smile forces its way across your lips before you grasp Abby’s hand, quickly looking back at the single stalk of butterfly bush dangling in beautiful fuchsia clusters in a vase of roses. It’s a sign, proof that Fisk was able to rewrite your order, a threat that he can rewrite your life if he so chooses.
He’s wrong. You’ll show him. You’ll show everything tonight.
“Thank god for that,” you whisper, squeezing your assistant, “because Steve’s probably about to get a hell of a show.”
The stage manager calls for all the models to line up. You fuss with the finishing touches on all the men, asking how they feel, delighted when each and every one answers with some form of ‘great,’ ‘fantastic,’ or ‘never better.’ That’s what this whole line is about: confidence and comfort.
There’s no cookie-cutter mold for a handsome man. Every frame is inspiring.
You’ve explained to the models that they can reflect however they feel in the clothing on their walk down the runway. If they feel like strutting, then by all means. If they feel like beaming a beautiful smile, it’s welcome. Several pick a pocket to sink a strategic hand into.
A one-minute warning is given.
From your spot deep in the stage left shadows, you can see Steve front and center, pulling at his lapel anxiously before petting his thumb back and forth over the smooth fabric.
Nailed it, you think. He looks happy, so it’s just an added bonus that he looks so good and is covered.
Suddenly, his eyes find you and Steve sits straight up at the edge of his chair just as the lights go out.
The countdown softly descends from ten nine eight seven, the music cranks up above the short round of applause, and you exaggerate silent words, hoping not-quite-beyond hope that the super soldier can still see you in the dark.
‘For you, handsome.’
They’re off. Ten models. Slim and slight men radiant in perfectly crafted, fitted clothing that makes each look like a king in his own right. Not one is taller than 5’6’’ and not one weighs more the 130lbs. Next year, you’ll go bigger, but this statement is essential. One particular build is flawless to you, whether it ever changes or not.
Steve Rogers was just born to be loved by you in any body.
You get to watch it dawn on him, too.
Model 1: he’s a little miffed.
Model 2: his jaw goes slack.
Model 3: he’s transfixed and taking a shaky, deep breath.
By model number four, Steve doesn’t even see anymore, his head turning to where he knows you still stand, a soft expression in the soft glow from the stage.
Even in the dark and shadow, you feel pinned, flattered, and embarrassed. Your hands smooth down the navy overlay of your full skirt and tug at the thick structured cuffs to your metallic threaded bodice. It’s the same silver laced into Steve’s jacket.
Politely, Steve stands to cheer with the rest of the crowd, staring without demanding your attention, and you wait for all the models to start their final walk before stepping out into the cacophony of light and sound. The models flank you. Several grab your arm in appreciation.
It’s so bright. So loud.
The screens of fabric you had the crew raise are still visible at the back, lit through from the entrance where no one should be during the show, yet you see movement. Figure after figure files in, and then the noise shifts. Hands aren’t just banging together. Bullets are banging on the metal scaffold across the ceiling. Your audience’s screams morph from triumph to terror.
People scramble, knocking chairs and each other out of the way, pushing in opposite directions to avoid the same source of fear.
It’s chaos, and you can’t hesitate.
“Behind me,” you scream as loud as you can, and race to the edge of the runway.
Steve lunges for your feet as you pass, but you don’t let him stop you. Whatever he yells to do is lost in the din as you spin to flair your long skirt over the edge.
Rose stems snap and litter the floor.
Your back to Fisk’s men, you beat your fist to the star placard on your chest and activate the battery. It hums to life as electric current races through the silvery details on your chest and down your body, stiffening the thick, bulletproof fabric now on display high like a peacock’s plume.
And it works.
Steve stares up from the floor at a wall of red and navy around a silver star, and you have succeeded where Tony Stark could not. You created a shield not of metal but of thread.
@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @yiiiikesmish @trudy-shams @darsynia
A/N: I made myself entirely too emotional with this, so I am praying that you all like it as much as I do. I seriously need to go scream into a corner now though.
[Next Part]
[Light Masterlist; Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers x you#steve rogers fic#steve rogers x f!reader#steve rogers x female reader#fashion designer!reader#threadbare#captain america fanfiction#captain america x reader#captain america x you#romance#steve rogers angst#action/adventure#captain america angst
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Little but Fierce IV
Of course, you can't talk about Meryl without talking about Roberto. He's only there because of her. He's easy to dismiss - oh, drunk old dude who condescends to his female protégé - but he shouldn't be, no more than than Meryl herself should be dismissed.
Roberto is a teacher. He's there to impart lessons. He's also a journalist, so he's there to tell stories. Put them together, and you have the local critical thinker, as well as a good excuse for Meryl to back out if she decides it's too dangerous. He exists to give her choices and to shield her from the consequences of her mistakes, until she's firm enough on her feet to have learned.
And boy howdy, does she need to learn. Meryl got a lot of raw confidence, but it's punctured when she encounters situations she doesn't know how to navigate, mostly the trappings of adulthood - planning ahead, economic hardship, encounters with the law. But also partnership and teamwork.
I pointed it out before but Meryl doesn't have a poker face. Everything she feels or thinks tends to show clear as day. Roberto's more controlled - especially considering he doesn't like or trust the MPs. He uses the slight authority he has to get some information out of these guys, and then Meryl misdirects them. Without ever really discussing it, they form a partnership to protect Vash, and they had to do it together. Roberto wanted to leave him tied up, Meryl was too startled over his identity to talk. And Vash is happy to see it! It's stuff like this that he loves most about humans. (Though he's also playing up the gosh-I'm-just-a-silly-little-guy bit.)
Also, consider the other definition of adult you might know. Check this out.
Meryl goes from marching in like the sheriff to peeking over the edge of the counter like a kitten. Why? Well, apart from the place falling silent and someone yelling that this isn't a place for kids, what did she see?
Sex work probably hasn't played a big part in her life so far. Every character up until these two has worn quite modest clothes, and look at the way these women look back at Meryl. They're not ashamed, they're almost... endeared. They think she's sweet. Girl's just a wee bit intimidated. And Rosa's disinterested hostility probably isn't making it easier.
Meryl's prone to raising her voice and going on lectures, but Rosa tells her to speak up, and that's when Vash and Roberto find her. Specifically, Vash suspected she'd head to the diner and guided Roberto to it, and Roberto sighs that Meryl's a lot of trouble/needs a shorter leash - they formed a partnership to protect Meryl.
(I wonder if these ladies will appear again.)
Roberto's purpose is threefold. 1) Protect Meryl 2) help her achieve what she wants 3) teach by information and by example. He almost never acts outside of those parameters.
I could probably write a whole other series of meta posts about the English dub (and don't think I'm not tempted, but also trapped in meta factory somebody help) but for now, here's one of my favourite exchanges in the first episode. Never mind the exposition.
Meryl: Any day now I'll get my big scoop!
Roberto: Any minute now, I'm sure.
Meryl: I'll be running the entire bureau before you know it!
Roberto: Then could you give me a raise, boss?
Meryl: I'm being serious!
Roberto: So am I.
What's he being serious about? Money? Nope. (Or only a little.)
He agrees. Meryl's the boss.
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
#trigun stampede#tristampparty#trigun meta#meta: little but fierce#meryl stryfe#roberto de niro#he's also got some of the funniest lines in the dub#hundreds spoons#magnificent
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Two episodes into the live action one piece and I already adore it to bits!! They’re doing such a fantastic job of maintaining the good and goofy nature of the show, still making it more crunchy and real (they genuinely made buggy menacing which is absolutely fucking wild) and have done a great job altering the content in a way that works much better for a live action storytelling style. Truly this is everything I could have wanted and more!
I’m especially appreciative of how they altered the story of the gathering of the crew and have increased the external stakes a bit so that you feel more invested in the larger world off the bat. That has always been a criticism of one piece I’ve seen is that it takes a while to really get invested in the world because of how sparse information is until it becomes relevant. While personally I don’t mind the slow pace of world building at the beginning I’ve also been a fan for sixteen years and the need to have investment of the larger world immediately is hardly a priority when you’re 11 years old. At that age you just care that luffy is fun, the people you meet are interesting, and the stories are exciting. The live action has the benefit of knowing the world at large as it is now and being able to foreshadow those external parties we otherwise only got allusions to through the cover stories (which were never even adapted in the anime for the most part) as well as rework how we meet everyone as necessary is wonderful.
Spoilers under the cut (including down the line spoilers, not just for the first couple episodes!!):
Having Nami and zoro meet luffy at the same time in shells town while dealing with Morgan really helps smooth out the time it takes for them to partner with luffy and gives us more time to spend with all of their characters which is an absolute win in my book. I love that we’re already foreshadowing baroque works by witnessing zoro’s meeting with Mr 7, nami’s ‘betrayal’ by having her contact arlong at the end of episode 2, and Garp’s eventual meeting with luffy later on in the series as well as coby’s rise in the marines. Threading Garp in already by introducing him at Rogers execution and then having him be a constant shadow dogging luffy’s rise to power in the background is honestly such a fantastic move and I’m already gleeful at the payoff of the gramps joke reveal that’s on the distant horizon.
Even though I’m only on episode two I already adore the crew dynamics and how you can see zoro’s loyalty taking hold to luffy, as well as the conflicting nature of nami’s partnership and the beginnings of her desperately wanting to actually be a member of this little gang of pirates. Truly, every time Iñaki is on screen I’m immediately so happy because that’s my boy!! That’s Luffy! Hes doing such a good job!!
#one piece live action#opla#chefs kiss#god I can’t wait to be back home from work so I can watch the rest of the episodes#it’s just so good#the crew put a lot of love into it and you can really tell#it’s cheesy#it’s goofy#it’s heartfelt#the banter is wonderful#luffy zoro and nami are a delight every time they’re on screen#I’m just happy#one piece
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Alone at the Table 2023 in Review
This was my first year podcasting regularly since about 2019! And boy was it a fun one.
For those of you who don't know, Alone at the Table is part actual play, part analysis, and it's just me playing solo rpgs (mostly). I wasn't really sure this would work when I started it last year on a whim! I had gotten tired of having all those solo rpgs just sitting around and never actually playing, and recording The Wretched by Chris Bissette (my first recording, though not the first episode) just made sense.
I have had hurdles with journaling for solo games, but recording them? That's a different story.
Anyway, because I'm me and unable to do anything halfway, I slapped some music and effects on it and made some cover art, and thus the podcast was born. Getting picked up by @moonshotpods only a month in was a dream! Glad I took a shot at submitting the show for consideration.
Anyway, all this is to say, I'm so so grateful for how much this little show has done for me this year, and I'm blown away by how well it's been received. Thank you so much for coming along for the experience.
A look at some numbers:
14 regular season episodes
3 bonus episodes (hopefully I'll put up one more before year end)
13 games played/showcased
1 crowdfunding partnership (Wreck This Deck)
over 3K listens!!
And to top it off, I've got a schedule for next year that's mostly full (with some gaps in case of new crowdfunding partnership promotions)!
Thank you so, so much.
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