#they are my favorite grace burrowes couple probably

[plant-flwrs]

Hi, so i was about to send a request, but my phone went all crazy and i don't know if it got send or not ): so here it goes again I was wondering if i could get a George x slytherin reader after the war, where they're dating but all his family disapproves because she had like this "bad reputation", so he gets sad and angry because this boy is super in love with her, and she is like super reserved so his family don't trust her, but she is actually such a sweetheart with him.

family is complicated // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: this was so hard writing the weasleys as mean people omg. i love reading fics where everyone is happy at the burrow and molly is an angel so this was like tearing me apart lol. hope you like it!!

summary: The Weasley’s have never liked George’s girlfriend, and one snide remark makes George finally lose it.

also a disclaimer! family turmoil and drama ahead, so if that’s triggering to anyone, don’t read this one! <3

(3.5k)

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The sun was hidden away, tucked behind the dark clouds that littered the sky in London. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways, as the heavy curtains to your flat were drawn closed.

The sheets were in a pool around your ankles and your body shivered tirelessly. George always got warm at night and had a habit of kicking off the blankets in his sleep. You clung onto him, trying to collect some of his warmth that oozed from his shirtless chest.

Your eyes opened, feeling awfully heavy in their sockets. You didn’t want to wake up, you didn’t want to get out of bed, you didn’t want to get ready, and you didn’t want to go to the Burrow.

The Weasleys were nice to everyone but you, it felt like. They welcomed Harry, Hermione, and Angelina with open arms, but you and Fleur were the spousal outcasts. The two of you bonded over it quite often, trying to make jokes of it, but really it bothered you both quite deeply. The only difference between you and the other spouses was the green tie you wore around your neck for seven years. You hardly found that to be reason enough for the whole family to dislike you, but they didn’t.

You turned away from your boyfriend, bringing the blankets up from your ankles and wrapping them tightly around yourself. You pushed your face deeper into the pillow, hoping that if you slept all day you wouldn’t have to do the adult thing of going to your boyfriend’s family house. 

George lifted the blankets from his side, moving under them with you. He glanced at the clock on your bedside table, and saw no harm in sleeping a little longer. His warm arms found their place around you, and the two of you fell back asleep with the intentions of avoiding the Weasleys.

“They’re going to be late! I bet she’ll get him into some kind of trouble!” Ginny and the rest of her siblings could hear their mother’s shrieking voice from upstairs.

“They’re still not here?” Ginny turned to face Harry, rolling over in the small bed they shared the previous night.

“ ‘Spose not,” he mumbled bringing two heavy hands to his face and blocking out the sunlight creeping into the room.

“No wonder,” Ginny said, sitting up slowly in bed, “I wouldn’t feel inclined to come if I were her.”

“Well, George loves her,” Harry defended, finding the conversation to be one they had often.

Harry was never one to befriend Slytherins in school, but his maturing age made him able to see past the house’s reputation. He knew you couldn’t be evil if George liked you so much.

“I know he does,” Ginny snapped, “but that doesn’t make her any less,” Ginny trailed off, unable to find the right words for a moment, “weird.”

Harry sighed, feeling awake after the conversation. He brought his feet to the cold wooden floor of Ginny’s childhood room, and placed his glasses on his face. The two went down for breakfast.

“When do you think they’ll grace us with their presence?” Fred teased from his spot next to Angelina at the table.

“Whenever she feels like it,” Mr. Weasley grumbled from the head of the table, his eyes locked on the newspaper in front of him.

Fred groaned, rolling his eyes. He quite liked you. He thought that if his brother liked you, then he should too, and he had no reason to dislike you. Your ‘bad reputation’ that his mother likes to bring up so often, was for the same reason he and George had a ‘bad reputation’. You and George shared a love for mischief, and the Weasleys disapproved.

“When did you tell them to come, mum?” Bill asked from his spot next to Fleur.

Fleur was the one who wanted to know, but she had learned it was better to let Bill do the talking for her with Mrs. Weasley.

“Around supper,” she replied, moving to stand behind Bill and fidget with his long hair. He jerked from his mother’s prying hands.

“Then why are you expecting them to be here now?” Fred asked, ignoring Angelina’s warning graze on his knee.

“Everyone else is!” Mrs. Weasley defended.

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell them to get here when everyone else was,” Fred continued, giving his mother a confused look.

“You eat your breakfast, young man, and stop worrying about what I said or didn’t say,” she yelled, darting back into the kitchen to get another pan full of eggs.

Fred caught Bill’s and Fleur’s eyes from across the table and they all looked annoyed. 

You and George finally managed to roll out of bed a little after noon. The two of you stumbled down the cold streets hand in hand, still in your pajamas. You were in search of something to eat for lunch, even though you were both due at the Burrow in a couple of hours. You hated going with an empty stomach, because when you would load your plate up with Molly’s wonderful cooking, she would send you glares. You also hated going on a full stomach, because when you didn’t fill your plate with Molly’s wonderful cooking, she would send you glares. You rather her think you didn’t like her cooking than give her the opportunity to comment on your eating habits. You would watch Ginny shovel serving after serving into her mouth, and all Molly would do is pinch her cheeks and call her adorable. 

You had gotten used to the criticisms pretty early on. You and George were an odd pairing, so you didn’t expect an immediate connection to the family. However, you had figured that after five years they may have warmed up to you, but sadly they hadn’t.

George pulled you into a small café by your hand, leading you to a secluded table by the window. The two of you put in your orders, and enjoyed the serenity before having to go to what was now both your least favorite place.

You wore a flattering sweater tucked into some smart pants. Clasping a delicate gold necklace George had given you for your anniversary last year, you called out to him to see if he was ready.

He came out of the bathroom, hands busy with buttoning his shirt. He was nervous, he usually was when he saw his family these days, and his hands had a shake in them.

“Here,” you said soothingly, running your hands over the wrinkles in the shirt and moving his hands away.

You finished buttoning the shirt, and George admired you.

Here you were, comforting him, when it was you his family didn’t like. You were willing to make more of an effort than his family ever did, and he loved you so much for that.

You stepped away from him, and his fingers moved up to brush a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. His rough fingertips grazed the top of your ear as he tucked away the hair. His hand fell down to the necklace you wore, and he twisted it in his fingers,

“I love you,” he whispered, blinking slowly, as if he were trying to remember this moment forever.

George always had the fear that any trip home could be the end for the two of you. He loved you, and he knew you loved him, but he couldn’t blame you if the hatred got too much for you. 

“I love you too, Georgie,” you smiled up at him, forcing away the nausea pooling in your gut.

You went to your fireplace, checking the clock on the wall to make sure you weren’t too early and not too late. The both of you erupted in green flames, and soon the delightful smells of a homecooked meal flooded your nose.

“George!” Ron called from his spot on the couch, spotting you two first.

“Hey,” George responded in a voice you knew was trying to sound happy but came out shaky.

You stepped from the fireplace, and Molly rushed from the kitchen with her apron still on.

“My baby!” she wrapped her arms around George, pulling away and cupping his face with her hand.

He smiled down at her, and you recognized the nerves in the smile.

“Hi, Mrs. Weasley,” you said from beside George, waving and smiling shyly at her.

“Hello,” she started, already looking for something about you to be displeased with.

“Y/n! George!” Bill called, entering the house with Fleur trailing behind him.

You knew they liked to escape to the garden when they had to spend any amount of prolonged time at the Burrow, you and George joined them some times.

“Hi!” you said excitedly, not missing Molly’s scowl in the corner of your eyes.

Bill wrapped his long arms around you, hugging you like a brother. You released him and hugged Fleur next. Those would probably be the only Weasley’s that offered you a hug, as per usual.

“Where’s Fred?” George asked once he was released by his father’s arms.

“He and Angelina went upstairs for a nap a few hours ago,” Molly said, rushing back into the kitchen.

“Did you want any help, Mrs. Weasley?”  she turned on her heal, gave you a fake smile, and shook her head.

If anyone else had called her Mrs. Weasley, she would have insisted they call her Molly, but not you.

“A nap? Blimey, how old are they?” George joked.

Laughs echoed around the room, and George wrapped an arm around your waist.

The two of you stood in the living room next to Bill and Fleur, talking with Ron, Harry, and Hermione on the couch.

“Fred tells us the shops going well?” Harry said, looking to George.

“Yeah, we’re doing alright,” George replied modestly. You flickered your eyes up at him, admiring him from where you stood tucked into his side. The shop was doing amazing, it was more successful than it had ever been.

“How’s your work, Y/n?” Hermione asked politely, and an awkward haze fell across the room as they all looked at you.

No one usually addressed you at Weasley family gatherings, so you were caught off guard.

“Good,” you choked out, clearing your throat and furrowing your brow, “it’s good.”

“She was just promoted,” George said proudly from beside you, nudging a finger into your side, “that Slytherin ambition of hers.”

“Really? Congratulations,” Harry said, the first and only person to say anything.

Bill and Fleur didn’t say anything because they already knew. The four of you had taken up having dinners at your flat sometimes, finding it better for all of you than the large gatherings at the Burrow.

“George!” Fred bellowed from the staircase.

He hugged his brother, hitting him on the back as they embraced. You smiled politely at Angelina, who nodded her head curtly at you.

“Y/n!” Fred said once he released George, hugging you.

Angelina’s eyes bore into Fred’s back as he did, but he didn’t care.

You smiled brightly at Fred, feeling relieved to have his happiness there. He and George were always the first to stick up for you when it came to Molly.

“Dinner!”

You all gathered around three tables put together in the garden, watching as dishes of food were levitated across the table. You served yourself food, catching Mrs. Weasley watching you with a critical eye from her spot at the head of the table.

Conversation flowed, though you, George, Fleur, and Bill generally kept to yourselves.

Bill sat at the other head of the table, with Fleur to his right and you to his left. George sat next to you, and the four of you talked like it was one of your usual dinners at your flat. It was better this way, less room for conflict.

All you had to do was make it through desert, which was moved into the house. That was it, one last meal and then you and George could say goodnight and be in the safety of your own home.

“Oh, I don’t think you want any of this dear,” Molly said to you, pulling away with a plate of cake in her hands,

“Mum,” George warned, holding his hand out for the plate while the other wrapped around your shoulders protectively.

You were never one to stop George from sticking up for you, which made Mrs. Weasley angrier. She looked to you, expecting you to give up the fight and not want any cake, but you looked right back at her with a blank look.

“She had an awful lot at dinner, George, she must be full.”

“Mum,” George said, louder and more angry.

“Don’t take that tone with your mother,” Mr. Weasley came from behind his wife, placing two comforting hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t speak to my girlfriend like that, and I won’t,” he responded, managing to sound somewhat calm, though a sharpness was in his tone.

“Excuse you?” Mr. Weasley questioned, his face becoming stern.

“George, let it go-” Ginny started from where she sat with Harry, the first one to take notice of the argument developing.

“No!” George said harshly to Ginny, whipping his head to look at her.

“What’s wrong?” Fred asked from behind you, shoveling cake into his mouth.

“Mum and dad are being rude to Y/n,” George started, looking accusingly at his parents, “for what? The millionth time?”

Mrs. Weasley gasped, putting down the cake on the counter next to her.

“George!” she exclaimed, prepared to make excusing defenses in her honor.

“It’s true mum,” Fred said from behind his brother, voice muffled by the cake in his mouth, “you’ve been, and usually are, quite rude to Y/n. And Fleur.”

You and Fleur made eye contact, both of your eyes widening as you realized tonight was the night where everything went to shit. No more passive aggressive comments, no more pretending everything was fine. After this, your invitation to the Burrow might be permanently revoked.

“He’s right, mum,” Bill’s cool voice said from beside Fleur, and everyone’s gaze shot to him, “you have it out for Y/n and Fleur.”

You stepped back, and George followed you, his arm still around you. It was like a triangle in the room, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley at the edge of the kitchen, Bill and Fleur by the fireplace, and you, George, and Fred edging nearer the staircase.

“I don’t know what you talking about,” Molly defended, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes you do,” George said, narrowing his eyes at his parents.

“It’s late,” Mr. Weasley said, “maybe you lot should go home now.”

George scoffed from beside you, unwrapping his arm from your shoulder and stepping forward.

“Okay, Fleur, Y/n, why don’t you two go back to our flat,” George said in a soothing voice, “and we’ll talk this out, like a family.”

You fought the proud smile that wanted to spread across your face, and nodded your head. Fred guided you to the fireplace with a hand on your back, and winked at you as you and Fleur erupted in green flames once again.

“Well, this is not going to end well,” you mumbled to Fleur once you got home, putting a kettle on the stove, preparing enough water for George and Bill if they eventually came back too.

The yelling coming from the Burrow was unlike anything the small village had ever heard. Shouts of anger drifted from the windows, and the intensity of the argument could be felt for miles.

“You have no right to treat them the way you do!” Bill shouted at his parents, and also casted an accusing glance at Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Angelina. Harry had sunk into the couch, the only person still sitting as everyone else sprang to their feet. 

“She’s not right for him, and Fleur’s not right for you!” Molly screamed back.

“You don’t get to decide that! I love her, Bill loves Fleur. What’s different about them? You love Hermione, you love Angelina, you love Harry. Why should Y/n and Fleur have to get the shit end of your behavior!” George yelled, waving his hands frantically.

“Y/n doesn’t even try with us!” Ginny interrupted, stepping closer to George, “She just talks to you and Fleur!”

“Because none of you ever gave her a chance! She tried so hard the first time I brought her here, and you all made her leave crying!”

Ron and Harry felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the remarks they had made about Slytherins the first time George took you to the Burrow.

“I don’t trust her,” Molly said, her voice stern but quiet.

“I frankly don’t care, mum. I love her. If you’re going to make me choose, I’ll choose her. Every time. I love her,” George said, his voice lowered and shaky.

“Me too, I’ll choose Fleur,” Bill spoke up, moving his wand from his pocket to prepare to apparate. 

“Boys,” Arthur warned, stepping forwards and trying to soothe the situation, “don’t upset your mother.”

“Let them go! They’ve made their choices!” Molly pouted, moving to sit, defeated, at the table.

“Fine. Send me an owl if you ever come to your senses,” George said, moving towards the fireplace and picking up a handful of floo powder.

“Fleur and I have given you enough chances, don’t send us an owl. Goodbye,” Bill said finitely, apparating before anyone could say anything. 

George hesitated in the fireplace, meeting everyone’s guilty looking expression. No one spoke up, and he nodded towards Fred, saying goodbye. He was back home in seconds.

You and Fleur turned to the men who had both just appeared in your living room. Bill had tears running down his face, and Fleur went to him immediately. Fleur looked to you and you pointed down the hall towards you and George’s bedroom, allowing them a place to have some privacy. George fell onto the couch next to you, and you went to the kitchen to bring him a cup of tea.

“What happened?” you spoke in a soft tone,

George retold everything, and you felt your throat closing as tears threatened your eyes. 

“Oh, George,” you mumbled, taking his tea from his hands and placing it on the coffee table You held him, the both of you feeling exhausted. His upper body leaned into your lap, and you held his shoulders, soothing bits of his hair off his face.

You could hear the muffled voices of Bill and Fleur from your bedroom.

Suddenly, five people apparated into your living room. George sat up, and you grasped his hand as you looked at Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Fred all standing awkwardly in your living room.

“Nice place,” Ron said suddenly, craning his neck to look around the room.

Neither you or George responded and Hermione nudged Ron with her elbow.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled, his lips going into a thin line.

“We wanted to say something,” Fred said, breaking apart from the group and coming to sit with you and George on the couch.

He turned around, looking at the group.

“We’re sorry,” Harry said first, looking at you, “I should have never said those things about Slytherins, it was stupid and so was I.”

You swallowed hard, eyes downcast at the floor.

“So am I. I actually think you’re quite cool,” Ron said, sounding just as awkward as you remembered him to be in school.

“I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry I stood back and let you get treated that way,” Hermione said next, and you met her sorrowful gaze. You nodded at her, returning your eyes to the floor.

Harry nudged Ginny, who reluctantly spoke, “I’m sorry too. If George loves you, then so do I.”

You smiled at the floor, nerves twisting in your stomach like they did when you first went to the Burrow.

“You guys were idiots,” George said sternly from besides you. 

Your shoulders shook, and George lifted your chin with his fingers. He met your eyes, afraid you were crying, but was happy to see you laughing.

You looked at the group, chuckling senselessly.

“Thank you,” you said, “it’s a shame you’ll have to do that whole bit again for Bill and Fleur, though.”

Everyone laughed, and the group hadn’t realized Bill and Fleur weren’t there anymore.

“Did they leave already?” Fred asked from beside you.

“No, there in our room for some privacy,” you answered, pointing a finger down the hall.

“Ah,” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Not like that,” George reached behind you and hit the back of Fred’s head.

You stood, going to the kitchen and retrieving all the mugs you had in your cabinets.

“Need some help?” Ginny asked from behind you, Hermione by her side.

“Sure,” you smiled at them, and Ginny and Hermione moved into the kitchen.

They helped you carry out the hot cups of tea, placing them on the table. Bill and Fleur had emerged from the room, and were sat on the couch. You sat on the other side of Fleur, catching George’s eyes from where he sat on an armchair across from you.

He looked happy, finally being able to sit with his family and you in the same room without nerves plaguing his every thought.

#george #weasley #george weasley #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x reader #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley x you #harry potter

[ackerfics]

all there's left to do is run — mikasa ackerman.

— mikasa ackerman x female reader (historical setting)

— warnings: none

— summary: love story but it’s gay, basically ;> (bc ever since i heard taylor’s re-recording of love story, i could not get this idea off my brain)

— word count: 4.2k  

> we were both young when i first saw you  

The night was sparkling with extravagance and for such a girl like you, the chandeliers all seemed like those stars you read from astronomy books late at night, all burning and showering brightly that you had to look away. Of course, you continued looking up at the lights until your head got dizzy from tilting your head too high. You can faintly hear your mother scold you for doing something so unbecoming for a lady yet you continued adoring the stars in the ceiling of the castle your family owned, decorated to celebrate your tenth birthday. 

Your parents deemed it necessary to force you to wrap yourself in the most voluptuous gown you had ever seen in your life. As the daughter of the only Marquess in your kingdom, you were always expected to be tamed your whole life — dancing lessons that sprained your foot because of a couple of twirls in your ballroom, etiquette that became the reason for adults to scream at you to be better, tea parties that suffocated you with varying reasons, and all those dreaming in your head every time all of these happened. Being the daughter of the third most powerful person in your kingdom meant that these lessons will decide if you will be a good wife. And now that you are another year closer to being a lady of marriage age (being twelve since it was your birthday), it meant these lessons will double the load and will most likely take away your time.

A fact that you always disdained.

You were meant to be so much more. You always envisioned a life in the countryside, if the Fates were kind enough when they were trying to place you in society. You wanted extravagance but never this.

So you sneaked out of the party thrown for you, giggles flittering in the moonlit night and feet bringing you to the rose garden your mother liked to tend to. The flowers in the garden were one of the rarest to be seen in your kingdom, most of them on the verge of extinction, and the more you admired them, the more they shone before you. Dewdrops were forming in almost every petal inside the garden, the rain a few hours ago the culprit in making this part of the estate calmer than it already was. Swaying to the beat that can still be heard from the double doors, you took a single kadupul flower and placed it behind your ear. You were finally free to twirl however you want and you did just that, laughs searing the night as the moment turned into a memory that could never be forgotten. The grass felt cool under you as you draped yourself on the slightly wet terrain, staring into the dome of constellations you wholeheartedly admired.

The stars seem brighter than they usually are tonight.

“Hello, are you alright over there?”

Just like that, your peaceful night was ruined by a tentative voice coming from one of the bushes. You were told to never stray from your parents and ladies-in-waiting whenever you go to the stores, above all — to never talk to strangers no matter how young they are. Children you don’t know are much peskier to shoo away than those meddlers we encounter on our shopping trips, was what your mother grumbled one time. The voice meekly asking for your condition belonged to a girl around your age. Sure enough, a girl came from the shadows, hands clinging on the red scarf wrapped around her neck.

The girl in front of you looked star-struck. She was staring at you as if you held the universe in your small, dainty hands. The young mistress of the Palace of Flowers was a familiar face in all of the servants, seeing as you were a very adventurous child growing up, always dashing through the halls and paying the servants a much-needed visit. During these visits was the first time the dark-haired girl saw you. Though you were dressed in a more casual dress than the spell-binding gown you wore for the night, the girl thought you were the most beautiful person she ever saw. Her breath hitched when she realized you were waiting for her to speak up. Instead, she nearly hid her face in her scarf and dipped her form in a less graceful bow.

“Y-Young Mistress.”

“You can sit with me if you like,” you whispered to her as if there was someone in the vicinity eavesdropping. Your hands were cupped around your mouth so that the girl could hear what you were saying. “I’m whispering because the night is too peaceful to be interrupted.”

“Oh.” The dark-haired girl became flustered in a second and immediately plopped herself beside you, hands on her lap as she looked at anywhere but you. The children serving the family of the Marquess were told to never address the noble family informally. After a few minutes of silence, she cleared her throat to catch your attention, uttering the words that you heard throughout the night. “H-Happy b-birthday, young mistress.”

“Thank you.” The smile you gave her was brighter than the flower you carried in your hair.

The girl was wringing her fingers to calm down the beating of her heart. “I briefly saw you dancing in the ballroom while I was serving the deserts.” She looked at you straight in the eye with a glint of shyness. “You dance so well.”

You giggled, facing the girl with an eager expression. “What’s your name?”

“Mi-Mikasa,” the dark-haired girl answered with wide eyes.

Leaning back, you took out the flower you placed tucking your stray hairs, and tucked it behind Mikasa’s ear. You stood up with a huff, offering a hand to the gray-eyed girl. You slightly bowed as if you were the boy you were dancing with earlier. Mikasa was watching you with eyes full of wonder, her face flushed at seeing the young mistress of the palace bowing in front of her.

“Can I be your dance partner for the night, Lady Mikasa?”

It seemed like the entire garden was meant to be the ballroom for you two when Mikasa finally placed her hand on yours.

“It would be an honor, young mistress.”

> we keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew

“Did you sneak out from your lessons again?”

Three years since your first meeting with Mikasa and she was still the same — tolerating your behavior of throwing away your responsibilities of being the young mistress to enjoy her company. For three years, nobody knew where you disappear off from except for the dark-haired girl’s friends in the village down the hill who work under the head maid of the estate. Your rendezvous with the dark-haired girl always included random things that you came up with but mostly, it was you bringing books and activities you wanted to share with her and Mikasa letting you taste her cooking. At this point, the garden wasn’t enough for the two of you. This made Mikasa open up to you about her safe space, a small meadow down by the lake of your family’s estate. It was closer to where the dark-haired girl was residing and she wasn’t wrong when she said you would love it.

You sat down beside her on the picnic blanket with a huff. “Tell me about it. It was another round of etiquette that I had to master. It sounds like another skill I had to unlock.” The tantalizing smell of buttered bread wafted from the basket laid in front of you two perking you up from your sulking. “You baked bread?”

Mikasa nodded with a small smile, eyes soft as she watched you squeal in happiness. Every day, you grew more beautiful than the first day she saw you five years ago in the kitchens trying to help Missus Springer bake the afternoon treats.

“I tried learning your favorite bread earlier,” Mikasa told you, reaching out a hand to gently brush away the sugar from the corner of your lips. “I hope this was to your liking.”

“Have I ever told you that your cooking is the absolute best, Mikasa?” you gushed with eyes filled with stars dedicated to the girl sitting beside you, leaning forward until inches separated you from the girl’s shocked visage.

The dark-haired girl turned red in the face at the proximity. “About a thousand times now probably.”

You smiled brightly at the information. “And I’ll still repeat it to you until you get tired of it.”

“I will never get tired of it. I will never get tired of you.”

Now, both of you donned an endearing shade of cerise on your cheeks the moment Mikasa finished saying those words. It was a first for the gray-eyed beauty to say such things, you were always the one initiating the physical contact and compliments. However, there was something underlying in Mikasa’s words that reminded you of that night you asked her to dance. You prayed to any deity that she wouldn’t hear how loud your heart was beating. You weren’t children anymore and you were starting to see the tranquil girl basked in another light — the words she uttered were just the catalyst in doing so. Your mother will be out for blood for this. It completely flew out of your head that the distance between you two gradually diminishes as Mikasa also started to lean forward, head tilted and eyes cast to your parted lips.

“Hey,” she uttered your name so softly that it was making your face warmer than it already is, “have I ever told you that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen?”

Always so blunt that it took your breath away.

“If not, I’ll be saying those words until you get tired of it.”

“Mikasa,” you whispered against the softness of her lips.

You faintly registered the hand that nestled on the back of your neck, bringing you closer to her while burrowing her fingers in the unbound locks of your hair. The scent of first love became apparent as the wind breezed through you the moment Mikasa’s lips found their way against yours in a tryst of forbidden storylines fit for a melodrama. A hopeful melancholy was the words to describe the scenario as you placed your hands gently on Mikasa’s cheeks, reciprocating the kiss she shyly yet determinedly gave you, the colors of a first kiss painting the meadow into a memory that will make you two immortal in each other’s minds.

There were no overbearing mothers, no nosy friends, no responsibilities — it was just you and Mikasa embracing, with the flowers as the witnesses of the start of your story.

> take me somewhere we can be alone

You shook your head in disbelief, lips curled in disgust and hands clenching on the skirts of your dress. “You can’t be serious?”

“You must understand that you are of age now. A husband is everything in a woman’s life, how can you say something so outrageous like not accepting Duke Montague’s proposal for marriage?” Your mother all but screamed her frustrations. Every single lesson of proper etiquette and manners, honing you into a lady worth your status, all came down to this moment. Both you and your mother were seeing red for different reasons after the horrid letter was presented by your estate’s messenger, Connie. Your mother growled your name, “Have you lost your mind?! What possessed you if you were planning on denying this opportunity? Not only does this benefit the family but you as well. You’re going to be a duchess, for heaven’s sake, that position begets luxury!”

“Your mother is right,” your father, the Marquess, tried to soothe the growing tension inside the parlor, though his words sent a blow to your cowering resolve. “You are the heiress of the House and we will do everything in our power to make sure you stay afloat the societal hierarchy. By doing that, we will make sure you’re going to marry the Duke.”

“But—“

“We won’t take no for an answer.” Your father looked at you straight in the eye, hands gripping the armrest of the chair, before saying, “You need to bear a son for our bloodline to continue.”

You abruptly stood up, your mind too fogged to conjure a proper response. Instead of taking out your anger on your parents (which will most likely lead to them taking away your only chance of seeing Mikasa), you made your way out of the parlor. Your mother’s calls resonating through the large palace as your heels clicked on the polished hallways. Upon passing by a large mirror on your way to the gardens, the sight of you in one of your day gowns sent bile rushing through your throat. You looked anything like those trophy wives the men adored to parade. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head and continued to your destination.

It was your regular rendezvous with Mikasa. The kiss that happened that day only drew you two closer rather than creating a wedge between your budding relationship. Oh, how you wish you can turn back time and let it loop only at that memory. A dull ache started to form in your chest at the intensity of the news you were about to tell your secret lover. With shaking hands, the meadow that calmed you the years past became foreboding as each step now led you beside a sitting Mikasa. 

“I heard.”

Mikasa’s words made you stop. She turned to you, giving you a view of her conflicted face. Three years have passed since you shared your first kiss with each other. Three years of hiding in the tall flowers of the meadow and behind curtains. Three years and Mikasa looked even more beautiful than ever. 

“Mikasa,” you weakly pleaded.

“You were always destined for something great,” the dark-haired girl started, her emotions now seeping through the carefully-crafted mask she created while growing up. She fumbled with her words as she threw her hands in the air, visibly frustrated at everything (at herself, at the Marquess and Marchioness, at every noble existing in your kingdom — but never at you). “You’re this heiress people were expecting tremendous things from and I’m just me. You’re so beautiful that it pains me to see you being fawned at during balls. You’re so talented that I’m afraid it will be put to waste by being with me. You’re so amazing to me.”

You pleaded for her to stop, sitting down beside her with your skirts fanning out around you, but Mikasa only continued, “Yet here I am — someone who doesn’t even have a family, who was only adopted by one of the maids in the castle, who recently found out I had an uncle that doesn’t want anything to do with me.” The way she uttered your name was nothing like the caresses you were so fond of. Mikasa placed both of her hands over your cheeks, now wet with tears that you didn’t even notice. “I’m nobody compared to you and that’s the truth.”

She tenderly placed her forehead against yours as your breath hitched from quietly sobbing. 

“I’ll find a way,” you pleaded again.

Mikasa shook her head desperately, trying to anchor you to reality. “No. You have to accept this proposal from the Duke.”

“But it’s you who I fell deeply for, not him!”

“You will grow to love him, flower, your heart is so big and kind that it would be impossible—“

“That’s preposterous!” You threw your arms around her neck, her hands finding their way around your corseted waist. “I’ll find a way to get out of this mess. We’ll go far away and live a comfortable life in a cabin or a cottage. I want it beside a lake, Mikasa. I want to run away with you and make this dream a reality because I can’t imagine a life without you in it!”

Mikasa could only tighten her hold around your shaking form, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Under the afternoon sun, you once again sealed your lips with hers, promises burning along with the feelings you have for each other.

> and my daddy said, "stay away,” but you were everything to me

Mikasa was called to the study of the Marquess. Various scenarios passed through the dark-haired girl, her hand poised on twisting the doorknob. She took a deep breath, never noticing how the maid beside her (most likely the chambermaid of the Marchioness) appeared to have a sinister smile on her face. The churning in Mikasa’s stomach intensified as she opened the double doors and let herself in the grand room. The chamber was the size of their entire house and it took Mikasa a full second to reign herself and not linger her eyes on your huge portrait (you looked regal — a competitor against the Queen’s beauty). Straightening her posture, Mikasa schooled her features into that mask she perfected and faced your father with a stony countenance.

The Marquess didn’t pay attention to the presence of one of his staff. The tea preoccupied with his thoughts, perfectly brewed to his liking and figuring that he would thank one of the kitchen staff for preparing the beverage on such a dreaded day. The older man wiped his mouth with a handkerchief before regarding Mikasa.

“Miss Ackerman.”

“Marquess, sir.”

Your father hummed contemplatively. “Have you heard of the proposal of Duke Montague, Miss Ackerman?”

Mikasa’s eyebrows furrowed at your father’s words. It was phrased like a casual question but the way that he spoke reminded her that she was only a servant living within his estate. It reminded her of the rift between you two and her breath shuddered. Surely, the Marquess had never ventured to the meadows and discovered their secret, right? That would mean you were also in grave trouble and it was all Mikasa’s fault. Still, the dark-haired girl nodded at your father’s question.

“Very well.”

He leaned back on his chair, satisfied at the pliable nature of the girl standing in front of him. He heard many stories of the girl’s family — slaughtered by bandits at the dead of the night when the child was only nine years old (her parents were also working under him), wherein she was then adopted by one of the maids’ family, and now decided to work as one of the kitchen staff at a young age. It was something he didn’t want to happen to his daughter. He also didn’t want his daughter mingling with the help, much less sharing kisses in the meadow just a short walk from the main palace’s gardens. The maid who led Mikasa to his study was the one who witnessed such atrocity. It was the day when they told you that you were bound to be married. It looked like you sought comfort from someone, and the Marquess didn’t expect that someone to be a female help. 

“You understand that I would have to tell you to stop meeting with my daughter by the meadows.”

The maid at the door was now smiling like Wonderland’s Cheshire Cat. 

Mikasa felt a cold wave rush through every part of her body, her gaze now caught in a daze on the floor.

“If you’re not going to do that, you might as well say goodbye to living in my land, Miss Ackerman. My daughter has an entire future waiting for her and I can’t afford to let it jeopardize right in front of my eyes by some measly servant girl.” The Marquess had the nerve to look sympathetic yet his eyes told a different story by being cruel. “I heard that you found out about a long-lost relative in the countryside so,” the older man paused, “which will it be, Miss Ackerman?”

Mikasa was left with no choice.

> they're tryna tell me how to feel, this love is difficult, but it's real

The slap resounded through the four walls of your chamber.

At the exact time Mikasa was confronted with your father, you were reprimanded by your mother after the maid made use of the scene she witnessed in the meadows after following you out. It was a good thing that the said maid wasn’t inside your room at the moment. You would have thrown the vase on your bedside table at her instead of your mother right now, everything was mentally envisioned of course. You didn’t have the strength to retaliate with your mother, much less lift your gaze to level your eyes with the older woman’s.

“You are an abomination! What were you thinking?! You have been keeping this for how many years? You are a disgrace to the family! You are a lady, for heaven’s sake, and you go brandishing your skirt to another woman. This is a scandal fit for the century! Oh, my, my stress levels.” Your mother then draped herself on the couch at the foot of your bed, leaving you to stand in front of her with your head down. “Stop what you’re feeling for that girl this instant. I don’t want this to travel around the kingdom, unleashing gossip in its wake. A girl! What blasphemy. If only you can show that to Duke Montague as well when you two marry. Maybe I have raised you wrong, your lessons might be lacking in some sense.”

“Mother.” Similar-colored eyes stared at each other, making the room feel smaller. “I will do no such thing. I will never marry a man I know I won’t come to love. I won’t listen to you prattle about hierarchies and social standing. I won’t stop loving Mikasa if that is the last thing I’ll do. I’m so sick of you labeling me as a disgrace if I so ever made a little mistake in those idiotic lessons you forced me to do. I’m so tired of hearing you continuously proclaiming to everyone that I am willing to open my legs to a higher-ranking noble to save my reputation. To hell with that! Call me an abomination for loving someone I truly care about, I don’t care. Mikasa means the world to me and she’s the only person I could ever be real with. Shun me if that’s the only solution but I won’t stop loving the only person who has ever made me feel loved and special in my entire life.”

The silence was deafening and your heaves of breath rang loud in your chambers. Your mother’s posture now straightened, her eyes cold as she dragged her stare over your form. “You’re not to go out of this room until Duke Montague comes to this palace for your hand in marriage. You have no say in this matter.”

That night, you were ready to throw everything you could hold inside your room but a constant tap on your windows made your breath stop. Glancing at the locked doors of your room, you made your way to the doors leading to the balcony. Again, they were locked so you took the vase and slammed it on the doorknob, the sound rattling through your room and into the hallways. You hastily opened the doors and went out to lean over the balcony.

Mikasa’s eyes brightened at the sight of you. She was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt tucked inside a pair of trousers and a dark cloak. Excitement bubbled inside your chest at the prospect of running away with her in the dead of the night.

“Jump,” Mikasa whispered. “I’ll catch you.”

Looking back at the doors of your chambers, you didn’t think twice about slinging your leg over the balcony. You took a deep breath and prayed that Mikasa will catch you safely in her arms. The cold gush of the night breeze sent you shivering as you jumped down the balcony, only to hear the grunt from your lover with her arms securing you to her body. Gray eyes glinted against the moonlight and your mind was muddled with thoughts about her that the only thing you could say was, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Mikasa softly replied before kissing you on the lips. “Come on, Eren already took a horse from the stables.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, letting yourself be carried by Mikasa as she tried not to make a loud noise while walking in the direction of the stables.

The dark-haired girl grinned. “To a place where we can love freely of course.”

> it's a love story, baby, just say, "yes" (we were both young when i first saw you)

“Mikasa, let me tell you a secret that you’re probably tired of.”

A chuckle came from your lover’s lips. “Tell me.”

“I always thought you were beautiful since the first time I saw you.”

“I’ll trade a real secret of mine for that.” She kissed you, basking underneath the sun’s rays. “I have always loved you since I saw you help Missus Springer with the afternoon treats when we were ten.”

“You were there?”

“Yes and I’m so happy I was there.”

“Mikasa, I’m so happy it’s you I fell in love with.”

“I love you more than the stars you always adored.”

#mikasa ackerman x reader #mikasa ackerman x you #mikasa ackerman #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan #rory writes #historical au

[the-regal-warrior]

Cadre Weaponry: The Hair (Fluff 2.0)

Surprise - I’m still writing CW! I can’t possibly get enough of my babies and I keep getting ideas for them, so I’m very excited to share this with you! Plus, finishing this means I can get started on a new project I have in the works.

Summary: Welcome to Cadre Weaponry - the shop for all your weapons needs, both antique and modern! Join the boys of the Cadre as they become friends and tackle this thing we call life. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll even find love along the way.

Let’s face it: our boys (and their girls) have fantastic hair. Well, they all know it, too. Of course I had to capitalize on that.

Warnings: Extreme fluffiness. And probably some language. Oh, and some implied smut because Vaughan and Sorrel are needy.

.

FOUR YEARS, EIGHT MONTHS, AND THIRTEEN DAYS AGO

He’d just wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower when Aelin came barreling through the bathroom door. Though they’d only been together a little over a month, it had become abundantly clear that the two of them were very comfortable with one another. That was probably one of his favorite things about their relationship - it was easy to be with her.

Rowan turned to face her after walking over to the sink, his wet hair swinging over his shoulder and sending droplets flying. “Uh, good morning?” She hadn’t been awake when he’d climbed out of bed, so he was a little surprised to see her so alert.

“Morning, babe.” Walking up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against the damp skin of his back. “You look good in a towel.”

He chuckled, letting one hand rest on hers as he reached for his brush with the other. “I’m so glad you like it. I think I’ll wear the towel to work today.”

Aelin giggled against his back, her breath skittering across his skin. “Hmm, no - I think this should be for my eyes only.”

“Oh you do?” He turned in her arms, leaning down to kiss her nose. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

“Good.” 

Pulling out of her arms, he took a step back so he could start brushing her hair. Aelin just dropped onto the chair she’d insisted he start keeping in his bathroom so she could sit in front of the mirror when she wanted to do her makeup, content to watch him as he slowly untangled his hair. They stayed silent for a few minutes, both of them just happy to be together. 

He’d barely set the brush on the counter before she was standing and pushing him into the chair she’d just vacated. “Aelin,” he muttered, raising one eyebrow at her when she pushed on his shoulders again, “what exactly are you doing?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes before walking around to stand behind him. “I thought I’d do your hair today.”

“Oh.” Rowan, though a little caught off guard by her words, wasn’t entirely surprised. She’d told him time and again how fascinated she was by his hair, and he knew she liked that his hair was long enough that she could actually do something with it. “Do your worst then, my love.”

Aelin chuckled slightly, but he could tell she was already focused on the task before her. Her fingers moved gently through his hair, sorting and weaving the strands together and humming lowly whenever something wasn’t to her liking. Eventually she tapped his cheek, a signal he’d come to realize meant she needed a hair tie. Slipping the one off his wrist, he handed it to her and went back to sitting still as she finished up her work.

“Done,” she finally chirped, kissing the back of his head before taking his hand and pulling him to the sink so he could look at her work in the mirror. She’d pulled the very top section of his hair into two little braids before pulling the rest of the hair on the top of his head into the hair tie, allowing the other half to remain down and free.

Turning back to her, Rowan leaned down and kissed her gently. “It looks great - thanks, baby.”

“Of course.” She kissed him again, cupping his chin when she pulled away. “Though, to be fair, I didn’t really give you much choice.”

He laughed loud enough that the sound echoed around the room. “It’s a good thing I like you when you’re bossy, then.”

“You’re damn right it is.”

~*^*~

The sound of his front door opening and all but banging off the wall behind it startled Rowan enough that he dropped the book he’d been holding. Craning his neck over the back of his couch, he saw his girlfriend kick the door shut behind her as she dropped her bag by the little mat just inside the door for shoes. Giving him a barely perceptible nod, Aelin heaved an angry sigh and stormed off into his bedroom.

“Aelin?” he called, trying to figure out if he’d done something to make her angry over the course of the day. “Are you okay?”

He heard her mumble something incoherent back, though he was pretty sure he made out a couple very colorful curse words. Deciding to wait until she came back into the living room, he settled back into the cushions and picked his book up.

Rowan had barely made it through a page before she joined him, and he felt his heart stop in his chest at the sight of her. She’d kicked off the jeans she had on for work, leaving her in a pair of lacy pink panties that left her perfect legs on display. She’d also swapped out her sweater for one of his old faded hoodies from college. He’d worn that particular hoodie so much that the sleeves had started to fray, meaning that they hung down over her hands. 

“What’s wrong, love?” He tossed his book on the coffee table, reaching out for her with one hand when he saw her swipe a few tears from her eyes.

Shaking her head, Aelin just climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms and legs around him and clinging to him as tightly as she could. She pressed her face into his neck, and he could feel his heart tightening when he realized she was shaking in his arms. 

Wrapping one arm around her waist so he could pull her against him, he twined the fingers of his other hand in her hair, slowly combing through the long golden strands. It was something he’d found comforted her, and he wanted to do everything he could to make her feel better. And, it meant that he could spend that time admiring the way the sunlight shifted over the vibrant tone of her hair. 

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but his fingers never stopped moving through her hair. Eventually, she stopped shaking, and she lifted her head, pulling away from him enough to look into his eyes. “Sorry about all this,” she whispered, blinking away the few tears lingering in her eyes.

“It’s okay, baby.” Rowan cupped her cheek, stroking her jaw lightly. “What happened?”

“It was just a really long day.” She shook her head slightly before continuing. “Just a lot of little stuff that kept piling up, that’s all.”

“Do you want to talk about any of it?”

Aelin shook her head again. “No, not right now. I just want to sit with you for a while.” 

He leaned in to press his lips to her jaw. “Of course, whatever you need, love.” Offering her a small smile, he pulled her against him again, laughly lowly in her ear when she burrowed her face against his neck. 

Though it was mumbled, he could still make out the “thank you” she whispered.

His hand once again found its way to her hair, and he realized he would happily spend the entire evening sitting just like that if it was what Aelin wanted. He was completely gone for her. 

FOUR YEARS AND TWENTY-SIX DAYS AGO

Fenrys was sprawled across the couch in his girlfriend’s living room when she finally climbed out of bed and graced him with her presence. He’d always been an early riser, so he often watched tv so he wouldn’t disturb her. She was wearing a pair of red spandex and a grey Blackbeak Gym hoodie, and he still couldn’t believe that he got to see her like that. They’d only been dating for around a month, and his days were always brighter when they started with her.

“Morning,” he greeted, his eyes lingering on her legs as she walked toward him. “Sleep well?”

Offering him a tiny smile, Asterin pulled herself onto the back of the couch, her heels kicking lightly against the back of it. “I really did - I always sleep better when I’m here.”

He lifted his foot, nudging her lightly in the side. “That’s because my mattress is just better.”

“No, you idiot,” she quipped, sliding down until she was sprawled on his legs. “It’s because you’re here - and because your sheets smell like you. It makes me feel safe.”

He couldn’t control the grin that stretched across his face, and he reached down to pull her into his arms. “That’s my sappy girl.”

‘Mmm,” she agreed, kissing the underside of his jaw before she was crawling over him. Fenrys had learned very quickly that, as much as she loved being held by him, Asterin also really loved when she could hold him. Though she’d sleep curled into his chest, she loved being able to wrap herself around him when they were sprawled on the couch. 

She hitched a leg around his waist, her fingers starting to comb through his hair as she pressed scattered kisses across his shoulder. “You say I’m sappy - and yet here you are, practically purring the second I start holding you.”

“What can I say?” he quipped, his hand falling to her knee. “Being with you like this makes me happier than I’ve ever been.”

Asterin pressed her face into the back of his neck, and he squeezed her knee. “You make me happy too, Fen.” Her fingers never stopped moving through his hair, and he knew if he wasn’t careful she’d lull him back to sleep.

They stayed like that for a while, and he found it hard to focus on whatever was on the tv in front of him. Between the feeling of the fingers of her one hand scraping over his scalp before moving through his hair and the feeling of her other hand tracing lazy patterns over his stomach, he was fairly distracted. 

Eventually, he managed to look at the clock, and he realized that he had to get a shower right then or he’d be late for work. Groaning low in his throat, Fenrys began untangling himself from his very tempting girlfriend.

He leaned down to press his lips to hers once, twice, three times, each kiss more lingering than the last, before he finally managed to pull himself away and head for the shower.

Asterin whistled at the sight of him walking away, and even though he shook his head, he couldn’t help but fall for her just a little more.

~*^*~

When Fenrys walked through his girlfriend’s front door after he was done working for the day, he was greeted with the sight of her sprawled on her back in the middle of her living room. “Erm,” he started, drawing up short as the door swung shut behind him, “what exactly are you doing?”

“Fen, hi!” She rolled on her side to face him, giving him a happy smile. “I was just waiting for you to get home.”

“I can see that.” She’d had a day off, and though she’d said she had some cleaning to do around the apartment, he knew she wasn’t planning on actually going anywhere. “Are you wearing a pair of my briefs?”

Asterin grinned at him a little sheepishly, standing so he could get a better look at her. Scanning her once, he realized he was right - she had stolen a pair of his briefs from the drawer she’d given him. Though he wore the ones that were cut like spandex, so it had been hard for him to tell the difference at first. “I just… they’re more comfortable.”

“Is that so?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I may have missed you a little today, and I may have stolen them because they smell like your soap.”

He chuckled, though he did pull her into a tight hug. “That’s what I thought.” Stepping back, he grabbed her hand and pulled her over to one of her kitchen chairs. “Sit,” he directed, tapping her nose when she pouted at him.

“Why?” Even though she grumbled, she still sat. 

“Because we’re going out with the guys later and I’m gonna do your hair for you.” That was all the explanation he gave her before his fingers were twisting through her long golden locks. They’d had plans for a night out with everyone since the week before, and Fenrys knew she loved when he did her hair, so he knew she would be fine with it. Plus, he’d be lying if he tried to say he didn’t love playing with her hair as well.

She hummed and settled into the chair. It didn’t take him long to braid a small section of the top of her hair back to the crown of her head, and he paused for a moment to smooth the rest of her hair into a ponytail. 

Feeling what he was doing, Asterin held her wrist up for him, silently offering the hair tie she always kept there. He took it from her, securing her hair quickly and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. 

He watched as her fingers drifted carefully over his work, and he twisted the ends of her ponytail through his fingers. There was something about the bright color of her hair that always drew his attention, and found his gaze following the strands as she turned in the chair to face him.

“Thanks, baby,” she murmured, kneeling so she was face to face with him. She lifted a hand to cup his cheek. “I really appreciate you doing that for me.”

“You got it, Rin,” he replied, turning enough that he could kiss her palm. “I like that you let me do it.”

She tilted her head up for a kiss, which he gladly gave her, sighing gently as she pulled away. “You’re sweet.”

“That’s because you make me that way.” He kissed her forehead before lifting her off the chair and into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he started walking toward her room, and he met her eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“And you’re the best thing that’s happened to me, my love.”

TWO YEARS, TEN MONTHS, AND NINE DAYS AGO

He awoke to the sound of rustling pages. Dating Elide meant that was a fairly common occurrence - she did own her own bookstore, after all - but, since there was still faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, he figured it wasn’t a normal morning. 

“Baby,” Lorcan rumbled, rolling over and glaring in the lamplight streaming from the side of the bed she’d claimed as her own. “Why you up so early?”

She barely glanced at him, just offering him the barest hint of a smile before she was turning pages in her book again. “I forgot to pick a book for ‘Owner’s Choice’ this week, and I’m trying to decide if this one is a good one to choose.” That was one of Elide’s favorite parts of owning her own bookstore - she picked a book to highlight every couple weeks and showcase in the front window. “I think this is the one - I just have to be sure.”

Stroking his fingers down her spine, he leaned in to kiss her temple. “Well, don’t let me disturb you then.” He settled back down on the pillows, slinging an arm around her waist and listening to the sound of her nails scratching over the pages.

He wasn’t exactly sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually Elide huffed a sigh and dropped her head against her book. “I think I read too long.”

Lorcan chuckled as he opened his eyes to see his girlfriend staring at him. “And why would you say that?’

“Because,” she whined, pouting at him, “now I won’t have time to wash and dry my hair.”

“I think I might be able to help with that.” When she raised an eyebrow at him in question, he just motioned to her book. “Just keep reading, my love. I’ve got you.”

Shifting until he was straddling her back (hovering on his knees so he wouldn’t hurt her, of course), he reached for the hairbrush that was resting on her nightstand. He pulled it through her hair gently, careful to avoid pulling too hard whenever he encountered a knot. 

Elide sighed happily as she turned a page in her book.

Once he’d untangled her dark locks, he easily parted her hair down the middle and began deftly twisting the hair on the right side of her head into a French braid. Having spent years doing the same to his own hair, he made quick work of it, tying a hair tie around the end of it before starting on the other side. 

Like the first, the left side didn’t take long either, and soon Elide had matching braids falling down over both shoulders. He leaned down to press a quick kiss to the back of her head before flopping down next to her once more. “All done, baby.”

Closing her book, she rolled until her chin was resting on his chest. “Thanks, Lor. You really are the best.”

“You know I got you, El. Figure out if this is the book for the window?”

She hummed, her fingers dancing over his ribs. “Yeah! It’s the one. Thanks for giving me the space to think.”

Offering her a soft, content smile - one he only ever showed her - he pulled her a little tighter against him. “Of course - I love you, Elide.”

“And I love you, Lorcan.”

~*^*~

Elide was practically buzzing with energy when she waltzed through his front door later that night. She’d texted him as she was leaving work to tell him that she wanted Chinese food for dinner, and that it was his turn to call it in because she’d done the whole “being an adult, making phone calls” thing the last time they ordered takeout. 

He’d only finished placing the order when he heard her key turning in the lock, and he’d tossed his phone on the couch and sank down into one of his kitchen chairs as the door swung open. “Food’s ordered, should be here in like forty minutes.”

“That’s great,” she chirped, breezing by him to drop the rather large box she was carrying on the counter. 

“Erm,” Lorcan started, raising an eyebrow as she smiled, first at the box and then at him. “What’s in the box, Lochan?”

“Books!” That was all she offered before she disappeared into his room with a little squeal of excitement. He heard the sound of his closet door opening and then shutting, and clothes rustling, before she was joining him in the kitchen once more. She’d changed her work clothes for a pair of tiny black spandex and one of his tees, the white shirt practically dwarfing her as it all but hid her shorts from view. 

“That’s a good look for you,” he commented, unable to help the smirk that grew on his face at the sight of her in his clothes. “That shirt looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

Elide laughed, twirling once to give him a better view. “It does, doesn’t it, Salvaterre?” Toying with the end of one of her braids, she walked over to stand behind him. 

He leaned back into her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “So, the box?” he prompted, sighing softly when she kissed the crown of his head and stood up. 

“The box.” She began running her fingers through his hair, and he could feel her beginning to part his hair down the middle. Elide began weaving the strands together as she talked. “Remember that local author that came in about a month ago to see if I wanted to stock some copies of her new book? Well, it was absolutely amazing and people seemed to like it, so I asked if she had anything else - either hers or books from other authors she knew. And this is what she brought me. It’s a whole box of books - hers and some from friends she has that are authors. She asked me to read through them and pick the ones I want to stock.”

“That’s amazing,” Lorcan replied, feeling her tie off one braid before starting another. “Think you’ll stock any of them?”

She hummed. “Oh, I plan on stocking all of them. You know I love supporting local authors.”

“I know you do.”

They fell silent as she finished up the second braid. Lorcan loved being with her like this. It was so different from what he was used to, from what he expected for his life. The intimacy, the domesticity of it all - it was everything he never knew he wanted and everything he never wanted to give up. 

“There,” she finally said, “all done. And now we have matching hair.”

He felt her fingers still dancing over the twin braids hanging against his shoulders, and he leaned into her touch. “Thanks, El.”

She moved until she was between him and the table, hopping up so she could sit on it and wrap her legs around his torso. His hands drifted over her thighs before he twined his arms around her waist. “You got it, babes.”

“What would I do without you?” He dropped his head so his cheek was resting on her thigh as he gazed up at her.

“Your own hair, probably.” Elide laughed at her own joke, and he couldn’t help but laugh with her, even as she stroked her thumb over his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you either, Lor. You’re the other half of my soul.”

“And you’re mine, El. You’re mine.”

She leaned down to kiss his forehead, and he knew, then and there, that he wanted the rest of his life to be exactly like that.

TWO YEARS, EIGHT MONTHS, AND ONE DAY AGO

Gavriel was basking in the warmth of the sun streaming through the large bay window of his girlfriend’s bedroom when he heard muffled cursing from behind the closed bathroom door. Dog-earing the page of his book and setting it carefully on the massive window seat he’d been reclining on, he pushed himself up and crossed the tiny space, the blanket he’d been using pooling on the floor.

Knocking twice on the door, he asked, “you okay in there?”

More muffled cursing answered him, and he was debating whether or not to open the door when the choice was made for him. Lin whipped the door open and frowned up at him, gesturing at her dark hair, which was dripping down the front of her tee and clinging to her neck. “I hate you,” she grumbled.

“Me?” He gave her a confused look. “Erm, why?”

Lin huffed a sigh and thunked her forehead against his bare chest. “Because, you asshole, you just had to keep me in bed late and now my hair is too wet to do anything and I can’t leave it down for work!”

He tried to hold in his laughter, he really did, but one chuckle escaped him. “That’s not exactly how I remember it, love.” When she poked his side, he gripped both of her hands in his own. “You were the one who rolled on top of me and said you weren’t moving until you were good and ready.”

“You could have made me get up!”

He did laugh at that. “I tried! You just wrapped yourself around me like an octopus and wouldn’t budge!”

“Gav,” she whined, though he could hear the laughter lacing her tone. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“You’re right,” Gavriel agreed, tilting her head up so he could look into her eyes. “I’m a terrible boyfriend - I should have banished you from the bed the second your alarm went off.” 

She was nodding along with him, and he could see the smile beginning to grow on her lips. “You’re the worst,” she replied, leaning up to kiss his chin.

“Well then,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, “let me make it up to you.” He gestured toward the window, whispering “go have a seat” as he ducked into the bathroom.

Grabbing a dry towel from the rack in the corner, he turned just in time to see Lin wrap the blanket he’d been using around herself and bury her face in the fabric, her shoulders lifting as she breathed in the scent of him no doubt still lingering on it. He smiled and walked over to her, shifting until he was on his knees behind her. 

Carefully pulling her hair out from beneath the blanket, he wrapped the towel around it and began gently drying the dark strands. He continued like that until it was decently dry, eventually dropping the damp towel on the floor next to them. 

Using his fingers, Gavriel began gently untangling the knots he came across. He smiled gently when he saw her eyes flutter closed as he leaned around to kiss her cheek.

Lin hummed lowly, a content smile pulling at her lips as he sat back and began working her hair into a ponytail. Gathering all the strands together, he slipped a hair tie off his wrist and twisted it until her hair was secured in a fairly neat bun on the crown of her head.

Trailing one finger down the back of her neck, he tapped her shoulder with the other hand. “You’re all good now, love.”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “You’re so good to me, baby.”

Standing, he pulled her up and into his arms. “I love you the way you love me.”

“Infinitely and eternally,” she replied, kissing him quickly before moving off to finish getting ready.

He smiled at her back, knowing that he’d just created a new morning routine for the two of them.

~*^*~

He knew he was being louder than usual as he made his way to Lin’s apartment, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He’d just gotten back from boys’ night at the bar, and he could still feel the drinks coursing through his system. Even though he hadn’t had enough to get himself drunk, Gavriel knew himself well enough to know that he was quite tipsy. Thankfully, they all lived within walking distance of the bar, so he didn’t have to bother Lin to come pick him up. 

Fumbling only slightly to get the key into the lock, he let himself into his girlfriend’s apartment. He toed off his work boots without bothering to untie them, his socks following close behind. His only two concerns were getting himself some water and finding his girlfriend.

Just thinking of the love of his life had him turning in the direction of her room. “My lovely Linnea!” he called, wandering into the kitchen. 

“I’m in bed!” she yelled back, and he heard the distinct sound of the sheets rustling as she moved. Grabbing a bottle of water from her fridge, he down half of it before making his way into the bedroom.

“Hello, beautiful girlfriend,” he murmured, pushing his jeans over his hips before the door had even shut behind him. He took her in as she held up a finger and tilted her head in the direction of the book in her hands. She was wearing a pair of his old grey sweatpants and a bright blue sports bra, and he thought she’d never been more beautiful. Her hair was still pulled up into the same bun he’d done it in that morning, and his heart swelled.

Putting her book on the nightstand, she chuckled as she looked up at him, and he had to laugh too. His jeans had barely pooled around his ankles before he was pulling his shirt off and stepping out of his pants. “Well hi. Have a good time with the boys?”

Gavriel nodded, flopping face-first into the bed next to her. “I always do.” Rolling himself onto his back briefly before turning over once again, he situated himself on his side with his head resting on her thigh. “But I’m very happy to be here with you.”

“Aww, aren’t you sweet?” she murmured, tracing a finger over his cheek. 

“I mean it,” he confirmed, staring up into her beautiful eyes. “I’m so in love with you, Lin. And how could I not be? With your dark hair, and your stunning eyes, and your pretty smile…” he trailed off as she began brushing golden strands of hair off his face. “You’re just so amazing.”

Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his. “And you, my love, are a very affectionate drunk.” He pouted up at her, slightly hurt that she wasn’t returning his affection, but she just kissed it away. “But I’m very in love with you too.”

Grinning up at her once again, he rolled so his face was pressed to her thigh. He was about to say something else, but all thoughts flew out of his brain when she began working her fingers through his hair. The action was so soothing that he hummed and wrapped an arm around her knee just to feel closer to her. 

Lin never ceased her movements, and he felt himself being lulled to sleep by her touch. Just before he drifted off, he heard her whisper, “you’re the love of my life.”

And you’re mine, he thought, his last conscious thought being that he needed to tell her that in the morning. 

TWO YEARS, TWO MONTHS, AND TWO DAYS AGO

Knowing his girlfriend was a restless sleeper did nothing to ease the annoyance that Connall felt. He’d been trying, and failing, to fall back asleep for thirty minutes, thanks to Vesta constantly kicking his shin. He could usually tune out her movements - after all, she mostly just rolled so she could get closer to him or wrapped her arms a little tighter around his waist - but it had gotten ridiculous.

Finally cracking an eye open, he was greeted with the sight of her gorgeous eyes staring down at him. He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes when she started giggling. “How long have you been staring at me?”

“About thirty-five minutes,” she laughed, brushing her fingers over his cheek. “I realized that staring alone wasn’t going to cut it after about five minutes - that’s when I started with the kicking.”

Connall groaned again, moving his arm just enough to glare at her. “Demon,” he muttered, which only made her giggle more. “The fuck did you want me awake for?”

Pushing her lips into the perfect pout, Vesta whined softly in the back of her throat. “Don’t you want to spend time with me, baby?”

He huffed and rolled until he was completely sprawled on top of her, practically squishing her as he kissed all over her cheeks and jaw. “Of course I do, love.” He kissed the tip of her nose, his arms sliding under her waist and pulling her against him. “I just wanna know why you wanted me awake at the crack of dawn.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic!” she chastised, swatting him upside the head lightly. “Seven A.M. is not the crack of dawn.” He merely raised an eyebrow at her, and she knocked her forehead gently into his chin. “I just… well, I was hoping I could play with your hair? I’m going to have a very long day and it always soothes me when you let me - it’s just so comforting, getting to run my fingers through your hair.”

He felt the soft smile pulling at his lips before he could do anything to stop it - not that he wanted to. He loved that Vesta was so vulnerable with him. She put on this tough face to the rest of the world, but he loved that she could be whoever she wanted with him. 

“You got it, my love,” Connall finally murmured, kissing her temple once before shuffling down so his cheek was resting just over her heart. He settled against her, and one of her hands rested on his hip as the other began carding through his hair, sifting the strands between her fingers and gently untangling them. The feeling was so soothing, to him as well as her, that he couldn’t help but nuzzle his nose into her chest.

He hummed into her chest, his lips just barely brushing the bare skin of her shoulder with kisses every minute or so. 

Even though he’d planned on sleeping a little later, he would gladly get up as early as Vesta wanted just to have this time with her. 

~*^*~

Connall was leaning against the island in his kitchen when his girlfriend walked in the door, muttering angry curses under her breath as she tossed her keys on the little table by his door hard enough that he heard it echo down the hall. She swept by him with barely a nod in his direction, still grumbling as she disappeared into his room.

Deciding to give her space for a moment, he busied himself with ordering a pizza for dinner. When he was done with that, he pulled two beers from the fridge, popping the tops off just as Vesta wandered back into the room - and stole the breath from his lungs. 

She’d swapped her work clothes for a pair of his skinny black track pants - the ones with the white stripes down the side - and a dark green bra that was more lace than anything else. Though she was still frowning, he was captivated by how beautiful she was. 

“Everything okay, baby?” he questioned. When she only fixed him with a piercing glare, he held up a placating hand. “Yeah, stupid question, I know. Want a beer?”

Offering him a terse nod, one that was barely a dip of her head, Vesta took the bottle he’d held out to her. She lifted it to her lips and didn’t put it back down until only a quarter of the liquid inside remained. “Sorry,” she murmured, setting the beer back on the counter. “Just a long fucking day.”

Nodding, Connall opened his mouth to reply, only for Vesta to cut him off as she kept talking. “I had a guy come in for a massive back piece that took like three hours - and it was good as hell, don’t get me wrong - but that shit is exhausting. And then I had a girl come in to go over a design I’ve been working on for two weeks, only for her to tell me that it was nothing like what she wanted and I had to start all over - never mind that it was exactly what she’d asked for!”

She heaved a massive sigh and dropped her head into her hands. Crossing the small space between them, he ran his fingers up and down her spine in a soothing motion. He felt her muscles begin to relax at his touch. “What can I do to help, love?”

Lifting her head enough to meet his eyes, she quirked her lips up into a small smile as she took his hand and began pulling him toward the couch. “You,” she told him, “can sit your ass on the couch and braid my hair.”

“Oh, I can, can I?”

“Mhmm.” She plopped down on the floor in front of his couch, tugging him into place behind her until she was sitting between his legs, one hand lazily tracing patterns over his foot. “I know you said you have a new one you want to try, and you always say how pretty my hair is.”

Connall hummed in agreement, since she was right. He’d mentioned a few days ago that he saw a braid he thought would look really good in her hair. He smiled as she saw some of the tension already slip from her shoulders, letting her settle back against his thighs as his fingers began weaving through the gorgeous red strands of her hair. He’d realized - before they’d even started dating - that braiding her hair, or even playing with it, was soothing for her - just like it was when she played with his hair. Whenever she was stressed or angry or sad, she’d just take his hand and rest it on her hair, and she’d let him braid it until she felt better.

And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it himself. 

They stayed that way for at least fifteen minutes, his fingers untangling and weaving the strands of her hair together, only pausing when he needed to dig hair ties out of the bowl on his coffee table to hold one section in place while he worked on another one.

She was right: he did think her hair was absolutely gorgeous. Something about the deep tones of her red hair always looked so captivating when they were twisted into a complex braid. 

She didn’t move until he tugged on the bottom of her braid - his silent signal that he was done. Reaching up, she ran his fingers carefully over his work, her fingers working over her hair carefully so she wouldn’t mess up his hard work. He’d pulled her hair into three French braids on the top of her head that flowed into one fishtail braid that ran down her neck and settled on her spine. The work was precise, and he could tell she knew that by the smile she offered him over her shoulder.

“Work out the way you wanted it to, Con?” She turned to face him, resting her chin on his knee when he cupped her cheek. 

Nodding, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “It’s a good look for you, Ves.” 

He wanted to say more, wanted to say that it could’ve turned out horrible but he would still think it was perfect because he loved that she liked when he did her hair, but Vesta gripped his thighs, pulling him down into her lap and letting out a happy giggle at the surprised look he gave her. “Then I love it - just like I love you.”

“And I love you for that,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love how much comfort it gives you.”

Leaning in, she nipped the skin of his jaw. “And I love that you’re always willing to help me calm down like this. Thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“Anything for you, my love.” And he meant it too - he really would do anything for her. 

ONE YEAR AND TWENTY-TWO DAYS AGO

Rolling away from the small shaft of sunlight that had managed to slip through his curtains, Vaughan came face to face (well, face to chest, really) with his still-sleeping girlfriend. Staring at the lines of ink that spilled between her breasts and over her stomach, he practically drank in the sight of how beautiful she was. The sheet had pooled around their waists sometime during the night - probably because they’d been too warm after Sorrel had woken him up at two in the morning because “baby, please, I need you to fuck me back to sleep right now.” 

He never could resist her.

Her skin had pebbled in the cool air, and he couldn’t resist tracing his fingers lightly over the outside of her breast. Scooting closer to her, Vaughan dropped his head onto her chest, his face pressed to the skin in the valley of her breasts. “It’s too early,” he mumbled, lips ghosting over her skin with each word. 

Startled awake by the sound of his voice, Sorrel jolted beneath him. “So you thought I needed to be awake, too?”

“Mmm,” he agreed, nuzzling her skin. “I missed your voice.”

He felt her fingers trail over his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re all sleepy and needy.” 

Her hands drifted back into his hair, and he practically purred as she started scratching his scalp with her nails. Sorrel’s other hand slid over his back and into his hair, sifting the long strands between her fingers. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to be the only one awake,” he said. The feeling of her hands in his hair was one of his favorite things in the world.

“I can’t help it, love,” she murmured, her hands never ceasing their motions. “Your hair’s just so soft. And it’s pretty, too.”

“Thanks, babe.” Vaughan could feel the soothing action of her hands spreading through his body, the relaxation threatening to pull him back to sleep. “Wish I could stay like this all day.”

“I know you do.” Tightening her grip on his hair, Sorrel lifted his head until he was looking into her eyes. “But I know you - even if you didn’t have to get ready for work, you’d never stay like this all day.” When he just arched a brow at her, she elaborated, “with your face this close to my tits, you’d have me moaning and writhing beneath you in no time.”

He smirked at her, one hand sliding up her body to cup her breast. “Mmm, I could get you all soft and needy beneath me, stuff your tight little pussy with my cock like I know you need.”

“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep,” she whined, rolling out from underneath him even as her eyes flashed with mischief. 

He flopped onto his stomach with his face buried in her pillow, blindly reaching out for her with one hand as he whined low in his throat.

“Sleepy you is so needy,” she giggled, wrapping her fingers around his and pressing her lips to the back of his hand. “Now, come on, love. Sit up.”

Rolling onto his back, he let Sorrel pull him to a sitting position even as he pouted at her. “I’m always needy for you.” 

“I know you are - because I’m always needy for you, too.” She shifted to her knees behind him, once again sliding her fingers through his hair. He sat still as she worked, letting her comb the tangles from his hair as she pulled it into a messy bun on the crown of his head. Twisting a hair tie that he knew she always kept on her wrist around the bun to keep it in place, she slid her hands down to his chin and tilted his head back so she could look down into his eyes. “Okay, babe, time for you to get ready for work.”

Wrapping one hand around her neck and pulling her lips to his, Vaughan kissed her deeply. “You’re so good to me.”

“Guess it’s because I like you so much.”

~*^*~

Vaughan reached for his door, shaking the water from himself as he walked into his apartment. It had been his turn to stay late to do inventory at the shop, and it had started raining pretty heavily on his drive home. Kicking his shoes off onto the mat just inside his door and pulling his sweatshirt off to hang it on the hook, he turned to call a greeting to Sorrel - and stopped in his tracks.

His girlfriend was sprawled across his couch on her back, with her feet propped against the back of it, wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers. 

“Decided to go topless today?” he asked, walking forward until he could bend over the back of the couch to press his lips to her forehead. 

Lifting her eyes to his, she flicked his nose. “If you can wear nothing but shorts, then so can I.”

He let his gaze rove over her body, lingering on her chest when he heard the hitch in her breathing at his attention. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, love. But, why my boxers?”

“They’re more comfortable than my shorts.” She smiled at him, taking his hand and trying to tug him over the back of the couch. “Plus, they were in your drawer and they smell like your cologne.”

“I see.” He nodded at her attempts to get her to join him on the couch, pulling away just long enough to pull his jeans off, leaving him in a t-shirt and boxers. Tossing them somewhere in the direction of his bedroom, he basically vaulted over the back of the sofa, catching himself before he could crush Sorrel. As soon as he was situated, he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her into his lap, both of them laughing.

“You’re a mess, baby,” she crooned, turning her head to face him. Her hair had come loose from the very precarious bun she’d had it piled in, and it tumbled around her shoulders as she looked at him. “But you’re my mess.”

“For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.” Vaughan pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, watching as she watched him with so much happiness in her eyes. “And you’re mine.”

“And I’m yours,” she confirmed, leaning in to kiss him. “Baby,” she murmured as she pulled away, “could you braid my hair?”

“Absolutely, my love.” He slid to the edge of the couch, allowing Sorrel to climb off his lap and settle herself between his legs. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he slowly combed out the knots, working through the curtain of her hair gently. As soon as he’d finished with that, he cupped her jaw and tilted her chin up so he could see what he was doing. Working swiftly, he braided the dark strands together, never faltering in his movements. 

Once he’d finished twisting the strands together, he reached down to pull the hair tie off her wrist, tying it around the bottom of the braid. “All done, S,” he said, smiling at her when she turned and climbed back into his lap. 

“Thanks, baby.” She kissed him gently as she settled against his chest, shivering slightly in the cool air of the apartment. 

Vaughan chuckled as he felt the gooseflesh rising on her skin, giving her a fond look when she glared at him. “Getting cold, are we?” When she just nodded at him, he grabbed the giant fluffy blanket that always seemed to be on his couch, wrapping it around the both of them before toppling over sideways. 

She shrieked in surprise at the sudden movement, though she snuggled happily against his chest as he pulled the blanket even tighter around her. Leaning up, she kissed him slowly, letting their tongues work lazily against one another as she tangled her legs with his.

Pulling back, Vaughan felt his breathing hitch as he saw the truly beautiful smile on her face. “What?”

“I just love you so much, Vaughan,” she answered, kissing his jaw. “So very much.”

He couldn’t help the way he hugged her tighter. “I love you infinitely, baby.”

.

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[whimsicaldragonette]

March 2021 Wrap-Up

In March I read 14 books, most of which were quite good. I was on a bit of a romance kick, as you can see. Titles and links as follows:

The Silver Arrow by Lev Grossman -- 5 stars -- I read this for the *third* time this year with my kiddo, this time by listening to the audiobook. They still love it, so the 5 star rating stands

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson -- 5 stars -- This was a reread of the audiobook and I loved it just as much, if not more, this time around. This is probably my favorite depiction of the fae ever.

The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by KJ Charles -- 5 stars -- this was pure indulgence and I loved it

Lintang and the Pirate Queen by Tamara Moss -- 5 stars -- slow and slightly lacking at first but overall a fun adventure with a lot of character growth

How to Catch a Duke by Grace Burrowes -- 4 stars -- a bit slow but very enjoyable once it gets going. the romance is a tangle that does get cleared up by the end

Bringing Down the Duke by Evie Dunmore -- 4 stars -- an enjoyable romance but slightly lacking

When a Duke loves a Governess by Olivia Drake -- 3 stars -- an enjoyable romance mostly due to the governess rescuing the duke from his unruly children, but the writing style was lacking

She Drives me Crazy by Kelly Quindlen -- 5 stars -- this was a queer sports romcom and an absolute delight to read

So This is Love by Elizabeth Lim -- 4 stars -- Not my favorite Twisted Tale, but Elizabeth Lim is definitely my favorite Twisted Tale author, so it's a close second

Riverboat Adventures by Lucy Kinkaid -- 5 stars -- I loved this as a child, and I'm delighted that my kiddo loves it too. It makes the *best* bedtime tales

Dearest Rogue by Elizabeth Hoyt -- 4 stars -- A lovely fake-married bodyguard romance with the couple travelling together so there's not a lot of characters or plot beyond the romance

A Rogue of One's Own by Evie Dunmore -- 5 stars -- A delightful suffragette romance with wonderful characters

The Helm of Midnight by Marina Lostetter -- 5 stars -- An excellent and extremely creepy fantasy mystery/thriller that kept me on the edge of my seat from the first page to the last. I will never forget about the Blooms. Or the Varg.

Malice by Heather Walter -- 3 stars -- This one was a disappointment. I loved it for the first 90% as a unique twist on sleeping beauty / cinderella, but it fell apart at the end and threw character development out the window in favor of a shock ending.

#march 2021 read #shilo reads #book rec #march wrap up

[skeletorific]

Okay then, can I please get some good ol cuddlin with Marvus an a short female s/o that has been down in the dumps lately?

Oh now you’ve gone and done it. Marvus is on a one man quest to ruin my life, and what’s worse is, he’s succeeding. This got LONG but here we go!!!

The green rooms of clowntown were never exactly the most hospitable place to hang out. Aside from the usual motley crew of unstable clowns ( no one on Marvus’ team would kill you, necessarily, but that doesn’t mean injury wasn’t a threat when a clown was on a rager), the hygiene of the place left something to be desired. Sweat, spilled faygo, sopor slime usually smeared on the walls, as well as a medley of other fluids you usually didn’t care to think about. Combine that with the odors usually wafting from the concert pits out front and, well…..it took some getting used to, to say the least. You showed up to see him after his concerts when you weren’t busy, but all told, not your favorite locale on Alternia.

Usually Marvus’ dressing room was a bit nicer. In fact you could probably head back there now, but…something kept you rooted to the couch, curled up and facing away from the door. The same as when you’d first walked in and collapsed there a couple hours prior. Mindlessly scrolling through Chittr, barely absorbing what you were seeing but incessantly refreshing. 

You weren’t feeling up to it. That was happening more and more lately. It was odd, like the more friends you made, the more that empty spot inside you seemed to gape. And the harder it was to face it. It was like…how much more could you give? Or not give…devour. That’s what it felt like. Like you were one of those perpetually hungry insect lusii that demanded blood from their charges at all costs. Never satisfied, only in search of the next friendship meal.

And it was starting to burn you out.

That wasn’t the only factor, of course. Lack of sleep. Low seratonin. General Alternian shittiness. Rainy Day Syndrome or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. You were so tired and nebulously sad that all you wanted to do was burrow into your makeshift bed back at the outpost, but you’d done that all morning. Only made you feel worse.

So…..you came here.

Marvus was busy, which is a bit like saying the sky is gray or a tealblood loves justice. Its one of those immutable facts of nature that hardly bears repeating. But you came anyways. Because coming here, even those brief snatches of moments he could usually spare you after shows were usually enough to leave you feeling a bit….more real, if that made sense. Like you were a little more tethered to solid ground.

It was probably useless to try and define what you were. Tagora, who’d insisted on knowing the details of  your relationship (and the name of Marvus’ usual legal representation, “just in case” he was looking for someone with a bit more “verve”) had said it was floating on the edges of some quadrant, he just wasn’t sure which one. Tyzias had bluntly asked whether you’d found a matesprit, and Polypa wanted to know if you were looking for a bit of flexibility with the moiraillegiance.

The truth was you weren’t sure where things stood with you. Not just because the quadrants were still relatively alien to you, but also because Marvus didn’t seem pressed to put a word on it himself. Like nearly everything he did there was a casualness to it. He seemed to enjoy your company, and you enjoyed his. He was physically affectionate, but in a manner so light it felt entirely natural. Intuitively you knew that if you ever asked him to stop, he would.

You weren’t fooling yourself: this was something beyond friendship. But oddly enough the ambiguity of it all was appealing. It was nice to have something without the usual batshit stakes everything on Alternia seemed to have. 

You were so lost in this contemplation that you didn’t notice the music fading into screams, which signified the end of a show. The green room slowly filled with idle chatter and sounds of furniture moving as the clowns unwound. But it was a hand on your arm that finally snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to see a familiar face.

“hey” Marvus said, the usual lazy grin on his face as he looked down on you. He looked almost as beat as you felt, sweaty from the stage lights and eyelids drooping low. Despite that, you feel your troubles start to dim a bit just looking at him.

You smile slightly, sitting up a bit to cover his hand with your own. “hey. Finished up for the night.”

“ye. big crowd 2nite so the roadies r gunna b cleanin up for a while. gunna crash here 2nite and head for the next spot in the mornin.” His thumb traced a slow spiral on your arm as he cocked a painted eyebrow. “u doin aight?”

“…yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”  You say, hoping that pause wasn’t as long as it felt. “Why? Something wrong?”

“nah lol. just usually dm me when ur gunna turn up.”

“Is it ok that I’m here?”

“Mmm…” He smirks, pretending to consider it before leaning down to peck your cheek. It pulls an unwitting grin from you, despite the definite greasepaint smudge its left behind. “maybe. u wanna eat smthn?”

You shook your head. You weren’t hungry.

“aight. brb. gunna grab somethin b4 i pass out.” He rose to his feet with his usual casual grace. 

“Ok.” You let go of his hand. He winks and heads for the catering table.

There’s a warm flutter in your chest, but…not as much as you were hoping? No, that’s not fair. But you’re looking around at all these chatty juggalos and it’s only making you realize how tired you are. You just want to decompress right now, but he’s a chronic extrovert. He could be in here for hours, and you didn’t want to pull him away from that just to tend to your own vague emotional needs right now. 

With a resigned sigh, you turn back to your phone. It’s fine. You’ve definitely put up with worse. And at least you’d get to spend some time with him…

About ten minutes later you hear footsteps behind you, getting closer, and then coming to a stop right behind you. You don’t turn around, just scoot your legs a big to give him the room to sit down. You hear a heavy sigh from him that you assume is the precursor to collapsing into the couch. 

Only to be startled by an arm slipping around your waist and hoisting you into the air. 

You yelp, nearly dropping your phone in surprise as you scramble to catch yourself against him. With a couple of effortless turns of your body, Marvus braces you on his hip with one arm and steadies a plate of food with the other, heading out of the room. 

You feel your cheeks growing warmer as you get a grip on his shoulders. None of the other clowns even spare you a glance as he walks by, but despite the apparent frequency of its occurrence, you don’t think you’re ever going to get used to him carting you around like a toddler. Marvus is average by highblood standards, but that doesn’t mean much to a tiny human. Something he takes no small amount of glee in reminding you of as often as possible.

“U-uh….where are we going?” You manage to splutter out. 

“dressin room” He said simply, nudging the door open with his foot and heading inside. The quarters, as always, are somewhat cramped, but luxuriously decked out, closets stuffed with fashionably shredded clothes, a recuperacoon in the corner, and a sectional sofa big enough to double as a bed. Not that anyone on this planet knows what a bed is. Marvus sets the plate of food down on the vanity and shakes off his jacket, trading you from arm to arm. 

“Er…didn’t you want to….” 

“mm. think they can live w/o me 4 a bit lol” Jacket successfully discarded to the floor, he tossed you on the couch like a sack of potatoes and crawled in next to you, bringing the plate with him and propping his elbow up on the arm of the couch to eat.

You frown, sitting up a bit. Marvus never leaves early. You’re lucky if you can drag him out after half the crew has blacked out from the faygo, and-….

Troll fucking jegus, did he really.

“….you don’t have to do this just for me.”

He flicked his eyebrows in that infuriatingly coy way he has, like a silent question mark. “do what”

“Put yourself out for my sake.” 

Dead silence. Which from Marvus is as damning as anything.

You look down at the couch, suddenly unable meet his gaze. There’s a loose thread that you pick at. “It’s not a big deal. Just a low tank day. I’ll survive.”

“if that were true ya wouldn’t be here”

“I wanted to see you.”

“so, ur seein me.” He grinned, licking a stray crumb off his fingertips. “less ur interested in seein more, cuz dan.”

You flush, nudging his shoulder. “I’m serious. Don’t worry about it. You can go out if you want.”

Marvus sighs, tugging lightly at the strings of your hoodie till you’re laying down face to face with him. He pushes some hair out of your face, claws scratching lightly at your scalp. It melts you, like always. Your eyelids lower instinctively as you lean into the touch.

“u think ‘m here against my wishin? shizz, babe, i ain’t that nice a guy.” He grins, continuing to stroke your hair. “‘m here cuz it don’t feel good watchin u b all low n slow. sacriligeous, if u think abt it.” 

His hand slowly traces from your hair, down to your side, coaxing you towards him. You give up fighting it, burying your face in your chest and wrapping your arms around him tight. He tucks his head in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting on your skin. Like most highbloods, his skin was on the chillier side, but it contrasts nicely with the muggy heat of his dressing room. You feel his fangs gently scraping your neck as he kisses you softly.

“just lemme do my m-fin good deed for the day, aight?” He murmurs. “i gotcha…”

And somehow, you know that even if that hole isn’t getting any smaller….it sure as hell isn’t getting any bigger. 

Not with him around. 

#homestuck #hiveswap #hs #hiveswap friendsim #marvus xoloto #marvus #hs marvus #friendsim #headcanon #cuddling #Anonymous

[jungwoohoos]

pugna (one)

pairing: fighter!yoongi x reader

genre: slow burn, fluff, angst

word count: 4k

warnings: mentions of blood, snarky yoongi, food that might make you hungry

he showed up at your doorstep one day, covered in cuts and testing your patience. you don’t know why, but you felt compelled to help him. you just don’t realize how deep that runs

note: i’m aiming for this to part one of two or three!! thanks a buttload to anna @jungtaeyoongles for being my editor and emotional support. hope you guys like it 😎

You never quite got used to the smell of rubbing alcohol. Nearly five years of soaked cotton pads and perfumed operating rooms and the bite still made your head spin. It was something you could never fully anticipate, the harshness of it enough to tickle a sneeze from you every time.

“Do you really do that every single time?”

“Shut up. You’re bleeding all over my pillow.”

His lip’s busted in two different places and the push of his words breaks through the scabbing skin. You dab at the beads of blood, a particularly hard press eliciting a quiet hiss from him.

He’s fisting your pineapple pillow, the one your sister got you as a housewarming present, but now it’s decorated with small drips of red. They’re not too bad, his knuckles. His right hand’s worse, the first two knuckles scraped raw enough to ensure some swelling come the morning, the last one already covered with a purple bruise. Left fared better. You pry it from the bedazzled pillow and run a light thumb over it. He doesn’t flinch, but you see a wince from the corner of your eye when you reach the scrape on his joints. You know he’s dealt with worse, but you try to be more gentle with the alcohol.

The quiet is new. There’s usually some snarky comment about how your place looks two steps from hell or how you look like you could use a week’s worth of sleep. Little digs that you can usually swallow with a glare and a firm grip on the bandage in your hands. It didn’t take you long to realize he liked riling you up, liked prodding you until you broke out of your bedside manner and bit back. 

He hadn’t spoken until you had sneezed, and he hasn’t since you’ve been tending to him. You’re wrapping his right hand, something you could do in your sleep, but you nurse it carefully, following the bumps and ridges with a soft hand.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” you say, head tucked over his hand so he can’t see your curiosity. He shifts, taking his hand with him so you have no choice but to move as well. There are a couple moments where all there is is the swish of the bandage and his even breaths. You fasten the clip, a quick turn of his hand as inspection, before looking up.

You have to tilt your head up to look at him properly, your position on the floor putting you at a disadvantage. His lip is beginning to swell, ballooning out by the corners, but the rest of his face is untouched. 

He ignores your comment. “You’ve never asked me what I do.” He’s looking at you, something like surprise in his eyes.

It was hard not to be curious when he’s showed up at your doorstep almost every week for the past two months, cuts gracing parts of his body. You nearly tripped over Seohyeon’s stuffed turtle on the ground when he first showed up. You were expecting him—Wonju had called you 20 minutes before, which he never did, even when he broke his ankle making a delivery—but seeing him caught you off guard. Maybe it was the steady stream of blood flowing from his nose or the angry gash on his neck, but something about seeing that shade of red outside of the hospital was something you hadn’t fully anticipated this late at night.

“You’re a doctor, right?” he had said, eyes roaming your shocked face. “You look like you’ve never seen blood before.”

You had rushed him in at that point, sitting him on the stool so you wouldn’t have to worry about getting blood out of your couch. He had been talkative—pointing out the sleep in your eyes and the plate in your sink—but you saw that whatever traces of adrenaline remained had left him. He sat still on the stool, limbs pliant for your care, and you thought that he would be the best patient you’ve ever had if you didn’t want to stuff his mouth full of latex gloves.

A finishing rub of a bandage and you had moved to the side to clean up. “Okay Yoongi, you’re all set. You can go now!” You hadn’t been able to help the annoyed lilt in your voice, too miffed from his recent barrage on your choice of candles. “Change the bandages every day and make sure to put on antibacterial cream at every changing and don’t get beat up on the way home because I’m going to sleep!”

You had been rummaging through your kit when you saw a hand reach in and grab a fistful of gauze. Your head had whipped up, mouth ready to yell, but it died at your lips when you felt a thumb swipe across your cheek. He was looking at you, one corner of his mouth curved up. “Thanks for cleaning me up, doc. Oh, and for these.” He shook the bundle of bandages in his hand. His touch left your skin a second later, and there was a blur of his jacket and a small salute before he was gone with a click of your door.

There had been a moment to process before you were huffing, rubbing at the remaining warmth on your cheek. The audacity. You had snapped the kit close and thrown it into the drawer. He doesn’t even know me. An extra scrub at your face with a grumble. You had stomped up the stairs as quietly as you could without waking Seohyeon. Once she was up, she was up, and there wasn’t anything you wanted more than to burrow under your covers and forget about Yoongi.

Except that he had started showing up like clockwork, a short coming over doc. it’s yoongi btw ;) giving you 20 minutes to grumble out of bed and calm yourself before having to open the door. It hit you some time during his fourth visit that you could ignore his text and indulge in some uninterrupted sleep. The thought of a full night’s sleep made you sigh, your hand stilling over a particularly deep gash on his knee. “Hey doc, watch out or I’ll think you’re going soft on me,” he had mumbled, eyes closed. You made sure to be generous with the alcohol wipes that night.

The idea had lingered for several days after. It seemed to be an obvious decision, almost painfully so, but you always ended up biting the inside of your cheek when you stayed in bed after getting his texts. You could really do without the constant bickering. And the day you see Yoongi without that confident smirk plastered on his face would probably be your heaven on Earth. Your feet shuffle over the floor every time though, and you scowl when he argues with you about your favorite fruit, but you never really regret having to bear the fluorescence of the kitchen light so late at night. You could chalk it up to moral obligation or sheer delirium, but maybe you were starting to enjoy his company.

You had cleaned too many of his cuts in too regular of a routine to not be curious. But you also noticed that he avoided any mention of his life, leading the conversation elsewhere the moment talk became too close. The questions sometimes settled heavy on your tongue, driving forward when a flippant comment pressed too hard, but you knew the boundaries of privacy too well, so you didn’t allow yourself to pry. It was something you resigned yourself to remaining ignorant to. 

It took you by surprise to hear him bring it up, and you couldn’t help the raise of your eyebrows. “I—well you’ve never mentioned it,” you start, fiddling with the tube of ointment in your hands. “It didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it, so I never brought it up.”

He gives a quiet snort. “You’ve been fixing me up for the past two months and you haven’t asked me why I always look like I got stuck in a blender. Not many people are that patient.”

He’s still looking at you, and you have to focus on the pineapple pillow in his lap because you feel yourself starting to warm from the attention. 

“Why do you come to me?” You’re staring at a loose bead. “I’m not that close to Wonjo, and we’ve never met before he called me the first time.”

You see him lean back out of the corner of your eye. He shrugs and picks at a bandaged hand, bringing your attention back to him. You grab at his wrist and bring it down by his side. His eyes catch yours, and you’re reminded that your fingers are still looped around his.

“I don’t know,” he says, his skin warm beneath your hand. “I trust you.”

There’s a beat and you’re trying to think because you didn’t expect that. You search his face, eager to find if there’s something more, something you’re missing, but he’s moving away, taking his hand out of your grip and looking towards his right. Your gaze follows, and when you see a sleepy figure rubbing with small hands at the top of the stairs, you pull your hand back to your side and hastily stand up.

“Hi baby, what are you doing up?” you murmur, moving to the base of the stairs so Yoongi’s out of her sight. She yawns, a little squeak rounding the end of it, and leans to her side so she can see past you.

“Mama, who’s that?” You shift to the side, but she pokes her head around you, eyes round. She’s holding her turtle to her chest with tiny fists, and you’re tempted to pluck her up and take her back to bed but, it would be a futile attempt knowing her stubbornness.

Your foot is perched on the first step. “He’s mommy’s friend who’s just about to leave.” You lean onto the next step. “You should go back to bed or else you’ll be sleepy tomorrow,” you coo, steadily making your way up. She’s still trained on Yoongi, and you’re thinking you can catch her while she’s distracted. Arms out, you make grabby hands at her. “C’mon Seohyeon, time for bed.”

She’s off and ducking beneath your reach before you can blink, little feet padding down the stairs. You lean over the railing and compose yourself with a small sigh before turning to move down. She’s parked by the arm of the couch, one arm around her turtle and the other perched on her hip. Her gaze is right at Yoongi, who migrated to the edge of the couch, his back now straight. Neither of them spoke, only stared, and you were ready to swoop in to grab Seohyeon when Yoongi stands up and sticks out a bandaged hand.

“Hi, missy. I’m Yoongi. What’s your name?”

She lets out a peal of giggles at the title and takes his hand in hers, hers only wrapping around four of his fingers. “I’m Seohyeon, and that’s my mama.” A little head bobs back to where you’re standing. “She’s a duckter,” she says proudly.

A small tinkle of laughter from Yoongi stuns you for a second, but you’re sure it’s him because he’s bending down with as much of a smile as he can muster with his busted lip. “She sure is, and a good one at that,” he affirms with a nod. She agrees with two nods of her own before she begins to babble, her little body bouncing with the energy of Yoongi’s attention. And he’s rapt, his gaze never leaving hers, smile inching wider when she introduces her turtle by making him shake its foot. It’s new seeing him like this, and you’re reluctant to admit it, but he has a nice smile even with the scabs of dried blood.

“Mama said I can’t get an ostrick until I can write my name, but it’s so hard,” she pouts into her whine, chubby cheeks ballooning out. “Can you write your name, Mr. Yoongi?”

His head’s dipped in sympathy. “I can, but it took me a lot of practice. If you practice every day, I think you can do it.”

He’s met with a squeal and a bounce, the turtle waving around in a chunky fist. She turns to putter towards you, and you open to scoop her up. Small arms wrap around your neck to pull your face in for wet kisses. 

“Mama, I’m gonna practice every day!! Mr. Turtle needs a friend.”

“I’m glad, baby,” you say against the soft of her hairline. “Now say goodnight so you can go to sleep and get big and strong for tomorrow.” You walk until you’re in front of Yoongi. Seohyun pushes off your chest and gives a wave of her hand.

“Bye Mr. Yoongi!! Come visit mama soon so I can write my name for you!!” 

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Sleep tight, Seohyeon. I’ll be ready to be impressed.”

She gives a thumbs up with a stubby finger and wriggles in your arms until you bend to put her down. “I’m a big girl, so I can put myself back to bed. Don’t worry, mama.” She’s running away from you and up the stairs as quickly as her legs can take her. She turns back before rounding the corner and chants, “love you, love you, love you.” A toothy smile appears on her face before she disappears, the close of her door coming soon after.

He’s looking at you when you turn back, and you don’t know if it’s the last five minutes of Seohyeon’s chatter catching up to you, but your face burns a light red. 

“Sorry about that—she loves meeting people,” you say to his right ear.

He lets out a small noise. “Nah it’s okay, she’s cute. Looks a lot like you.”

Your eyes are on him again, and you’re faintly aware of how he keeps on catching you off guard tonight. The side of his mouth is curving up again, and it must be because your mouth is the tiniest bit open, but you can’t bring yourself to close it. You’re still looking at him, and he’s looking at you, and you’re not sure what it is but the air seems to have settled into something comfortable.

He breaks your gaze with a stretch of his back. “I should probably head out. You’ve patched me up pretty good for now.” His arm brushes against yours while he’s reaching for his jacket, and the warmth tickles you. 

“Remember the ointment, Min. You’ve been slacking recently,” you chide, fingers roaming over the spot on your arm.

“Course, doc.” He drops a wink, and you scoff. “Wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.”

The click of the front door is softer this time, and you can’t help but think that maybe it’s because of Seohyeon.

[From: Yoongi, 10:15 pm] : you home?

[Delivered, 10:23 pm]: Huh I thought you only operated past midnight

[Delivered, 10:24 pm]: Yeah, I’m glad I stole some more cotton pads today

[From: Yoongi, 10:26 pm] : sometimes my batteries start working before then

[From: Yoongi, 10:27 pm] : spicy garlic or sweet crunch?

[Delivered, 10:33 pm] : Are you talking about the cotton pads??

[From: Yoongi, 10:34 pm] : nah which you like better

[Delivered, 10:36 pm] : Hmmm spicy garlic, more flavor

[From: Yoongi, 10:40 pm] : okay

It’s only been four days since Yoongi was last there, but your constant efforts to tamp down Seohyeon’s excitement made it feel three times that. You don’t know how you made it to two months of late night clean-ups before she stumbled down, but now you’re pulling your hair that it couldn’t have been longer. No baby, he’s not a knight and I’m not a princess. Now please eat your green beans. The vegetable hanging limp from her lips somehow slithering its way back out after you’ve pushed it in with a finger. Hyeon, I don’t know when Mr. Yoongi’s coming back, but I do know what won’t be coming back if you keep smashing your crayons onto your coloring book. Tiny fingers scrambling to collect the crayons laying on the floor to pull them to her chest. With the nagging at work and the nagging at home, you were ready to sink into the curves of your couch when your phone had lit up.

You can practically feel your heartbeat in your temples, but you will yourself to set up station. It’s a mindless enough activity, but your mind wanders to a place you’ve grown too familiar with the past couple of days. You blame Seohyeon’s daily reminders of Yoongi, and you suppose it isn’t fair to blame a three year old for thoughts you had floating around already, but she was the one who said she likes his hands because he has “dada fingers”.

You moan, resting your forehead against the cold of the counter. You had no interest in thinking about him, much less his fingers. And yet, he keeps creeping into your thoughts when you’re under the covers, looking at the soft moonlight streaming in from the window.

The knock pulls you up from the counter and toward the door. “Okay, what do you have this tim—,” your chant dies in your throat when the smell hits you. Your nose is scrunching because you can’t quite decipher why he smells like fried heaven when it’s typically sweat and detergent, but when a bag is thrust into your line of sight, you nearly swoon because it is fried heaven.

“Oh my go—come in, come in.” You usher him in, suddenly invigorated with the thought of food. Closing the door, you follow the waft in the air until you’re at the counter. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, and you’re looking between him and the bag. “Is this why you asked if I like spicy garlic or sweet crunch? Because you—you really didn’t have to do this,” you stumble, tearing yourself away from the chicken to look at him.

He’s focused somewhere by your nose. “It’s not a big deal. I passed it on the way here and thought maybe you’ve worked up an appetite being my personal doctor, but yeah...it’s not a big deal.” His hands are still stuffed into his pants, and you have to stop yourself from tittering because he started mumbling by the end, lips barely parting. If you didn’t know him better, you would’ve said he almost looked bashful.

“Well,” you have to stop your fingers from ripping open the bag, “that was really nice of you, Yoongi.” The crinkling under your fingers is spurring you on. “We should probably eat these before they—oh! Let me clean you up first! The chicken distracted me.” You’re reaching for his hands before you’re thinking, sliding them gently from his pockets. He lets you lay them on yours.

“These are from last time,” you murmur, running over the rough scabbing on his knuckles. His body must be used to working in overtime because he’s healed nicely, bruises fading to a faint yellow. Your thumb covers the expanse of his hands, and when you reach his fingers, Seohyeon’s “dada fingers” sneaks into your thoughts. You flush and drop his hands to his sides.

“Um, what about your face?” you avert your gaze so you stop thinking about his fingers. It crosses your mind that you would’ve noticed if he had come in with blood on his face, but you search the planes anyway, hoping for a fruitful distraction. A rough scan and there’s nothing new, only the bump on the bridge of his nose from three weeks ago. You cross to the barely visible scar across his left cheekbone, and you squint because you think pink’s beginning to blossom but you’re not sure. A clear of his throat breaks you away and you burn, realizing how close you had shifted to his face. You shuffle back and clear your own throat, hands flitting.

“Is it your arms? Chest? Back?” you’re rambling now, but you’re flustered and the tiniest bit embarrassed and there’s still no sign of where you should be disinfecting.

He leans an elbow on the counter, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread. His face is aloof, but the rosiness of his cheeks is apparent against the pale of his skin.

“I don’t have to be patched up. I—I just wanted to stop by.”

His voice is steady as always, and you wish you could say the same for yours because your stunned “oh!” wavers in the air. He looks up at the sound, cheeks pink but eyes patient.

You scramble for a second, trying to process what he said. You weren’t expecting this—a blushing Yoongi with fried chicken in tow because he wanted to share it with you—but something like a warm wave rolls through you. It glows in your chest and loosens your tongue, and soon, your mouth is moving faster than your brain.

“We should eat then!”

The smile that’s been threatening to break forms when your face is hidden between your arms. You rummage through the bag and pull out the container of chicken with quick hands and a rumbling stomach. Your other hand combs around to see if there’s anything more, and you stop when you feel something soft.

“Yoongi, what’s this?” you ask, even though the skinny neck and feathered sides are telling enough. You stroke the soft of its head, and your chest aches a little.

“Well, Seohyeon was talking about how much she wanted an ostrick, and I wasn’t able to find that, so I thought an ostrich might pass.”

The tease in his voice is familiar, but there’s something more delicate behind it, like he’s not sure how deep he should be wading.

 “I—it’s,” you’re faltering because this is the first time someone’s done something for Seohyeon, and from his eyes on yours, you get the impression that he did this solely for her. “She’s going to love it.”

There’s something grounding in the way you’re looking at each other, keeping you on him. The ostrich is all but forgotten in your hands except for the occasional tickle against skin, and you would laugh if you could get it past the throb in your chest. He looks like he wants to speak, but his mouth is still.

A car horn in the distance breaks your gaze, and the low rumble in your stomach follows soon after. You’re sheepish at the sound, sending a glare to your lower body, and he’s moving toward your cabinets.

“Where are your plates? I don’t know if I trust you with the way you look right now. You’d probably eat the container if you got the chance.” His tone’s light, airy in the way his eyes weren’t. He ignores your huff and picks out two plates before you can point to where you keep the dishes.

The wave of his hand wards off your attempts at helping. “I have to show off that I’m good at something too. Relax for once.”

You round the corner and slide onto the stool at his insistence. Legs swinging and hands cupped, you feel like a kid waiting for dessert, and you can’t remember the last time someone made you food while you watched. The thought paired with the sight of his fingers plucking at the chicken makes you shy away, turning towards the stool beside you. There’s a bill with a note lying on the seat, and you’re certain it’s not yours from the number of zeros on the bill.

“Hey Yoongi, I think you dropped this,” you say, reaching for the money. The writing on the note’s too small for you to see, but when you bring your hand over the counter to stretch towards him, you can’t help the glance at the messy scrawl.

Pull that shit again and you’re out. I don’t fight people who don’t follow code.

#bts imagine #bts fluff #bts scenario #bts fic #bts angst #yoongi imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi fic #bts yoongi #kpop fic #btswriterscollective #my writing #lawd yoongi's hot even when he's a butthole

[moody-by-nature]

Rescue Me |Chapter Twenty-Four

A bell chimed as Jared pulled the door open for Andrea. Anxiety overwhelming her as their eyes met briefly when she passed by. Not only for herself and the uncertainty of what was going on within her body. But she was also anxious because Jared hadn't said a word to her since she'd told him of the possibility. She couldn't wrap her head around his silence. It's not like he should be surprised, they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Leaving Jared's side, Andrea made her way to the back of the store. Her hands slightly trembling as she grabbed two pregnancy tests and walked to the front.

Jared stood in line at the check out counter with a handful of items. His mind was swimming with the possibility of being a father.

When it was their turn, the couple stepped up to the register, placing their items on the counter. A little Italian lady stood behind the register with a sweet smile on her face as she looked at Andrea.

"You don't need these my dear, I can tell you the answer is yes. You're glowing. How bad is the morning sickness?" She asked.

Andrea panicked, her eyes quickly looking up at Jared to see a look of surprise on his face as he stared at the clerk before turning to look at her.

"Um, it just started yesterday... but it's awful." She replied quietly, returning her gaze to the elderly woman.

The cute little lady looked Jared over and smiled, "This one.. you did well, dear, the baby will be beautiful. Don't worry, he's just in shock too, he'll come around." She picked up one of the items to scan it, "Ah, ginger lozenges. See, he's already thinking of you."

Jared wrapped his arm around Andrea's waist, pulling her close and kissed the top of her head. Burrowing his nose in her hair, inhaling her lavender scent; completely thrown by the accuracy of this elderly woman's words. He was shocked, although he didn't know why, he couldn't keep his hands off of her; of course she was going to get pregnant eventually.

After handing Jared his change, the Italian walked around the counter grabbing Andrea's hands.

"My dear, you have quite a journey ahead of you. Just be patient with him and with yourself, everything will work out in the end." She said with a sweet smile.

"Thank you for being so kind. May I ask what your name is?"

"Yes, my dear. My name is Serafina."

"Serafina. That's lovely!" Andrea exclaimed, "It was great to meet you."

Serafina lifted her eyes to Jared, tapping his arm to get his attention. Her head bobbing between him and Andrea, a pensive look on her face.

"It seems you two are in the middle of an argument. My advice, and I know you're not asking, but I'll tell you anyway..." she giggled, "Get it all out in the air. My Lorenzo and I were married sixty-five years before he passed and I'm sure that's the only way we stayed together. There were days we fought like cats and dogs. A couple times I even wanted to kill him. Same for him, I'm sure, but we always said what was in here." She said, tapping her chest.

Andrea felt the tears welling in her eyes as she fought to keep them at bay. She knew she had to talk to Jared, to finish their conversation about yesterday. A sigh of relief escaped her as Jared squeezed her tighter into his side, rubbing his hand across her hip. She felt that was his way of saying it was going to be okay, and laid her head on his shoulder.

They said their goodbyes to Serafina and headed back towards the cafe. As they sat down, Andrea hid their provisions in her bag, away from the prying eyes of her least favorite person in the group.

--

After dinner and a shower, Andrea stood naked at the vanity staring at her reflection. Her hands drifted to her tummy as her eyes flitted to the white plastic tube on the counter. Closing her eyes, she lifted the test into the air and took a deep breath.

Here goes everything, she thought.

A small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth as she saw two pink lines form in the results window. She was going to be a mom.

Rubbing her tummy once more, Andrea stepped into a pair of panties and pulled Jared's black t-shirt over her head. She brushed her wet hair and twisted her dark strands into a braid resting on her shoulder.

Sticking her head out the bathroom door, she saw Jared leaning against the wooden headboard; his left leg over his right. Her eyes falling from his face, deep in concentration looking at his phone, down over his exposed chest.

The steady rise and fall of his chiseled torso became mesmerizing to her. How she loved to fall asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat. His porcelain skin contrasting against the red and black flannel he wore. She felt her cheeks flush as the memory of her birthday drifted through her mind.

"Are you going to stand there creeping all night or come over here and sit with me?"

Startled by his voice, Andrea jumped making Jared chuckle. Biting her lip, Andrea padded toward him still debating on what to say to him.

"I took the test." Her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. Slipping into bed next to him, sitting back on her legs, her fingers nervously drawing up to play with the end of her braid, she waited for him to speak.

Dropping his phone next to him, Jared placed his hands on her hips, positioning her so that she straddled his lap. Drawing his left hand up to her face, he caressed her face, reveling in her beauty. His eyes eagerly absorbed each freckle that dusted across her nose and the apples of her cheeks. Jared felt his heart swelling with love beyond a capacity he ever thought possible.

"Tell me baby, was the sweet little fortune-teller correct?"

A knot formed at the base of Andrea's throat rendering her speechless. Once again overwhelmed, a stray tear began to fall down her face. Losing the battle with her emotions she began to cry uncontrollably.

"I'm so sorry!" Gasping for air, she pulled Jared's hand from her face replacing it with her own.

"I'm sorry for how I treated you yesterday. I don't know why I said it, but I didn't mean it. I know you're still mad at me and I deserve it, but Jared, please forgive me!"

Her body spasmed as she sobbed in his lap, he had never seen her so distraught. Instantly he wrapped his arms around her pulling her flush against him, squeezing her tight. She was right, he was still mad at her and probably would be for a little longer. However, seeing her so distressed was breaking his heart.

"Andrea, calm down baby. Breathe!" His voice loud enough to get her attention. He felt her lungs rapidly expand as she deeply inhaled.

"Breathe, baby, that's it." He cooed, gently rubbing her back as he held her against him.

The welcomed feeling of his arms around her made Andrea feel so safe. She worked to compose herself before sitting back enough to see his face. Needing to feel anchored to him, she rested one hand on his chest as she lifted the other to wipe the tears away.

Jared beat her to it, quickly running his thumbs under her red, puffy eyes, he locked his fingers behind her head, pulling her in, kissing her swollen lips.

"Please tell me you're pregnant so we have an explanation to these mood swings." He said softly, kissing her once more and smiling when Andrea laughed quietly. Not ready to look him in the eyes yet, Andrea wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers finding their way into his long hair.

"I really hope I don't do this the entire time. I'll drive us both crazy."

Jared didn't even attempt to fight the smile that crawled across his face. Pushing back from Andrea just enough to rest his forehead on hers.

"I'll love you anyway." Jared stated.

"Please don't say sweet things like that." Andrea replied, wiping a rogue tear from her right eye. "Apparently that sets them off too." She giggled, motioning to her eyes.

Jared nodded in understanding, lifting her chin with his index finger, "As for yesterday, I may not forget for awhile, but you are forgiven. You are my home Andie, my world. It doesn't matter to me what kind of paper we sign, I meant what I said to you. And I will until the day I die."

"I know," she whispered, "and I meant it too. I love you so much it scares me. I don't want to lose you."

"Never. I promise, Ace." Kissing Andie on the forehead, he asked, "Are you ready to sleep?"

With a nod of her head, Jared moved his phone, placing it on the nightstand. Andrea moved off his lap, snuggling into the fluffy white pillows as she watched him remove his pants and flannel.

Crawling in beside her, he lay on his back. Lifting his left arm in the air, signaling her to curl into her usual position. With a big smile plastered on her face, Andie cuddled into him, drifting off to sleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

--

Andrea occupied an orange plastic chair on the upstairs balcony overlooking the enclosed backyard. The cerulean blue pool water, a perfect pop of color for this evenings festivities; their wedding.

Her gaze drifted to the multiple strands of bistro lights birthed from the white iron railing, stretching across the pool to various points of the vine encrusted cement walls.

White wooden chairs evenly lined each side of the pool for their friends and family. In the center of the ivy-dense wall a makeshift wooden platform covered the hot tub. A gigantic smile gracing her lips as it dawned on her that's where she would say 'I do' to the man of her dreams.

Lifting her phone from her lap, she texted Jared, "I cannot wait to be your wife. I love you, babe. So very much."

"I love you more, darling." Jared replied instantly.

"Fight me. Tonight with our clothes off. 😈"

"Already have a mental list of what I have planned, baby girl. 👹👹👹"

Andrea cackled, shaking her head at his dirty mind and how much she craved that side of him.

"Shannon has me barricaded in the downstairs master or I'd be up there to give you a preview."

"Good. He follows orders well :) Go take a cold shower, J. 😘"

Dropping her phone back in her lap, she turned as she heard the sliding glass door open. Emma and Shayla appeared holding a black garment bag.

"You ready to get started?" Emma asked with a big smile.

"Yes!" Andrea replied with excitement. Jumping to her feet, she followed her friends inside to get ready.

"Your parents should be here within a half hour. The driver called when he started this way."

"Good deal." She smiled, pulling her t-shirt off and stepping out of her jeans as Emma unzipped the garment bag.

Staring at her reflection, Andrea raked her eyes up and down her body. Her fingers gently tracing the delicate lace details of her gown. The deep neckline hugged her breasts perfectly, she knew her husband would be salivating when he saw her in it. Her tummy flipping as she thought of what he planned for them tonight.

Turning around, her eyes dropping from the thin, cap-style sleeves clinging to her shoulders to the dramatic swoop, exposing her entire back, ending just below the dimples in her lower back.

"You look so beautiful!" Emma chirped.

"Yeah," Shayla agreed, "Jared's going to lose his mind!"

Sitting in a chair at the bathroom vanity, Andrea watched Emma as she completed one of her many talents. Emma had created a loose French braid beginning just above each ear that trickled to a voluminous bundle of cocoa curls.

"Almost finished," Emma hummed, pulling tendrils loose from various places, "there. It's perfect! Damn, I'm good." She smirked.

"And humble." Andie giggled, "Thanks, Em. I love it!"

Draping a sheet over the front of her dress, Andrea worked on painting her face. Dabbing the apples of her cheeks with a little blush. Next, she dusted her eyelids with a deep mauve and brushed her eyelashes with her favorite mascara to complete a natural look with a punch of drama.

A loud, rapid knock at the bedroom was heard by the trio in the bathroom before they heard Shannon's muffled voice.

"I'm coming in, everyone decent?" He hollered through the door. "Dee, your mom is here!"

Katherine wasted no time waiting for a response. Bursting through the door she started to yell for her daughter, but got distracted by the size of the bedroom.

Shannon followed behind her, walking up to Andie and giving her a big hug. Once he released her he placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed at her dress.

"You look stunning Dee, I cannot wait to see Jared's face." He chuckled.

"How is he? I miss him." She said with a pout.

"He had a very similar look on his face when I left him. I've never seen him more excited than he is now."

"Good grief, this bedroom is huge, and what a lovely view!" Katherine shouted, still in her own little world as she looked around the room, meandering towards the large sliding door.

Andrea shook her head at her mothers short attention span. "Yes, mother, that's exactly why I'm marrying him. He's got a nice bedroom." She snarked, smirking playfully at her.

"Young lady, I swear you get sassier by the day!" Katherine chided, finally turning to look at her daughter she gasped. "Andrea, sweetheart, you look beautiful. Give me a spin."

Completing a spin, Andrea caught a glimpse of disapproval on her mother's face. Temporarily she wished she would have gone with her instinct to wear the same dress she wore in Italy. She opened her mouth to say something but decided against it for now.

Giving her mother a curt nod and hiking up the small train on her dress, Andrea turned to exit the room. Shayla, Emma and Shannon right behind her.

At the bottom of the stairs, Andrea sat in a chair at the kitchen table. Shayla slid next to her placing a pair electric blue Manolo Blahnik pumps on the table. A faint gasp fell from Andrea's lips as her fingers danced over the blue satin material.

Looking up at the tall blonde, she opened her mouth to speak, but Shayla read her mind.

"They belong to a friend of mine. So there's your old, borrowed and blue." She smiled."

"They're beautiful! Thank you, Shay!" Andrea replied, quickly standing to hug her.

Just then Johnathan entered the room with Katherine. Adjusting his tie, he shared a polite smile with everyone in the room.

Shannon wrapped his big arms around Andie once more, "I'm going to go find J and make sure he doesn't sneak out this way. He's waited all day, don't want to spoil the surprise early. Love you, Dee. See ya out there!"

"Love you too, Bear." She answered, kissing him on the cheek before he disappeared with Emma and Shayla to take their places.

Andrea braced herself for what her parents might say next. She knew her mother hated the dress she chose. They had never been that close or seen eye to eye on many subjects.

"I'm know you don't approve of my dress. But I'm not wearing it for you. You don't approve of most of the choices I've made, but that's ok because I made them for me, not you. Jared is the one that extended the invitation to you. And please don't think I don't want you here, because I'm very glad to see you. But just once in my life mom, I'd love to see a look of approval on your face when you look at me instead of disappointment."

Knowing that he needed to play referee, Johnathan quickly stepped between them and quietly extended his forearm. Andrea joined her arm in his as her mother left the room to take her seat outside.

"You look good kiddo. And I know she doesn't know how to say this so I'll say it for her. Your mother loves you Andrea, she always has and always will. She's just mad at herself for not chasing her dreams like you have. Look where you've gotten to just by being yourself!

"Dad, please."

"I'm right, you know I am. You came out here on your own. Fought tooth and nail to get a role and absolutely blew folks away! Then you met some pretty boy and dropped everything for him." Johnathan teased, "I'm kidding, relax. I really do like him. He's a bit odd, but you are too, so you picked well." He said through a laugh.

"Shut up and take me to my husband." Andie laughed.

Stepping into what Jared called The Lab, Andrea felt the butterflies in her tummy fluttering like mad. Excitement flowing through her veins. She wanted to run through the doors and into Jared's arms right now, forget the ceremony.

Emma knocked on the door, signaling thumbs up. It was time for her to go get her man. Looking through the door, she saw him. He was standing off to the side against the stairway, smiling and laughing with Shannon. Looking devastatingly handsome in the simple black suit he wore; so elegant and it fit him like a glove. His long hair was pulled back into a sleek bun at the base of his neck.

As she began to walk the short distance toward her future, Andrea felt her breath hitch when her eyes met Jared's. His ocean blue eyes twinkling, that beautiful smile he possessed, taking her breath away. She wondered if she would ever get used to the way he caused her heart to beat rapidly while simultaneously being her source of calming energy.

Jared heard the door open, turning quickly to see his girl. He smiled so big he felt as if his face would split open at any second. Decidedly unable to take his eyes off of her if his life depended upon it, Jared locked eyes with her as she stepped toward him. His pulse racing faster with each breath as he lowered his eyes over Andreas body. She was absolutely stunning and he realized how lucky he is to be marrying her.

After giving her away, Johnathan stepped off the makeshift platform and took his seat next to Katherine.

Jared slid his hands into Andrea's as soon as she stood in front of him, quickly pulling her into him for a kiss.

"Hey, kid, you skipped a few steps!" Larry, an old family friend chuckled. Reaching up, he playfully smacked Jared upside the head, causing laughter to erupt through the backyard. Jared smiled brightly at the man he looked up to, feeling very thankful he agreed to be their minister.

"I can't help it! Do you see her? She's stunning." Jared gushed, rubbing his head, looking back at Andrea to see her cheeks blush.

When it came time to say their vows, Andrea was suddenly nervous. She knew whatever Jared was going to say would bring her to tears.

Jared felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest. Turning to his brother, Shannon pulled a small beige velvet box from his tuxedo jacket handing it to his baby brother.

Opening the box, Jared pulled the ring from its satin pillow, handing the box back to Shannon. Returning to his bride, Jared slid the platinum band on to her thin finger. Squeezing Andrea's hip gently, he winked at her.

"Andrea," Jared smiled, grabbing her hand, "I can't promise that dark clouds will never hover above us. I can't promise everyday will be easy, although we've had more good days than bad." Tugging her closer, he continued, "I can promise that I will respect you, be devoted to you, loyal to you, and love you unconditionally for the rest of my life."

Jared watched the tears trickle down Andie's face. Reaching up to swipe them away, he whispered, "I have more to say, but I can save it for later if you'd like?"

Pushing her forehead against his, Andie exhaled an emotional sigh and nodded. Wrapping her arms around him, she snuggled into him, forgetting their friends and family existed and seized his lips with hers.

"I love you." She breathed.

"I love you more." He countered, brushing his fingers across the bare skin of her lower back.

"You two just love to play by your own rules, don't you?" Larry joked, "Andrea, dear, it's your turn."

"I asked you to not make me cry on our wedding day, you jerk." Andie choked, playfully smacking Jared making everyone laugh.

Looking down at her new adornment she gasped; the colorless, princess cut diamond sparkling brightly under the lights. Her eyes lifting quickly to Jared's face. "It's perfect." She gushed, her smile so bright it could light up Los Angeles.

Emma slid up behind Andrea handing her a small black box. Her thin fingers pulling the simple deep pewter titanium band out before turning back to Jared.

"Jared, my love... It's impossible for me to articulate what you mean to me. You came into my world when I was sitting in a valley and helped me hike to a peak. One I hope to never fall from, but I know you'll catch me if I do. I will forever be grateful for your friendship, your encouragement, your love. My greatest love." She smiled, staring deeply into Jared's big eyes, she continued, "I will spend the rest of my life trying to give back to you everything you have given to me. Say yes today and every day from now on. I am yours and you are mine. Forever."

"All right. Being that there's not a dry eye in the audience, I highly doubt there is anyone here that feels like this beautiful couple shouldn't be married?" Larry inquired, waiting a moment before he went on, "Didn't think so. Okay, Jared,"

"I do." Jared interrupted, drawing his left hand up to caress the skin just under Andrea's ear. His gaze remaining on her the entire time.

"I do." Andrea said, barely getting the words out before Jared seized her lips with his.

Tag list: @nikkitasevoli @lostinletoland @spillinginkwithlove @conceptuallyloud @branded-with-a-j @callmeasyoulove @fortify-undeny @pandaliciouz

#jared leto fanfiction #rescue me

[webcricket]

It Happened Like This

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 4521

Summary: Castiel hears the haunted tale of how the reader and the Winchesters first met. Everyone involved remembers the story a little bit differently. Tiny bit of angst with heaping helpings of fluff and humor.

A/N: This fic is a mostly factual semi-autobiographical account turned reader insert of an experience I had in college with a spirit. Some details have been altered for entertainment purposes and to protect the identities of those involved. I mean, obviously Castiel is my boyfriend and I personally know Sam and Dean Winchester because they are real people, so that part is definitely true. I blame this fic on @willowing-love who took the bait first and asked for my real-life ghost story.

Forehead resting on the cold glass of the Impala’s window, you watched the landscape fly by at 90 miles an hour – an uninterrupted blur of autumn leaves and harvested fields. Not so long ago this was your favorite time of year – nothing but crisp dewy nights, pumpkin spice everything, chunky sweaters and cozy socks with nature tucking herself to bed for the season beneath a warm-hued mantle of ruddy and golden pigments.

An unruly wisp of hair broke loose at your temple in the brisk breeze from Dean’s cracked window. It tickled your eyes and you swatted at it absent-mindedly, reverie uninterrupted as you plodded farther back into the memory of a simpler time. Not so long ago the beauty of the world shone to you in unblemished innocence. Now you understood the literal lie of the land, her sinister underbelly exposed. Now your days and nights teemed with the supernatural. Fall in particular, culminating with Halloween, or Samhain, or All Hallows’ Eve, or whatever the villain of the week wanted to call it, seemed to parade out more than its fair share of monsters, and not the adorable candy seeking variety.

Sighing, your breath misted the window. You traced the outline of a jack-o’-lantern in the fog, erasing the grinning visage with another lungful of exhaled air. You never imagined this would be your life.

A calloused fingertip gently swept the errant lock of hair from your eyes, securing it behind your ear. “What are you thinking about?” Castiel asked from beside you, astutely concerned your wakeful quietude meant something weighed heavy on your mind.

You turned from the window, focusing to meet his inquisitive blue gaze. “Just, you know, autumn…the colors…it’s really beautiful out there, isn’t it?” you softly murmured, uttering the sentiment aloud to remind yourself of nature’s splendor, to convince yourself the beauty of creation still existed despite the ever-present danger lurking below the placid guise.

Cas brushed a thumb across your cheek, eyes glinting with affection as he studied your features and ignored the passing scenery. He nodded after a moment, agreeing, “Yes, absolutely breathtaking.”

“You didn’t even look,” you blushed at the compliment, fingers delving beneath his coat to tease at his ribcage in retaliation for perpetually being so sweet. A small smile danced across your rose-tinted features as his ticklish vessel squirmed. You also never imagined falling in love with an angel.

“I did look,” he countered in a strained squeaking tone. Clutching at your wrists and wriggling away from your delightful assault, he reflected your smile, aspect softening with a tenderness reserved only for you. “I just didn’t have to look very far to see the beauty of my father’s creation.” Sliding an arm around your shoulders, he pulled you to his chest and gave you a comforting squeeze as you nestled against him.

Your regard settled on Sam and Dean bickering in the front seat about where to stop for dinner. Dean, unsurprisingly, favored a dive bar a few miles off the interstate for their amazing nachos. Sam craved real food over the neon orange faux-cheese and lukewarm beer that, at this point, probably coursed copious and congealed through his brother’s veins.

Any second now Dean would peer back at you via the rear view mirror, vibrant green eyes pleading for your vote of support in the matter. Sam would then swing a lanky arm over the back of the seat, twisting around to face you, begging you with a quirk of the brow to, for the love of Chuck, please be reasonable in your choice. Lightly giggling to yourself in anticipation, burrowing deeper into the angel’s embrace, your thoughts again drifted inexorably to the past. You never imagined these two men would become your surrogate big brothers either.

You weren’t born into hunting like Sam and Dean. Nor did you suffer some mortal wrong or tragic loss on account of something supernatural that spurred you on a hell-bent lifelong crusade seeking vengeance. You enjoyed a happy childhood, fortunate enough to possess a generally supportive family with a stable home life. There were a few awkward years between middle and high school where your hair, body, and personality were seemingly at odds with the entire planet, or gravity. Hard to say which, really; but you got through it all by utilizing the usual rebellious self-dramatizing tried and true teenage tactics. Then away you went to college, proclaiming independence by setting off for the hallowed halls of an institution several cushioning states from your roots. After a couple of unexpected bumps in the road going by the name of Sam and Dean, you graduated with a piece of paper designating you as an official English and Psychology duel major with a Russian Lit minor. The gravitas of these words in delicate black script on eggshell finish parchment, tastefully framed in gleaming cherry wood beneath frosted glass, imparted you with an enormous sense of self-importance. That is, until reality sunk in.

You became a hunter because, to your chagrin, you discovered upon exiting the cushioning bubble of academia that you were qualified to do precisely nothing in particular and very few employers offer paying positions for this interesting and generally useless skill set. Drudge work for minimum wage, or worse, the coveted unpaid internships people fall over one another to pursue, numbed your wits and barely paid the bills. You longed for excitement, adventure, and escape from the daily grind of squeaking by and getting nowhere fast. Hunting was the backup plan you stumbled into when the student loan lenders came calling. You chose to be a hunter. You chose this life.

“You’re awfully quiet back there,” Dean spoke up, he and Sam evidently having resolved the dinner plan without your input. “You good?”

“Living the dream,” you muttered.

Cas squinted fretfully down at your melancholy mien.

Sam flicked the radio off, exchanging a worried glance with his brother.

They all three knew your mind and mood were apt to wander on occasion into the disconcerting and anxiety-riddled land of the what ifs? You wouldn’t trade your relationship with the angel or the brothers for anything in the world, but that didn’t dissuade regret about everything else from rearing her ugly head and casting a malicious sneer upon you every now and then.

There was only one sure fire way to pull you out of a funk that didn’t involve a malted chocolate milkshake or a certain special angel’s worshipful ministrations of sensuously directed grace. And although well-stocked with a staggering variety of spell ingredients, the Impala’s trunk wasn’t equipped with the requisite fixings for even a paltry-by-comparison vanilla milkshake. And Dean strictly, and quite unreasonably you thought, forbade any and all angelic affection exceeding a rating of PG-13 to occur within 25 yards of the Impala or his physical person.

“Hey Cas, did Y/N ever tell you how we met?” Sam mused, implementing step one – the suggestion to share – of the story-telling distraction method for uplifting your spirits.

The angel looped a finger under your chin and tilted your aspect upward, answering, “Only in passing, but I would like to hear the details.”

“Maybe some other time,” you whined, shaking free of Cas’ caress to bury your face in the crook of his arm, preferring to wallow in woe a while longer.

Cas obligingly cuddled you closer.

“Aw, come on. A ghost story is perfect for Halloween night,” Dean stubbornly protested, whacking the steering wheel for emphasis.

“I’m sure Dean can tell it better than me,” you mumbled into the fabric of the angel’s trench.

The elder Winchester peeked back in the rear view mirror, catching Cas’ concerned gaze. Employing step two – spreading misinformation as a means of provocation – Dean snorted and smirked, “You’re probably right. And it’s my favorite kind of story too. Sammy and I swooping in to rescue the damsel in distress.”

“Hold up there, prince charming!” you huffed, extricating yourself from the angel’s hug to kick Dean’s seat. “That’s not what happened. I saved your asses.”

Dean feigned a wounded pout, muttering, “Yeah, right. Not how I remember it, princess.”

“I recall it being more of a group effort,” Sam goaded, seamlessly transitioning to step three – dangling the bait for you to set the record straight.

“Well, it’s my story,” you reproached, swallowing the bait – hook, line, and sinker, “and this is how it happened.” You began, “It was a dark and stormy Thursday night-”

“I thought it was a sunny Friday afternoon?” Dean quipped.

“Context!” you snapped. “I did have a life of my own before you two flannel flaunting interlopers showed up on my doorstep.”

“I’m pretty sure it was raining on our drive there,” Sam reminded Dean.

“When isn’t it raining?” Dean lamented, flicking on the windshield wipers as droplets coincidentally started to pellet the glass.

You sighed audibly, continuing from the top, “It was a dark and stormy Thursday night...”

Lightning illuminated the room, flashing blinding white through the oversized window panes overlooking the rain drenched courtyard. One, two, three, the thunder rumbled in retort, shaking the stone foundation of the historical building converted into a women’s dorm. The lamp on your desk flickered. “Not again,” you mumbled, closing your book – a disinteresting text on the statistics of psychology. You peered up at the ceiling in exasperation. Bam! Just as you expected. Light and noise in unison heralding pitch black as the power failed – a blazing slice of nature’s raw fury targeting the metal railing on the peak of the building and blowing every fuse in the place as it travelled the old wiring in frenetic search of the ground. You’d begun to think the college housing department had overstated the charming quirks of living in the historically rooted building – part of the original campus and used as a temporary Union hospital and soldier’s barracks during the Civil War. The lobby of the building even boasted a creepy collection of sepia-toned photographs – one with soldiers’ lifeless bodies laid out on the front lawn, another of the pile of amputated bullet and shrapnel battered limbs in the basement. This was the third time in as many weeks that a storm knocked out the power, and being alone in a site steeped in suffering and death, with the obligatory ghost stories attached to such locations, was more than a little unnerving.

“Battlefield towns are a massive pain in the ass,” Dean interrupted, whacking his brother on the arm. “Remember what Bobby used to say about them?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed sentimentally, “he called them a hunter’s worst freaking nightmare. How do you salt and burn a body when pieces of it are scattered everywhere?”

“You don’t.” Dean let go of the steering wheel to mime an explosion.

“Anyway,” you went on, clearing your throat.

You slid carefully off the bed, blindly rummaging through your roommate’s top dresser drawer for the contraband candle and lighter she kept in there. You lit the stubborn wax-covered wick, singing the pad of your thumb with the lighter. Sucking your stinging finger, you studied the now strange shapes of furniture in the corners of the room from the safety of the yellow ring of light. You reassured yourself that your roommates would return any minute from band practice. They wouldn’t dally, not tonight, you had plans to go into town together for a late dinner and dessert at that quaint diner on Main.

Knock, knock, knock, “Campus security!”

“Shit!” you hissed, jumping out of your skin in fright, dousing the flame between your fingertips to minimize the smell of smoke. “Coming!” Scrambling, you cracked the nearest window and hid the candle on the ledge.

“No can-” the guard faltered when you swung open the door “-les allowed. Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to put out your candle.”

You batted your lashes as if to ask, ‘What candle?’

He looked behind you into the blackness, apologizing, “Sorry, from outside it looked like-”

“Maybe it was next door?” you offered helpfully.

“Rebel,” Sam coughed teasingly.

You ignored him.

With security routed, you huddled on the floor beside the door, back to the wall, listening to the thinning patter of rain on the window glass. The thunder, answering the fading electric glow of the clouds, was almost too distant to hear now.

Tap, tap, tap.

You stared up at the door, waiting for the guard to announce himself, relieved this time you had nothing to hide. No words followed.

Tap, tap, tap. Again. Maybe your roommates had forgotten their keys.

You stood, grabbing the knob of the heavy wooden door and cracking it open to peer into the hall. No one was there. A cold breeze rushed over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine and making your hair stand on end. The window in the room behind, left open in your haste to hide the candle, slammed shut. The startled cry rising in your throat died as you heard the voices of your roommates on the stair landing below. ‘A trick of the wind,’ you told yourself, taking a deep breath.

“That one girl, what was her name?” Dean pondered aloud. “Mandy? Yeah, Mandy. She was hot.”

“Yes, Mandy,” you confirmed with a punctuating eye roll.

Your roommates, Mandy and Jen, crashed after you all returned from the diner. They were leaving early with the rest of the marching band for an away game the next morning. Too hyped on adrenaline from the night’s events and sugar from the most fantastic chocolate malt milkshake you’d ever drunk to sleep, you wasted a few hours playing computer games.

“Sims, you were playing Sims,” Sam remembered with a smirk. “It was running on your computer when I borrowed it for research. They all drowned in the pool after you removed the ladder.”

“You borrowed my computer?” you griped.

“Yep, when we broke into your room on that Friday when the sun was shining,” Dean supplied, glowering at Sam. “It’s also possible I borrowed half a bag of pretzel rods.”

“Seriously?” you scorned.

“I’ll buy you a bag at the next Gas-N-Sip and we’ll call it even.”

It was nearing 3AM when you finally crawled into bed. This time of night always made you uneasy on account of a story you heard as a kid about the 3AM being the witching hour – when supernatural forces are at their most sinister and powerful. You superstitiously endeavored not to look at the red digital numbers of the clock and pulled the covers taunt.

Tap, tap, tap.

The strange almost-knocking scuff upon the door roused you as you hovered at the brink of unconsciousness.

Tap, tap, tap.

Jen, her bed closest to the door, seemed to hear it too, mumbling in her sleep and rolling over.

Tap, tap, tap.

A bone penetrating chill seizing your frame, you pulled the comforter up to your neck.

The floor creaked. Specifically, the wood plank in front of the door creaked – the plank on the inside side. The one that only creaked like that when someone crossed the threshold and stepped into the room.

You got the distinct impression there was a presence walking toward you. Paralyzed by terror, you couldn’t look. You didn’t hear the door open, you reasoned. No one could be there. You were imagining things.

Mandy joined in Jen’s restlessness as whatever it was moved past her bed.

You held your breath, eyes squeezed tight, repeating the mantra that this wasn’t real. You were only dreaming. Any second now you would wake up gasping in a clammy sweat from this nightmare. Any second now. Any. Your eyes opened in slits. Second. Your gasping throat was immediately assailed by a mass of ethereal energy. Now. It stole the very air from your lungs as you tried desperately to scream – to cry out and wake your slumbering roommates. And then, in a blink, it was over – the room silent save for your rapidly pounding heart.

The angel’s fingers sought and wove through yours, soothing the flood of fear the memory unleashed.

You trudged through your classes in a preoccupied haze the next morning, thoughts turning again and again to the terrifying episode. Surely it was a nightmare, but you couldn’t shake how real it felt. Returning to your room for lunch, focus no farther the ground between your feet as you walked up to the dorm, you ran smack into the chiseled torso of an extremely tall man wearing an electrician’s uniform with handsome hazel eyes.

“Woah, hey, hi. Sorry,” he apologized, dropping his duffle of tools to stoop to help you retrieve several fallen books. “Let me.”

“That was me,” Sam piped up to inform Cas.

You gestured at the man’s shirt, asking, “You here about the power outages?”

“Yeah.” The man stacked the books, glancing over his shoulder at the building and back at you. “Hey, you live there, right?”

You accepted the books proffered in his arms, nodding.

“You notice any strange noises, cold spots, funny smells?” another man in a matching uniform inquired as he approached.

“Dean?” Cas suggested, stealing the elder Winchesters thunder.

You gaped at the new freckle-faced arrival for a moment and contemplated his odd question. You supposed fizzing or burning wires might account for the peculiar query, but something seemed off about him. About both of them. Your gaze fell to the partially opened duffle bag at your feet, taking note of the decidedly non-traditional collection of electrician’s tools contained therein – a large quantity of rock salt, an iron crowbar, chains of varying size and length, and what looked alarmingly like the barrel of a sawed off shotgun. You peered around the empty courtyard, feeling vulnerable, reflexively stepping backward. “Um, nope, just, you know, the power outages and what not.”

“Oh, see, she must think we’re looking for ghosts.” The man with the freckles laughed, gesturing a thumb toward the dorm, trying to diffuse your nerves.

“Right, cause this place was a hospital,” the hazel-eyed man added. “Didn’t a bunch of soldiers die here, or something?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s, uh, it’s all there in the lobby,” you stuttered, waving at the dorm. “I’m, uh, I have to, I think I forgot something at the library.” You spun and fled, cutting a beeline across the grass without looking back.

“Were we really that scary?” Sam pivoted to ask.

“Were?” You arched a brow. “You guys still scare the crap out of me on a regular basis!”

You found yourself on the third floor of the library, wandering a maze of special collections with no goal other than killing time. You ran your fingers lightly across the dusty spines of rows upon rows of first edition books. Something about books always had a way of settling your anxiety. An unseen force compelled you to turn down an aisle where a thin faded sky blue tome with no title written on the spine drew your attention. You slipped it from the shelf, flipping it over in your hands to view the cover. The image imprinted there caused your breath to hitch – it was a person lying in bed with a malevolent scowling creature perched upon their chest. Fingers trembling, you opened to the first page, whispering the title aloud, ‘The Terror that Comes in the Night.’ Knees weak, you sank to the floor. You had no idea how you came to find this book, a tome that promised to reveal an explanation for what had happened to you last night.

“That was probably Clotho’s work,” Cas stated matter-of-factly.

“What?” you turned to him in surprise.

“One of the sisters of fate, Clotho,” Cas repeated. “Surely it was she who led you to the book. She’s always been fond of words as a means to direct fate. It’s an obsession of hers.”

You smiled at the angel, never having guessed he would unveil new significance to your story.

You read the book front to back, sprawled out there on the scratchy carpet of the library. The supernatural creature who visited you was known in folklore as an Old Hag. It could be controlled and sent by a witch to take vengeance on foes, or simply be a restless spirit, a human soul transfigured by agony and grief, doomed to spread misery until such time as it was destroyed. Since you were fairly certain you hadn’t enraged any witches, you guessed your problem was the latter. Either way, the lore contended this creature would plague you until you defeated it, or it killed you. Naïve and overconfident in your abilities, you figured destroying it couldn’t be any harder than getting a passing grade in organic chemistry.

You made your way back to your room as evening descended on the campus. Pushing open the door you shouted a greeting to your roommates, “Hey guys, how-” You remembered with a sinking feeling that they were gone, cheering on the football team, and not expected back until morning. You nervously flicked on the overhead light – and every other light in the room. A firm knock at the door disrupted your luminous fortifications. “Who is it?” you asked through the closed door.

“The, uh, electricians,” someone replied uncertainly. “Do you have a minute?”

‘Right, electricians,’ you thought, ‘or not.’ Your eyes darted around the room, landing on Jen’s can of pepper spray she carried when running. You grabbed the can, notched the chain of the door, and cracked it an inch, bristling, “Who the hell are you guys?”

The toe of a boot braced against the door to prevent you from closing it, “Y/N, listen, we’re not axe-murdering kidnappers or whatever you think we are, we just want to help.”

You peeked through the crack, it was the tall man speaking. “Well start with telling me who you are and how you know my name.”

“College directory, Myspace, that weird little developmental psych professor that teaches your 8AM class and pets himself while he lectures, take your pick,” the green-eyed man grumbled. “We don’t have time for the full explanation. I’m Dean. This is my brother Sam. We hunt bad things and your life is in danger and not from us.”

“I know,” you murmured.

“You do?” Sam asked.

“I kind of figured the luminescent apparition that tried to strangle me last night wasn’t exactly Casper the friendly ghost.” You unlatched the door to allow them to enter. “How did you know?”

“We ganked the witch that sicced this thing on you last week.” Dean brushed past you. “Her name was Lily Donaghue, you know her?”

“Ganked? Witch?” you gaped in disbelief, not recognizing the name.

“He means we killed her,” Sam clarified. “Her dying declaration was a curse upon you.”

“And you have no idea how many Y/N Y/L/Ns exist in this country,” Dean lamented.

“What did I do to her?” Head reeling, you sat on the edge of Jen’s bed to steady yourself. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Hell if we know.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Maybe it was for something you were going to do in the future. She specialized in destiny spells.”

“So,” you spoke up after letting their explanation sink in, “what do we do?”

“You,” Dean emphasized the word, “well you just try to stay alive, sweetheart, and we’ll worry about the rest.”

“You took it all in stride,” Dean reminisced. “I never told you that, most people freak out when you tell them an evil creature is stalking their soul.”

“Well, at the time I assumed you were professionals and knew what you were doing,” you sassed. “Had I known then what I know now-”

They expected you to fall asleep. You rolled over in bed to look at the wall. They expected you to fall asleep in your bed which, for some bizarre reason you did not think to inquire about, was surrounded by salt while they watched and waited. Like that was happening! You flipped over again. The clock read 2:59AM. You shivered involuntarily when the numbers flashed to 3:00.

Tap, tap, tap.

You heard Sam and Dean shift to readiness.

Tap, tap, tap.

The firing pin of a gun cocked.

Creak went the wooden plank.

The shotgun blasted a round of rock salt.

Sam groaned as he was thrown against the wall and pinned there, flaying his long limbs uselessly and clutching at his neck.

“Dammit!” Dean cursed as the iron crowbar he held defied gravity to clatter to the ceiling. Further curses damned up in his throat as he was tossed choking to the floor like a rag doll by the evil creature who had come for you.

You sat up, throwing aside your comforter, willing yourself to look at the hideous thing, its features distorted in agony, jaw open in a perpetual scream, its clawed limb pointed toward you as your fingers fumbled to retrieve the little blue tome from beneath your pillow. You flipped to the final page of the text and began to read in desperation as the creature simultaneously squeezed the air from your lungs, “Malo a nos libera sed tentationem in nos inducas-”

“The Lord’s Prayer,” Cas noted. “In Vulgate and backward.”

You nodded.

The book was correct – the hag shuddered and flickered, growing weaker with each word you uttered. When you reached the final line, you ran out of breath. Squeaking, tongue a useless dry lump writhing against your teeth, lungs empty and collapsed, your vision dimmed at the edges as unconsciousness loomed. The last sight you registered before passing out were Sam’s hazel eyes, brightening as the creature’s energy sapped enough to free his throat.

“Caelis in es qui noster pater!” Sam roared out, having caught on halfway through that you were reciting the Lord’s Prayer backward, and surmising you had a good reason to be doing so.

Dean released the steering wheel to mime another explosion, the hag’s demise.

“Like I said, group effort,” Sam restated.

“You forgot my favorite part,” Dean smirked, twinkling eyes catching yours in the rear view mirror. “The happy ending.”

“I didn’t forget, Dean,” you objected, “I blessedly don’t remember.”

Cas held up two fingers to your temple, earnestly saying, “I can help you to remember.”

“No!” You yelped, grabbing his wrist and twisting it away. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Why? What happened after the creature was destroyed?” Cas looked to Sam and Dean for the answer.

Dean’s smirk deepened.

Sam chuckled, “Dean, uh, had to-”

“-give Y/N the kiss of life,” Dean finished.

The angel’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Mouth to mouth,” Sam elucidated. “CPR.”

“Oh.” Cas subtly scowled at the back of Dean’s head. “I see.”

You pecked a quick kiss on the jealous angel’s stubbly cheek.

Cas looked at you, blue eyes shining with love, a smile curling the corner of his mouth. “I can understand why she wouldn’t want to remember that.”

Dean grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

Sam laughed airily.

Forgetting about the what ifs of life, you dove back into the angel’s warm embrace, humming contentment. Saving people, hunting things, the meaningful relationships cemented along the way – you never dared to hope you could be so lucky.

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel fluff #castiel reader insert #castiel x y/n #cas x reader #cas x you #spn reader insert #spn x reader #supernatural x reader #castiel oneshot #castiel fanfic #castielxreader #castielxyou #castiel imagine #you x castiel #reader x castiel #cricket writes cas

[sylvanfreckles]

I Don’t Feel So Well (Whumptober 2020)

Day twenty-one! Inspired by a longer fanfic I’m planning.

Summary: The angels sacrifice Castiel’s grace to empower one of their own, leaving Castiel scarred, frail...and human.

* * *

“How's Cas doing?”

Dean grimaced and kicked the fridge shut, one arm full of sandwich ingredients and the other holding his phone to his ear. “Ate something last night, but I'm not sure he slept. Not long at least. Heard him thrashing around most of the night.”

Sam's heavy sighed filtered in through the phone's speaker. “We hit a dead-end with that Sergei guy. Anyone else you can think of?”

“Maybe a reaper? Billie probably wouldn't help, but someone else might.”

“We'll work on that when we get back. Need anything?”

Dean hesitated. There was a lot he needed. Cas's grace back, for starters. The bastard angels that did this to him would be good, too. “He, uh, he liked those muffins. The cheesecake ones.”

“We'll make a grocery run. Call if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” The call ended and Dean stared down at his phone for a second before stuffing it in his pocket. When they'd heard that heaven was able to power up one of their angels to a higher level, like a demi-archangel, Sam and Dean had thought that was good news. Archangels could make more little baby halos, after all, which meant more power for heaven. They hadn't realized, however, that this could only happen by sacrificing the grace of another angel.

And of course they'd picked Cas for this. Naomi and her entourage hadn't seen fit to choose a volunteer, or even draw names out of a hat. They'd snatched Cas up, cut sigils into his back, and burned his grace right out of his body just to elevate Naomi to Super Bitch. They'd just dumped him—human, scarred, and frail—a few miles away from the old gate to Heaven. If one of the angels hadn't had a crisis of conscience (or whatever) and called the Winchesters then it was likely Cas would have died of exposure.

There was no getting his grace back, that was for sure. Sam and Eileen were out tracking down anyone who might help heal the damage the ritual had wrought on Cas's body, while Dean stayed behind to look after him. Jack was in one of the other realities trying to restore balance after Chuck's temper tantrum, so they couldn't reach him just yet. Man, he hoped the kid tore Super Bitch in half for this.

Dean quickly assembled two sandwiches—BLT for him, PB&J for Cas—and made his way through the bunker to Cas's room. He knocked before entering, using his hip to nudge the door open enough to step inside. “Cas?”

The blankets on the bed rustled, and Dean thought he heard a muffled reply. He set the sandwich plates on top of the dresser and walked over to crouch next to the bed, smoothing the blankets away enough to see the man beneath them. “Doing okay, man?”

Cas stared at him blearily. “Dean?”

Dean gently ran one hand over the lump of blankets that covered Cas's arm. “Warm enough?”

“Mmm...enough.”

That was good. Cas got cold so easily now. They didn't know if it was the trauma of losing his grace or some other internal damage from the ritual, but it was awful. “Brought you a sandwich?” Dean offered. “PB&J?”

Cas blinked up at him. “I could eat?” he said, as though it was a question instead of a statement. Dean let out a soft laugh and slid one arm behind Cas's shoulders, gently easing the other man up to sit against the headboard.

He spent a few more seconds fussing with the blankets to make sure Cas wouldn't get too cold then brought the sandwich over to him. He might have gone a little overboard with the sandwich—cutting the crusts off and dividing the sandwich into eighths to make smaller pieces—but he couldn't help it. “Thought I might make some soup later,” he said casually.

That earned him a grimace. “I may not be up for more than one meal a day yet, Dean.”

“Hey, hey, yeah. Take your time.” Dean rested one hand on Cas's back, rubbing in small circles to avoid the scars left from the sigils. “So, Sam and Eileen couldn't find Sergei, but we're still looking for something else.”

Cas let out a sigh and stared down at the plate in his lap. He'd managed to eat three of the sandwich triangles so far, which was more than last night so that was good. “There may not be a cure for my condition.”

They knew that. No one in the history of creation had suffered through what had been inflicted on Cas. They didn't even really know where to start looking “But maybe we can find something to help,” Dean replied. He picked up his own sandwich and took a bite, and after a moment Cas went for another triangle of PB&J.

“So. How are you feeling today?” Dean asked after Cas managed to eat a bite of his fifth sandwich triangle but set it back down on the plate unfinished. Just over half a sandwich, that was actually pretty good all things considered.

Cas didn't reply right away, but he held his hands up to stare at them. There was the slightest tremor in his fingers, and Dean saw the flash of irritation on his friend's face before Cas balled his hands into fists and let them rest in his lap. “The same.”

Dean winced. In addition to the chills and appetite problems, Cas was afflicted with some kind of chronic pain. On a good day, and if he was warm enough, he could shuffle around the bunker unaided. Good days were few and far between, and Cas usually needed help even walking a few steps. “It'll get better, man.”

“And what if I don't?” In a flash of temper, Cas swept the plate off of his lap and scattered the remains of the sandwich. “What if this is the rest of my life? What if I'm stuck as a...as a...”

“As one of us,” Dean interrupted, catching his friend's waving hand. “Hey, hey, come on. Look at me, man.”

Cas turned to glare at him, anger and despair fighting in his eyes. Dean held his gaze, waiting until the fury dissipated and Cas's face crumpled, then he scooted up on the edge of the bed to wrap his arms around the former angel and let him cry into his shoulder.

“Whatever happens,” he promised. “You'll always belong here, man. Cursed or not, angel or man...you're a Winchester, Cas. You're one of us.”

Cas's fist twisted weakly in Dean's shirt. “It hurts,” he whispered.

“I know, man,” Dean rested one hand on the back of Cas's head, pulling him in closer. “I know.”

* * *

Bags in each hand, Eileen jerked her head toward the kitchen to indicate she was going to put the groceries away. Sam nodded and headed down further into the bunker to look for Dean and Cas.

He had the package of muffins and a can of pre-made protein shake in his hands—the shake had been Eileen's idea. If Cas wasn't up for eating much, maybe they could get him to drink the shakes at least, to get more nutrients into his system. The bedrooms were empty, but Sam easily tracked the sound of old Westerns to the “Dean Cave”.

“Tombstone again, Dean?” he complained as he entered the room.

Dean had traded out the recliners for a u-shaped couch, and he was occupying one leg of the U, bowl of popcorn in his lap and bottle of beer on the floor beside him. “Cas's favorite, Sammy.”

Sam looked at Cas, who was on the other leg and wrapped in several layers of blankets. “I said it was the least offensive,” he replied, staring at Sam with a resigned expression.

“Which means favorite,” Dean countered. “Have a good trip?”

“Eileen found stuff for homemade mac and cheese,” Sam offered. He settled on the arm of the couch near Cas, holding out the muffins and shake like an offering. “She wants to make a couple pans of it to keep in the freezer for easy meals, if we like it.”

If Cas liked it, that is. Eileen had more experience with picky eaters than Sam (she'd spent eight months as a nanny to try to teach a developing telekinetic how to control her powers), so she'd come up with the idea to make extra servings of the things Cas liked so they'd be on-hand when he wanted something.

“Dude. Marry her.”

Sam laughed. “I think we're both technically dead, Dean.”

“That's just an excuse,” Dean retorted as he popped another handful of popcorn in his mouth. “Still good, Cas?”

Cas had set the food down on the floor and curled back into his pile of blankets. He tried to answer Dean but nothing but a whimper came out.

“Aw, damn,” Dean swore, pausing the movie and rolling to his feet. Sam was already leaning over the side of the couch, a supportive hand on Cas's arm. “Hate when it hits out of the blue like this.”

“Has anything helped?” Sam asked as Dean knelt beside Cas and slid an arm under his shoulders. Not holding him up, just offering his support.

“If he keeps warm,” Dean replied. “Cold seems to make it worse.”

Sam nodded, though no one was looking at him, wincing in sympathy when Cas shuddered beneath his hand. Cas's symptoms reminded him a little of fibromyalgia, except the flares of pain were relatively short despite their intensity. Painkillers didn't help, at least not in safe doses. It was like the ritual had torn Cas's body apart from the inside, but left him with his angelic tolerance for human medicine.

Cas's shudders finally slowed, and he let out a piteous moan and buried his face in Dean's shoulder. The older Winchester's face was pinched in sympathy, one hand stroking the former angel's dark hair. That was how these flare-ups always went—first the tight, intense pain that had Cas curling into a ball unable to make a sound (he'd once said it was like every joint was locking together, pulling his body into itself), followed by a deep ache that left him restless and miserable.

“Wanna go back to bed, buddy?” Dean asked softly. Cas nodded pathetically, still burrowed into Dean's shoulder as though the hunter could soothe away the pain. “Sam?”

“Heating pads,” Sam agreed. “We found an electric radiator, too, I'll bring that down when I get a second.” He gave Cas's shoulder another gentle squeeze before hurrying off to make sure the heating pads were turned on and in the proper places. He pulled the blankets back and straightened them, knowing Cas would probably twist around until he looked like a celestial burrito, then picked up the bits of sandwich that Dean had obviously forgotten to clean up.

Dean entered the room a few moments later, carrying Cas bridal-style in his arms, blankets and all. Sam felt his heart twist in sympathy—after so many years of Castiel just brushing off almost anything, it was hard to see him looking so small and frail in Dean's arms.

“Here we go, Cas,” Dean murmured as he gently lowered Cas down to the bed. It took a moment before the former angel released his death-grip on the front of Dean's shirt, but when he finally did Sam pulled the blankets up over his shoulders.

Cas curled up under the blankets, twisting to bury his face in the pillow. Dean settled down in the chair next to the bed and gently ran his hand up and down over Cas's blanket-covered back. “It's gonna be okay, man. We'll get through this.”

“I'll get the radiator,” Sam offered quietly, slipping out of the room before his brother could reply. It was time to redouble his efforts to find a solution for this.

Even if he had to tear Heaven down to find it.

#whumptober 2020 #no 21 #i don't feel so well #chronic pain #supernatural #fic #fanfic #hurt castiel #human castiel #mother hen dean winchester #whumptober2020

[alocalband]

If you had told Dex even a week ago that he would willingly be sharing a blanket with Derek Nurse on the floor of the Haus living room all afternoon, pressed together so close they’re practically in each other’s laps, he would’ve laughed in your face.

 Now, he just bangs a fist against the side of the old space heater in front of them and subtly pulls Nursey a little closer into his side. Not that there’s all that much closer to pull him.

 “I told them,” he mutters. “Draft fucking central.”

 He not so much sees as senses Nursey roll his eyes. “Rans and Holtzy not letting you replace all the windowpanes last year is not why the heating went out, yo.”

 Intellectually, Dex know this. But it’s easier to blame their former captains for their current predicament than it is to blame the fact that he’s let routine Haus maintenance slide so much this semester that they’ve ended up here. Because if Dex doesn’t keep a close eye on things like the barely functioning water heater, or the garbage disposal that’s missing two blades and is about to fall out of the sink entirely, who will?

 Except, well, he’s been distracted this year. From the moment he got back from summer break and moved into the attic with Nursey, he’s been... distracted.

 Nursey is distracting.

He always has been really, in one way or another. Whether because his favorite hobby is to systematically poke at every single one of Dex’s buttons, or because his mere existence seems to defy all logic to the point that it’s hard to look away sometimes. No one can be that much of a klutz off the ice and yet that graceful on skates. It shouldn’t be possible.

 No one should be that pretty and also that annoying, either, but Dex was doing a very good job of not thinking about that.

 Until this year. Until he started living with Nursey.

 “Listen, we just gotta get through tonight.” Nursey sounds as unaffected as ever, even as he burrows into their blanket cocoon a little deeper. “Then tomorrow we’ll take the sin bin funds and fix the stupid furnace.”

 But Dex has been neglecting the sin bin lately as well. He’s not even sure how much is in there since they finally got that new dryer at the end of last year.

 Maybe he wouldn’t feel so suddenly useless and miserable about this whole thing if he and Nursey weren’t the only two people left in the Haus to deal with the problem. If there was anyone other than Nursey to cozy up with against the cold. But Bitty and Chowder have taken to practically living at their respective significant others’ places, which is where they are now, and Tango finished his finals early and left for New Jersey for the holidays three days ago.

 It’s just the two of them right now, and the living room was the least drafty place in the Haus. Dex had momentarily considered camping out in the kitchen and using the relatively new oven as a heating device, but he fears Bitty’s wrath far more than he fears potential frostbite.

 “What funds, Nurse?” he asks tiredly, because he knows this is his fault. And, what’s worse, he knows that the reason he screwed up, the reason currently pressed right up against his side, is the worst reason he could possibly have. He has been an idiot to let this affect him so badly. “Do you know how hard Lardo and I had to work last year to get that dryer? There’s no way--”

 “Bro, don’t worry about it. I got us covered.”

 Dex can feel the frown on his face harden into something mean, but he mentally restrains himself from spitting out the first words that come to his mind. This particular character development is still ongoing and hard fought. “Nurse, if you even try to wave your dad’s credit card around again--“

 “Calm down, yo, I learned my lesson the last time I pulled out the AmEx. I just meant, the amount of dough I’ve had to pony up into the jar so far this year has been epic enough that I’m pretty sure we’ll be good. So chill, yeah?”

 Dex blinks, caught off guard by this information. “Wait, what?”

 Nursey rolls his eyes yet again, but the muscles in his arms are tense, like he’s only doing it for show. Like he’s internally as far from relaxed about this as is possible to get. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been getting fined all semester like I’m Jack Freaking Zimmermann. Hell, more so. Chow says I might’ve set a new record.”

 Dex’s heart stops. It stops and then turns into lead and drop into his gut with no regard for the organs it hits on the way.

 No, he didn’t notice. How could he not have noticed? Even being so distracted, if Nursey were this in love with someone, surely Dex would have seen them around. He lives with Nursey for Pete’s sake.

 “I, uh, I didn’t know. Who, uh. Who is it that you...” Christ, Dex can’t even say the words.

 Nursey tenses up even more, and is pointedly looking straight ahead, at the curtains drawn shut tight against the frosted window. “Please don’t make me say it while you’ve literally got your arm around me and I’ve been a millimeter away from accidentally kissing you all night.”

 Dex’s breath catches in his throat, and his lips part slightly like they were waiting for the exhale and now don’t know what to do. “You... me?”

 Nursey finally turns his head to regard Dex with a carefully neutral expression on his face. They’re so close, their noses brush together. “You really didn’t notice me pining away for you all semester like an idiot?”

 Dex swallows. “I guess I’ve been distracted lately.”

 Nursey narrows his eyes, like he actually expects the direction of this conversation to lead to him getting his heart broken. “Distracted by what?”

 “By pining away for you all semester like an even bigger idiot.”

 “...Oh.” Nursey blinks, visibly stunned.

 Dex is still pretty stunned himself, and has no idea what to say. If they were in any other position, maybe he would’ve moved in a little closer, but there’s no closer to get here. “Have you really been getting fined this entire time?”

 “Are you kidding? I have been, like, super obvious, Poindexter. Bitty actually threatened to start charging double after winter break if I didn’t get my shit together about you.”

 A rare smile slips past Dex’s defenses at that, and Nursey immediately grins at the sight of it. Which, in turn, makes Dex’s stomach swoop dramatically. Good god, they really are both idiots.

 “If I kiss you right now is it going to make sharing these blankets all night even more awkward?”

 “Only one way to find out.” Nursey says it like a challenge, even if the glint in his dark eyes speaks of absolute, unadulterated delight. Dex is a little delighted too, not that he’d ever use that word to describe himself. And, well, he’s never been very good at turning down a challenge, especially when Nursey’s the one issuing it.

 Dex kisses him, and Nursey immediately kisses back, and it’s... Dex doesn’t have the words. It’s both softer and more intense than he ever dared imagine it.

 It’s not that he always thought that kissing Nursey would be hard and fast and brutal. It’s just that he’s always braced himself for that to be the case anyway. Always told himself that this was one more reason not to want what he secretly, stubbornly still longed for, because even the sweetest moments between them would probably be too jagged and difficult to make last for much longer than a couple of quick fucks.

 This is nothing like what Dex has been so scared of. This is like breathing again after holding his breath for too long. This is like remembering something he didn’t know he’d forgotten. They move together now the same way they move together on the ice. Impossibly graceful, fluid, and somehow, magically, completely in sync.

 “Am I the reason the furnace is broken?” Nursey asks as they pull apart ever so slightly for air, his breath hot and wet against Dex’s swollen lips.

 “In a way,” Dex hedges.

 “In the same way that you’re the reason there’s now a solid couple grand in cash stuffed into the sin bin?”

 Dex huffs a quiet laugh and nods, Nursey’s nose brushing up and down his cheek as he does, Nursey’s five o’clock shadow tickling his chin.

 “Good,” Nursey says, placing a hand on Dex’s hip under their layers of blankets, and then casually sliding it up beneath Dex’s shirt. His fingertips trace Dex’s lower ribs, sliding back and forth with a gentle tenderness that is very much welcomed though not at all expected. “I’d hate to be the only one in this relationship who was a complete disaster about it.”

 The freezing wind outside howls as it blows more snow against the outer walls, and the ancient space heater before them hums as it generates a lackluster warmth in their general direction.

 Dex barely hears any of it. He kisses Nursey again, and tries to communicate, without actually admitting to it out loud, that he’s been a “disaster” about everything where Nursey is concerned since well before he ever realized it.

#omgcp #check please #nurseydex #derek nurse #william poindexter #fanfic #fluff #so much fluff

[johnisdarling-blog]

♔♡♦

nonsexual acts of intimacy

♔ : finding your muse wearing their clothes

“Listen, I’m really sorry about the Lost Boys. They’re a playful bunch… they just aren’t really the best at knowing when the game is over,” John confessed apologetically through the door of his bathroom, hoping to convey how genuinely sorry he was that she had been caught in the middle of one of their childish games. Just a few minutes earlier, Jenny had had the misfortune of arriving at the Darling residence when some of the Lost Boys were over, having a water balloon fight on the front lawn. Through their ruthless pursuit to drench each other in water and find some relief from the summer heat, Jenny quickly became their latest victim, blinding hurling balloons in her direction until her clothes were practically soaked through with water. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have a lot to choose from… but I figured a button down would probably be better than one of my old Star Wars shirts,” he jested. Though she hadn’t seemed angry about the incident, John had rushed her to safety into the Darling house, profusely apologizing for what had happened. “I threw your clothes in the dryer, so if you’re really uncomfortable, you can just put them back on when they’re done. Or, you know, I could go see if Wendy has anything you can borrow, I’m sure you’ll be a lot more comfortable in something of hers. I can pop over to her room real quick and ask if she–” But before he’d had a chance to finish the thought, Jenny emerged from his bathroom, wearing one of his plaid button downs and an old pair of his black jeans that he had outgrown long ago. 

Clearing his throat and fighting off the flush that threatened to appear across his cheeks, John asked, “Are those okay? You only have to wear them until your clothes are dry.” Of course, since Jenny was so much smaller than John, she had to be creative with the fit of his clothes or they would have swallowed her whole. She had rolled up the legs of his pants and nearly cut their length in half, securing them to her waist with one of his belts. As for his shirt, she had tied the ends of it so it rested on her hips, instead of falling down to her knees like an over-sized nightgown. A soft smile gracing his features, John marveled at how petite she looked in his clothes. “You look so small. I mean– not that that’s a bad thing,” he blurted, kicking himself for sticking his foot in his mouth. “You just… you look really cute. Like a tiny fairy trying to wear a giant’s clothes,” he added chuckle, trying to play it off like a joke. “Come on, let’s go see what the guys are up to,” he said, turning towards the door in attempt to hide the furious blush blazing across his cheeks. 

♡ : accidentally falling asleep together

“Jenny, it’s ten o’clock. We can’t start a movie now or you’re going to fall asleep,” he warned the brunette, their textbooks long neglected at the foot of Jenny’s bed. With their midterms rapidly approaching, John had been studying with Jenny for the entire week in attempt to be better prepared for them. If he was being completely honest with himself, John didn’t need a tutor– he knew the coursework well enough to pass his exams with flying colors on his own. He was the salutatorian of their graduating class, after all, not to mention terrified of failure. But lately, the Lost Boy had been making excuses to spend more time with the youngest Foxworth, trying to find spare blocks of his free time that he could spend with her. He couldn’t explain his absurd behavior if he tried, but hanging out with Jenny was just… easy. He didn’t have to put on a front when he was in her company, or worry about being second place for once. He was free to be himself around her, and he didn’t want to give that up– even if it meant coming up with lame reasons to see each other.

“Nope, we’re not starting Harry Potter this late. The first movie is nearly three hours long,“ he argued, holding the remote above his head so she couldn’t reach it. “I know it’s Friday, but you won’t be able to sit through the whole thing without falling asleep!” he laughed, turning his back towards her as she attempted to swipe the remote from his hand. “We can watch something short, like an animated movie– then it’s back to studying. How does that sound?” he offered as a compromise, surrendering the remote when she agreed to his terms. And with that, Jenny put on an animated movie, burrowing underneath her comforter happily. She offered him a blanket, but John declined, deciding to stay above the covers. He needed to head home before midnight, and he couldn’t risk getting too comfortable underneath a furry blanket. Still, as they sat there, Jenny gushing excitedly about all of her favorite parts, John found his eyelids growing heavier, settling down into the hoard of throw pillows around them and drifting off to sleep. 

Slowly waking up at the sound of chirping, John started to rub the cloudiness from his eyes. It was early– that much he could tell by the sunlight streaming in through the window, washing the entire room in an otherworldly orange glow. He was almost convinced that he was back home, nestled in the comfort of his bed, when he spotted someone laying next to him. Sitting up with a start and opening his eyes, John grinned with relief at the sight of Jenny Foxworth. With only her head sticking out from the plush comforter and her hair draped across her face, he was almost disappointed that he had to leave– but the last thing he wanted to do was be discovered by her siblings, or even worse, her parents. Quickly scrawling a note on a spare Post-It and leaving it on her bedside table, John swiftly grabbed his books, heading towards her window and climbing his way down to freedom. A cheeky grin spreading across his lips, he managed to make it home undetected, delighted by the fact that she would awake to a note that read, “Told you you’d fall asleep.”

♦ : slow dancing 

Spinning and moving around the dance floor with abandon, a drink in hand as they made their way around the room, John let out a light-hearted laugh. Though he had never been much of a dancer and would never have agreed to dance while he was sober, there was nothing that a little liquid courage couldn’t fix. The music thumping against the walls, practically vibrating the entire house, he took her hand, spinning Jenny underneath his free arm and moving them along to the rhythm of the beat. They had officially been college students for two months now, and John thought it was about time that the brunette experience her first college party. “See? This isn’t so bad!” he shouted over the music, beaming back at her when he started to see her loosen up, moving her body along with the music. He knew this wasn’t Jenny’s usual scene, but he was glad to see her giving it a chance. With their midterms finally behind them, he knew that they could use an escape from their reality for a while, and for a moment, it really felt as if the outside world didn’t exist.

As the song came to an end, John put his cup down on a nearby table, prepared to lead them around the dance floor and lose himself in the next song. But the melody of the following song was a lot slower than he had expected, and suddenly the dance floor cleared, leaving behind only swaying couples. Hozier’s Cherry Wine came on over the speakers, the sound of soft strumming filling the room, and though it was normally one of his favorites, he suddenly felt like a deer in headlights at the sound of the gentle melody. Glancing back at her with a look of uncertainty, John quickly became hyper-aware of the fact that he was still holding her hand. He had spent the majority of the night trying to get Jenny to have some fun, so he didn’t want to make her leave the dance floor just yet. Still, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, as the dancers began to pair off and sway to the romantic crooning coming from the speakers. As if she was reading his thoughts, Jenny wordless placed her free hand on his shoulder, a soft smile pulling at the ends of her lips as they started moving along to the sweet melody. 

Placing his free hand tentatively on her waist, John smiled down at her. “So are you glad you decided to come along?” he asked, suddenly relieved that he had had a couple of drinks earlier or he would have been completely petrified at the sudden contact. “I promised it wouldn’t be as bad as you thought… I’m glad you’re having fun,” he said, amazed that he was somehow able to maneuver them around the room despite the nervous pounding in his chest. Their feet shuffling side to side, Jenny rested her head against his chest, and John was almost terrified that she might be able to hear the loud thumping against his rib cage over the booming music. Still, he couldn’t help the small grin that appeared across his lips at the sudden warmth, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. “I’m really glad you came,” he added in a hushed tone, hoping that the music was loud enough that she wouldn’t hear him.

#{ ; do you ever really crash or even make a sound || answered } #WOW - i wrote you a tiny novel #i hope you like it love! <3 #{ ; cause what we've got going is good || jenny }

[loyola-downunder]

Penguins, Koalas, and Roos, Oh My!

Over the weekend, I went to Phillip Island, a lovely little island off the Victorian Coast. I got to explore gorgeous beaches, hang out with some awesome Aussie critters, and meet some pretty amazing people.

Day 1:

The Loyola Crew was off on another weekend trip, along with about 25 other international students. I was excited to get away and see more of the country, and not sure what to expect. I loaded my suitcase onto a trailer attached to the bus, and was met by four very friendly tour guides. Pete, one of the leaders, checked my name off the list and told me to hop on one of the two buses, hinting towards the one on his left. James, one of the other tour guides, would be our driver, and Pete was his copilot/DJ/singing partner. They were a rowdy couple of guys who kept us entertained the entire weekend. They are definitely my favorite Australians I have met so far.

We stopped on the way to play with boomerangs at a park. The boomerangs were hand carved by Aboriginals, which made the experience even more special. I was horrible at throwing them. I aimed towards the wind, and flicked my wrist as hard as I could. But my poor boomerang came crashing down. Thrown correctly, they’re supposed to turn around and fly back towards you. Someone’s boomerang hit me right in the back of my knee, giving me a nice raised red scratch for the rest of the day.

Later, we arrived at our accommodation, which was the nicest hostel I’ve ever seen. It was located next to a RipCurl surf shop and just steps from the beach. I laid on the bottom bunk of my bed and felt the sea air blowing through the window next to me. “I can get used to this”, I thought.  After a pizza dinner, we were off to see the penguins! Phillip Island is home to the largest colony of fairy penguins in Australia. Named for their small size, fairy penguins are the smallest species of penguins in the world, and are distinguishable by their bluish feathers. Summerland Beach on Phillip Island is famous for its Penguin Parade, where each night at sunset, the penguins come in from the ocean to sleep on land for the night. 

We bundled up and braced the wind, our eyes fixed on the waves, straining for a sight of the little penguins. When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, they started approaching the shore. But they were cautious to avoid the sea hawks flying above. Crossing the beach was the most life-threatening event of these penguins’ lives, with all the predators hovering, ready to swoop down and make one of them its dinner. But when they finally felt safe, the penguins huddled up in a group and waddled across the sand as fast as their nubby little legs could carry them. It was quite comical to watch, even though they were running for their lives. They leaned forward and shuffled their little webbed feet in a panic, their wings flapping out behind them. All of them made it successfully to the other side.

We walked back up on the boardwalk to get a better view of them. There were man-made wooden homes scattered on the cliffs where the penguins slept for the night. Others just burrowed themselves underground. I wished them goodnight, knowing they had just accomplished an amazing feat.

Day 2: 

That morning, we headed next door to RipCurl to see their history of surfing exhibit. There was a 360 degree movie theatre, which made me feel like I was really riding the waves. They had lots of signed photos, trophies, surf boards, and other memorabilia from famous Australian surfers. I looked around the store and had to restrain myself from buying a $60 towel. Even if I’m not a surfer myself, I love clothes that make me look like I am. 

Then it was time to hit the beach. We drove down to Cape Woolamai beach for a relaxing scenic  walk along the cliffs. I walked barefoot up the wooden staircase from the beach up to the cliff. We walked for about a mile, stopping for photos along the way. The views were so amazing, I kept repeating to myself “wow, I can’t believe I’m actually here”. From the top, I could see the ocean to my right and the bay to my left. The scenery of plants, sand, and sea formed a jeweled mosaic of emerald, citrine, and crystal. At the end of the trail was a group of tall jagged rocks jutting out from the water like the ruins of an ancient castle.

We climbed down to the other side and found ourselves on a quiet bay beach with enormous sand dunes. Our tour guides pulled out boogie boards, and explained to us the delicate art of sand surfing. Pete barreled down the steep dune on his stomach, landing gracefully in the water. As fun as it looked, I was hesitant to try it. But I knew if I didn’t, I would kick myself later. After watching a few more people give it a go, I just went for it. I grabbed a boogie board and started running up the hill. I was out of breath almost immediately. With every step forward I took, my feet sank into the sand, causing me to slide backwards. There was no traction and nothing to hold onto. I dug my board into the sand in front of me trying to pull myself up. I finally reached the top, and tried to catch my breath. But my breath was knocked out of me again when I looked down and saw how far away the ground was. My instant reaction was to panic. But before my mind had time to talk me out of it, my body was grabbing the board and throwing myself down the hill. I let out a squeal of fear and excitement and before I knew it, I was back on solid ground. It was actually really fun. But once was enough for me.

Day 3: 

On our last day, we took a quick tour of the Phillip Island Chocolate Factory. It was a very fun exhibit that brought out the inner child in me. I got to play carnival-style games and sample delicious dark chocolate. And I even won some free truffles! Then we boarded back on the bus to San Remo. It’s an adorable little fishing town just across the bridge from Phillip Island. We walked along the pier, looking down at the graceful sting rays gliding through the shallow waters. Some were as big as boats! Then, a giant pelican came waddling over to the marina. A crowd began to gather around him; it was time for him to put on a show. Every day, pelicans show up to the same spot where a woman feeds them fish. Today, Frankie the Pelican was the only one who showed up. They are well-trained birds, and are quite comfortable around humans. As long as they don’t get too close.

After we watched the pelican eat lunch, we had our own little picnic lunch by the shore. I was so exhausted that I passed out in a hammock for a little while. Then it was time for our last stop of the trip, the Maru Animal Park. This is what I had been waiting for all weekend. I finally had the chance to get up close and personal with some of my favorite animals. The first thing I wanted to see was the koalas. For 15 Australian dollars, I got to pet and take a photo with a real live koala, which is totally worth the money in my opinion. I got to meet Desi the Koala, who looked very sleepy, but content sitting in her fake tree. Her fur was fuzzy like the inside of an Ugg boot, and when I held up some eucalyptus leaves to feed her, she grabbed the whole thing right out of my hand! And when I took a selfie with her, she looked directly into the camera. 

There were a bunch of native Australian animals at the park, like wallabies, Tasmanian devils, emus, and dingos. But my favorite were the kangaroos, Australia’s most famous marsupial. The kangaroo pen was the only one that was completely open to the public, with almost no supervision. I found it kind of strange that they let just anyone walk up to these kangaroos, but I took full advantage of it. There were several groups of them, just chilling in the shade. Males, females, adults, babies, even albino kangaroos. When we approached them with food in hand, they started to perk up. I scooped up some kangaroo food in the palm of my hand and held it out towards them. One of them approached me timidly, and then took some nibbles of the food. I felt its whiskers tickle my hand and its warm tongue licking between my fingers. I was in heaven. 

I made it my mission to meet every single kangaroo in there. I found a kangaroo family laying next to a barn. The daddy kangaroo was huge; probably taller than me if he stood up straight. The muscles in his back and shoulders were visible through his fur. And the claws on his front paws made me want to stay far away. But even he started interacting with us, and the rest of his family was very friendly. Especially the baby kangaroo, or “joey”. I don’t know why, but I really felt a connection with the little joey. Even though I had no food in my hand, he still followed me around, hopping right behind me. I think the spirit of Steve Irwin just came over me and I became a kangaroo whisperer. I crouched down to play with him and take some selfies, and found out that he is one of the most photogenic animals I’ve ever met. He was so cuddly and adorable and I wished that I could take him home with me. But when it was time to rejoin my fellow humans, I said goodbye, and left him with his kangaroo family.