#[but really that could go for either of them]

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Seventeen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, selective mutism, strong language, sexual content

Notes — This might be one of my favourite chapters so far. I really feel in the swing of things, so (maybe) expect a 2nd update later today!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Azerbaijan — Austria) 

Amelia liked Greece.

She fit in here — in white flowing dresses and messy dark curls, always salt-tangled. She liked Lando in loose button-downs and shorts, golden and relaxed in the sun. She liked Pietra, Max’s new girlfriend — Brazilian, warm, and probably the most beautiful woman Amelia had met in a long time.

She liked the way Lando looked at her when she slipped into Portuguese with Pietra, years of quiet practice finally paying off — and if the darkened rings in his eyes meant what she thought they did, he liked it too.

She liked that she’d made a friend — a real one. A female friend who laughed at her terrible jokes and never minded when Amelia took a moment too long to process something. The language barrier helped in that way — sometimes Pietra didn’t get it either, and they’d laugh their way through it together.

Max and Lando seemed pleased to see them getting along, but Lando especially — because he knew. He knew what it meant for Amelia to have someone. A girl to do her makeup with in the evenings, giggling and tipsy on shared wine, leaving mismatched lipstick stains on either side of the same glass.

Greece felt easy. It felt right.

It felt, for once, perfect.

— 

They avoided seafood restaurants, Lando’s irrational fear of fish too entertaining yet deeply rooted to ignore, and settled on a small bistro by the water instead.

Amelia, in a powder blue dress and white strappy sandals, curled into Lando’s side, her sparkly blue eyeshadow catching the fading light. The evening breeze was cooler than expected, and she’d left her shrug in the hotel room. Lando didn’t say a word, just slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in closer, steady and warm.

He was deep in conversation with Max about the upcoming Quadrant merch launch — all bright and serious and businessy. Across the table, Amelia caught Pietra’s eye. The two women shared a quiet smile, and Pietra flagged down the waiter for another round of wine. White, of course — they were both wearing pastels, after all.

Max ordered garlic bread for the table.

Amelia flinched, her lip caught between her teeth, a tiny, familiar tell. Before she could say anything, Lando added easily, “And a basket of plain bread, too.”

Because garlic made Amelia’s stomach turn.

And of course Lando knew that.

—

Their hotel suite was quiet, the sounds of the Aegean sea whispering through the open balcony doors. The linen curtains fluttered in the breeze. 

Amelia perched on the edge of the bed, brushing salt from her curls, moisturiser sinking into her sun-kissed skin. Lando was barefoot on the carpet, fiddling with the bluetooth speaker, trying to find the right playlist; something soft, without lyrics, something she liked. Jazz, maybe. Something Spanish. 

“You’re stalling,” she told him, voice quiet and teasing.

“I’m setting the vibe,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “Gotta be romantic. It’s our last night here. Want it to be proper special for you, baby.” 

She laughed, quiet and fond, and he finally gave up and crossed to her. His big hands settled on her hips before sliding around her waist, guiding her back into him. She rolled her head back to rest on his collarbone, eyes all wide and wanting as she gazed up at him.

They moved together without words. No rush. No performance. Just touch… slow, steady, familiar. His fingertips glided down her arms like he was memorising every new freckle that the sun had brought to the surface. Her arms slipped beneath his shirt to trace the heat of his back, anchoring herself there. His nose brushed hers before he kissed her. Once, soft and searching, and again, deeper, more certain, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, fingers grazing her collarbone like he could warm her just through touch.

“I’m naked,” she said, feigning innocence, but her smile gave her away.

He laughed quietly against her mouth. “How convenient for me, hm?”

They melted into the white cotton sheets. Every part of her was familiar to him now — the heavy pressure she needed him to put behind his touches in order to stay grounded, the way she stilled under his hands, breath evening out when he pressed his chest to hers, his weight a quiet reassurance. She didn’t need to ask. He just knew.

No rush. No performance. It was connection in its purest form, deliberate, tender, like they were made of the same skin and light. Like the world shrank down to the rhythm of their heartbeats. 

She whispered something in Portuguese, just to make him smile.

He did. Wide, dimpled, wrecked with love, his eyes full of her.

Later, wrapped in one of his shirts, she pressed her face into his neck and mumbled, “You’re warm.”

He kissed the crown of her head, voice low against her curls. “Sunburned.”

—

In Azerbaijan, the problem wasn’t Max.

It wasn’t the car.

It wasn’t the strategy.

It was the fucking tyre.

Amelia winced as the feed cut to Max, out of the car, still on track, kicking the shredded rubber that had ended his race.

“Fucking hell,” Christian muttered from two seats down.

She leaned toward GP, jaw tight. “What’s he saying?”

GP sighed, reaching up to mute his comms. “Nothing appropriate.”

“Red flag,” someone murmured behind them.

Amelia closed her eyes.

She could already see it — the headlines, the photos. “Max Verstappen — championship battle over already?”

It would fuel the fire already smouldering inside him. The one he’d inherited from his father, who was now audibly swearing in the garage. She could hear him from the pit wall.

Her eyes flicked to Christian. He was already looking at her.

In that moment, as the tyre fragments scattered across the Baku circuit and the title race teetered in their grasp, they were both thinking the same thing.

Fuck.

— 

Amelia lay curled in her childhood bed, eyes tracing the glow-in-the-dark stars still scattered across the ceiling — the same ones she’d begged her dad to superglue up there the night they moved from Florida to England. She’d been eight. Shell-shocked by the change. Silent for three days straight before breaking it only to whisper: “Can we put the stars up, daddy?”

They were still there. Nearly twelve years later.

Lando was sitting against the headboard beside her, thumbing through an old photo album, chuckling quietly at baby pictures and awkward school portraits. She peeked up at him through her lashes — here, in her room, in her space. Taking up oxygen and memories and all the soft, sharp things in between.

Her eyes flicked to the window seat. Winced.

She thought about the weeks she’d spent there. Curled into herself, silent. Thinking, thinking, hurting. Wondering why he’d stopped talking to her. Wondering what she’d done wrong.

“Don’t ever…” she started, voice barely a whisper, then paused to breathe. “Please don’t ever hurt me again, Lan.”

He froze. Gently set the album aside, then pulled her up and onto his lap without a word. Held her tight. Looked across the room and saw it too — that small corner where she’d waited for him to come back to her.

“Never again, baby,” he said, voice thick, arms secure around her. “Never.”

She curled her fingers into his shirt and didn’t let go. Not until her mom called them down for dinner.

— 

They approached France with a renewed, razor-sharp focus.

Sim sessions doubled in frequency. Max had her holed up in his Milton Keynes flat for four straight days, dissecting every inch of the car; every flaw, every advantage, every hypothetical curveball. She barely saw daylight, only telemetry and takeaway containers and so much coffee.

At the factory, she gave the upgrades a final inspection, glaring down the engineers who kept pushing to tweak the ride height, despite her repeated insistence they’d already found Max’s sweet spot for Paul Ricard.

She spent a few hours with Adrian, though they barely touched any kind of real work. Instead, they spiralled into a familiar rabbit hole; V10 engines, their physics, their poetry, and the chaos they’d wreak under modern regs. It was indulgent. Comforting.

She spotted Christian a few times in the hallways. Passing glances in the cafeteria. An awkward silence that settled between them like fog.

It would’ve been easier, for both of them, if he could just swallow his pride and apologise for trying to control the narrative of her life.

But he didn’t.

So nothing changed.

— 

Max won in France.

And he didn’t just win — he dominated.

A perfect undercut. A flawless strategy.

An overtake two laps from the end.

“Simply lovely, mate.”

A 1–3 finish for the team.

Amelia clapped her hands, grinning as she leaned across to watch the pit crew spill over the wall, fists pumping under the chequered flag.

After Max’s disaster in Baku, it wasn’t just a win.

It was redemption. 

— 

She found Fernando after the race, walking with him through the paddock. They spoke about the state of Alpine's setup, her questions casual, his answers blunt.

“It is a mess,” he said, waving his hand as though the topic was beneath him. “But they can give me a car, so I will stay until a better offer comes along.”

Amelia nodded, her mind already drifting to the young driver being promised the world at Otmar Szafnauer’s behest. She couldn’t trust them though. Not when the team was so clearly disjointed.

She made her way to Max next, pulling him into a tight hug. “If we can beat them here, we can beat them anywhere,” she whispered into his ear, feeling the heat of his pride radiate back at her.

Then, she found Lando. No words were necessary as he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. His ear was open, waiting for her praises. She whispered them to him as they moved to his driver’s room, him collapsing onto her in a mixture of exhaustion and contentment. 

Her hand clutched the fabric of his shirt as she whispered, “Do you know anyone who could get me Mark Webber’s number?”

Lando's laughter echoed softly against her ear.

—

Amelia walks into the room, takes a seat across from Mark, and locks eyes with him, staring until he’s the first to blink.

Breaking the silence, she says, “I don’t trust Alpine, but I understand why Oscar does — they’ve invested a lot of time and money into his junior career.”

Mark nods in agreement and follows up with, “I don’t trust them either.”

A tense pause. Stalemate.

She leans forward slightly. “I’ve got an idea. Nothing's set in stone. If he gets the Alpine seat, I’ll back off. But if he doesn’t…”

“A back-up plan,” Mark guesses.

Amelia smiles, a glint in her eye. “Yes.”

— 

They plane-shared with Charles, Max, and George on the way to Austria. Amelia sat quietly, her iPad resting on her lap as she scrolled through Pinterest, putting together an outfit board. Every so often, she’d tilt it toward George, giving him a silent ‘hm?’ as if to say, what do you think? without needing the words. George always knew, offering a quick response or nodding along with her choices.

Going non-verbal wasn’t something that happened often, but when it did, Amelia could never pinpoint the reason. Sometimes, it was just the weight of everything around her, the noise, the constant motion, and she’d retreat into silence. A soft hum, a cough, a tongue click; they were her ways of communicating in those moments.

Lando and Max, sitting across from them, exchanged a glance, both watching the interaction from afar.

"You think she’s okay?" Lando asked, his voice low, filled with concern.

Max nodded, eyes still on Amelia. "She's overwhelmed," he said quietly. "Trying to act like she’s not. It’s too much, I think."

Lando’s worry deepened, but Max’s words were a small comfort, as he thumped Lando on the shoulder. “Another holiday as soon as there’s a break. Yeah?”

Lando smiled, pulling out his phone and checking the calendar. It was a habit now, syncing their schedules. He sent a quick message to his travel agent.

— 

After dropping off their luggage at the hotel, they met her dad for dinner at a local Italian place. Amelia snapped a few pictures of the pretty table settings, and Lando insisted on taking some of her in front of the wall of vintage wine bottles. “You look so pretty, baby,” he murmured, making her smile.

Her dad and Lando talked business and golf for most of the meal, their conversation a distant hum as Amelia scrolled through her Twitter feed, still not feeling up for much interaction.

At the end of the night, she gave her dad a tight hug before they parted ways, silently hoping that her love would come across through touch rather than words.

Their suite had a balcony, and Lando set up a little scene with blankets and chairs, ordering two bottles of Sprite to their room. Amelia ignored the chair he'd set up for her, instead collapsing onto his lap with a soft laugh and a surprised huff from him. “Jesus, warn me next time, baby,” he teased.

She buried her face in his neck, mouthing at the skin. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled and her breath shaky, fingers clenched against him.

He rubbed a steady hand up and down her back, voice soft. “What for?”

She shrugged, kissed his neck again, and closed her eyes, just letting the quiet settle around them.

— 

The next morning, Amelia called Pietra, high-pitched giggles echoing from the bathroom as they gossiped in Portuguese over FaceTime. She sat in the sink to get closer to the mirror, balancing her phone on the taps while applying her eye makeup.

Lando lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He listened to the two girls talk in a language he didn’t understand, probably about him. A smile tugged at his lips.

— 

Two weeks. Two consecutive Austrian races. Same track, different name.

Amelia sat with Jos in the debrief room, going over Max’s notes from last year’s race. Adrian walked in, having just checked the car setup. GP and Max followed a few moments later, Max with a paper coffee cup in hand and dark circles under his eyes.

Amelia frowned at him. "What’s the matter? Did you not sleep well?"

His gaze flickered to Jos, then back to Amelia. "No, just… nothing. Don’t worry about it."

She studied him, trying to decode his expression; his head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed. Her attention then shifted to his neck, where the collar of his Red Bull polo had slipped. A dark bruise marred the skin, with four tiny indents around it.

With a huff, she reached across the table to adjust his collar, covering it up.

Sitting back, she noticed both Jos and Adrian were staring at her.

She frowned. "What? I hate hickeys."

Jos blinked at her, then shifted his gaze to Max.

Adrien winced.

Max? He just sighed.

— 

She found Lando in his garage before the Styrian race.

He was starting on the second row, practically sandwiched between her two Red Bulls.

Pulling him close, she kissed him softly and whispered, “Do well, be safe.”

She smiled at her dad, nodded at Will, and waved at Daniel, who winked back at her.

— 

Max wins by a huge margin. The car had been flawless all weekend, and that didn't change during the race.

He jumps out of the car and into his engineers' arms, who scream and cheer in pure joy. Red Bull’s first home race of the season, and he’s won it by a mile.

He runs straight to her next, finding her in Parc Fermé instead of the pit wall like usual. She squeals as he picks her up by the waist and spins her around, his helmet still on.

“Zusje,” he crooned, full of energy and excitement.

She grins, pats the side of his helmet, then shoves him off toward the scales. “Go get weighed before they fine you.”

— 

The championship swings in Max's favor after the second Austrian race.

And suddenly, the question isn’t Can Max win the championship? It becomes When will he win it? Amelia pores over the data, analysing their history with each upcoming track, measuring the numbers.

She runs into Lewis in the paddock after Max’s second win. She opens her mouth to greet him, to ask how Roscoe’s doing, to check on him after so long without talking. But he keeps his head down and brushes past her, leaving her staring after him, eyes burning.

She finds Fernando first. Falls into his arms, a heap of sniffles and unjust sadness. She understands why Lewis is angry, knows how competitive this sport is, and how much she has to do with potentially denying him an eighth championship.

“Mi niña,” Fernando murmurs, holding her tightly, his eyes hard. “Who upset you?”

She doesn’t tell him. Doesn’t want him to make any rash decisions during the next race. She just lets herself be comforted, and when Fernando eventually hands her off to Lando, she lets herself really begin to cry.

NEXT CHAPTER

[wonderjanga]

Teen Dad Marvel

There’s some very big leaps and logic the JL has decided at Marvel is a teen dad. Billy doesn’t even know how it happened. Let’s take a look at some pass incidents that have made them think this.

To start us off, the very first incident of this occurred when Batman, Superman, and Marvel were debating how old a kid should be before they become a sidekick.

Marvel: “I wasn’t even 12 when Junior came along.”

Supes: “I’m sorry, not even 12?”

Marvel: “Nope. And then it was about… two years or so later that he got his powers and we went on the fight crime together.

To Billy, that meant that he met Freddy when he was around eight and the other boy was nine. It when Billy was nine himself that he got his powers and then a year later, Freddy gained his.

To Superman and Batman, that sounded like somehow, in some way, Marvel had a kid at a max of 12 years old. It also sounds like that two-year-old got powers before it could probably even walk.

Batman and Supes: *sharing looks*

Supes: “I… I’m sorry?”

Marvel: “For what?”

Batman and Supes: *share another look*

Batman: “Nothing, Captain. We just hadn’t expected that you’d gone through something like that.”

Marvel: “Something like what?”

They didn’t answer Billy’s question because they assumed he was playing dumb.

The second incident that convinced the JL, or just Batman and Superman, of this, happened when both Marvel and Junior were at the Watchtower. It seemed like that day was a bad day for Junior’s leg, so Marvel offered to massage it. That how they ended up in the rec room watching Cartoon Network a little too intently as Marvel absentmindedly, massaged the leg draped across his lap.

Marvel and Junior: *watching Gumball or something and sipping juice boxes*

Junior: “How do you do that so well?”

Marvel: “Freddy, I’ve been doing this since I was like nine, obviously I’m gonna do it well.”

Junior: “Yeah, but how did you learn?”

Marvel: “You know that kooky doctor on 48th Street?”

Junior: “The one that’s not evil and turned like half his patients blue?”

Marvel: “Yeah, him, so on one of your really bad days, I got really desperate and really wanted to find a way to make it less bad. So I went to him and he gave me a masseuse book for a penny.”

Junior: “Oh… Cool. Do you still have that book?”

Marvel: “Yeah? It’s probably somewhere at the Rock.”

Supes; *listening from around a corner, clenching his heart because he finds them wholesome*

And it really was from Clark’s point of view. See, most of the JL assumed that Junior was born with a bad leg. After all, he’s supposed to be a demigod, isn’t he? He’s pretty much indestructible so they didn’t think he’d gotten that injury from someone or something. In Clark’s mind, he’s imagining a nine-year-old, itty-bitty Marvel with a baby Freddy massaging Freddy’s little baby leg because he was crying.

Also, Junior’s real name is Freddy? Also, Marvel was NINE when he had him??? Wait, but then how old is Marvel now? Also how old is Junior??

Supes never got an answer to these questions because he was too chicken to bring up the topic.

The third incident came from Mary and Marvel who were also at the Watchtower when this happened. The two were baking cookies together, one of the usual father-daughter activities the JL have seen them do. Specifically, they were making dark chocolate bat-shaped cookies for Batman, on the request of Robin. When Bruce found out about this, he went to go tell them to stop because he really didn’t need the cookies even if they were absolutely delicious.

That’s how he overheard their conversation.

Mary: “Do you remember mom?”

Marvel: “Uh…” *thinking* “Nope, I got nothing.”

Mary: “How?”

Marvel: “Because the last time I saw them, I was eight years old, Mary? You were too.” *whisking something in a bowl*

Bruce took that as Marvel leaving home, at a concerningly young age, for whatever reason and eventually taking Mary to see her grandparents when she was around the age he left. Either that, or he left, and took her back to visit her grandparents when she was two-years-old.

Mary: “Yeah, but I had amnesia. What’s your excuse?”

Marvel: “I was eight?” *hands her the whisk so she can lick it*

It was this incident, and the two others that shaped this idea of teen dad Marvel. Thus, using the combined brain cells of both Batman and Superman, the two came to a conclusion: for some reason, Marvel left home, during the time he left he somehow got someone pregnant and that resulted in Mary and Junior.

Either that, or he just found them on the side of the road, though, the first theory is more believable. The only problem being their ages.

If only they could find their mother… maybe she’d be willing to spill.

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon Riley is a nudist

And hear me out with this one, okay?

Simon loathed clothes. Ever since birth, he couldn’t stand wearing them. Tight shirts felt suffocating, clinging in all the wrong places, while loose shirts bunched up every time he sat down, irritating his skin like sandpaper. Socks made his toes feel trapped. Jeans? Felt like leg prisons.

So as he got older and lonelier, finally getting a place to call his own, he took full advantage of the one thing he had control over: being bare. Naked, free, relaxed. It was like finally exhaling after holding his breath for years.

He slept nude, cooked nude, cleaned nude, and lounged nude. If a neighbor caught a glimpse through the blinds? So be it. This was his damn house. His sanctuary.

He never had a problem with it… until he got a partner.

Simon didn’t really get the memo at first either. He didn’t think you’d mind. You were his, after all. And besides, he trusted you enough to be comfortable in his own skin and scars. And at first, you said nothing. You were happy he felt that at ease around you. Proud even.

But there came a point. A moment where things tipped.

A point where you could no longer ignore the way his balls quite literally stared at you while you were trying to eat lunch. A point where his nuts were uncomfortably pressed against your back at night because he liked to sleep curled around you. Hell, you could barely take him seriously during conversations not when all you could see was his ass swaying as he turned to grab something off the counter.

Still, you let it slide. Until that day.

Your friend was over, and Simon: tired from work and on autopilot made his way inside, tugging off his shirt, undoing his belt, already stepping out of his cargo pants and down to his boxers. The same boxers he was about to take off when he walked into the living room… and froze.

Silence.

Your friend’s face was a picture of horror. Yours was painted in full body embarrassment. Simon? Confused, holding the waistband in his hand.

That was it. The final straw.

You sat him down that night and had the talk.

“Look, Simon. I love you but can you at least wear boxers around the house?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like having to see your ass when I eat. And I can’t take you seriously when you’re butt naked trying to lecture me about safety knives.”

“What’s wrong with my ass?”

Eventually, he relented. He agreed to boxers. And it worked. Peace was restored. You had no further complaints.

Until he got an idea. A plan.

What if he converted you?

It started subtle. He hid a few of your shorts. Nothing major. And soon you were walking around the house in nothing but your panties and one of your shirts. Then he escalated. Began hiding your shirts too. But you simply grabbed his, oversized and soft.

So he played dirty.

He ordered some itching powder off the internet. Just adding a little sprinkle in your shirts, his too: he had to sell the lie. And sure, you could just wash them. But that took hours. Hours you’d be bare.

So when you said you were hopping in the shower, he smiled and sat back.

The door swung open as you stomped out of the bedroom, frustration written all over your face.

“Ugh! Everything I wear is uncomfortable and itchy!” you whined, dumping handfuls of clothes into the washer with enough force to shake the drum.

Simon sat on the couch, arms behind his head, casual as ever. “What I’ve been sayin’, love. Clothes are the curse of people.”

You pouted, flopping down beside him with crossed arms. “Maybe I’ll just go nude like you.”

His grin stretched wide, wolfish and smug.

“Would never say no to that.”

And from that day on, the conversion was complete.

You were barefoot, panty clad, and happy. No shirt, no pants, no problem. Sunlight touched your bare skin as you made breakfast, as you lay in his arms on the couch, skin to skin. You slept bare chest to bare chest with him every night, feeling every steady breath and heartbeat. It was peaceful. Intimate. Freeing.

Until you found the itching powder tucked behind some boxes in the closet.

You almost laughed.

Sneaky bastard.

You should’ve been mad. But you weren’t. You just smiled to yourself, grabbed the bottle, and poured a little bit into his boxers.

Let’s see how he liked it.

Might write more for theses two if I have any ideas since I liked making this

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

Q&A: Let's Have a Conclave!

Q: What happened to Pope Francis?

A: He got old and died.

Q: Why is your tag "#deadfrank 2k25"?

A: Because he died, he was called Francis (although his real first name was Jorge), and it's 2025.

Q: What's happening now?

A: The Catholic Church is preparing for a new Pope, who will be elected in a conclave, like from the noted book and movie Conclave. This conclave will be sometime between May 5 and May 10; what's going on until then is a series of funerary rituals and "general congregations," i.e. meetings of the cardinals to discuss their overall thoughts on what they might like to see for the Church when they start voting. The conclave is strictly secret but the general congregations aren't; however, the cardinals tend in practice to be cagey about both stages in the process. Cardinals who vote in the conclave itself have an age limit of eighty, but the general congregations are open to older cardinals as well.

Q: What are the important numbers to remember with the conclave?

A: The total number of cardinals voting is going to be somewhere in the low 130s; 135 are eligible, two said they couldn't make it for health reasons, and now it looks like one of those two might be able to make it after all, putting the current figure at 133 or 134. To get elected Pope you need two-thirds of that, which currently is either 89 or 90.

Q: Who's in charge in the meantime?

A: Kevin Farrell, the Camerlengo (chamberlain) of the Holy Roman Church, a frankly somewhat dislikeable old snake with an MBA who used to be Bishop of Dallas (yes, the one in Texas) before getting appointed to a central position in Rome.

Q: What is the next Pope going to be like?

A: Firm answer: Nobody knows.

My educated guess: It's going to be someone who continues a lot of Francis's priorities, but maybe not one of the big names and maybe not the priorities people in the First World tend to associate with him. The Western conservatives are alienating the sort of Global South wild cards they'd have to win over, and we're getting statements stressing continuity and finishing the work Francis started from people like Rwanda's Antoine Kambanda and Myanmar's Charles Maung Bo. These are people who are going to want to see more of Francis's informality, his populism, and probably his focus on climate action and poverty relief. What that would mean for women's or LGBT people's status in the Church could be almost anything, since plenty of people in the developing world with the above views are very socially conservative otherwise, but the full-on reactionaries seem pretty locked out.

Q: Who are some of the papabili ("pope-able") cardinals?

A: Tolentino de Mendonça, Tagle, Zuppi, Parolin, Grech, Prevost, López Romero, Aveline, Pizzaballa, Turkson, Arborelius, Ambongo, Ranjith, and Erdő are some of the names to look into here, listed vaguely from "left" to "right" (although these are tricky terms in this context and at least one voting cardinal, Malaysia's Sebastian Francis, avowedly thinks using them is a form of Eurocentrism). But it doesn't have to be one of them; in fact, it doesn't even have to be one of the cardinals voting; it just always is.

Q: Is he seriously named that?

A: Yes, the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem, the bishop responsible for (among other things) most Palestinian Christians, is really named Pierbattista Pizzaballa. I'm told it sounds silly even to native speakers of Italian.

Q: Is my fave [Tagle/Zuppi/Erdő if I have anyone like that following me/Pizzaballa/whoever] going to be Pope?

A: There's no one odds-on favorite, so probably not.

Q: Is my least fave going to be Pope?

A: See above.

Q: Who are you, monstrousgourmandizingcats, rooting for?

A: Zuppi, but it's not up to me.

Q: Is Kevin from Dallas a papabile?

A: Lmao no.

Q: Why are all these people men?

A: There ain't no rule that says a cardinal has to be a man, since a cardinal is technically a separate thing from a priest, but it would be very very difficult for all sorts of logistical and cultural reasons for a pope to actually appoint a woman as a cardinal, and not even Pope Francis ever seriously considered it. There is one woman, a nun called Simona Brambilla, who accidentally got an email inviting her to the general congregations because she's the head of a dicastery (a department of the Church's central government), but unfortunately she doesn't seem to have taken the mailing list up on it.

Q: Is the process fun to follow?

A: Very fun, yes, but also stressful for those of us who care a lot about the Church's direction.

Q: What's the talk among the cardinals focusing on so far?

A: According to Italian-language news, which is usually the most informed on this stuff, the big topics are migrant/refugee issues and how powerful the Church's central administration should be, not necessarily in that order.

Q: Any drama so far?

A: Yes! Angelo Becciu, a corrupt cardinal who resigned his right to sit in a conclave after a criminal conviction for fraud, had resignee's remorse, showed up for one of the general congregations, and had to be escorted out by the Swiss Guards. Kevin from Dallas got taken off Mass duty for (iirc) the sixth of the "Novemdiales" (nine days) of formal mourning for Pope Francis and they replaced him with Víctor Manuel Fernández, an Argentinian cardinal whom the right flank of the Church despises because he's the architect of kinda-sorta-if-you-squint allowing blessings of same-sex couples. Some conservative old guard cardinals supposedly descended on their safe deposit boxes for blinged-out gold pectoral crosses that Francis wouldn't let them wear while he was alive. I'm sure there's much much more to come!

[lostintransist]

The Second Duchess

Y'all, Noona's brain worms got me again. AO3 | This will be two parts. | This will end bitter. A/B/O dynamics, vaguely victorian, there will be an actual ghost in part two, odd power dynamics.

When John found you, a foreign lady, visiting a neighboring earl, he thought he had found redemption.

His first wife had been designationless, like you. He and his pack, Johnny, Simon, and Kyle, had ill-treated the first duchess. Her final words, left in an open letter, lingered over them all, even now.

You were supposed to be better. Every tale of you spoke of your bravery, your dedication, your loyalty. I found them all to be lies. When my corpse haunts your memories, may you think on it with more fondness than you ever did me.

The people who claimed the right of parentage over you had sent you to a foreign court in the hopes that someone would take pity on you. Foolish attempt really. No one at home wanted you; no one here would either.

All your life you had been discarded. Set aside for your lack of designation, you learned to cope. The scarred skin at your neck where your gland had failed to grow in the womb became your favorite place to decorate. If not with necklaces, then with art. You had learned how to paint on your body and create wreaths that wound round your neck; you set new standards because you could not do much else. If people were going to stare, why not give them something to look at?

Running wild became your favorite way to use your lack of designation. You could ride a horse side saddle or sitting forward like a man. You could ride better than most men in either seat. The stable hands at home got used to a horse disappearing for a few hours. You always stabled the horses you used, fed them, and brushed them. They stopped complaining after they saw how well you cared for the animals.

You hired art teachers and painted nude bodies. Music teachers taught you how to listen to the lewd songs sung in the taverns and play them at dinner parties. Languages were mastered; the curses were the things you memorized first. The cooks blustered when you demanded to be taught, but when you threatened to hire someone to teach you they quickly gave in.

The maids taught you on the sly the cant and candor of the working class. When they told you of the needs in the community you worked directly with the women who headed each group in need. Connections were gathered like coins in a purse and guarded like a hen over her chicks.

Without quite knowing how you became a woman of influence. A whisper or a word in the right ear and you could turn the tide on harmful policies. If you declared a business untenable for their use of child labor or the way they treated their workers the working class would not patronize them again.

That same level of leverage never breached the bubble of the aristocracy; hence, how you found yourself shipped away to start again.

The weeks warning your mother had given you had been enough for any in your contact to fire off letters to kin and foe alike of your coming. Even letters to foes told of your abilities to conquer changes.

Dock workers had a penchant for overindulging in your country. Men overindulging left women and children bereft of comfort and stability. You had been working at the underpinnings of fact before you had been shipped off.

No one noticed where you wandered, even here in this new country. No one cared. Just this morning you had sat down with the head of the laundress of the city to see what pieces you could shift. Their letter had arrived first, and tending to their needs would become your first priority. They needed childcare.

Children often needed tending and older children needed to be taught reading, writing, and arithmetic. An aging governess or two could be convinced to play school teachers and a maid without a reference could become a tender. Most of the legwork would arise from connecting with the women who would care for and teach the children. The juxtaposing issue would be where to house them and the children during the day. The price per child needed to be reasonable to the laundress and enticing to the governesses and the maid.

Censure, while a familiar disrespect, never became easier to bear. It bit at your flesh like the slap of hands. You had been relegated to the piano in the corner of the room while the other women partook in after-dinner sherry.

You hated sherry. You hated all alcohol really but sherry most of all. It tastes of lies and disappointment in its syrupy sweetness. Shuttering those memories, you focused on playing through a key change and into a jaunty tune; lewd would be a more accurate word, for the song you had learned down at the docks.

All these thoughts swirled through your head as your fingers played without you. Being so deep in thought you failed to notice the men had rejoined the party.

The knuckles rapping the top of the piano before your eyes brought you back to your body. Your motions paused the last notes you played lingering in the air. It is doubtful anyone was listening to you anyway.

A broad man leaned against the piano. His hair was cut short and sprinkled with gray. A neatly maintained beard, sun-kissed wrinkles around his eyes, as well as the fine cut of his coat completed the look of a lord. Being unfamiliar with this county’s aristocracy you offered a demure smile.

“Can I help you, my lord?”

“Where did a thing like you learn a tune like that?” His voice is rich and cadence firm.

“It is astounding the things musicians will teach you for the right incentive.” Settling your hands back to the keys you began to play a medley of your favorite drinking songs.

“Why do you not hide it?” His voice is as a surprise as it is unexpected.

Decorum meant different things here. Like it being acceptable to ask about one’s secondary gender.

“Why would I hide something I am not ashamed of, my lord? I am not causing harm to others by existing,” you lift a brow as you glance at him quickly.

He stared at the paint ringing your neck. The style of dresses here, that your great aunt had draped you in despite your protests, involved low necklines and off-the-shoulder sleeves. The corset cinched around you held up the dress. You had painted flowers and vines. Now, if anyone stared overlong you could assume they were observing your skill with a brush and not the scar where your scent gland should be.

Transitioning into a light, airy tune that has been well accepted by “higher�� society you stole glances at the lord. You had yet to be introduced, but his dismissal of decorum intrigued you. Not many men approached you for a chat, even less without being introduced as an oddity first.

“Would you take a turn around the room with me?”

And there went your interest. Like with anyone who did not conform to society’s standards, you were propositioned every so often. Pursing your lips, you don’t look at him again.

“If you can gain an introduction before I depart for the night, I will consider it.” Focusing back on your fingers you played around a key change into a moving piece.

This bit of music sounded a bit like weeping when you played it.

He would not find your aunt anywhere near this room. She had consumed a fair amount of dairy in the soup course and would be leaving rancid deposits for the maids to clean in the morning. Once she felt well enough to travel she would send someone to collect you to the carriage. No one else here could claim acquaintance to the point of introductions.

As you predicted the lord could be seen drifting from person to person questioning and pointing toward you where you played still. All shook their heads and peered around for your aunt. Nearing forty minutes later a maid approached you, hands clasped neatly in front of her white frock.

“Ma’am, your aunt awaits you in the carriage,” her voice is mouse quiet even as her eyes dart to and for.

“Thank you for telling me. Can you inform the butler I will need my things?”

The notes lingered before dying, suffocated under the volume of conversation. The lord noticed though. As you slipped around seats and finally into the front hall, he followed. The aged butler held out your shawl, gloves, and hat.

One glove on and buttoned at the wrist you started on the other one when he appeared. The lord gave a near-silent dismissal to the butler. When you turned you found your hat and shawl held hostage.

“My things, my lord,” your hand extended for your things.

“While I was not able to obtain a formal introduction, I wanted to introduce myself. Duke John Price, at your service.”

Plucking your bonnet from his hand, you hum. Duke Price glared at you as tied it in place.

“How wonderful I avoided the misfortune of being introduced to a duke then being as lowly as I am, hmm?” You glanced at his face.

His sun-kissed wrinkles are now plucked with frustration.

“Will you be returning my shawl or shall I brave the night with bare shoulders, Duke Price?”

You let the title remind him of his place in the scheme of life.

The blue of his eyes reminded you of the center of a flame, scorching in its heat. You saw the decision in the tilt of his head. Standing stiller than the statues you saw dotting this land, you did not fight when he settled the shawl around your shoulders.

“Travel safe. I look forward to our upcoming introduction,” Duke Price held to the end of the shawl as you stepped back.

“Must not have much to look forward to in this country,” you let derision drip from your tone.

One more step back and you are free. A hand behind your back finds the doorknob and you are out. Now the footmen are looking to the door as you descend the stairs.

“What kept you?” Your great aunt’s voice bites from the dark of the carriage.

“It took some time for the butler to gather my things,” you lie. Climbing in and sitting forward on the bench to peer out the door window, Duke Price watches you from the door.

Sliding back the darkness hides you from view.

John fired off a letter before the sun had risen. I have found her. I will return when wed.

It took weeks before he secured your acquaintance. He tried though, gods, the way he tried. You would have laughed if he didn’t disrupt so many damn meetings.

A local Chaplin had agreed to offer room and board to the two governesses and the two maids who would be watching and teaching the children. A different church, whose Bishop agreed, would serve as the care space and classroom. The two churches would have no fees, but negotiating the prices that would remain fair for the laundresses and the women caring for the children became the sticking point.

The women all raised their voices. It was as if they could shout a little louder than their neighbor they might be clearly heard. In times like these, you were grateful for your nose blindness. Someone had once explained that the overlapping scents of anger reminded them of a barn fire, acrid and dense.

You finished finalizing the numbers on your page before standing. Snatching up your mini abacus, because math in your head forever alluded you, you placed it in a pocket of your skirt. Both hands lifted your skirt. Once your feet could move freely, you stepped onto the chair and then onto the long table where the discussion had devolved.

Both boots planted firmly you released your skirt and shoved fingers in your mouth to whistle. The piercing sound cut through all of the noise. All of the women sat down and glowered at each other, and you.

Movement at the door of the room tipped your annoyance into rage. Duke Price stood in the doorway. This was the fourth meeting he had appeared in.

“The Duke of Price has two seconds to be gone from this room or he will be funding this project for a year.”

Your pointed glare and sharp words caused all the women at the table to turn and do the same. These were proud women. They would not accept charity, and the offer of it would be seen as offensive. The duke narrowed his eyes and stepped back into the shadows.

“Close the door, my lord. If you are incapable of such a feat one of these lovely women would be happy to assist.”

The iron lock clicking into place turned all eyes back to you. Pinching your fingers to the bridge of your nose you shut your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Here is the pricing that accommodates everyone. The women handling the children will not need to cover room and board, which will reduce their incoming monies. In turn, that reduces the burden per child for the laundresses. Now, you must decide among yourselves,” you open your eyes and scan the laundresses now, “If you wish to pay a per child fee or a flat fee. Tally your votes and inform me of your decision. This scheme will begin on the first.”

The women who handled the dirty laundry for the city nodded and rose. They spoke among themselves as they exited the room.

The older governess, Brenton, if you recall correctly spoke up now. Her white hair gleamed under her dowdy cap.

“Who will be supplying the learning materials? The pay for watching the children will not cover that.”

You climbed down as you thought over how to obtain the needed materials.

“There is an irksome lord that I will make pay for the displeasure of my constant annoyance.”

All four women shared a look. They had worked under several lords and ladies and knew this would be a formidable task.

“Well,” Miss Brenton clapped her hands twice, “We will leave you to your trial ma’am. If we can be of any assistance before our work begins, please reach out.”

“Thank you. I know this is going to be an odd period of transition for all of us.” Settling at the head of the table as the other stood, you gestured to the door. “Miss Brenton, if you don’t mind, could you play chaperone for a moment?”

“Must say, I am interested to see how this plays out.” Tucking her skirt back down Miss Brenton sat back down.

Pulling out a clean sheet you began to note down the needed items, chalk and chalkboards, readers, nappies, blankets, cribs, the list went on. The click of heavy-soled shoes stopped at your side. Paying it no mind, you continued. A second sheet joined the first, transferring a list of vendors that would help funnel money to the bottom where it was most needed. Some were spouses of the laundress, others were brothers, fathers, or uncles. All were low class and would provide solid work.

A total of three sheets filled you ensured each was dry before stacking them. Folding them into neat thirds, you turned and handed them to Lord Price.

“You are a difficult woman to make an acquaintance of,” he took the papers held in proffer. “What is this?”

“The bill.” Standing, you let the chair legs scrape against the floor. “Miss Brenton, can I interest you in having company on your walk home?”

The shrewd woman looked near apoplectic at your handling of a duke.

“This is a lengthy bill.”

If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

Lord Price’s eyes were upon you when you finally let your head finish turning. No smile graced his lips. Shame. For all he had made your last few weeks as painful as a throne in the thumb, he was nice to look at.

He wore a blue today. His eyes shone with the gold stitching on his jacket and vest.

“It has been extraordinary lengths you have gone to bother me; this seemed a fair request.”

Neither gaze shifts when Miss Brenton choked on air.

“Consider it done,” Duke Price tucked the list into his inner coat pocket. “May I join you ladies on your journey?”

“Of cour—”

You cut Miss Brenton off with a hand and a sharp look. Turning that sharp look on the lord, you speak your piece.

“No. I do not know what your intentions are with me, and frankly, I am tired of finding you amidst my business. The only men who pursue me do so for my,” you gesture to your scarred neck, “eccentricities.”

A string attached to your stomach could not have pulled tighter than if it were looped to a kite. This conversation made you wish you could skitter into a hole, a church mouse hiding from god. This would be the sixth time you had told a man no.

The duke huffed a laugh.

“I have enough eccentricities roaming my home. What I seek is a chance to see if we would get on well.”

His blue eyes left heated trails as they worked across your face. Goose flesh rose on your arms. Chest and further down where you dare not think of the flesh continued to rise. Every bit of you reacted.

“Why?” The question is breathy, haunted with questions.

Duke John Price held the sword of Damocles at your neck. The blade yearned for a taste.

You spent your days in the shadows. Confronting men who could take what they wanted was the only time you thought you knew what it was like to be whole. Acid bullied the back of your nose.

“I am in need of a wife. Someone who has the skills to manage others.”

He is not done. You don’t care.

“Choose any of your fashionably young countrywomen then.” Ripping your eyes from him, you stack your papers and close your ink well for travel. “There is a full troop of them yet unwed who would kill for the chance to lay in a duke’s bed. They have all been trained to manage households.”

The string in your body is cut. A tangle now lives in your chest.

“Miss Brenton, was it?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Can you give us the room for a moment?” The kind command would take more fortitude than the aged governess possessed.

A beseeching look to the matronly woman did not save you. Her wrinkles quivered as she slowly stood.

“I can give you three minutes m’lord.”

He inclined his head as if accepting a toast from a royal.

As the door swung shut you formed a plan. Stepping to the opposite side of the table, for distance and a barrier, failed. The toe of your boot caught the leg of the table. Papers fluttered from your hands as your knees cracked against the stone floor. Duke Price was there in an instant. He lifted each paper, laying it neatly in a stack.

Tears pricked at your eyes. You hadn’t moved from your fallen position. Head hanging to your chest you held back from weeping by the breadth of a string.

“Why will you not leave me be?” The words are harsh, strangled by the tightness in your throat.

“When hunting foxes, one strategy to attempt is sending them to ground. Where do they hide when they can no longer run?” His demeanor was cool, his voice soothing. “You run in circles, managing to better every bird, twig, and rock you brush against in your escape.”

Sniffing, you set about finding a handkerchief to wipe your face; you refused to face the laundress’ if they knew you used your skirts as rags.

A blue handkerchief in a gloved hand drifted below your nose. Lifting it, careful to not touch even his glove, you dab your nose.

Somehow you had managed to drip ink into the crease where your nail becomes flesh. Gloves hurt your hands after a time. You had managed to work around wearing them. No one noticed. No one ever noticed. And if they did they didn’t care to police a grown woman who had no prospects.

“I have a pack, they are wonderful and I would burn the world for them. I need a wife who can see. I am looking for someone who notices the needs overlooked, connects with those unheard, and sends war captains on impossible journeys. If you had allowed an acquaintance between us weeks ago, I could have courted you slowly.”

Duke Price holds out your papers. They crinkle in your delicate grip as you press them to your breast.

“I do not believe you.”

His cloth pressed to your nose cannot prevent all the vile feelings filling up your bones from injecting themselves into the words.

No one wanted you. Even the one who had lied in word and deed to make you believe he did.

Brokenness allowed you to see because you could not smell; that did not make you valuable.

“And what would make you believe me?” He curls nearly in half to peer up at you.

A duke is on his knees, craning his need to get a look at you. What the hell had this world turned into?

Sniffing again, you straighten. Plans. You can make plans.

“A contract. Legally binding even in marriage. Make it two. One to court me and become engaged and the second retaining my rights to leave this country unhindered, if I so desire, if marriage were to come to pass.” You study him now. The wheels are turning in his mind.

“And what of the consequences of reneging on either contract?” A single brow is lifted in your direction.

“I imagine your solicitor has worked with you a long time, my lord. If he does not think of something suitable, I would be happy to revise and return it for review,” you lift a brow in response.

Games were easier. The rules never changed. Once understood, you could slide below notice and return to living life and helping where you could.

The man before you lifted both cheeks into a full smile. Your heart dropped into your heels still below your butt. He had a beautiful smile.

“They will be at your door for review before the week is out.”

“You have not yet gained an acquaintance, my lord, it might be rejected at the door,” you gave him a saucy wink and a watery laugh.

“I think a contract will be introduction enough.”

He held out a hand. You shook it, grip firm. Twice it bobbed before he turned your hand over and laid a kiss on your knuckles.

Catching sight of your lifted brow from his position he threw you off balance, again.

You had been to sea. Once only, were you out during a storm.

Then you had clung to the railing until a man in a slicker had slid a rope around your waist and helped haul you below deck. That wild energy that had commanded you to land came now. This time though? You longed to dive below the waves. If only to see if the storm could touch the seabed below.

Solicitor Allchin sat stiffly in the sitting room of your great aunt’s home. He wore black as if born to it, hair flounced the appropriate amount to show he would be fastidious and dogged in a task.

Your nails, trimmed short, bite into the fabric coating the arms of the wing-back chair. The crazy fool had actually done it. Two contracts lay strewn on the tea table before you. Unable to continue to read, they had been thrown down.

“Allchin?”

The man startled at being addressed. He had been taking surreptitiously deep breaths. If anyone believed you to be afflicted with no scent gland upon meeting you would call them a liar.

“Yes ma’am?”

“What is your opinion of Duke Price?”

You refused to call him John. It felt like ceding ground in a war you didn’t intend to entrench in.

“He is a fair man, mostly. Cares well for those that he considers his, discards those he doesn’t.” Allchin spoke firmly. Confident in his honesty.

“Thank you. That will be all. I will return these with any adjustments within three business days.” Standing would be beyond your power. If you rose the only thing you would manage is the three steps to vomit in an oriental vase.

“Ma’am,” Allchin rose, tugging his coat neatly into place. “If I may? I have a question.”

“You may not.”

Rage fluttered in your chest with hummingbird wings; it stung your eyes, water filling them.

Allchin nodded once and saw himself out. Lifting the paperwork, you read what you could. He had tilted everything in your favor. If you agreed to an engagement you could keep it quiet until the bans were read. Either party could break the engagement and you would receive a settlement for cover “pain and suffering.” You would retain full autonomy and legal status as a person in the event of a marriage. Property bought or sold in your name would remain yours.

Working itself out seemed to be working in Lord Price’s favor.

Someone, and if you ever found them you might actually hurl them down the stairs, had told your great aunt about the visit and the paperwork.

“What is this I hear about an offer?”

The testy old woman had called you to her office like a child. She opened and shut a fan in one hand. Open. Shut. Open. Shut.

Blinking slowly, you release a breath.

“I did not think you could hear at all anymore, Aunt.”

Slam. The fan cracked against the edge of her desk.

“Do not test me, child! Have you had an offer?” Her frail voice betrays none of her age as she shouts.

Disdain drips from your canines like blood from a throat you clenched between your teeth.

“I lost my childhood to bigotry and hate. I will not lose my adulthood to it as well. Any business between myself and any man who might make an offer is none of your damn business. Only those who care about my welfare are welcome to that knowledge.” The temperature in the room changed, flashing cool before heating up with a rage you knew waited to boil over.

Turning on a heel, you stride from the room.

Any calls from your aunt fall on deaf ears. You lock yourself in your room and squirrel away the paperwork. Not well enough.

One of the maids must have found them. Word reached you as you were fitted for a wedding gown that your aunt had offered a hefty reward for the person who could pry the information from you. You thank the young woman pinning the skirt and ask after her children. She smiles as she tells you of her daughters and their clumsy attempts at stitches.

Masterlist | Part 2

[witchslove]

The Morning After

Pairing: Camgirl!Wanda x Reader

Summary: Your feelings for Wanda run deeper than she knows.

Warnings: 18+ nsfw content; bottom!wanda, top!reader, kitchen sex, masturbation, oral (w receiving), dirty talk, fluff

A/N: Sorry it took me like two years to post this, but enjoy!

Part 3 of “The Camgirl Next Door” | Series Masterlist

——————————

As your eyes drifted open and adjusted to your surroundings, you realized you weren’t in your own room.

Right, you were in Wanda’s room.

The previous night’s events came back to you in a rush and you smiled, remembering the way she tasted under your tongue, the way she felt under your fingertips, the way she moaned your name, the way she looked into your eyes as she teetered on the edge. It was better than anything you could’ve imagined, but you knew you and Wanda still needed to talk about what it meant.

You rolled over to face her, but your smile quickly faded at the emptiness of her bed and the feel of cold sheets under your fingertips.

You frowned in concern, but figured she must’ve gotten up to go to the bathroom or get something to eat or drink. Your activities last night took a lot out of you both and you felt your own body craving a glass of water.

You got up, finding your clothes on the floor and throwing them on before walking around the apartment. You’d already noticed that the bathroom in her room was vacant and once you noticed the guest bathroom was empty too, you decided she must be in the kitchen or living room.

But she wasn’t.

The kitchen looked untouched since last night, as did the living room. You felt yourself beginning to panic, wondering where Wanda was and why she would’ve left.

Before you could think too hard, the front door swung open and there was Wanda, carrying two coffees and a paper bag.

You let out a breath, your shoulders relaxing at her presence, all worries that she’d just left you behind subsided.

“You’re up! I went out and- are you okay?” Wanda asked, noticing that something was off as she placed the items on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah I’m fine, still just waking up I guess,” you reassured, not wanting her to know you’d almost worked yourself into a panic over her getting breakfast.

She nodded and seemed to believe you, reaching into the bag and taking out food containers. “I didn’t know if you’d want pancakes or waffles so I got both.”

You slowly made your way to the kitchen, your brain still catching up to the relief of her coming back, your eyes glued to her as she focused on the task at hand. She really was beautiful, especially like this - sweats and an oversized shirt, her makeup long gone after last night, the sunlight of the morning highlighting her features.

It didn’t take long for you to notice she wasn’t wearing a bra either, her nipples visible through the fabric of her shirt, probably from how brisk it was outside. You didn’t think twice as you hugged her from behind, fitting your bodies together as she placed things on the counter.

She relaxed into your touch, humming when your fingers played with the hem of her shirt before sliding under the fabric. “Detka, last night was a lot-” she paused when your thumbs brushed against her nipples, leaning back against you and letting out a whimper when you pinched the buds between your fingers. “We- we should eat breakfast first…”

“Mmm, what if I want to eat something other than breakfast?” you said, your breath ghosting along her neck in a way that made her forget what she was even saying.

“But what about-” she interrupted herself with a soft moan at the feeling of your teeth on her pulse point. At this point she’d become so limp in your hold that you were able to turn her around and lift her onto the countertop with ease.

“Any objections to kitchen sex?” you asked, your fingers playing with the waistband of her sweats.

She bit her lip and nodded no, raising her hips so you could remove her pants and underwear in one motion. “You sure? Words baby,” you said, leaning in to kiss her sweetly as your hands ran along her thighs teasingly.

“Yeah, please Y/N.” Her words came out with a quiet whine, her legs spreading easily for you when you began to push them open. You kissed her once more before lowering yourself between her legs, your hands sliding under them so they rested on your shoulders. You pushed her shirt up enough to see her perfectly, gripping her waist as you looked at her lustfully.

“A little teasing and you’re this wet already? Fuck,” you mused, your knees feeling weak at the sight of her folds pink and slick with arousal right before your eyes. This was even better during the daytime, you were sure of it.

“Please,” Wanda begged, practically squirming where she sat. She blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed at how needy she was being so quickly, but that left her mind the second she felt your mouth on her.

You moaned at her taste, your tongue dipping into her as you sucked on her wet lips, messily reaching as much of her as you could before actually focusing on pleasuring her. When your lips found her clit, she let out a guttural moan, hips bucking up off the counter for more.

You pulled away the slightest bit but didn’t stop lapping at her center as you squeezed her waist to keep her still. “Taste so fucking good,” you mumbled, licking a long stripe up the length of her before diving back in. When your tongue slid inside of her, she cried out, hips moving wildly but failing to do much under your harsh grip.

“Fuck, just like that,” she moaned, a hand coming to your hair to keep you in place as if you could possibly find it in you to stop now.

She was close, so close, and she knew she only needed a little push to get there. As if you could read her mind, knowing exactly what she needed, you brought your hand to hers and guided it from where it was tangled in your hair down to where she was aching. You looked up at her, pupils dilated as your eyes locked and she understood what you wanted from her.

She began to rub her own clit, making tight circles against it so close to your face you couldn’t hold back a groan at the sight. She moaned at all of the sensations working together, your tongue against her walls, the vibrations of your vocal desire for her, the friction against her sensitive bundle of nerves, it was all too much.

She threw her head back as she came, letting out curses and chanting your name like a prayer as her hips stuttered against your mouth. You licked and swallowed every last drop of her essence as it dripped into your mouth and down your chin.

When she finally came down from her high, you ceased your movements against her and instead kissed along her inner thighs until she was dragging you up by your hair and pulling you in for a heated kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.

“Now can we have breakfast?” she asked, looking at you oh so innocently.

“I’m surprised you’re still thinking about food after that,” you said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She smirked before leaning in. “Mmm no, I’m just thinking about all of the things we could do after we’ve gotten our energy back.”

You smiled back and stepped away, letting her go back to getting breakfast ready. You chose pancakes after noticing she seemed excited about the waffles and the two of you ate at the dining table since the kitchen counter wasn’t exactly the most sanitary option anymore.

By the time you were finished eating, an alarm from your phone interrupted your morning together.

“Shit, I have work today,” you cursed, finally realizing what time it was. “I have to go or I’ll be late.”

You stood up, hurriedly grabbing the to-go boxes you ate out of and trying to clean up after yourself.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of that,” Wanda said, grabbing your arm to stop you before stepping closer. “Although I was kind of hoping I’d get to take care of you…”

“I’m sorry, Wanda, I really have to go,” you rushed out, feeling bad that you had to leave so abruptly after such a wonderful morning together.

“It’s okay, go ahead. Don’t want you to be late,” Wanda reassured, smiling softly as she let go of your arm and started cleaning up the table.

“Thanks, uh, yeah, sorry. Thank you for everything,” you managed to get out, knowing you wanted to say so much more but being unable to do it in that moment. She smiled again, nodding as you turned and ran out, stressing over the fact that you left yourself almost no time to get ready.

You were only seconds late to work thankfully, but your situation with Wanda was on your mind all day.

You definitely had feelings for her, there was no denying that. Your feelings ran deeper than just casual sex and you wanted her to know that, but you felt nervous at the thought of asking her out on a proper date.

What if this was a fling to her? What if she still saw you as a customer? You hated that word, but it was truthful in describing what you were to her before the two of you had ever even met.

As the day went on, thoughts of Wanda kept your mind busy; you thought of how she tasted, how she moaned for you, how wet she was. But you also thought about her cute smile, her little nose scrunch, her thoughtfulness in getting breakfast for the two of you, everything about her.

You decided you had to do something. You couldn’t let fear take over and keep you from getting the one thing you wanted most.

Meanwhile, Wanda spent her day in a similar state, thinking of you. She felt so taken care of and loved when you had slept together, in a way she had never felt before with anyone else. It felt safe and secure, but also electrifying. You were an incredible lover but it ran deeper than that and she was struggling to convince herself that it wasn’t just the heat of the moment.

You fucked her, but you also practically made love to her, and she wasn’t sure if that was your intention, to make her feel that it was more than just sex. You were, after all, someone who consistently viewed her streams and watched her touch herself on camera. Obviously there was physical attraction; she just didn’t know if that was all it was.

While she worried all day about your potential feelings for her, you were working up the courage to show her how you felt.

On your way home from work, you stopped at a local flower shop, scanning over all the options for bouquets.

You came across a beautiful selection of roses and could only think of Wanda when you looked at the red and white ones. Red for the love and passion you felt towards her, red for her favorite color, red for the fire she ignited within you. White for new beginnings, white for your loyalty to her, white for the innocence of your feelings, it wasn’t just sex, it was something more pure.

You had the florist put together a bouquet and you paid for it, trying to shake the nerves building within you.

When you got home, you stopped at Wanda’s door first. You hesitated, but then knocked gently on her door, holding the roses behind your back.

Wanda wasn’t expecting anyone, so she was curious who would be at her door, although she hoped it was you since the two of you hadn’t gotten to finish your time together that morning.

She opened the door and smiled upon seeing you standing there. You looked uncomfortable and concern flashed on her face for a second before you spoke.

“Hi, um, mind if I come in?” You asked nervously, waiting for permission to enter.

“Yeah, of course,” Wanda responded sweetly, opening the door more for you to step through the threshold and closing it behind you. “What’s up?” she spoke when you didn’t, breaking the awkward silence.

“Okay so,” you started, hyping yourself up in your head for what you were about to do. “First of all, these are for you.” You handed her the bouquet from behind your back and she gasped, taking them in her hands and admiring them for a moment before returning her attention to you. “I wanted to ask you something. Would you, um- sorry- would you want to go out to dinner with me some time?” You rushed out, afraid you wouldn’t ask at all if you took any longer.

Wanda chuckled, feeling relieved that you were asking her out on a date.

When she didn’t immediately respond, you spoke again. “It’s okay if you don’t, I just, I wanted you to know it’s not just sex to me. I like you Wanda. I don’t want last night to be a one time thing and I don’t want this to be casual either. I hope I’m not making this weird, I just needed you to know that I have feelings for you.”

You were rambling, but Wanda found it cute. She finally responded by grabbing the back of your head and leaning in, pulling you into a soft kiss, trying to convey all of her feelings through the touch of your lips.

When she finally pulled away, she looked into your eyes in a way that almost made you shiver. “I would love to go out with you,” she said, smiling at you, eyes sparkling.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding and smiled back. “Okay great, how about this Thursday? I’m off early that day,” you suggested, trying not to seem too eager even though you absolutely were.

“Thursday is perfect,” Wanda said. “And thank you for the flowers, no one’s ever given me flowers before.”

“Really?” You couldn’t hide your surprise. She nodded. “Well, I’m glad to be your first. I mean, the first to give you flowers,” you stuttered out, feeling nervous again under her intense stare as she continued to hold eye contact with you.

She laughed at your antics and was about to speak again when the oven went off and reminded her that she had been cooking.

“Oh, um, would you like to stay for dinner tonight? I made enough for both of us,” Wanda invited, heading towards the kitchen to turn off the alarm.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you replied, excited to spend more time with her.

As the two of you got to know each other better over dinner, you knew you were already head over heels for her. You’d tell her that when the time was right. You didn’t know it yet, but she was already feeling the same way.

[theblehthatbloos]

I love being able to enjoy life but I definitely go through highs and lows. In either case where I'm in a relationship or have decided to be alone, it's been really nice to just be there for people in general and help them out when I can.

Would I like immorality? Absolutely not. If I had to endure that curse then I'd like to continue the same enjoyment of being able to help when I can and share whatever wisdom.

I'm not too old yet, but seeing others that you taught or have carried and even improved from the lessons you gave is so delightful. When any of my past students show up and take out an art book or folder they have, it's amazing to see how they took one thing you taught them and expanded it into their own masterpiece of art.

Helping with a local neighborhood by giving out food or pushing one of the floats for carnival and teaching chess one day or another, you'll bump into someone and they'll recognize you. And even if they don't then you get the same look of recollection.

It's all about seeing the impact you've done and then seeing you were able to be there for someone with their arts, their feelings or just being the one there. A lot of people need that and just being a kind person to talk to or help expand a skill goes so far.

People die, yeah, but I was taught that celebrating life is more respectful than the other option. I remember the people that have passed, the wrongs we have both done and the things that could have been. But, that's not the goal we should carry, it should be the time we enjoyed, the times we grew and the experiences we can pass along so others have an easier time traversing through life. No matter how long it is.

If my life is short, I'll do what I can

If my life would be eternal, I'll do what I can

it's always "immortals always lose the ones they love!" and never "this family has had this incredible, powerful, loving figure present through generations of their lineage, all because they are descended from someone the immortal loved long ago" and i think that's a shame!!

[yintous]

꒰ 🦢 ꒱ ─── 𝓗EART TO HEART ㆍ₊⊹

gn! reader ; love is spoken through many different languages, such as words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service, gift giving, and physical touch. which language do each of the batboys speak? or rather, what is their favorite love language?

notes. fluff, established relationship, more content under the cut, kinda long?? idk i didn’t proofread much 😭 this is mostly inspired by one of my lovely mootie’s ask! :D [masterlist]

DICK GRAYSON, physical touch.

dick could NEVER keep his hands off you. at this point, everyone knows how clingy he is toward you

comes home to you and never stops looking forward for your touch. the moment your skin touches his, he feels as if he’s immediately grounded to earth.

the type to trace your facial features; the slope of your nose, your jawline, etc. if you have freckles, he’d count them to pass time

when sleeping next to you, he’s def the type to wrap his leg around your hip or waist to accumulate more warmth and to make sure you wouldn’t get away from him 😭 (he would NOT gaf if he was heavy for u either)

ADORES any kiss you give. whether it be on his cheek, his nose, his lips, etc— he loves to be kissed and wouldn’t pay attention to lingering lipstick marks. at this point, he wears them as a badge of honor

LOVES stroking your hair and getting his hair stroked. to him, it feels like an entrepreneurial trade deal. mutually beneficial and rewarding.

he gets veryyyyyy soft when you trace his muscles, it’s a small gesture, but it has such a big effect on him— when you do, he gets literal butterflies and he suddenly feels like a teenager indulged in puppy love again 😭😭

would occasionally wrap all of his limbs around you when he’s extremely exhausted from patrol

JASON TODD, quality time.

jason sticks to your side unconsciously. every room you go to, he has the instinct to just follow you. at times, maybe not instantly, but it’s always guaranteed that he’d end up in the same place as you

is in love with quality time as much as he is in love with you. no words can ever express his affection the same way quality time can

has a messily written and probably crumpled list where he has written down ideas of how he can spend time with you efficiently (and it lives in every pocket he has)

he has probably read articles and reddit stories about the topic too 😭 to really immerse himself in it

he never passes up the opportunity to get more time with you. it’s a silent gesture, but never hidden.

because of how much time he spends with you, the people (which probably wouldn’t be many people) that know about your relationship would be shocked if one wasn’t with the other

he LOVES feeling wanted too. like getting asked to go on dates, hanging out, etc.

if you ever reciprocate any of the same gestures, he’d fall in love even deeper

TIM DRAKE, acts of service

a firm believer that actions are better than words bc he thinks that his words may not be enough, so he resorts to committing acts of service for you

his acts of service can range from helping you carry your bags to analyzing what your hair type is so he’d know how to properly help you with it at 2 am in the morning

i feel like he loves taking naps with his s/o too… and when he does takes naps with u, he’d make sure your neck is resting on something soft such as a neck pillow or just a regular pillow before you fall asleep

memorized the way you like your coffee, including the amount of sugar (or the lack thereof) you want in it, the amount of creamer, if you prefer iced or hot, etc.

has this weird obsession of finding out your little icks and finding solutions to said icks

probably bought or made you a massager that people can only experience at least once in their lifetime (especially if ur body is the type to ache easily)

LOVES giving and receiving back massages. no elaboration whatsoever i just KNOW

DUKE THOMAS, words of affirmation

he never runs out of reassurance. he praises you like a devotee atp 😭

he has this sixth sense whenever you feel the slightest bit off

you get jealous? he’s immediately reminding you how much he loves and appreciates you. you need a motivation boost? he probably already prepared a whole list on why you shouldn’t give up

he LOVES LOVESS little praises. getting a small “good job” or “you’re doing great” is enough to boost his day and keep him sane for a whole WEEK. he loves giving them and loves receiving them even more

but at the same time i feel like he’d be the type to not really care about love languages?? probably the type of lover that doesn’t mind anything you do as long as the both of you are happy and satisfied

i think he’d be the type to also call you those REALLY cheesy petnames to tease you ironically, such as “honeybunch sugarplum raspberry blueberry pie” or somewhere along those lines 😭😭

jokingly flirting with him would probably make him happy too!! he’d def enjoy the lighthearted banter with his significant other as a way to escape from his life as a vigilante for awhile

© yintous do not copy, repost, plagiarize, or feed any of my work into ai.

[sourle]

I love your Au so much! I feel so bad to the y/n so much..so I got a idea came out of my mind while I listened to silly billy(a dang popular fnf song) and it remind me of that au of if y/n get heavily tired of been ignored just because of they past..So if y/n became a killer like the other, they would sing the line of the silly billy song( IM SO SORRY IF YOU DONT UNDERSTAND ENGLISH ISBT NY FIRST LANGUAGE AND IT WAS THE IDEA I HAVE-)

Proud of me

Silly Billy

WARNINGS: BLOOD, VIOLENCE, SLIGHT GORE, READ AT YOUR OWN RISKS!

Note: "I'll make— you say— how proud you are of me."

It wasn't intended, really. You've never thought the hatred could get this bad. How? Why? Taph..

Did they lied to him? Did they influenced him?

You choked on your tears, gripping the picture frame. It hurts so much to know no one trusted you anymore, not even Taph.

The sound of your shuddering breathing and sobs filled the silence in the cabin. You were moved by Shedletsky to another cabin, furthest from the other, saying it was necessary. But seeing as how close it is to the path leading to where the killer's hideout was, worried you.

Though he insisted on you staying there, alone. Taph were previously your cabin-mates. Guess now he isn't seeing as he moved his belongings into Dusekkar's cabin before you were moved.

Did you do something? What wrong did you do? You can't remember.

Alone. Everytime. Every second. Every hour. Every day. Every. Ticking. Time.

Are they not convinced enough you've changed?

You still stay friendly with them despite everything.

You stare at the familiar panel in front of you, seeing the screen you vouch to never touch ever again.

The time is almost over. It's almost the end time.

You heard a scream, one that's familiar to Dussekkar's voice. You got up, hiding the panel away from everyone, and left the hill.

Running towards the voice you saw both Dussekkar and Guest limping, Chance's gun exploded on him in an attempt to save Dusekkar from Jason.

Taking out your gun, you shoot it at Jason. It hits, stunning him. Giving both Dussekkar and Guest to escape, without even a thanks from either one.

Are you that bad? They never acknowledge you anymore. Not even Him. Taph.

You snapped back into reality hearing Chance pained groans. Your eyes widen as he runs up to you and shoves you behind them towards the killer

Then you felt it. The machete hitting your neck. Scar so deep it bleeds a river, unfortunately not enough to end you from the pain.

You felt him pull the machete back, resuming chase on Chance who's low. You choked, grasping at the wound on your neck.

Falling to the ground with sob you can't even get out of your mouth. The pain felt like it was burning, it's agonizing.

You heard another scream. Shouting out Taph's name. No.

He's in danger, get up. GET UP!

You can't, despite you trying. You can't. You're close to death, yet seems like The Spectre didn't want you to.

You squint your eyes, remembering something. You held back the pain, clenching your teeth.

The second tick, 10 seconds.

You muster up all your energy, a panel opened up in front of you.

You can't give up.

5 seconds.

You pulled yourself towards the panel. Reaching a hand out to click that one button.

3

You hissed, feeling the pain sharpened.

2

You're good enough! You're enough! You'll prove them!

1

I'll make them proud of me.

Builderman stares at the timer, confused on why it restarted. He turns to the other who looks confused as well.

Is there a continuous round? Last time he check there's none. New event?

He turns to Shedletsky and Guest, both staring out at the area near the mansion. Everyone is here, except Two time. Said they'll go check the whole map to see what's going on.

SNAP—

Builderman, Shedletsky, and Guest turn their attention to the snapping noise. It sounds so familiar— Is it c00lkid?

There they stood, over Two time's mangled body.

Is that— [Name]?

"Am I strong enough? Did I prove enough to be better!? Please say you're proud of me!"

They stare at you, eyes widen. Shedletsky took out his sword, Guest ready himself. Builderman, oh.

He's having a flashback. He knows what your capabilities are.

I'm sorry.

[thatsunnyalien]

The only thing I feel like I should add, because me and my doc love to go rounds on this one, is if you’re writing your trauma into characters make sure to take time for your own self care.

I had a habit of writing thousands upon thousands of words between our appointments, when I used to go once a month. I had been doing really well before I started writing. The first time I talked about it with her I was shocked that she was upset. She tried to explain that I was touching my trauma so casually without self care and how that could hurt me.

I was mad because I thought I was okay, I was able to write it and get it out in a way I could look at it. I was so excited, thinking it was finally over. So, I ignored her advice. I thought I was doing okay but it wasn’t until a few appointments had passed that she realized I had stopped eating, sleeping, or any of the general “you should be doing this for your body” things. I lapsed on my health completely, returning to things that were putting me back on the path to hospitalization. I was paranoid, anxious, and so so tired. Things I didn't want to admit to myself. When I wrote though, I felt like I was on top of the world. I was making something that made me proud! I was making so much progress! She absolutely hated it though. Trying to tell me that I should start taking breaks, at the very least, to stretch and use the bathroom. Surprise, I wasn’t doing that either.

I’m doing better now, even though I have to go to my doc more often and I still write too much because I’m hellishly stubborn, but not as much as I used to. I used to be afraid to talk about what I was writing with her because it was so vulnerable. Especially after I stopped caring for myself, worried she’d tell me to stop writing completely. Now, I’ll read her lines that I find important to share and she likes to tell me how she’s proud of me. She’ll tell me I’m saying the things that the younger version of me needed to hear. Which I find hilarious considering the plot of my last story. My experiences while writing are part of the reason why I’m no longer content with In Dreams of Blood and Water. I’ve re-read it with this new perspective, and I see how I still barely let myself touch what hurt. I want to do better.

Now, I need to do this right for myself and for them.

So be good to yourself, for yourself.

Write that trauma.

But do your self care.

And for fucks sake get up and go pee.

[enwoso]

blood, not bond | alessia russo x child!reader

-> based on this request

grumpy masterlist | leah is in it but she kind of pops in and out of it - more focused on: harrison, alessia and lovie.

at seventeen, you had gotten used to the strange rhythm of your relationship with, your dad, harrison.

once every four or five weeks maybe longer if life got in the way, you'd meet up with him. lunch or a quick shop around town, maybe both if you were lucky.

he'd always ask you about school, about your football commenting on the fact that he managed to watch your match on a stream like it meant something to you, or if you were still writing in that journal you'd started in year nine.

it wasn't uncomfortable, wasn't bad either. it just wasn't what people imagined when they heard the word 'dad'.

because really you didn't have a 'dad'. you had an alessia and a leah. they were your parents. your constants.

harrison well, he was.. something else? a figure which floated in and out your life with well meaning eyes and clumsy attempts to connect.

this time you were spending a rare saturday with harrison. but it wasn't in a 'cherished' kind of way, more like it was an obligation.

you didn't hate seeing your dad, sometimes on the rare occasion you'd actually enjoy yourself but most of the time were just.. odd. scheduled. like fitting a phone call in with a stranger into a diary full of people who actually knew you.

this one had started like the others: brunch at the cafe that he liked, shopping afterward if he remembered that you needed new trainers or a jacket. a few attempts at small talk — 'is school going okay?', how's football? scored any crackers yet?', 'how's your mum?'

the day had been fine, until it wasn't.

"so," harrison started, halfway through his eggs benedict. "louis and lily would love to meet you one day."

you blinked, pausing mid-forkful of your pancakes, "who?"

he just smiled like it was a name you should recognise, "your younger brother and sister. i've told them about you, there always asking when they're going to meet you."

your fork hovered still in mid-air, your mouth going dry. "you.. you have kids?"

"yeah, i do" he said as if it was nothing and that it should have been common knowledge to you. "well, you knew about zoey—"

"i knew you had a girlfriend when i was like eleven, you posted her once and then never mentioned her again."

he frowned, "louis is five and lily is three. and the only reason i didn't tell you sooner is cause i didn't want to throw too much at you all at once, but they've been asking about you for a while — especially louis, he's a big football and arsenal fan"

you didn't respond, just looked down. you now suddenly hyper-aware of the clink of cutlery around the cafe, the swirl of the cream in your coffee cup. your appetite vanished.

the rest of the day passes in awkward silences and occasional comments which you couldn't force yourself to reply too. he asked if you liked a jacket, you shrugged. asked about football, you said 'great'

finally, when he pulled up outside your house, home, he put the car in park but didn't turn off the engine.

"i'm serious, y/n" he said, hand still on the steering wheel like he might need to grip it to keep the conversation from drifting. "think about it please, they'd love to meet you."

you nodded slowly, "we'll see." it came out small, flat. a placeholder for all the thing you didn't know how to say.

you slipped out the car muttering a 'thank you' but before he could say more, you were heading up the driveway with quick steps and slipping through your front door like a ghost.

the front door creaked with the same familiar cream it always did. leah was in the kitchen, stirring something in a pan which you knew she'd of been instructed to do by your mum. music drifting through the hallway, quiet but calm.

"hey, angel. you good?" leah called out, you nodded again, tossed your shoes by the door, alessia bundling down the stairs as she ruffled your hair a warm smile on her lips.

"lovie! how was your day?" she asked as she leant against the banister, you knowing she wouldn't drop it until you said something.

"fine" you said, dropping your bag by the stairs.

"did you go for food?" alessia asked, her eyebrows raising at your short answers and the way you were behaving.

"yeah." you hummed, one foot on the bottom step waiting for your exit to go straight to your room.

"you want tea?"

"i'm good." you didn't wait for more. just walked straight up to you room and closed the door with a quiet click.

leaving your mum at the bottom of the stairs, her being slightly confused at your quiet behaviour, usually you'd come home with a story or maybe at least complaining about your dad asking you a question about something you hadn't done since you were ten.

but today, nothing. silence. but alessia knew better than to push. you'd tell her eventually.

—

alessia waited. she didn't follow after you. didn't push. she never did. she left you in your room while her and leah ate tea together. a slight look of concern on leah's face when alessia told her to leave you when she asked if she should call you down for dinner.

but a few hours later, after you had spent most of the evening buried in your duvet with your headphones on, alessia knocked softly and poked her head in.

leah had taken the dog out. the house was still, humming only with the low buzz of the boiler and the occasional car passing outside.

"can i come in?" you shrugged glancing up at your mum as she poked her head through the door.  you were sat cross-legged, staring blankly at your phone screen. alessia walked in, sat on the edge of the bed like she always had since you were small.

"so how was today? with your dad."

alessia looked at the way your face changed at then mention of it. she could tell something was off. not just because you were quiet, but the way you moved as if your skin didn't quite fit right. your shoulders were tight, tense.

"hey" alessia said gently. "you okay?"

your eyes stayed on your phone screen, you having been doom scrolling for the past few hours trying to get rid of your thoughts however it was probably making them worse.

your jaw clenched once. then again. then— "he told me he has another family."

alessia's heart thudded, a pout forming over her lips, "lovie.."

"i have siblings," you snapped, you voice sharp. "siblings, mum. five and three. and tells me like it's some lovely fun little surprise over brunch!"

alessia's face dropped, she knew about harrison moving on with zoey, in a way she was delighted it had meant he wouldn't keep sticking his nose in her relationship with leah and she knew about louis.

not because she found out from harrison himself first (no surprise there) but, from one of harrison's friends she bumped into while doing a late shop one afternoon. harrison then telling her a few days later, alessia urging him to tell you but he promised he would when the time was right.

"wow. i-i didn't know about the three-year-old. just louis but that was years ago."

"you knew!?" your voice hitched as you head snapped to look at your mum. hurt blooming behind your eyes.

"i knew about louis and yeah we both knew about zoey, but i didn't know they'd had another child." alessia explained, her voice calm, too calm for your liking. with the way your chest felt like it was about to explode.

"and what? you didn't think to tell me?" you snapped, your voice dripping with bitterness but also hurt.

alessia took a slow breath, "it wasn't my place to say anything. at the end of the day lovie, he is your dad. it should've come from him."

your eyes flashed. "oh, come on. that's such a cop-out."

"no, i didn't mean it like that."

"then how did you mean it?" your voice rose, frustration starting to build. "cause right now it sounds a lot like you just didn't want to deal with it. just like he didn't either."

alessia flinched but she didn't move her eyes hardening. "hey, no, don't put me in the same category as him, lovie. i've been here. every day. for every meltdown, for every match, for every homework crisis."

you started pacing back and forth in your room. "yeah, you have. you've been here. and he's been off playing happy families with some other kids. buying them toys, tucking them into bed, going to their school plays, their out of school clubs—"

"you don't know that."

"i don't have to!" you nearly shouted. "cause i can guess. cause i know what it looks like when someone doesn't show up, and he's had plenty of practice."

alessia took a careful step forward wanting to try and help calm you down before you did something silly. "you're allowed to be upset. you're allowed to be angry."

"well, good. because i am." you said, voice cracking with each word. "he shows up once a month, if that, buys me lunch, asks me about school like he knows me, and then drops this on me like it's something i should be excited about."

you stop pacing and turned to your mum, eyes shining with unshed tears. "he said they want to meet me. that they know all about me. like i'm just some story that their dad tells sometimes at bedtime. like i'm not even a real person."

alessia's heart broke a little more with each word. "he should've told you a long time ago. but he also should have done a lot differently then he did when you were growing up."

your voice shook as you sniffled. "i spent years thinking i did something wrong. that i wasn't enough. that i was the problem. that if i'd been better—quieter, smarter, easier—maybe he'd have stayed, maybe he'd of made more of an effort to get to know me. and now i find out he did stay. just not for me."

"oh, lovie..."

"he just replaced me, mum. he left you, and then he replaced me. like i didn't even mean anything."

and that was it—the dam broke. your legs gave way as you collapsed onto the side of your bed, and the tears came hard, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you'd been holding in for years.

alessia was beside you in an instant, pulling you close, her arms wrapping tightly around you like a shield. alessia didn't speak right away. just held you. let you sob.

"i don't want to meet them," you whispered eventually, voice hoarse as tears still streamed down your face.

"you don't have to," your mum murmured against you. "you don't owe him anything. this isn't your responsibility."

"he said they'd love to meet me," you scoffed bitterly. "but they don't know me. i'm just a name. some girl he sees sometimes. i'm not part of his family. not really."

alessia pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. "then let's make something very clear—you do have a family. me. mama. this house. your many, many aunties. your friends. the people who show up. that's your family."

you nodded, barely. your hands clutched the hem of your mum's jumper.

"do you think it makes me a bad person for not wanting to see them?" you asked softly, slight hiccup coming from your lips.

"no," alessia said without a beat of hesitation. "it makes you honest. and human. and hurting. and that's perfectly okay."

your mum stood, slow and careful, like you might shatter if she moved too fast. "your allowed to be angry."

"i don't even know what i am." your hands were trembling now. "i'm not mad he has a family. i'm mad i'm not part of it. that i never was. that he never gave me the chance. that he never loved me, not properly."

flash— age four: harrison meeting you for the first time after walking away after alessia had told him she was pregnant. bringing a little teddy bear like it could fill four years of nothing.  you didn't even remember it—but you remember your mum's face when the door had closed again.

flash— age nine: he missed your school plays. said he had work, but you saw the tagged picture later on. a dinner. smiling. a different world.

flash— age twelve: he missed your birthday. fourteen: he never messaged to say congratulations on your first start for the england youth team.

flash — age sixteen: he said he'd take you out for dinner after your exams, you sat waiting for hours - he didn't even bother to call and cancel.

instead it was just a pattern of promises that never really included you.

alessia took a slow step closer as she knelt down in front of you, you sat looking at your hands in your lap. "you don't have to figure this all out today, lovie."

"i don't want to meet them," you said, voice still hoarse but still sharp. "i don't want to play happy families with strangers. i don't want to pretend i've ever been more than a once-a-month reminder for him."

alessia arms wrapped around you like muscle memory, strong and warm and safe. "and that's okay, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. you have us. you always have and always will, that's never going to change."

you pressed your face into her mum's shoulder in front of you, letting the tears come again, now that you weren't pretending to be okay.

the front door opened. leah's voice floated in, as she called out, the sound of the dogs collar echoing as it shook itself in the hallway. "i'm backk!"

alessia looked over the top of your head, eyes soft as she whispered. "we'll get there. i've got you."

she stroked your hair gently as you curled into her side, exhausted and broken but safe. it wasn't fixed. not yet. and maybe wouldn't be for a while. but you had what mattered most. you had home.

[crescenthistory]

omg congratsss on 2k!!! could i request prompt 31 from the dialogue list with remus? i’m just thinking about oblivious rem… like she’d be flirting with him in EVERY possible opportunity and he’s just like oh she’s the sweetest to me we have such a nice friendship😭

thank you so much for participating, lovely! unfortunately i evidently don't know what a drabble is, so i hope you enjoy this one-shot lol<33

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i will ARGUE for prompt 31 "give me a kiss, you beautiful idiot" with remus lupin

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: gn!reader, oblivious!remus, uk university au, background prongsfoot, disabled!remus, remus is taller than you because he is taller than everyone, physical affection, remus pov, did i make rem a history student? yes i did, sue me

wc: 3.7k 

Remus was beginning to fear he might be slightly foolish.

This whole exam season he had existed solely by your side, attached at the hip with the strongest stitch a sewing needle could provide. This brand of existence had not come as too big of a surprise to either of you – nor to your respective friends from your hometowns that you updated over messages and the occasional video call.

When Remus made the decision to go to a university far away from all his friends and family, he had been silently cursing himself for it the whole while. This university in the middle of nowhere had an excellent arts and humanities faculty that specialised in the perfect niche intersection between history and literature that Remus had always been so infatuated with. After the confidence instilled in him by his best mates from boarding school and the reassuring kisses from his painfully aging parents, Remus knew he had to go.

It was now or never for him. Give it a few years, he would want to be back home with his Mam and Tad, taking care of the farm and visiting his mates as they established families and developed their lives. This was his chance.

Yet, it ached to step away, an innate fear that had been hibernating for years rearing its head once more. Before his mates came into his life, Remus had believed himself incapable of forming meaningful connections. With his limb difference and autoimmune disorder, he had alway thought himself too different. Everything about him was odd, as he had been promptly informed on the playground one day and never forgotten. His gait was slower, his interests were peculiar, his arm looked different; Remus Lupin was surely doomed.

When, despite all odds, he found mates that didn’t just like him despite his oddities, but because of them – how could he have been stupid enough to leave them? 

“Just you wait and see, cariad,” his Mam, Hope, had whispered softly and patted his cheek as he hesitated to submit his application. “Surely if the world can produce those three lovely boys of yours, there must be more out there.”

His mother, Remus had come to learn, was consistently correct.

Because on the very first day of freshers’ week at a new university in a new town, into his life came you; so beautifully kind, so kindly beautiful, filled to the brim with an understanding, empathy and pure humour that he got drunk off of. One freshers’ week was all it took before he was fully swept into your life and friendships.

Much like how James had kindly adopted him on the train to boarding school, you picked him up and seemingly skipped the traditional “oh where is your accommodation”, “wow, how many siblings do you have?” and “no way, I did A-Level history too!” that he had come to expect and fear.

“You look like a palm tree in a snowstorm,” you had giggled after bumping into him. “Where’re you off to?”

Remus was unsure where he had been off to. He held his phone with the Welcome app opened, yet found it wholly unnavigable. “Uh, well. I don’t really know.”

Your smile had widened as you took him in. “What do you know, stranger?”

He had been practising how to answer the go-to questions and almost responded with “Oh, I’m Remus from Cardiff” when you threw him off. A warm feeling began to spread in his chest as he saw you sizing him up with zero judgement and all interest.

“I reckon just about enough to get through term, but a bit too little to get through freshers’.” A small giggle-like rumble had spread in his chest as he spoke, red nerves climbing up his neck in case you had intended the question differently.

You luckily hadn’t. “Perfect!” you announced with a grin. “I know enough to know you don’t get through fresher’s, you just go with the flow. So you can tag along with me, pretty boy.”

Remus never did stop tagging along with you. Only later that day, when you introduced him to your friends, did you learn each other’s names, too caught up in talking about anything and everything else. It went from being a nerve-racking day to a freeing one.

Your little pack of quickly-found friends welcomed Remus with enthusiasm to match yours, and together you made your way through your first week and then your first year at your middle-of-nowhere university. Though he enjoyed your little pack – named Alice, Frank, Emmeline and Dorcas, all of which he wanted to introduce to his friends back home – you were the one who stood out to him through it all.

His sentiments must have been clear as he stayed in touch with his best mates online, because they kept asking about you and eventually for you. Remus answered the phone around you once and introduced you to James on speaker, and ever since then, they wanted him to rope you into any and all chats they had.

Remus didn’t really understand why they were so insistent, but he had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t want to know. 

Eventually, realisation was forced to dawn on him, as all your friends went home for a bit when classes ended for a long assessment season, while only you and Remus stayed behind on campus. Alice lived with Frank’s family, who were only a short drive away, while Emmeline’s parents were loaded enough to fly her in and out whenever she had a free weekend, and Dorcas took any opportunity to jump on her Harley and disappear for a while. Once it was just you and Remus, alone in your designated corner of the ancient library, Remus’ skin began to tingle in a way he couldn’t explain away.

And thus, the needle came out and stitched you together effortlessly and intrinsically. 

If one of you were at the library, so was the other. If one wanted to go grab a bite mid-study session, so did the other. And, if Remus was called up by his friends, so were inadvertently you.

“Moony? Sunshine? You there?” Sirius’ voice sounded through the speakers on Remus’ laptop as he hastily lowered the volume. You were the only ones in this corner of the library, but sound might travel, he thought. You snorted as you looked at his stress for a second before turning to Sirius.

“We’re right here, Pads,” you teased as you turned the camera on, which Remus had forgotten to do.

“Ah, there! My eyes have been blessed.” His best mate’s voice was a bit static-y through the microphone, but Remus had grown used to that over the months. “Are you lovebirds still nesting in that library of yours?”

Remus’ brows furrowed as he swallowed uncomfortably over the blush already creeping up his neck. You beat him to answering it.

“I don’t know, are you lovebirds still living the life of luxury in Potter Manor?” you quipped back, raising an eyebrow at Sirius’ pixelated form. Remus felt oddly pleased with how well you seemed to know his friends through only talking over the phone.

Sirius’ shared his sentiments but expressed them in a wholly different manner – through a gasp. “How dare you insinuate that my affections towards James Fleamont is anything beyond brotherly?”

At that, James’ curly hair appeared in the doorway behind Sirius as he threw a t-shirt at his head. “Shut up, Sirius.” He laughed heartily before crouching down enough to see you and Remus. “Hi nerds! How’re you? Coming home soon?”

“God forbid someone prepares for the exam they spent all their money and braincells on getting to take,” Remus joked, knowing that James wouldn’t point out that most of the money that had gone towards Remus’ degree was Potter money. 

“Don’t worry James, I’ll ship him off to you soon.” You elbowed Remus to emphasise your point, but then smoothly slipped your arm behind his back to rest your hand between his shoulder blades. Remus physically relaxed. 

“No, no, he’s yours now babes, you just keep him,” James spoke as he walked restlessly about the room behind Sirius, who was very obviously ogling him, “but both of you please come visit as soon as you’re done with exams, yeah?”

You just smiled warmly and nodded, while Remus felt his flush creep up further. He thought this was probably a good point to cut his friends off before they took it too far and made you uncomfortable.

“What are you doing now, then? Considering you don’t seem to be dedicated to your own exams?” He shifted the conversation, instead allowing his best mates to talk at the two of you as you settled into your seat beside Remus. His skin warmed beneath his clothes where you kept your arm around him and eventually rested your head on his shoulder – in a way that couldn’t be explained away by mere physical contact.

The hour ebbed out as the lot of you went back and forth, trading life updates and stories cheerfully, pleased to leave your reading lists be for a little while. Eventually, Sirius began telling a story from their old boarding school days that involved a certain infamous Marlene that made your grin widen.

“We really should introduce Marlene to our friend Dorcas at some point,” you said, looking at Remus to see his opinion even as you seemingly spoke to Sirius. “It seems they would be a good match.”

Remus grinned, looking down at his lap before meeting your eyes. “Been thinking the same thing as of late.”

“Where’s Dorcas now?” James asked intriguingly.

“Oh, she’s off riding her bike for a while.” You waved your hand as if to say she’s just like that.

Sirius whistled and patted James on the back. “Sounds right up Marls’ alley.”

“You would be the one to know, considering you’re the only one of us who’s been up Marls’ alley.” Even as James spoke, he began to shield his body, seemingly prepared for the way Sirius would begin swatting at him.

“Prongs, we snogged once in year four to figure things out – it’s really time you let this go.”

Remus couldn’t help but snicker, which made you laugh and made Sirius narrow his eyes at him all at the same time. 

“Seems like that university of yours is where everyone meets their soulmates, then,” Sirius said in a concerningly smug tone. “If Marlene’s other half has finally been found and yours, Moony, is–”

Remus cut him off with a nervous laugh, waving him off. “Speaking of soulmates, how’s Lily doing, James?” His voice was a bit too high-pitched as he pointedly stared only at Sirius and not at you, whose gaze he could feel caressing his cheek. He hoped the look he gave Sirius read as sorry, shut up, here’s some ammunition.

Luckily, his friend took the bait, albeit only after a wolfish grin sent his way and what looked like a wink aimed at… you. “Yes, how is little Red?” Sirius asked, jumping on Remus’ diversion as James groaned.

“Happily engaged to Mary, as you know, Sirius.” James had apparently been eager to dish out old embarrassing stories of childhood crushes but not receive them. “We’ll see her next week at Peter’s.”

Remus laughed lightly as he looked at the two boyfriends quarreling in a manner only the two of them could ever pull off, never once turning his head to meet your gaze that still didn’t feel aimed in the same direction as his.

James and Sirius’ voices kept bouncing off the aging stone walls that surrounded you, creeping in between the pages of the books on the shelves. Remus enjoyed it – until you yawned. It was quiet, understated, but at last made Remus’ gaze smoothly sweep over to you, skin around his eyes crinkling at what he found. The smile on your lips was genuine as you took in the conversation, but your eyes had a glassy look to them that Remus had come to know as a tell-tale sign that it’s time to resign for the night. You stretched your neck a little after your yawn, as if the muscles there were ailing you, and Remus had half a mind to reach out and massage any aches away, if that had not been wholly unhinged of him.

Instead, he cleared his throat slightly and looked over at James and Sirius’ images on the screen. It was a sound they were well used to from years of dorming together and made nostalgic – yet no less mischievous – grins break out on their faces.

“Want to get rid of us already, Moons?” Sirius teased, but even he was beginning to look a tad bit tired, in that way only his friends would be able to decipher. 

“Yes, I am beyond bored with you both.” Remus’ tone was sarcastically monotonous until he could no longer hold back his smile. “I want to go back to my blissful existence without your intervention.”

“Don’t be mean,” you faux chided as you swatted the shoulder you had been leaning against not long ago. 

James held one hand up in defense while the other seemed to point towards you. “You really should listen to your better half there, Rem.”

“We boring old friends won’t occupy your precious time together any longer,” Sirius added solemnly as he placed his hands placatingly on James’ shoulders to get him to drop his hands and look sideways with a grin. “Run off and do something wise with your time.”

Remus shook his head. “It was nice talking to you both.” He ignored the twinge in his heart at how much he meant it, all the while not being able to wish himself to be out of your company in favour of theirs. “We’ll see each other soon.”

“And speak sooner!” You added happily, seeming to have chirped up with renewed energy at the closing of the conversation. “I’ll bully him into calling you at least once more before exams.”

“What a blessing you are, darling.” Sirius held a thumbs up, which Remus felt was unnecessary. “Keep reining him in.”

“Okay, alright.” Remus fought back a chuckle and began waving to the camera. “Bye bye, guys. Goodnight.”

You echoed his sentiments, leaning into his side as you waved.

“Goodnight!” James called. “I’m sending you big goodnight kisses for when your lips aren’t occupied, Moon–”

Remus closed his laptop and cut off the connection before James – and, god forbid, Sirius – could make any further attempts at mocking him. He let out a sound that was a mix of a heavy sigh and a chuckle, letting his head fall forward to hit his laptop with a soft thud as he closed his eyes. “Good God.”

You just laughed quietly and patted his shoulder closest to you before getting out of your seat and, presumably, stretching. Remus decided to stay put with his eyes closed for that, to be on the safe side. “Your friends are a breed of their own. I really like them.”

“I’m glad you do.” Remus turned his head sideways to peak up at you as you leisurely began to collect your things. “Ready to go home and sleep?”

You quirked an eyebrow at him in a manner that made him flush beyond his understanding. “Are you?”

He pushed any and all thoughts down as he forced himself up from the table with a sigh. “I am. I fear I can’t read another sentence, especially not if this historian is going to keep referencing Freud.”

“Which he will.” 

“I know,” Remus groaned. “Thus; let’s head out.”

You packed in relative comfortable silence, digesting the conversation and the day side by side. You helped Remus pack his pencils back in his pencil case and zipping it shut wordlessly, as always refusing any thanks. The smile you gave him as you did so was enough to make him want to thank you again anyway.

As you walked to the lift together, chatting idly, Remus allowed himself to bask in how close you seemed to always walk to him and how lucky he was to have made a friend as good as you.

James and Sirius’ comments remained in his brain, though, sifting around in a pond of increasing nerves about how you might have received and interpreted them. The thought of you getting home to your dorm and feeling uncomfortable or wary was enough to make him want to abandon his own ego and address it.

Despite the incoming spring, British weather remained stubborn, and thus the library was basked in a beautiful dusk, not quite pitch black, but enough for the yellow light streaming out of the windows while you walked past to seem mystical and magical. You walked together to the gates, just outside of which, you would have to part ways, Remus taking the left-turn and you the right.

Remus let you get right outside the black gates, but still on library property when he stopped, prompting you to do the same and look back at him with a curious gaze.

“I–” he began, a bit uncertain about how to word this. “Before you go, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” A breath. “About Sirius and James. If they ever make you uncomfortable in any way, please just say so and I’ll get them to stop it, I swear. I don’t know what they’re getting at.”

You furrowed your brows a little, but not in a way that voiced upset – rather on the contrary, it’s the same furrow Remus often observes appears on your face right before he makes you laugh.

“What, those little comments earlier?” you asked, confusion and mirth warring in your tone.

Remus’ stomach dropped a little at the thought that you also picked up on it, but remained relieved that you didn’t seem overly upset. “Yes, I– they’re twats sometimes, you know, so please just pay them no mind. Boarding school kids with bad humour. I don’t know what they’re getting at.”

The corners of your lips began to curl upward as you took a step closer to him. Remus’ breath lodged in his throat at the action, however small. The poetic side of his mind would immortalise the image of you, tired and beautiful in the grey night and yellow light, smiling at him like your heart harboured a secret, even though he was close enough to feel it beating. 

“I know what they’re getting at.” You said it so simply, all you were missing was a shrug as the cherry on top. “I don’t mind.”

Remus had never enjoyed being compared to an animal, but he did recognise how his mouth opened and closed, not much unlike a fish. He couldn’t decide whether to ask you do? or you don’t? Instead, he asked, “What?”

“Do you mind?” Your eyes grew a shade more serious then, scanning his kindly. You reached out a hand to rest on his upper arm, squeezing it through his jumper and corduroy jacket.

It was Remus’ turn to look confused. “Well, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Yet again, you looked to be fighting a smile. “Yes, but do you mind?”

Remus thought that maybe, just maybe, he might be understanding what you just asked. He hoped he was not mistaken when he let out his whisper. “No.”

“Then give me a kiss goodnight, you beautiful idiot.” 

You spoke with such an endearing tone and smile, one that reassured him that you meant it but you were also not issuing a demand; it was you inviting him and teasing him at the same time. Just like a friend would, except Remus truly did not want to only be friends anymore.

Though there was no real need, Remus took a step closer to you and slowly lowered his face to meet yours, amber eyes staying on yours for as long as possible before your lips met, both sets curled up into matching smiles. His fingers came up to gently cup your cheek, fingertips gliding past your ear and into your hair, while his residual limb snuck around your waist, holding you close to him.

Remus kissed you and he realised that this is what he should have been doing all along. Remus kissed you and was grateful that this was the first time because it meant immensely more now than it ever could have before. Remus kissed you and he knew for certain that if he was an idiot, he wanted to be yours.

When you parted, he couldn’t stand pulling too far away, and kept you close to him by leaning his forehead against yours, tightening his hold on you. He didn’t open his eyes right away, instead breathing you in, melting into the memory of the moment.

Then, a wicked grin took over and he opened his eyes to find yours already looking at him with an affection he should have recognised sooner. “You think I’m beautiful?” he asked, and it sounded like humour but it felt deeper. 

“Stunning,” you whispered, tracing his cheek with your fingertips. Remus knew you were genuine.

“But still an idiot?” This time it was just humour.

“Oh, absolutely.” You laughed. “At least you know enough to get through exams.” He caught your reference and savoured it in his heart.

“I better, because I intend to finish this degree with you.” Remus dared to kiss your cheek, which almost felt more intimate. “As your idiot, right?”

You just nodded, with an expression that spoke volumes beyond words. “Yeah. Mine.”

Remus accepted in that moment that he had been more than slightly foolish. He couldn’t find it in him to regret it, though, as he decided to follow you all the way home in the darkening night.

[vorfreudevortex]

Green with Envy

more levi x blind!fem!reader cw: 2.8k words, cussing, jealousy, a little angst, a little comfort tldr: three times levi let his jealousy unravel find more silly levi drabbles in my masterlist <3

There were three times Levi let his jealousy truly unravel.

The first was long ago in The Underground, after Furlan and Isabel came around. It was one day where Furlan came to your room in the brothel to wait for Levi to get back— Something he needed to talk about with him, he said. It wasn’t unusual for this to happen, and you were always happy to have him around, to fill up the empty room with some chatter and noise.

You were even younger and more naive than you are now, a teenager with almost no experience of the The Underground, let alone the real world. You didn’t like to venture out more than you had to, Levi didn’t either, with all the crime and violence that occurred in the dirty streets.

And of course, you couldn’t see the longing glances and silent expressions Furlan wore around you and behind Levi’s back. Everyone knew you and Levi weren’t together, but Furlan still knew he couldn’t be caught with these pining feelings for you.

Furlan couldn’t help it, really. Your kind eyes always tried to hazily study his face, always asking how he was and if you could help him with anything. He liked the way your hair reflected the lamplight, and it wasn’t long before your pretty smile started to send aches through his chest as well.

He had brought you a flower from Mitras that he had somehow got his hands on that afternoon. As soon as you caught a bleary glimpse of the bright green stem and felt the soft, velvet petals, you threw your arms around him while gushing your thanks. The next thing he knew, a blushing Furlan was pressing a quick, stolen kiss against your innocent lips. You stared at him with your own flushed cheeks in surprise, and that’s when the door swung open.

Furlan was frozen. As he stared over at a glaring Levi, he swore the black-haired boy’s eyes turned red and steam blew from his ears.

“Furlan…” Levi’s voice came slow, low, and rough. “Let’s go.”

Levi beat the shit out of Furlan in an alley a couple blocks away. You saw the bumps and bruises on Levi’s fists and Furlan’s eye when they returned later, neither making the effort to hide what happened.

And no one ever spoke of it again.

+++++++++++++++

The second time was after the annual military ball you attended with Levi.

Year after year, you were always his plus-one, and he’d help you pick out the prettiest dress and fix your hair just the way you liked it for the big night out. Levi didn’t care for these events, but you looked forward to it every year so you could spend an evening drinking and dancing away in a fancy gown, so he bit back his complaints and let you stay as late as you wanted.

It was deep into the night when Erwin asked him to meet privately about some sensitive information, which Levi reluctantly agreed to after setting the runts from the 104th up to dance and keep you company, promising to never take their eyes off you. You didn’t know about his little ploy, but was delighted to get to know them all and dance with the adorable young men either way.

While Levi was hunched over secret papers and files in Erwin’s dark office, it left an opening for an unassuming, retired Scout by the name of Carlo.

“Excuse me,” The man had tapped on Jean’s shoulder. “May I steal this young lady away from you for a dance?”

Jean’s confident demeanor, which had turned flustered from constantly stepping on your toes during your twirling, suddenly seemed surprised and awkward. So, he gave your hand to the man’s and disappeared. It was a bit uncomfortable for you at first, having a stranger’s hand on your waist as he guided you smoothly around the dance floor, too nervous to protest it all. But, you quickly learned through polite conversation that Carlo was as courteous and respectful as he was brave.

There was a moment where Carlo asked who you came with, and then backed away when he heard Levi’s name. After a rushed explanation of ‘No, we aren’t together’, his hand was back on your waist and your skirt fluttered around his legs as he spun you around. After the dance, Levi was no where to be seen and you didn’t want to admit that you had no idea how to get back to your seat… so Carlo kindly escorted you out to grab some fresh air and a break from the busy, overwhelming noises of the ballroom.

Levi’s heart dropped when he scanned the room and you were no where to be seen. The runts from the 104th had no idea where you went, so he promptly chewed them out and promised a punishment later, and went to scour the halls. He was about to let himself start panicking when he checked the front steps of the Survey Corps Headquarters, where he saw you clutching onto some bastard’s sleeve as he held his elbow out for you.

Your back was facing Levi as he stood in the shadows, allowing himself to read the situation for a moment before lashing out to scold you for disappearing. You weren’t alone with the man, a retired Scout that Levi recognized and had spoken to offhandedly a few times, but surrounded by other drunk soldiers who were smoking and chatting away on the stairs. The two of you made quiet conversation, nothing inappropriate. But, what irked Levi the most was the honeyed smile on your beautiful face and how you slightly leaned into Carlo.

He waited until the conversation lulled, then called out your name. You turned around in surprise, then let a giddy smile replace your expression as you recognized Levi’s familiar voice. He took your arm from Carlo and set off to walk you home, against your protests to stay and dance a bit longer, and while almost completely ignoring the other man.

Levi said nothing about it to you— It was over and done with. It’s not like you were truly his anyways… Until a while later when you mentioned that Carlo had accidentally stumbled into the tavern during your shift, stayed a while to chat, and walked you home. After that, Carlo started coming around the house sometimes.

Well, sometimes turned into more, and more turned into a lot… and a lot turned into all the fucking time.

Levi denied and denied it, never asking about him, and only getting details when you’ bring something up. He just about burst into fucking flames when Carlo showed up at the front door one evening with a large bouquet of your favorite flowers, asking for Levi’s permission to officially court you and take you to Mitras some extravagant, unnecessary dinner.

“I’m not her father,” Levi had responded, trying to stop his eye from twitching and relax his clenched jaw. “She can make her own decisions. I don’t care.”

Levi had to close his eyes and hold his breath the evening you came home from that dinner, gushing about stupid fucking Carlo and more stupid fucking flowers and that stupid fucking meal after he safely dropped you off. He absolutely despised how chivalrous and reverent the guy was— He couldn’t even pinpoint a single inappropriate touch or comment from him, even after all the times he had to suffer through Carlo’s visits to you.

He suffered for weeks. Levi tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t last, that Carlo would break your heart eventually over something idiotic like your lack of sight or status, and he’d get to be to one to comfort you after the heartbreak. He tried to convince himself that Carlo was just a skirt-chasing bastard trying to get under your dress, tried to convince himself that it would all go away in due time…

…But it just got worse.

Levi was beginning to lose his fucking mind. Lying restlessly awake one night as his mind toiled over you, he suddenly realized that if you and Carlo kept on like you were, a marriage proposal was absolutely imminent. It was obvious that Carlo didn’t plan on letting you go anytime soon, that the shithead was just as infatuated with you as he was himself.

Levi had a migraine for two weeks straight, his left eye twitched uncontrollably whenever he thought of either of you— The poor guy even contemplated praying to the Walls about it. He started to get desperate, a strange feeling that Levi hadn’t felt in years.

After being teased by Erwin and Hange about it one day over paperwork, Levi had suddenly had enough. He stomped out of the room, duties still undone, and rushed home. He was over the pining, the yearning, the jealousy, the constant stress.

If Levi had to finally admit his hidden feelings for you after all these years just to get the fucker to disappear, then so be it! He couldn’t take another fucking second of it, ready to wield his blades against Carlo if it came down to it— Anything to never have to see his face again.

When Levi arrived home, he found you sitting in your garden, alone on the bench as the sun disappeared over the walls. He was about to blurt it all out when he noticed the solemn look on your face as you looked on toward the sky.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, Levi,” You greeted him softly, your voice not as excited as usual. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Liar.”

You shuffled uncomfortably. “It’s nothing serious…”

“What happened?” Levi couldn’t hide the small bit of panic in his voice as his mind ran through every possible situation that could have made you upset. His pulse was already racing, the anxiety and nerves making the worry about you worse.

“Well… Carlo…” You began, and Levi’s heart plummeted. “…I don’t think he’ll be coming around anymore.”

“What the hell did he do?” Levi demanded. “Tell me now. That fucker—”

“—It was my doing, Levi. Relax, okay?” He watched your mouth turn into a sheepish smile. “I just got back from dinner with him. It was great, actually it was amazing. But when he dropped me off, he… well… he finally kissed me for the first time.”

Levi’s blood quite literally started to boil and bubble from the innate rage that suddenly coursed through him.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was so romantic…” You rushed to explain. “But, it just felt… odd? I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t feel a single thing. No butterflies at all.”

Suddenly, Levi’s heart rate was back to normal, and his rage transitioned to quick relief.

“So, I- um… yeah. I ended things with him.”

“…Are you serious?” Levi couldn’t cover the disbelief in his tone. Levi didn’t really believe in luck, but now he’s seriously considered it.

“Of course, Levi!” You scolded with a pout. “And I just feel awful about it! He probably was saving up the courage to kiss me for so long, just for me to break up with him no more than a minute afterwards. I’m terrible, just terrible. I think he’s far more torn up about it than I am, but I just couldn’t help but blurt it all out after realizing that… maybe we weren’t meant to be.”

Levi let out a breathe he had been saving, along with the string of dreaded love confessions he was just about to let tumble out. He quietly sat down on the bench beside you, letting your skin warm his side as you slowly tipped your head over to rest it on his strong shoulder.

“Levi…” You whispered, eyes brimming with tears. “Am I a bad person?”

“No,” He answered promptly, closing his eyes and slowly letting his chin come to rest on your hair. “You did the exact right thing.”

Levi hoped you took his words as a reassurance instead of a sort of… possessiveness or insecurity about the relief of the breakup. You were much smarter than that, though.

You smiled, and neither of you spoke of it again.

+++++++++++++++

The third time was long, long after.

Levi sat on the side of the room, tense hands gripping the armrests of his wheelchair, watching Onyankopon spin and throw you around the floor to the quick beat of the music with his one good eye. Your delighted shrieks and giggles filled the room while the bright red fabric of your skirt flared and fluttered in a mesmerizing blur.

He felt guilty. And alone.

Out of everyone among the crowd in the noisy bar, he was the only one who couldn’t dance with you.

Even after knowing for years how much you loved it, he never spun you around like that, and now he never will. He brought you all the way across the sea to a better, safer life in Marley, where he’d never have to leave you again.

But what was the point if he couldn’t even love and live for you the way he desired? The way you desired?

Levi was quiet for the rest of the night, anxiously picking off the labels from his beer bottles while he watched you take turns dancing with Onyankopon, Falco, and Gabi while the night wore on. It just made it worse, soured his mood further with each song, but he couldn’t stand to look away. The tipsy blush on your cheeks was impossible to ignore, same with the toothy grin that never left your face, and the adorable way you dizzily stumbled after a particularly rowdy dance.

Eventually, the others walked you home, leaving the two of you alone in the new apartment you shared along a quiet street that reminded you just enough of Paradis not to hurt. Scout was waiting by the door when you entered, greeting Levi with a quiet meow and a strong nudge against his foot.

“What’s wrong, Levi?” You asked softly. “I can tell something’s off with you.”

Levi had promised himself to be more candid since you came, refusing to hold anything back from you any longer. He still hesitated for a moment before answering you slowly, still uncomfortable with the vulnerability of it all. “I’m… jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“I can’t dance with you like that.”

Levi watched your eyes turn from curious to sympathetic in the soft light of the new, electric lamp he bought a few months ago in preparation for your immigration here. He was almost a bit embarrassed now, having to admit to something so dehumanizing yet obvious, even though he knew you would always be the most understanding.

“It’s okay, Levi. You don’t need to dance with me to make me happy.”

“I know,” He paused again. “I just wish I would’ve done it before. Back when I could.”

Both of you stopped for a minute, two minds rolling through past memories. Ones of that creaky old house, forest green cloaks, and even back to the musty, dark city under the dirt where it all began.

“Well…” You started cautiously. “We can still dance.”

Levi was about to scoff at you, tell you not to be so naive. He swallowed it as you walked over to the phonograph, gently letting your hands run over the vinyl and feel where to set the needle. It was your first and favorite purchase of your own after moving to Marley, after crying in amazement and joy when you heard the recorded music filter out of Onyankopon’s for the first time.

Quiet, lilting notes flowed from the bronze horn, a slower song you played constantly on sleepy afternoons. Levi never took his eyes away as you delicately sat yourself in his lap, making sure not to put your weight on the spots that make him ache. Your arms hooked around his neck, and your nose buried into the crook of his shoulder.

Immediately, Levi’s hands came to hold the back of your head and body, pulling you in impossibly closer as he breathed in the scent of your hair and the kneaded the plush of your waist.

Levi closed his eyes, letting his senses fill with nothing but the music and you. Your bodies started to lightly sway back and forth to the tune, subtle and calming.

He’s never felt so full before.

There was absolutely nothing more he could ask for as he held you tight, feeling the comforting warmth of your breath against his neck. He listened to you faintly hum along, his heart damn near bursting at the seams at the compassionate way you loved on him.

“We can always dance together, just like we are now,” You whispered in his ear when the song ended, another slow one starting to replace it. “Still jealous?”

Levi pressed his lips against your temple, then let out a long exhale while letting his body fully relax— A foreign feeling that he didn’t start truly experiencing until your arrival in Marley.

“No,” He answered. “Never again.”

© vorfreudevortex // all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, or repost my work.

[banditcoyote]

Echo seemed to think about this for a moment. "Losing Raphael would weaken me significantly." he said but it wasn't entirely a no. "Raphael will either have to call the fight or pin Michael." Echo said. "It's an interesting move, and the longer that he does neither at this point makes him look worse. "Not really the outcome that anyone was looking for really." he said frowning as well having been looking forward to the fight. Youko didn't stop and Echo sat up to watch as it unfolded in front of them. "Now this will be interesting." he said looking like he might be excited to see it. Youko joined Raphael out on the field and the two looked ready to go at it, but Artemis jogged onto the field to speak to both of them, Michael joining her to speak about it. Echo looked to Sasuga. "Michael might not allow it...." he told her. "But I think everyone would be upset if we didn't let it happen....." Shishi moved to join them, his own face showing some concern. followed by Coyote who could clearly sense the tension "Is this wise?" the imp asked. "I'm not sure I can tell Youko what to do but...Is Raphael this capable?" Yaroslava had also moved up to join them, looking excited at the promise of what was to come. "Raphael can do it." she said nodding. Then Artemis and Michael were moving back towards them, climbing the bleachers to speak to Echo. "We've discussed Terms. No sudden death, the fairies will be given ample time to heal, no action outside the ring, and we think the humans should be moved back to the house." Echo seemed to think about this. "I think this is agreeable." he looked to Sasuga. "What are they playing for?" Artemis looked to Michael who flushed a little. The Alpha looked to Sasuga. "They both want Sasuga."

Blood and Moonlight

Sasuga woke in what was at first an unfamiliar area but as she blinked fully awake she realized it was their closet that Coyote had decorated for them. She smiled and took a careful kiss from her mate who was still sound asleep next to her. It really had been an amazing night with the family and then with her husband. As she slipped from his arms, she took a moment to look at her reflection in the mirror, her fingers dancing over the fresh marks on her neck and hips. She couldn't have asked for anything more from the night and it was with some reluctance that she dressed. She picked out a pair of warm leggings and a short little skirt to pull over them with some knee high boots and a thick sweater. She slipped from the closet and moved to the bathroom to comb her hair and brush her teeth and get ready for the big day ahead. She gave a stretch and headed downstairs only to find a familiar face waiting for her. "Raphael..." she smiled and moved to greet him with a hug. "I see you are still alive." she smirked. "Want some tea? Coffee?"

@banditcoyote

[keen-li]

All Aisle Ever Need | jjk

chapter: 1/ ?

summary: You decide to take a risk and sign up for a program where you marry a complete stranger. You’re surprisingly okay with the idea—excited, even—though the occasional nerves still creep in. This could either be the best or worst decision of your life. Still, the mystery of it all feels thrilling, and you've made peace with not knowing the man you’re about to marry. No matter who he is, you’re ready to go through with it.

But on your wedding day, as you walk down the aisle, something makes you squint. There’s something familiar about the man standing at the altar. And then it hits you… you know him. You've made promises to yourself before, so many of them broken. This won't be any different...shit.

pairing: Jungkook x fem reader.

story type: series.

genre: There's-something-i-don't-like-about-you to lovers, second chance au, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut.

rating: m. Mdni

wordcount: 8.2k+

warnings for chapter: troubled parental dynamics/figures. It's implied that they are both grown, Jungkook is older than reader(the age is subjective). cussing. found family. none really from here on.

A/n: though of this whilst watching MAFS. i've been in a burnout and this got me out of it?. please don't ask me if it's a happy ending story(i'm not saying it is or is not.) I just feel if you ask me that then you're not really interested in the story.

anyways I hope you enjoys it.

date: 25/04/25

story under cut.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You've always bought the same type of clothes, jewellery, produce as well. Why would you need anything else when you enjoy what you have.

And maybe that’s why you’re in the position you’re in now.

You should’ve been smarter and known that emptiness would follow you soon enough.

 If you had taken the leap sooner--stepped out of the one-way route to love--you’d already be where you’re trying to force yourself now.

You would’ve realised that maybe what you’re looking isn’t in the men you find pleasure in.

You'd be getting married conventionally, and not having to sign up for some program.

Comfort comes cause the type of man you want is hard to find. He’s either already married or behind his desk overworking himself.

There is a little ego-death, just a little. Having to confront yourself on the type of man you want when you're at your limit is humbling. It should be something you know about yourself already.

You're not best at caring of yourself of late. When was the last time you had a self-care? You're still alive so it's fine.

Just like your type; you've been stuffing yourself behind your desk any chance you get.

But before your wedding you swear you’ll have a day to care for yourself. Physically at least.

You’ve been shaking your head for coming to this point, but your solace is in hope.

Putting your chance at love in someone else’s hands—someone trained, someone professional—might actually be the smartest move you’ve made in terms of relationships. That way, your own traits that have gotten you nowhere won’t come into play.

None of your past relationships have ever seen daylight because of how dumb you end up feeling for indulging in them, for believing they could be more.

They could never see the sun, let alone could they see the conversation of marriage.

You’ve tried to bring up the topic of marriage, and immediately they turn it down or change the subject. After that, you never bring it up again.

Honestly, after experiencing enough of that, you quit on the idea of commitment. Maybe you were stupid for wanting that.

What does marriage have that you can’t get from a simple relationship bound by an unstable verbal agreement.

You could definitely survive on that, right?

That’s what past you got by saying to herself.

You gave up on getting attached. It was just hook up and get out. None of them ever wanted anything serious, so you became that too. But it was never fulfilling, you thought that would be your answer. But it's not who you are.

You went on and it wasn’t long until you felt the emptiness of it all. And you had enough.

But still, somehow you still got stuck with the bro type. You'd like to blame lust but your therapist would like to blame your fear of being alone. You get her point but you don't think it fits your case well. You've never felt lonely or been afraid of it.

Anyways, you’ve dealt with that type for so long and you conclude if was just lust.

So, many of the guys following your frontal lobe development, have told you that you were too much. But all that meant to you was you knew what you wanted and they were not in the same frame. You have goals.

Now you want something serious and someone serious too. Someone who knows what they want and where they want to be in the future. Someone who’s going to have a plan immediately they see you. Because you do.

“I have to tell you guys something.” You clear your throat calling for your friend's attention.

Taehyung's head snaps to you. Jisoo on the other hand meets you with her eyes first.

You’d been hanging out normally, just chatting, laughing and catching up.

No moment was perfect enough to say what you wanted to, so you waited. But you’d been laughing and getting carried away with connected stories that the moment was not getting perfect enough.

For a moment you contemplated procrastinating the news. But if you procrastinated this any further you’d end up having no one at the venue.

So, being presented with the opportunity when a silence settled. It was now or never.

You want lie that it’s excitement, but there’s nothing exciting about the dryness in your throat.

You watch taehyung, seated on a stool elbows leaning against your island, and Jisoo standing next to you, walking from the fridge to the sink. Shit you have their attention.

That’s what you wanted. Speak.

You’ve been friends with Taehyung the longest because you were at the same high school, and you met Jisoo in university because you were in the same dorm and happened to be doing the same program. You all got along as a group and stayed that way. So, being there for each other through most life events, you have to tell them no matter how nervous you are.

And knowing them, what you’re about to say is far from  what they expect.

Due to the serious and nervous undertone in your voice, they stare at you closely, inspecting your awkward tucking in of lips. Normally, Taehyung would be quick to say something witty about your behaviour, but he’s silent, only making you more nervous.

You release your lips and suck in a breath. “Okay... promise not to judge?” You warn, watching them both, but focusing more on Taehyung.

“What the fuck are you 'bout to say?” He narrows his eyes at you like he does when investigating you about a boyfriend. Does he think that’s what you’re about to say?

“You’re not going to judge?” You ask once more for good measure but it serves to irritate them. You chuckle like it’s amusing. Nothing is amusing, not after you tell them.

“At this point, we will.” Jisoo exclaims with a laugh, and Taehyung follows.

"Yeah, we might just."

Feeling the non-existent pressure on your neck, you pull your mouth open. “Fine.” You mumble to yourself for encouragement. There’s no going back; you’ve already told them there is something to be said. “I’m getting married.” It comes out quick and rushed, if they hadn’t known you like they do it could’ve been sworn you had just spoken gibberish.

They look confused. Do you repeat yourself?

You probably shouldn’t have started it that way. You could’ve started with  explaining  the program. Cause now they think you’ve lost your mind.

The two stare at your empty ring finger, then at each other, and then back to you, hoping you’ll clarify with a mocking laughter at their foolishness.

“What?” you say fumbling with the finger. They look at you like you’ve finally lost your last marble.

“To who?” They thunder in unison, confusion dripping from each syllable.

The reaction doesn’t shock you, and you don’t judge the question either. But little do they know you’ve been wondering the same thing as well.

“Well, I don’t know that part, but...” you feel a little ashamed to say it because they will think you’re definitely crazy now. You’ve never been the type to do something like this. They knew you wanted to get married, but not this much.

“Do we need to get you on medication?” you're not on any medication but the words still spill out of Jisoo’s mouth with concern and shock.

Your news has, Taehyung sitting up with folded arms, his eyebrows knit so hard they could touch.

“You barely have a boyfriend, what do you mean marriage, babes?” You turn your head away from Taehyung’s eyes. This is embarrassing.

It’s true for them it’s quite the jump, but if you could just explain yourself...

“You're hiding a boyfriend?”

A boyfriend? it’s comical.

After your nervous laughter dies down, you elaborate. “No. I signed up for this thing where you get married to a stranger.” You explain, your hands waving as you speak. It’s something you always do when you’re defending yourself.

As you process the words to use, you realise it does sound not like you. You’d definitely react like the same. “It’s called Married at First Sight.”

“Wow.” Is all that you get back. What the hell do you do with that?

“I got picked, which means I’m getting married.”

“To a random guy?”

 You nod, lips folding again.

Telling your friends makes all this feel so real. You still can’t believe you signed up for this, let alone that you got picked. Something in you hoped you wouldn’t get picked because 1. what are the odds? And 2. maybe if you didn’t get picked, it would be a sign from the universe that you should just sit your ass down.

Your fingers fumble with the marble of your counter. As much as you’ve seen their reaction, you still don’t know what they think and it's making you feel more embarrassed. If they don’t support you or want you doing this, what the hell would you do? What if they think it’s stupid. “What do you think? You’re making me nervous.”

“I mean—how do you feel?”

“I’m okay." You scoff. “But I’m going into this so blind. And I kind of hate the feeling. But it’s nice to have the weight of finding a match out of my hands.” But having the control out of your hands is not like you, so that’s where the nerves are coming from as well. Cause what if they don’t give you what you want?

“Why’d you sign up, though? could’ve set you up with this guy I know.”

You appreciate your friends setting you up on blind dates; you really do. But they never go well, which is not on them but more on the guys. Surface level, they look like a match for you, but mentally and emotionally, they couldn’t be further from what you want. Maybe you need to look deeper than the superficial, which is honestly what this program is doing for you.

“Those don’t go well for me. You know that.” They do.

Did you mention that Jisoo is engaged? You’ve never seen her happier. She wasn’t even this happy when she graduated.

And you want that too. You’ve always thrown yourself into school and work to suffice for the love you weren’t able to feel. And growing up you always relied on academic validation. But it could only carry you so far after you hit every milestone and still felt nothing. The only thing that came close were the relationships. Situationships.

“You really want to do this?” jisoo coos.

“it’s not so bad to try"

“If they give you what you want.” Taehyung intersects.

You hope they do. “I wrote in detail, so they better.”

You have no clue what criteria they go by, but it couldn't be something contrary to your asks.

You get excited thinking of the perfect man for you standing at the end of the aisle. Like, gosh, you’re going to be so happy. Your stomach flutters already.

“They probably know what I need though.”

“Yeah. But you still want the basics, like—” Jisoo doesn’t even have a chance to finish when you cut in.

“Oh yeah... tall, smart, a man with a plan type of thing.” You feel so childish for being so excited about this. But it’s more about the excitement of having the perfect man for you. You try not to picture his physical appearance because you might end up disappointed if you linger on it for too long.

Taehyung and Jisoo smile, listening to how excited you are. If you’re happy, they are too; that’s all they care about. That what what think of and not that this is the most conventional way to go about it.

Returning to your cooking, you decide to dig more into their thoughts. “What do you guys think I need?”

Feeling experienced, Taehyung takes the lead to share. He’s heard and seen a fair share of your crushes and boyfriends and how it's ended, so he feels like he knows what you’d like. “Definitely a business-style, you know. Sleek back hair, tall, nerdy.”

“Is that what I give off?” You chuckle a brow raised. Embarrassed. You've definitely grown into that assumption.

You do. You’ve always been the academic type and Taehyung’s parents always trashed him for not being like you. Even though he wasn’t even a bad student. You always made him look bad. But that's all to say you’re smart and a work focused person,  so you need a man who is the same.

You also like to be control. Whether that’s knowing all the tiny details of an event, or planning all the trips. As much as he benefits from it, Taehyung is definitely sure you use it as a coping mechanism for something.

“You need someone who can take control.” He adds.

"But still obsessed with her." Jisoo chirps in and Taehyung couldn't nod harder.

It would be nice to have someone to do things with. But an obsessed man? You're not sure. You want him to love you but shouldn't be too overbearing.

“I feel crazy for doing this.” You bite your lower lip, letting your worries out a little. “Like I’m seriously going to get married to a stranger.” You believe it less the more you say it.

“It’s not the conventional way, but you know we’ll be there for you no matter what.” You warm into Jisoo’s rub on your back. You’re trying to mask your true nerves with excitement; you doubt it’s fully working, but you’re trying. “As long as you’re happy And he makes you happy.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Taehyung promises, sounding more like a threat to your groom.

You seem serious about it and it must be if you got picked. So the only power he has is to be there for you as a friend. Its honestly not such a bad thing, if he wanted to get married he'd think of doing it like this too. It more thrilling. And there’s nothing Taehyung loves more than thrill.

Having your friends feels comforting, and it’s all you need. Really. But with how serious this is, you’re going to have to call your family soon, and you’re not ready for that. The idea raise the bile in you.

Unlike your friends, you have no clue how they’ll feel. You haven’t spoken to them in a while but the last thing they’d be thinking to hear from you is marriage. The last you remember none of them thought you were marriage material.

It's out of courtesy that you’re even telling them. But no matter what they say, you’ve already been picked, and you are getting married.

“it's still crazy though.” this isn't how he imagined this going. But he should be the last person calling you crazy when it’s the only thing he knows. But you get it; it’s out of your character to do something like this. But who knows you could find what you’re looking for outside of your comfort zone. It’s not 100%, but you’re ready to take that risk. “Imagine you marry an ex...”

Taehyung is not helping soothe you. The thought has crossed your mind before.

“Don’t scare me,” you brush off the thought with a hand on your chest, and they both can’t help but laugh. It would be so funny if you walked down the aisle and it was one of your stupid exes. Gosh... you’d walk out immediately, no question. “Don't think they would be serious enough for marriage.” They’re all probably out there still being reckless and whatever.

“What if he doesn’t like something that you like?”

“Don’t know" you chuckle "But I’d be damned if he doesn’t want to listen to my playlists.”

“Ouu, he’d be a gone man if he didn’t like your mugs too.” You know Jisoo’s being sarcastic; for some reason, everyone dislikes your mugs. The designs specifically. But you like them, so he would be damned if he didn’t like them.

“I mean, we have 3 months until we decide whether we want to be together or not....”

“Would you want to get divorced?”

You don’t even want to think of that. Divorce is not something you think about or want to think about. You know how much you hate it and how it affects children. You don’t have kids with the man, but still, you just hate divorce. It feels too much like failure.

“I hope not, but if he’s completely unreasonable, then I’ll have no choice.” You wouldn’t want to fight for something that bears no fruit. But you pray that’s not going to be the case. It shouldn't be too bad.

“I just want to like him, and I hope he likes me too. I would want this to work out.” You stare blankly at your hands. “I don’t know if I’d be able to look for love again after this.”

You’re being to dramatic but that’s because this feels like all you have.

“In that case, let’s pray he’s the one.”

You all go quiet for a second. The pot on the stove starts to bubble.

“This is real,” you murmur.

And somehow, that thought is both terrifying—and thrilling.

--

“Namjoon, what do you think?” He’s the only one who’s been quiet about what just came out of jungkook’s mouth.

It’s not the idea of Jungkook getting married to a stranger that’s concerning (Though that’s its own thing.) It’s more about the idea of Jungkook getting married in general.

“I mean—do what makes you happy. It’s not the conventional way...” Namjoon begins, and Jungkook can’t help but roll his eyes at how serious his friend is being. He’s not surprised, though; Namjoon has always been the more serious and mature one between the two. Unlike Jungkook, Namjoon has always known what to do and when to do it. He is the kind of guy with structure, but Jungkook, on the other hand, is more of the go-with-the-flow kind of person.

He does things on a whim, reckless with who he goes out with. Relationships have always been fun for him; he never took them seriously. That was until he sat with himself and looked around. All of his friends were settling down and were not available to go out. One was having a child, the other was getting married, and standing at the altar as a groomsman so often, had him worried about what he was doing.

He watched his friends fall in love and be so happy; he wanted that too. Could he have it too? The bro lifestyle he was living was not going to give him that.

He hid behind hookups so much that he hadn’t realized he did want to settle down, find a nice woman, and live that picture-perfect life, he saw his parents have.

And it was time for that. So, by chance and through his coworker, he stumbled upon this program and signed up.

He wasn't going to get picked, so it wouldn’t be so bad if he did try.

He never had much hope in it; like, how would some experts know from a form who to pair him up with? It was a scam to him. His plan was to go out and meet ladies the usual way, but even they didn’t see him so seriously; he was just a hookup to them too. It did hurt him. But honestly, they weren’t wife material anyway.

Jungkook has always liked doing stuff that people would call crazy; it made him happy. So being told that a match was found and he was going to get married to a stranger didn’t make him nervous at all—if you exclude the seriousness of marriage though.

“Come on, hyung...”

“I wouldn’t put this past you, so I’m not surprised. I’m just worried if you’re ready for this. I don’t think you realize how serious it is.”

It’s not shocking that Namjoon stares at Jungkook with such distrust; he himself doesn’t trust himself fully. But he wants to. Because how can a wife trust him if he doesn’t?

 Nothing will convince him or others that he is serious and growing, other than through actions. And that’s what he intends to do. Namjoon may not trust him now, but when he sees how serious he is, he will.

“I’ve grown, hyung, don’t you think?” Jungkook sips his beer, staring at his friend. Having this conversation at a bar may not have been the best, but it was the perfect moment to do so. Though jungkook has never cared about perfect timing.

Namjoon lets out a puff of air. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s not supportive. “You have, but this is a serious commitment, Kook.”

He doesn’t need to be told once more how serious this is; his brain can do that just fine.

 “I know. But I’ve reached that point where I want to settle down. I’m ready to get serious.” It’s definitely something he never thought he would say. “I want to show that I can be serious, you know? I want to be like you, Seokjin.”

He pats the man on his shoulder, and he can’t help but feel honored to be an inspiration. Seokjin was one of the first to get married and is now expecting a child. Jungkook envies that—the ability to feel stable enough to bring in another life. He wants to be stable too. Have a little mini him to play around with.

Who the hell has he become.

“I think it’s good you want to settle down, Koo. I just hope you’re doing this for the right reasons and not just to prove yourself,” the oldest begins. Seokjin doesn’t think he’s some wise man, but he can confidently say he has the most knowledge on this among all of them. He does support his friend and thinks it’s great he’s doing this, but something in him fears he’s in it for the wrong reasons. “I mean, it won’t only be you. You’re merging your life with someone else—someone you don’t know to add. I wouldn’t want you to drag her feelings into a journey of trying to prove yourself.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Because the truth is, part of him doesn’t know truly why he’s doing this. And not knowing is something he hates nowadays.

This is where Jungkook’s second thoughts root even further. He fears that—fears dragging someone along into his flawed perception of self. But it’s not what this is about, and even though he doesn’t mention it, he does want to find someone to love and someone to give the love he hasn’t been able to give his past lovers.

“I get what you’re saying, hyung, and I promise that’s not the case. I do want to care for the person too.”

Seokjin nods, taking a sip of his drink. “That’s good. You are growing,” he mocks, and they all laugh.

“The not knowing what’s ahead is a little off putting, I’ll be honest.” Jungkook doesn’t stare at his friends but rather analyses every bubble of air in his drink that rises to the surface. They rise fast, then disappear. Like everything he used to think love was.

“Do you think you can do it?”

“I think I can... I want to.” He finally looks up to stare at nothing in particular.

“The first step is the commitment, so if you have that, then you’re good.” Jungkook nods; he should probably be taking notes on what Seokjin is saying. “Oh, Namjoon, you’re going to be the only single one.” They all laugh, but Namjoon only chuckles.

“It’s scary how you’re still single.” His friends see him as the perfection of what a woman wants: tall, smart, a man who knows what he wants. It’s all what women describe, but still, the tall silver-haired man has never taken dating seriously, nor does he hook up. It’s concerning.

“It’s because I want to,” he replies, taking a drink of his beer. And that’s all they’ll ever get from him.

“So what are you looking for, Koo?”

They shouldn’t even get him started on this. He’s never really known because he’s never really thought about it. But of late, the answers have been coming in like ants—tiny but a lot. “Um, just someone outgoing, you know... likes to have fun.” He won’t burden them with all he’s been thinking because some are just stupid stereotypes. “Someone who likes to go out and try new things, likes to have fun.”

“Jungkook? a party girl?.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes; maybe his previous preferences slip into his ideas of who he wants, which is not good. He wants something new, something he’s never had. Because what he’s had is not what he needs. So maybe this will be different.

“No... listen. I like going bowling and stuff like that, you know? So I hope she would want to do that with me.” He smiles, trying to defend himself. “When I get married, I’ll quit the club too.” The additional sentence causes a roar of laughter among his friends, drawing attention from other bar-goers. Seokjin does go out occasionally, but the difference (especially with his wife’s due date approaching) has been significant.

The laughter dies down.

“Look at him acting like he’s grown.”

“I am grown... I’m going to be a husband.” It’s surreal for him to say.

“She needs to be strong to handle you.”

“I’m not that bad..”

--

The most exciting thing about this whole thing is finding your dress. You’ve been looking at dresses for a long time so you would like to say you know what style you’re looking for, you’ve been thinking of this since you were in middle school so you should know. You’re grateful your taste has grown out of the poofy ballgown phase.

Cause of the context of the wedding you want something simple. Clean. Intentional.

 And Jisoo knew of the perfect store to go to.

Most women find their dress months in advance, but you’ve got a week. A week. So this has to be it. Today  should be the day.

Picking out the dress is the only part of this whole process that feels like you have control over, so you’re throwing yourself into it. And with that comes nitpicking. A lot of it.

You step out of the dressing room in your fourth gown and face the mirror. It’s a beautiful dress. You loved it on the rack. But now, wearing it, something’s... off.

“Why don’t i feel something?” you ask, running your hands down the dress draping your figure. You turn to your friends, looking for validation. “I’m supposed to feel it, right? Isn’t that a thing?” you aren’t sure if it was a myth, but you’ve heard that when you find the right one you’ll be able to feel it.

“You should.” Jisoo says gently, sitting up straighter at the sight of your face. She knows how sensitive this moment is for you. The time pressure, the stress, if you spiral now, it’s over. “What don’t you like about it?”

You stare at the mirror. Tilt your head. Bite your lip. Try to search for an answer.

“i don’t know i just dont feel like a bride in it.” You continue to feel over it trying to convince yourself but still nothing.

Maybe its cause you have no romantic connection with this man and hence you don’t feel like the conventional bride who can actually feel like she’s dress shopping with a purpose.

“Then we try another,” the stylist says with an encouraging smile.

You hope you don’t sound like a bridezilla because this is the fourth dress you’ve tried on and don’t like. Your stomach churns.

What if you don’t find one? What if you end up walking down the aisle in something you hate cause you weren’t able to find ‘the one’ in time. You can’t wear something that doesn’t feel like you. You’re not a person very particular about clothes but this is your wedding dress in question. It has to be perfect.

“Hey...” Jisoo comes to your side, her hand warm on your arm. You feel your shoulders drop just a little. “Don’t pressure yourself. We can come back tomorrow.”

You nod, but the thought makes your chest tighten. You don’t want to come back. You want to feel it now.

“Can I try a few more first? Just in case?”

“Of course,” she says, like she never had a doubt.

You head back into the dressing room. One more. Just one more.

Walking back into the dressing room and getting into another dress. You’re praying this will be the one or good enough at least.

“Fucking hell yn...” Taehyung whistles.

That’s new. He didn’t react like this for the others.

“You look so gorgeous babes.” Jisoo adds with a blushing smile as you walk onto the pedestal to finally see what they see.

The dress in terms of material feels great. It’s soft on your skin and it pours down your body like liquid. Without even looking at it you’d say you feel comfortable.

Once you take in your figure in the mirror, you can fel the tears sting the corner of your eyes. You definatlety feel it. You feel that feeling.

With the other dresses it felt like they were wearing you, but for this one, you’re definitely the one owning it.

“Gosh.. it’s almost too perfect to be marrying a stranger in.” You state still enamoured and not believing that the reflection is you.

“if this dude doesn’t cry or fall to his knees when he sees you i’ll beat his kneecaps in.” Taehyung expresses and when you look at him through the mirror you catch him tabbing a tissue at his eyes, jisoo too. Gosh now your tears are falling too.

“Come on guys.” You try to say through  a sniffle. “you’re making me cry.”

Sniffling and patting at your eyes with a tissue you try to collect yourself.

“on a serious note. You look gorgeous.” Taehyung says, folding the tissue in to his palm. “you look beautiful. I should’ve married you instead. This guy doesn’t deserve you.”

You choke out a laugh, knowing he’s joking. You and Tae never looked at each other like that.

“If we were getting married, I’d wear sweats. Jeans if I’m feeling fancy.”

“Ouch,” he gasps, clutching his chest. Jisoo snorts. “Is that all I am to you.” He’s way more than that. He’s everything you'd ever want to dream of in a friend.

“i hope this dude realises how much he’s won with you.” Jisoo says softly.

“If he has two eyes, he will otherwise we’ll fight.” Of course it’s tae saying that.

“Why do you hate him you barely know him.” you say causing the man to pull back in defence.

“I’m just setting boundaries.”

He’s always been protective. You can’t blame him.

“But how do you feel?” Jisoo asks.

You take a breath. Let the silence hold for a second. You take in the weight of the dress, the way it fits, the way it makes you feel like maybe this whole thing won’t be so terrible after all.

“i love it.” It comes out soft but it says all that’s needed to be said. “i think it’s the one.”

Cheers erupts in the room the room, and your heart feels light for the first time in days.

You laugh through your tears. “I’m gonna be a Mrs. Something.”

“I just hope he’s got a good last name, at least.” Taehyung grins.

You hope so too.

But that’s one of the many things you’re choosing not to think about. Not yet.

--

Jungkook has never woken up early for anything. And the last thing he ever thought he’d be waking up early for was his wedding.

“You ready for today?” Seokjin says bascally aready dressed while Jungkook walks around in his sweats.

“As ready as i can ever be.” His eyes don’t leave the suit hanging on the wall. Gosh how would he have found one if he didn’t have his friends.

“You sure? You’re too calm.”

“Not everyone’s gonna be in panic.” Namjoon chimes in.

Seokjin’s wedding morning was definitely chaotic cause of how the man panicked.

 Though at the time he never thought of it seriously, Jungkook worried that it was custom to panic like that and he’d panic too. But even still he feels too relaxed, last night’s drinks might have something to do with it. When Seokjin and namjoon had gone to sleep, and jungkook couldn’t, he's only solace was the liquor cabinet. He hopes it’s not obvious. Cause he can fool his friends but his mother might be able to catch it, no matter how hard he’s brushed his teeth.

“it’s good to atleast show some of your nerves.” Seokjin moves to the counter to pour some drinks. Jungkook gags at the smell of spirit. “You can’t be perfectly relaxed.”

Can’t he? It is possibe for him to not be worried about anything. He doesn’t have to be having doubts and fears for this to be real. He doesn’t.

“I’m fine.” He groans, rubbing his face and reaching  for the suit hanging on the door of his room. He's fine...so fine.

Seokjin doesn’t dig in deeper. And one thing the older does know is that no matter what, Jungkook must be feeling something and his silence about it might be proving what Seokjin thought. Thinks.

“Did you send the gift?” he turns to namjoon worried about one thing.

“Yeah.”

Jungkook wanted to make a good impression so he hopes the gift does some apologising if you’re able to notice he's fucked up face.

“Can you help me with my tie?” He knows how to do it. Has been doing it for school for so long. But for once he just wants to feel like she’s involved in something he's doing. Something positive.

The drooping look on her face is discouraging enough, but he tries.

“You’ve been doing it for so long. Do you really need my help?” She says not even looking at him, and yet again he feels the embarrassment.

Clearing his throat, he turns to do it himself but his dad replaces his hands. “I told you guys, you didn’t have to travel for this.” He says lifting his chin up a little for his dad.

He was fine with them not coming, and seeing that they lived so far away it would’ve been an inconvenience. And it’s not like its a wedding his mother would want to attend anyways; so he didn’t  want to waste their time.

He was perfectly fine with them not coming.

“it’s your wedding why wouldn’t we come?” His father says patting down the tie and arranging his collar. It's almost as if it’s his first day at school and his graduation again. He hopes he can do this for his son one day too.

In a whisper away from anyone else his father speaks. "I want you to enjoy today. And whoever she is I want you to give her your all. Love her more than you love yourself, more than you’ve ever loved anything.”

His eyes are sincere as the words are spoken. His father isn’t emotional so even that soft fall of his brows is a lot. And it’s all Jungkook can ask for. “She's gonna love you too, I know it. You’re a good kid.” He pats his shoulder.

He can cry...no. So he sniffles the waters away.

His father has always been a good husband. And that’s who he wants to be as well, no matter who he marries, no matter how difficult she could be.

His parents have been the ideal couple in his life for a long time. And that doesn’t change no matter what.

Everything is silent for a moment as jungkook sinks into what’s about to happen today. It’s only until a voice breaks his serenity.

“Namjoon!” his mother calls out playfully with a glass in her hands, she doesn’t even drink.

Namioon flinches and turns to her smiling awkwardly.  He's never known how to act around her. “When are you getting married? Sure there are so many woman dying to be hitched up to a perfect guy like you.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and tells namjoon he doesn’t have to answer.

But his mother won’t let that be.

“Not anytime soon Mrs jeon.”

The laugh she releases is sharp and demeaning. But it’s not directed to namjoon. “You see? People who wait to find a girl the right way.”

When Jungkook’s gaze meets hers, he has to remind himself she's the woman that birthed him.

“You didn’t have to come you know that?”

“Come on. You want me here, I’m your mother.”

Contrary to popular belief...

“You’re such a handsome boy, why do you want to get married. You’re wasting your time.” She starts.

She should be praising him for seeing the value in getting married and maturing to the idea. But no...

Jungkook puffs out a breath. The room has been silent since his mother began speaking. And he drowns in it. There's a lot he could say.

Instead, he throws the jacket on and teases at it a little in the mirror. Some are unnecessary touches but he does them anyways. Feeling ready enough he steps away but before he walks out further he looks at the woman sat on the couch.

“If you can..,try your best not to speak to her, okay?”

--

“Did they call?” Taehyung’s voice is almost none existent in your field of thoughts.

It’s only when he repeats that you catch what he said. "no.”  You say no energy in your voice. “but it’s fine...their loss.”

You toss your phone on the couch a little too harshly, just wanting to forget it. Forget everything.

You won’t and can’t beg for people who don’t want to be in your life. Informing them was just a courtesy, you didn’t want him here anyways.

Though it would’ve been great if they could just put their pride aside for you for once.

Taehyung wraps his arms around you. “Their loss. Just know you’ve got us.” He nudges at your temple with his nose.

“Yeah, you’ve got people who care and that’s all that matters.” Jisoo hugs you too and now you’re sandwiched between them. It reminds you that no matter what, you still have people around you who do care and want to support you. So if those people who you thought would want to see succeed didn’t want to be here then it’s not on you. You have your friends.

“let’s finish getting ready guys.” They brush them away playfully and immediately your hairstylist is quick to working on you.

 “So bossy.” You roll your eyes at the remark. “Gonna give this guy a run for his money.”

It doesn’t matter. You cheer to yourself.

Nothing else matters today, you’re getting married and you don’t need to cloud your thoughts with negativity. You wouldn’t want your husband to see you all gloomy. That’s not gonna to be your first impression.

You smile.

All you want to do right now is walk down that aisle. Nothing else matters.

“Did i mention a little something came in for you in the mail” jisoo’s voice comes in excited but you aren’t able to turn cause you’re on your final steps of getting your makeup done.

“huh?” when she stands in front of your eyes fall in the object in her grasp. “What’s that?” you eaxclaim with a smile taking the box onto your lap.

“Open it.” She exclaims, more excited than you.

The tiffany and co logo on the box is evident when you unwrap it. You can’t help but smile from ear to ear. You haven’t met him yet and he’s making you smile this hard? Once it’s open you’re met with a silver locket and bracelet. You’ve gotten gifts before but you have no clue why you’re blushing so hard for this one.

“oh my gosh these are so cute.”

“tiffany and co too...” Jisoo adds, immediately rushing for you to put it on cause it would look good with your dress.

Taehyung watches from across the room, already dressed. “Anybody can buy that.”

“hater...” you and Jisoo choir.

--

Seokjin made it clear for him to behave when he sees your family. He has no clue what he thought he would do, because as much as he’s outgoing, In front of the in-law's he’s a dove.

He’s trying to be calm and act like he’s ready and been ready, but he can’t deny the cold sweats that threaten to run and mess his suit. This is the most trust he’s put into anything. All he’s praying is that it works out.

He’s a fucking groom.

Jisoo sits watching him closely, he is handsome and somebody you would find handsome too. But something she knows you’ll be worried about is probably his personality. He looks like the opposite of what you want and all you’ve been running away from. But who knows with you nowadays. He could be a good guy though.

“Hello.” Jungkook waves to your side. From all he can see, there’s a woman probably same age as him, could be a sister? Friend? Next he sees is an older lady probably the same age as his mother. That could be your mother. The rest of the crowd is filled with 2 people.

Not many people, but t doesn't matter. He wouldn't invite anybody too, if he didn’t have to. Maybe you're too embarrassed to be marrying already.

He's eyes can't stay on one spot. He tries but it's painful.

When he turns to his side, Seokjin and namjoon smile at him, it helps ease whatever he’s feeling but immediately his heart tightens up watching the person sat next to his father whisper into his ear..

What the hell is she saying? Is he standing up straight? Is he smiling enough or too hard.

--

This is the craziest thing you've ever done. The bravest too.

And—God, you hope—it’s the last wild thing you’ll have to do for a while.

Breathing is something your body usually handles without question, but now it needs supervision. You have to consciously pull air into your lungs, or you won’t make it down this aisle walking.

You have no idea what’s waiting at the end of it.

What if you’re not attracted to him?

Worse—what if he’s not attracted to you?

What if you’re not what he’s been hoping for?

“This still feels like a dream,” you mumble, looping your arm around Taehyung’s. He smells like cologne and nerves. What the fuck is he nervous for.

“You ready?” he asks gently.

No, but you nod. “Yeah.”

The gentle music of a live plays as people  stand and you walk, still not in view yet cause if the infrastructure. Its a small venue but sill manages to make you feel like you’re drowning.

As you walk and get closer you try your hardest not to look at the one thing you’re most curious about.

So your eyes choose to scan the venue instead—the warm fairy lights, the soft music, the flowers. You knew the production team would go all-out, but you didn’t expect them to go all out for you. It’s perfect.

You’ve never felt this special in your life. Twelve-year-old you couldn’t have imagined this moment. Even though this isn’t the love story you thought you’d get, the feeling is still here, blooming in your chest.

Who says he can’t become the love of your life?

Jungkook's eyes are wide when they land on your.

From your soft smile to styled hair amd the the dress that falls down your body carefully, he watches every detail. He can’t look anywhere else. He swears his heart was just in his chest a moment ago.

Jungkook watches the person walking you down the aisle, he’s a younger guy. That’s interesting. A sibling?

From all that he’s imagined he could get, you were not on the card. But he'll take it.

You’re more than he bargained for.

You walk slowly, soaking it all in. Nearing the arch, you finally allow yourself to look at the man chosen for you.

And—shit.

He’s… handsome.

You eyes squint.

He smiles as you approach, so at least he doesn’t seem horrified. That’s something.

Taehyung shares a nod with the man, nothing warm or cold behind. You hug him before he walks to his seat, clinging for just a second too long. Then, it's just you and him—your groom. You can’t meet his eyes for more than a second. And it’s embarrassing.

You’ve been on debate teams, presented in University projects and in meetings at work. Basically you’ve had eyes on you before and it was manageable...but these? They burn.

“Hi,” you say, voice small.

 You glance toward his side. A good amount of family. One person stands out—tall, silver hair. Probably a groomsman.

Your groom is attractive, sure, but not your type. Tattoos?, the way he stands—he looks like someone you tried to avoid.

You hate how superficial that sounds. But the thought won’t leave.

At least he’s taller than you.

“Hi,” he replies, equally nervous. Then leans in. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look nice too.” You eye him down, eyes narrowed.

If this were a blind date, you’d already be knee-deep in awkward small talk. But this? This is… bigger. It requires bigger questions.

“Let me take that for you.” Jisoo’s whisper interrupts. She takes your bouquet and you almost refuse, needing something to keep your fingers occupied.

“I see you got the jewellery.” His voice is as light as the pale blue sky. It’s odd to compare it to a colour but that how it feels. His voice reminds you of the blue sky you’ve stood under so many times wondering if your soulmate died. There’s still a possibility of that.

You glance down. You’d worn it and forgotten. It had become that comfortable. That familiar. But now with the recognition, you can feel the cold silver touch every part of you. You can feel it sway and graze you every turn you make. Even the smallest action causes movement.

“Oh yeah. Thank you.”

“You’ll have to thank my groomsman too. He helped me pick it.”

He looks over at Namjoon, who immediately looks like he wants to disappear.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It might sound like he couldn’t handle it alone. But truthfully, Namjoon just knows more about…well, this kind of thing.

“Thank you, groomsman,” you direct a more warm smile to the man.

Namjoon mumbles something, but you don’t catch it.

Turning back, you stare a beat longer when your eyes catch he's features. You bite the inside of your cheek. His face—it’s not common. Not forgettable.

And yet…

The officiant steps forward. Time for the official part.

“Yn, meet for the very first time, Jungkook Jeon. Jungkook, meet for the very first time, Yn Y/l/n.”

His name hits you like a church bell.

“Jungkook?” you repeat sounding a little shocked, like you didn’t hear it right the first time.

He chuckles nervously. “That’s me.” Do you not like his name?

Your stomach drops.

You know him. The name. The face. It clicks.

Your nose works over time pulling in air. You can't open your mouth, cause you might just puke.

Shit—does he know you? He doesn’t seem like he does.

Is this real?

The man you remember wouldn’t be standing here right now. Does she have some polar opposite twin or something?

You rub your arms and wish you could blame the AC for the chill. But that's all on him.

Glancing at your friends. They have no clue what’s happening inside your head right now. They don't know how fast the room spins.

Where do you put your hands, what do you hold onto?

None of them know about him. He’s the only one you've never told them about. And they sit there waiting for you--with smiles and excitement--to marry him.

You made them come here. They smile for you. They support you.

You asked them to be here for you. You wanted to do this.

What a waste of time. You should’ve known.

To add-on, as you look at your friends for a second time you stop at a face you were not expecting and hadn't noticed. How did you miss that? A face that had told you she didn’t want to be here, well not her specifically but mainly on behalf of your father. But what the hell is your mother doing here? She said she couldn’t come.

What the fuck is going on. Collect yourself,  you don’t want to look like you’re about to faint. Even though the overwhelming review of information could just kill you right here.

But it’s okay. You still have time to walk away. Walk away from everyone.

You thought this was going to go well.

You hoped it would.

But now?

This is not what you wanted.

-

-

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/n: 😏😏 what did you think? I hope you liked it. Please don't ask me if it's a happy ending story(i'm not saying it is or is not.) I just feel if you ask me that then you're not really interested in the story progression. I will try my best to post frequently (I've been working on 2 as well) so just hood your horses.

anyways I hope you enjoyed.

same time next week?

Lets discuss in the replies 🖐😊

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every note, reply and reblog is appreciated.

let me know what you thought of this chapter. do you think she'll marry him?

[mapis-putellas]

𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 // 𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

You hadn’t meant to walk into training like some sort of ghost from the past, but that’s exactly how it felt. Like some haunting spectre that froze the room as soon as you stepped through the doors. A few teammates gasped, a few more blinked in disbelief, and Ona -bless her heart- was already launching herself at you before anyone else could react.

You hugged her tightly, burying your face into her shoulder for a moment longer than you needed to. It had been a year. A whole year. The longest year of your life. And now you were back. Back where everything had started. Back where everything had ended.

Your return to Barça hadn’t exactly been public. You’d only told Ona, and she’d kept her mouth shut like a vault. So when you stepped into the training grounds again, it was the first any of them had seen or heard of you.

The first any of them had seen or heard of you…including her.

Alexia.

She was sitting on one of the benches, tying her boots, surrounded by a couple of the girls. But the moment your voice filtered through the room, she turned. Her head snapped up like muscle memory, like it was still second nature to her to react to you. And when she saw you, really saw you, her face froze. And for a split second, just a single heartbeat, her lips parted like she was about to say your name.

But you looked away.

You didn’t give her the satisfaction.

She didn’t deserve it.

Not after what she did.

Not after how she left.

It had been the worst pain you’d ever felt. You’d known long distance wasn’t going to be easy. You’d even expected the doubts and the late-night calls and the frustrations. But you never, not in a million years, thought she’d give up on you before the hard part even truly began.

You still remembered the phone call. Her voice, low and broken, saying she didn’t think she could do it. That maybe it was better to “pause” things. Like a three-year relationship was some Netflix series she could come back to later.

But she never came back.

Not until now. And now she looked at you like she’d forgotten she was the one who walked away.

It made your stomach churn.

You kept your head down for the rest of the session. Your touches were clean, your passes precise, and you kept your distance like your life depended on it. Because maybe it did. Maybe if she got too close, if you let her in even for a second, she’d break something else.

The first few weeks were manageable. You were polite when needed, civil in team meetings, and you absolutely refused to be caught alone with her. Ona acted as your buffer, always finding a way to sit between you or distract you with conversation whenever Alexia hovered too close.

But she was persistent.

Too persistent.

She started showing up early to training. Stayed late. Asked the coaches if she could pair up with you during drills. Always just close enough to make you uncomfortable but never outright crossing any boundaries.

It was infuriating.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the cafeteria when she slid into the seat across from you. No invitation. No warning. Just her.

You glared at her. “I’m eating.”

She shrugged. “Comes with a mouth. You can talk.”

You scoffed and went back to stabbing at your food.

She watched you for a moment, her eyes unreadable. “You look good,” she said softly. “Better.”

You didn’t even glance up. “Amazing what happens when someone stops breaking your heart.”

That shut her up for a moment.

You finished your food in silence and stood up, grabbing your tray.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said quietly, just as you turned to leave.

You paused.

Then you looked back over your shoulder. “And yet you did.”

She didn’t follow you that time. But she didn’t stop trying, either.

Another week passed. Then two. The team began to catch on, and whispers floated around the locker room. You could feel the stares. You could hear the questions. Some of the girls were curious. Others, protective. You could see it in the way Patri stood a little closer than usual, or the way Ingrid narrowed her eyes when Alexia got too near.

They didn’t know the details, but they knew enough. They knew she’d hurt you.

You’d never told them what really happened. You didn’t have the heart to say it aloud. That she broke things off without a fight. That she didn’t believe in the two of you enough to try.

But Ona knew.

Ona knew everything.

She cornered you in the locker room one day, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “She is miserable, you know.”

You zipped up your bag. “Not my problem.”

“She regrets it.”

“Too late.”

“She still loves you.”

You paused, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag.

Then you turned to her, your voice low. “She can love me all she wants. Doesn’t change what she did.”

Ona didn’t argue after that.

But Alexia did. Eventually, anyway.

It was late one evening after training. Most of the girls had gone home. You were still lacing up your sneakers when she walked in.

“¿Podemos hablar?” she asked softly.

You didn’t even look up. “I think you’ve said enough.”

“Por favor.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. “Fine. Five minutes.”

She nodded and sat beside you, her hands clenched together like she didn’t trust herself not to reach for you.

“I made a mistake,” she began, voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared. I thought… I thought distance would ruin us. That maybe it was better to end it before we started to hate each other.”

You turned to her slowly. “So instead of trusting me, trusting us, you decided it was easier to leave me?”

Her jaw tensed.

You continued. “You didn’t even try. You didn’t even give us a chance. You just gave up, Alexia.”

Her eyes shimmered. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”

You shook your head. “No, you don’t. You’re just uncomfortable with the consequences.”

That made her flinch, and you pretended your chest didn’t ache at the sight as you stood and grabbed your bag.

“You made your choice. Live with it.”

She stood too, desperate. “I never stopped loving you.”

You froze, and the words hung in the air between you like static.

She reached for your hand, gently, cautiously. “I think about you every day. I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I-���

You pulled your hand back.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t make me hope again.”

She looked like she might cry, but you couldn’t let her see yours.

So you walked away.

That night, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her words echoing in your head. You never stopped loving her either. That was the problem. No matter how angry you were, how much resentment you held…you still loved her.

But love wasn’t always enough. Not when trust had been shattered. Not when the person you trusted most in the world proved she didn’t trust you back.

The next morning, Alexia was quieter than usual. She didn’t hover. Didn’t try to talk to you. Just trained like she used to, focused and distant.

It should have made you feel better, but instead, it left a hole in your chest, because you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore.

All you knew was that you were tired. Tired of pretending like she hadn’t broken you. Tired of pretending like you didn’t still ache for her. Maybe one day you’d talk again. Maybe one day the wound would scab over and she’d be nothing more than a memory.

But not today.

Today, she was still the girl you loved; the girl who let you go.

And you didn’t know which hurt more.

**

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