#grey stained wood floor

[hellyeahkaito]

Enclosed - Kitchen Enclosed kitchen - large transitional l-shaped medium tone wood floor and gray floor enclosed kitchen idea with an undermount sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, gray backsplash, glass tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and white countertops

[napleonsolo]

Music Room Living Room in Denver Large transitional open concept light wood floor and gray floor living room photo with a music area, gray walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[detroitsabitch]

Modern Home Bar - Home Bar Large minimalist galley with a brown floor and vinyl flooring, a seated home bar, flat-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, quartz countertops, and gray countertops in a picture.

[moresnowbots]

Transitional Home Office in Chicago Example of a large transitional freestanding desk in a home office library with a dark wood floor, brown walls, and a two-sided fireplace.

[tryingtofindava]

── 𝐌𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥

: ̗̀➛ Back to Source

{[PROXIES X FEM! READER]}

Same routine. Same tired breath.

The buzzing of my alarm clock dragged me back into another day I didn’t particularly want to live. The shrill beeping gnawed at my ears until I slammed my hand down on it, silencing it for the moment. For a second, I just laid there, staring blankly at the stained ceiling, feeling the weight of monotony suffocate me.

Wake up.

Eat.

Get ready for work.

Work for six soul draining hours while trying to fend off Jackson, the human embodiment of a mistake.

Go home.

Eat.

Sleep.

Repeat.

It was a cycle so endless, so crushing, I started to wonder if this was hell after all. Maybe I’d done something wrong in a past life, or hell, maybe even this one, and now I was being punished by being forced to exist in this grey loop forever.

But that’s just life isn’t it?

I shuffled to the bathroom, brushed my teeth mechanically, tossed on my uniform, black jeans, the red Pop’s Diner T-shirt, a name tag that screamed ‘Y/N’ to any creep who bothered to look, and dragged myself out the door.

The diner wasn’t far. It sat on the edge of town, where cracked sidewalks met endless woods. Pop’s had been around forever, the sort of place where the coffee was always hot, the floors always sticky, and the same six regulars clung to the cracked booths like flies to a corpse.

Jackson was already there when I arrived, lounging at the counter like he owned the place. His smirk crawled up my skin like spiders, and I fought the urge to spin on my heel and leave.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he purred, voice thick with sleaze. Just the sound of it was like nails on a chalkboard, not even a full minute in and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

I ignored him, brushing past to clock in. Maybe if I pretended hard enough he didn’t exist, he’d actually disappear.

Six hours. Just six miserable hours.

I tied my apron, plastered on my best dead eyed smile, and started my shift.

It was during my third trip delivering a plate of bacon and eggs that the doorbell chimed and the change began.

They strolled in like they owned the place, four of them, bickering loud enough that even the fry cook poked his head out from the kitchen to see what the fuss was.

I couldn’t help myself from sneaking a peak at them, they had only been in for a few seconds and half of the other customers were turning heads at the noise they were making.

The first guy through the door was tall, the tallest in the group and looked like he could either fix your car or knock you flat without breaking a sweat. He had a slight mustache that didn’t quite make him look older, and he wore a black coat over a mustard yellow hoodie. His light brown hair was buzzed short, and when he smiled, and he did, charmingly, like he had no idea how disarming it was. I caught sight of the gap between his two front teeth. His navy blue jeans looked worn in and comfortable, the kind that had seen too many years but still clung to life.

Behind him came a guy who looked like he’d fought a war just to get out of bed this morning. Third tallest, with a grumpy scowl permanently carved into his face. He wore a red flannel shirt, the top two buttons undone, and dark blue jeans to match. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, and messy like he hadn’t bothered with a comb. A scruffy beard shaded his jawline, and he had the kind of heavy lidded, exhausted eyes that screamed of nights lost to bad dreams.

Next to him, practically glued to his side and pestering him nonstop, was another younger boy. Second tallest, though only by a little. He had a wide, awkwardly placed bandage slapped across his cheek, and I couldn’t help but notice how he twitched and stuttered when he spoke, like his body and mouth weren’t always in agreement. His clothes were plain, an old, boring brown hoodie and, of course, blue jeans. Seriously, what was it with these guys and blue jeans? His raggedy gloves looked ready to fall apart at the seams, practically cartoonish in how desperate they were to stay together.

The last of the group was a girl, the only girl, and she looked about two seconds away from dying of boredom. She had a white zip-up hoodie, hands jammed deep in the pockets, and a red shirt peeking out underneath. Black jeans clung to her legs, her black hair a tangled, charming mess like she’d rolled out of bed and dared the world to say something about it. Her dark eyes scanned the room lazily, clearly unbothered by the bickering boys beside her.

I didn’t realize I was staring until the customer who had ordered the bacon and eggs coughed to get my attention, I looked down mumbling an apology and I set the food in front of them.

They became regulars after that, not only just becoming familiar faces in Pop’s, but in town too. Almost every shift I worked, they were there, corner booth, same bickering, same reckless energy. And… subtle flirting. Not from all of them, but enough to notice. Or maybe I’m just delusional in desperate need of attention…

They were here so often that I knew all four of them by name. There was Brian, Tim, Kate, and Toby. A dynamic group that I couldn’t help myself but be drawn towards.

Brian would catch my eye sometimes, offering a small smirk like we were sharing an inside joke. Tobias loved calling me over just to tease, tossing out stupid pick up lines through his stutters that made me roll my eyes so hard they almost got stuck, he did it just for my reactions I bet.

Even Tim, gruff, grumpy Tim, had his moments. He’d grumble out a “Thanks” or a “Looks good” about the plain black coffee or Cherry pie, and it would sound like the most sincere compliment I’d ever heard.

Kate was more reserved, but there was something about the way she would subtly smile at me, a quiet approval that felt… nice. Like I was included in their weird little club.

They were… strange, though. Little things started to stick out.

Brian flinched when a tray clattered to the ground behind him. Tim’s hands would tremble sometimes, so subtly it was easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. Tobias was constantly watching the door like he expected something, or someone to barge in at any moment. Kate seemed the most composed, but she was always quietly scanning the room, muscles taut under her hoodie.

It wasn’t normal behavior. It was… survival instincts, made you wonder if they were ex military soldiers. But weirdly enough, it didn’t scare me. It intrigued me.

Maybe because my life was so boring, so achingly dull, that even the scent of danger felt intoxicating.

Of course, not everything was sunshine and rainbows, Jackson hadn’t taken the hint yet. If anything, he was getting worse.

He’d linger at the counter even longer, his beady eyes tracking me across the floor like a predator. His ‘compliments’ had gotten grosser, slimier. Sometimes he’d even lean over the counter just to breathe down my neck when I passed by.

I made it a point to keep distance between us. Pretended to be busy. Took fake phone calls in the backroom. Anything to avoid him.

He was getting bold, though. Too bold.

Last night, when I was cleaning up after close, I caught him waiting outside by the dumpsters, cigarette glowing between his fingers, grinning that horrible grin. I pretended not to see him. Darted around the other side of the building and practically ran to my car.

My hands had been shaking when I finally locked the doors and drove off. ‘If I just ignore him, he’ll eventually lose interest and leave me alone.’ I kept telling myself, though it was all just a silly wish that he’d finally disappear.

Today, though, my focus was elsewhere.

The diner was buzzing with the afterschool crowd, teens jammed into booths laughing over milkshakes and greasy fries. Pop’s was never really clean, but it was alive tonight, and that helped. I needed the distraction.

The four were already in their booth when I came on shift, arguing as usual.

“Y-Y/N!” Tobias called, waving dramatically like I couldn’t see him from across the room. “Cuh-come save m-m-me from -chirp!- these idiots.”

I snorted and sauntered over, pad and pen in hand. “I can’t save you. You’re too far gone.”

Brian chuckled under his breath. Tim just shook his head like he was embarrassed to be associated with any of them, especially Toby.

Kate nudged Toby, a silent warning of ‘cut it out.’ “We’ll have the usual,” she said, cutting off Tobias’s protests.

“Coming right up,” I said, scribbling it down.

As I turned away, I heard Brian mutter something about “Cute when she smiles,” and Tim elbowed him in the ribs. I pretended not to hear, but my cheeks burned.

The shift passed in a weird, almost pleasant blur. At one point, Kate spoke up when I refilled their coffees. “You should be careful with him,” she said, nodding subtly toward Jackson, who was perched at the counter leering at me. “Guys like that don’t know how to take no.”

I stiffened. “Yeah. I know.”

Her expression softened slightly. “You ever need anything… let us know.” I blinked, caught off guard by the quiet fierceness in her voice.

“Thanks,” I said, and meant it.

The night wound down. The teens left. The kitchen lights dimmed. I wiped the last table, exhausted but lighter somehow.

As I hung up my apron, I caught a glimpse out the window.

The four were standing by an old, beat-up RV, arguing over directions probably. Tim gesturing wildly, Tobias laughing like a maniac, Brian shaking his head with a fond sort of exasperation, Kate rolling her eyes like she’d seen it all before.

I smiled.

Maybe life wasn’t so normal anymore. Maybe it was about to get very, very strange.

But for the first time in a long time…

I wasn’t completely dreading tomorrow.

IKKK THIS IS SHORT PUT IM REALLY JUST TRYING TO SET A STORYLINE IN PLACE!!!

I’ve got the next few chapters plot lines mapped out and I’m so excited to finally be posting abt this au!! :3

[bareminimalii]

Forever You

Vergil x Fem!reader

Word count: 1332

Summary: You wait months and years for every time you see him, Vergil always comes back the same, and leaves the same.

Contents: angst, hurt/comfort, Vergil’s great communication skills, unhappy ending, slight sexual tension, non sexual (kinda) bathing together, mentions of the reader being Nero’s mother, maybe OOC, post DMC5.

Notes: hii! I’ve been reading and writing (kinda) for years now but never published any of my work. I’ve liked DMC for about five years now and haven’t been able to get my mind off Vergil haha. So now instead of reading x readers I’ve decided to write post my own. This is my first posted work so I hope you guys enjoy!

He always found his way back to you.

No matter the years in between, the fights, the traumas, it’s always you that brings Vergil back down from the grey clouded heavens. You weren't the most beautiful, or even the most kind, however you were real to Vergil, an amalgamation of determination and wits that he felt drawn to. However, it drove him away as well, you were too real, and it scared him.

You were poetic to him.

A condensed form of ideas with a theme that could be analyzed and picked apart and interpreted in different ways. You felt the same about Vergil but he’s more difficult to piece together.

You two could never fully understand each other.

Vergil stood in the door bloody, but it never scared you, not even the first time you saw him like this frightened you at all. He could never understand that. The only disgust brought to you was the fact he was getting the floor of your study dirty. He walked in not saying anything and sat down on the elegant chair in front of your desk.

The blood stained the white velvet chair and dripped onto the floor causing it to puddle. He rested his Yamato on the side of the desk, he gently placed it making sure not to scratch the delicate wood. You sat at your study desk staring at him, your legs crossed and your hands rested on top of your knee as you observed his awkward movements.

He never knew what to say at first, you always initiated conversation.

Vergil sighed and leaned over and rested his head into his lap. He looked tired, he always looked tired. You got up and walked around the desk, fingers gently caressing the dark polished wood. He peeked out from his fingers, his blue eyes pleading with yours.

I missed you-is what he would have said if he had the courage.

You walk in front of him, his legs manspread on your nice chair. You stood between the opening and lifted your hands and brushed them against his earlobe before caressing the back of his head pulling it towards you so that his forehead pressed on your upper stomach.

His hair was stained blood red as if his hair was never white in the first place. When you ran your fingers through it they came out crimson. Your stomach churned, not because of the bloody mess, but because of how disarrayed he was. You could feel his shaken hot breath dampening your nightdress as he wrapped his clothed arms around your waist pulling you closer. You two are fully against each other embracing as you have many times in the past.

“Vergil…” You croaked softly as you felt his fingers grip onto your back. They bury into your skin and flesh, roughly pressing into your ribcage. You grabbed his collar pulling away from him slightly but then you brought your hand to his face and wiped away the blood on his cheek.

Like clockwork he was back and broken, but now you must put him together again.

You ran a bath, checking every few seconds to feel if the water was warm enough for Vergil. He sat in the corner of your master bathroom against the wall-unclothed and still bloody. You didn’t have a sense of urgency since you could already tell it wasn’t his blood in the first place.

His knees were at his chest. He was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth downturned. You had always wished you could go through his mind and figure Vergil out; find a way to keep him for yourself; find a way for him to want to stay with you; find a way for him to end his slavery to his potential power.

Perhaps you do understand him, but you’re too blinded by your attachment rather than love.

You undress as well, after that embrace you end up just as bloodied. He doesn’t stare as you disrobe despite intentionally drawing it out so maybe he would look your way-it disappointed you. You graze Vergil’s muscular shoulder with your knuckles. He looks your way and you gesture your head to the bathtub. He gets up with a groan, finally letting out a smile from you. You two were both getting older, back problems got the best of everyone, even half demons.

He stepped into the tub and plopped into the scalding hot water. Letting out a sigh as most of the blood washed off almost immediately. He moved his face to the faucet to let the water clean his face. When he pulled back, the steam was already coming off his face. You entered the tub as well, positioning yourself in back of Vergil using his shoulder as a leverage as you sink deeper into the tub.

It was hard to ignore how tense his muscles felt at your touch.

You let out a deep shaky sigh as you lean your head against his back. It wasn’t soft flesh, it was strained and hard, as if you were leaning on a wall. You grab the washcloth drifting in the reddened water and wipe his back arm gently.

“I found out about Nero.” Vergil sighed. Nero…you were confused, “Who’s that?” You asked running your fingers through his stained hair scrubbing it.

”Our son.”

That immediately made you pause your fingers still in his hair. Years ago…when you were much younger, and had first met Vergil. One thing led to another and you eventually had his child. You were freaked out back then and immediately placed your son on the orphanage step, not even giving him a name.

“Oh…” That was all you could have said honestly. The topic of your abandoned son was the last thing you expected. “He’s strong…bested me in combat about a year ago. After visiting you, I then fought with my brother and he broke the news to me…” Vergil huffed, “He was angry, the whole time I was wondering what he would have said to you.”

You’ve thought about that a lot, always assuming your son would just ignore you, tell you off, and continue living his own life. “I can’t call you selfish.” Vergil sighed.

You two were both the most selfish people you’ve known.

Vergil turned around in the tub now facing you. “You could have told me, why’d you hide this from me.” He asked, making complete eye contact with you, “You’re not the only one that can hide things.” You muttered.

You enjoyed how civil you two could be with each other, other people would be screaming, crying, or fighting. But there was a lack of emotion that barred you two from being fully together. “I came back from the underworld with Dante yesterday.” He brought his hand to yours, intertwining your fingers with him, “We fought demons…and I guess each other for over a year straight before returning.”—Well he certainly looked like he did.

You both were so tired.

He pulled you closer, caressing your cheek with his other hand. His fingers still intertwine with yours as he leans in and gently places a kiss on your lips. His lips were cracked and rough, they scratched yours. He pulled away and brought you close to him so that your head rested on his upper chest. Bringing his hand up, he strokes your hair. You bring both of your woven hands up and rest them between you two.

Ten minutes passed, but it felt like an hour.

Vergil got up from the bath, kissing the top of your hand as he got out. You stay there in the crimson water watching as he grabs a towel and leaves the bathroom. Looking back as he closes the door.

You stayed there for another hour.

You get out.

Dry your hair

Dry your body.

You know he’s gone.

You go to bed that night and look at your hand.

The blood was still there.

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Crawl Home To Her

Ship: Astarion x fem!Tav/reader

Summary: As awful the feeling of blood on the skin is, sometimes it can be helpful, you have to admit. At least, when it comes to Astarion, blood is always helpful. You'll have to take his word for it—and that's oh so easy bathing with him.

Word Count: 5,461 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+) blood, gore, nudity, sexual & non-sexual touching, bathing each other, soft Astarion, established relationship, brief mention of past sexual encounter, dealing with past trauma, teasing from Karlach, mention of dismemberment, fluff & smut mix

18+ Warnings: brief fingering (f receiving), tiny bit of a hair kink, sensual touching, semi-public sex/nudity

Note: Part 2 of Burns Like Rum is coming soon! But here's a little something to tithe you over until the sequel (Sweet Like Rum) is ready!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Shafts of pale sunlight fell on your face as you walked through the forest, your arms swinging at your sides, small critters running amok in the bushes around you. Birdsong filled your ears, pleasantly light and summery, reminding you distantly of a childhood memory you couldn't quite reach. The weather was warm enough that you were thinking you might have to change into something lighter. The few weapons you had on you were already starting to make you break out into a sweat.

For a day that had started with murder, the weather was surprisingly nice.

You hummed as you walked—the song pulled from your childhood, the words long forgotten but pieces of the melody clunking around in your head. You strung them together the best you could, tapping out a rhythm against your leg.

You were on your way to the waterfall you'd spotted several days ago while hunting. It was small and nothing too violent. The pool it fell into wasn't deep enough to drown you, nor was the flow of water all that fast. You trusted it—and the rock ledge behind it—would suit your purposes quite nicely.

Coming upon the pool was like stepping into one of the fairytales you had heard in your youth, sitting upon your father's knee in a tavern, listening to a traveller tell a story you weren't sure was entirely true.

It was guarded by willow trees with branches that swayed in a breeze you hadn't felt until you came upon them. Pushing the curtain of branches away revealed an almost perfectly circular clearing, the ground covered in vibrant green moss that squished delightfully beneath your feet and sprung back up when you stepped off of it. Patches of flowers sprouted all around, pink and yellow and purple blooms that grew up to the sun. The pool was as blue as the sky above, clear and shallow, surrounded by a few feet of soft white sand. The water shimmered in the sunlight, rippling over the pebbles that covered its floor. From the pool, the water flowed into a thin river that could hardly be called a river and out into the woods.

You sat by the pool's edge and pulled off your boots. They were just as bloody as the rest of you, the sticky and quickly drying substance staining the black leather. You splashed water over them and scrubbed with a cloth you had designated for this purpose that had once been grey.

Only after your boots were clean did you stand back up and step into the soft sand. You wiggled your toes, smiling at the feeling. You breathed in the crisp, sweet air. It smelled faintly of flowers and citrus, a scent that was familiar, though you couldn't place it.

You stripped slowly, hissing and wincing as you tugged at the places where blood had stuck the fabric to your skin. It acted like glue when dry, staining your skin and leaving a mottled pattern across your flesh. The fabric of your shirt had grown stiff with semi-dried blood.

One by one, you pulled off belts and straps holding weapons, the gloves you protected your hands with, your shirt, your trousers—until you were standing naked at the pool's edge. You gave yourself a cursory inspection, searching for any wounds you had acquired in the fighting this morning that you hadn't noticed; it wouldn't be the first time you'd walked away from a fight and realized you were injured only hours later. But, this time, there was nothing.

Usually it was Astarion who noticed you were injured, catching your smell in the air when it shouldn't have been. But you were drenched in so much blood already that you imagined it would have been very hard to pick out your distinct scent.

You waded into the pool, taking your clothes with you, and sat at it's deepest point. Standing, it reached your knees; sitting, it almost came to your shoulders. You scrubbed the blood from your clothes, using the soap you had brought with you.

You watched the blood and soap swirl together in the water and flow toward the river, a thin stream of red and bubbles slipping away from the crimson cloud surrounding you. You almost felt bad to ruin the clarity of the water, but the others—back at camp—were taking far too long to wash the blood from themselves with your limited store of water. This was better, in the long run.

Astarion would have a field day with this if this wasn't goblin blood, you thought to yourself, staring at the blood drifting just below the surface. He would drink it, from time to time, but never happily.

You scrubbed at your clothes until your fingers were stiff and sore and the blood was no longer coming out of the fabric. You inspected them and deemed them clean enough to put back on the moss, spread out so they would dry faster.

To clean yourself, you headed toward the waterfall. You climbed up onto the stone ledge behind it, reveling in the surprisingly gentle spray of water that reached you and the stillness of the water that it fell into, high enough to reach your knees.

You stepped under the water. It cascaded over you, dousing you in its coolness that reminded you of the first time Astarion had ever touched you—

—gentle hands, cascading down your sides—fingers lifting your chin so you would meet his gaze—a kiss to your forehead—a hand on the small of your back—his lips on your own, warmer than you had anticipated—his fingers in your hair, keeping your head off the ground—his hand slipping between your legs—his little giggle when you shuddered beneath him—the pleasured sigh from his lips as he slid inside of you—

Stepping out from underneath the water, you shook your head, banishing the memory. You had spoken recently about all of this. He'd told you, "I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex." He'd said, "I don't want to be just a body for you, darling." And though he'd teased you that you were more than welcome to "sustain yourself" (his words) with your memories of him while he took time away from intimacy, some part of you still felt like you violating his wishes any time it was his body that you thought of, rather than of, well, just him.

You wiped the water from your eyes and knew your tears had mixed in with it; Astarion had been very vulnerable with you, so you knew his reasons for it all. You had two responses: either unbearable sorrow that he had been forced to endure it all (which the current cause of the crushing weight in your chest), or blinding rage that birthed the desire to see Cazador's head on a spear.

You carded your hands through your wet hair, trying to work out the tangles. Your fingers came away covered in watery blood.

"Mind if I join you?"

You jumped, eyes flying open, and looked up. Leaning against the stone wall was the vampire himself, a gentle smile on his face. Gods, how you loved that smile. In this light, you couldn't tell his eyes were red and his fangs were hidden. If you didn't pay attention to how pale he was, you could imagine he was just an elf again—the life he deserved.

Astarion still wore his clothes, which were slowly darkening as they soaked up the spray of water and splattered with as much blood as his handsome face, but his boots were placed neatly next to yours on the moss. He'd cleaned them already; how had you not heard him before?

While he waited for your answer, aware of your admiring gaze on him, he pulled his shirt off over his head, mussing the curls you loved so much. He stripped quickly, nearly falling over when his trouser leg caught on his foot, and left his clothes in a pile on the rock ledge. Perhaps you were imagining things, but his skin looked paler than it had this morning, when you'd been rudely awoken by a horde of goblins invading your camp.

You held your arms open to him. "I'd like that very much."

He stepped into your arms, wrapped his own around your waist, and buried his head in your neck, breathing in deeply. "My love," he whispered, his lips against your skin. He kissed your neck softly and pulled away, cupping your face in his hand, to look into your eyes. "Are you alright?"

You nodded. "I'm okay."

"No injuries this time?" Astarion's eyes slid down your naked body, examining, his gaze concerned when it had once been sensual. You felt yourself relax in his arms, at ease with his concern. It felt real, honest in a way you hadn't had a chance to be yet. It was natural, somehow, to be checking each other for injuries in the time you finally caught together, away from the others.

"Not this time," you said, leaning into him. More watery blood dripped from your hair and across his chest, leaving streaks that made it look like he'd just returned from a rather messy feeding.

He kissed the top of your wet head. "Good." He leaned away to smile at you. "I was worried you'd run off to take care of your injuries by yourself, if only to keep me from smelling the blood."

You shook your head. "If only we'd been attacked by something you could drink from, satisfy your hunger for a few days." He smiled weakly and you knew the thought had been on his mind, too. "What about you? Are you okay?"

He spread his arms and did a little twirl for you. You giggled at his antics, glancing over his skin, pleased he was comfortable enough to even be naked with you. "Yes, darling. Not a scratch on me."

The two of you looked at each other, your hair already damp and clinging to your head, and his curls slowly being matted down by the thick mist of the waterfall. His ears poked out, more noticeable than normal.

Astarion bent and picked up your bar of soap. "May I help you wash off all this grime?"

"Please," you said, your voice soft but as loving as you could make it, your eyes fixed firmly on his.

He lathered his hands with soap and scrubbed gently at your skin. His nails, kept trimmed and neat, were hardly more than a light sensation as he worked at the dried blood until it crumbled away from your skin and ran down your body in red rivulets. His touch was soft, caring where it had once been lustful and groping. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation of his fingers digging into your tired muscles, and held him. You adjusted your hold on him as he moved across your body—an arm draped across his shoulders, a hand on his bicep, your fingers against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

You looked up at Astarion, blinking quickly to keep the water out of your eyes. His gaze remained fixated on your hips as he gently washed off the blood, but he smiled, aware of your stare.

"See something you like?" he asked, tone playful.

"Someone I love," you corrected. He looked up at you, a tender smile growing on his lips. "Someone I love dearly." You leaned close, cupped one side of his face, and kissed the other. "I love you, Astarion."

He kissed your cheek, too. "And I love you." His lips found yours. He kissed you with a sweetness that simultaneously broke your heart and mended it. You wrapped your arms around his waist. He hummed happily into your mouth and cradled the back of your neck.

The pair of you fell into a tight embrace. You felt the adrenaline drain from you and leave you limp in his arms, your hot skin going cold under the water. Despite how suddenly you must have slumped against him, Astarion held you with ease. He gave the crown of your head a quick kiss, then made an unpleasant sound of surprise from the back of his throat.

"Darling, do you mind if I wash your hair? There's an awful lot of goblin blood in it."

You forced yourself to stand up straight on your own, still holding his sides for support. "Oh, yes—that would be from Karlach throwing one she'd just chopped into over my head." Even as you said the words, you felt the blood splattering into your hair again and shuddered.

Astarion grimaced. "Let me help you with it, then." He lathered his hands and put them in your hair. As he fell into a rhythm, you closed your eyes and let him doing the work, your thoughts drifting...

At first, you weren't sure why you had even woken in the first place. The light coming in through a crack in the tent's opening was still the watery and grey color of pre-dawn, much earlier than you usually woke. You frowned and pushed back into Astarion, his arm squeezing you tighter, sleep once again tugging at your eyelids.

And then you heard a shout, vicious and loud. It was close to camp, maybe even in camp. The shout came again and you realized it was Lae'zel's war cry.

All at once, the sounds of a battle filled your ears. You jerked awake in an instant, clambering onto your knees and shaking Astarion awake next to you. Of course the one day Astarion decided to indulge in the very human activity of sleep was the day you and your friends were attacked.

"What's going on?" he mumbled as his eyes flickered open, his words slurred together.

"Come on, grab your knives," you said, pulling your lightest set of armor on over your clothes. You were suddenly very relieved Astarion had decided skin to skin contact was a bit too much for him last night. "I think we're under attack."

He woke just as quickly as you had. He swore, dragged a quick hand through his hair, and grabbed his knives. He waited until you had your own weapon in hand before he opened the curtain flap of his tent.

The camp was a sight to behold. Already it was trashed and overflowing with goblins. Some were already on the ground, their blood oozing everywhere in the dirt and grass. Gashes from Lae'zel's sword seeped blood and gristle, if she hadn't horribly disfigured the corpses and turned them into little more than lumps of flesh. Many of them bore scorch marks that ranged from minor burns to melting flesh. It smelled horrendous and nearly acidic; you bit back the bile in your throat.

A dismembered arm fell at your foot. You kicked it away on instinct, looking up to see Karlach ripping a second goblin limb from limb.

"Now that's just vile," Astarion said, still looking at the arm, a fang poking out over his curled lip.

"Complain about it later," you said, grabbing his chin and giving him a quick and customary 'good morning' kiss. "We've got to help the others."

"If you insist."

Astarion ran to Karlach's side; you headed for Shadowheart and Gale. Wyll was approaching, too, cutting a path through the goblins.

"Morning, you two!" you said cheerily. "How'd this happen?"

"We're not sure," Shadowheart said, kicking a goblin in the face as it ran at her with a scream. "Lae'zel said they came from the north, just over those hills."

"Odd. I wonder if we camped too close to them for their liking, and now they're trying to do something about it. Are goblins territorial creatures?"

Gale grunted, casting another fireball. "Enough chatting. Let's just kill these things and figure out where they came from and why later. Got it?"

"Fair enough," you decided. "Whoever kills the most chooses dinner for a week."

"I'll take you up on that," Wyll said from behind you. "I'm dreaming of a good meal for once."

Astarion's hands sliding out of your hair abruptly brought you back to reality, to his body pressed against yours and the waterfall at your back, shielding the two of you from the world.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, voice soft. You could feel his fingers toying with the ends of your hair, curling it on his fingers.

"Back to the fight," you admitted. "I just keep wondering how they snuck up on us."

"No matter now," he said. "We'll let Lae'zel criticize us all for not anticipating every possible disaster when we get back, but not yet. Not here."

He went back to massaging your scalp, despite the blood being long gone, and your sighed happily. He smiled and kissed your forehead, adding pressure. A content whimper slipped from your lips and you blushed instantly as his eyes lit up; he'd heard far more obscene from you, yet still the slightest sounds you made embarrassed you and delighted him.

"My, my, the noises you make for me, lover," he teased, giggling. He wrapped his hand in your hair and tugged, hard enough to draw a loud moan out of your chest.

Astarion covered your mouth with his hand, his eyes playfully wide. "Shhh, unless you want the others to come looking. We're not that far away from camp."

Heat rushed through your body. "Oh, gods, Astarion, I'm— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— And I certainly didn't expect it to be that...that loud—! I..."

He swallowed your frantic apologies with a kiss. Against your lips, he whispered, "If you can keep quiet, though...I can grant you all the pleasure you want. You need only ask, darling."

Your heart skipped several beats in your chest. You put your hand up to his face. "Oh, I don't... Star, I don't need you to, I wouldn't want you to...feel obligated." He pulled his forehead away from yours to see your face. "We agreed not to do anything until you're ready. And that wasn't that long ago, so... I don't want you to be uncomfortable—"

Astarion cupped your chin with his hand, dragging his thumb across your lower lip. The words died in your throat. He met your gaze, his crimson eyes open and honest, and said, "Your pleasure is a gift. Even if I don't want to be touched yet, that's not stopping me from touching you. Only you can stop me from touching you."

"Star..."

He pulled you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around him, suddenly too aware of the raised scar you felt against your arms. "I trust you. Wholeheartedly. I trust you to...to respect my boundaries. To check in with me. To see when I'm uncomfortable. You've already done it, again and again, and proved that you're worthy of that trust. And do I look uncomfortable now?"

You studied him. His pupils were blown. His eyes told a story of contentment. The tenseness you had once noticed laying deep and dormant in his muscles was gone. He looked at you with a fondness you realized now was a profound trust and he stood utterly relaxed in your arms.

So you answered him honestly. "No."

"Exactly, darling. I'm not uncomfortable. I want to do this for you, if that's what you also want. I feel...safe with you. I've never felt like this around anyone before," he admitted, a bit of sadness creeping onto his face, "and I don't want to ruin it. I don't know... I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm going to try to do right by you. So if you want me..." He placed his hand low on your abdomen. Your stomach did flips. He put his lips against the shell of your ear. "Tell me, darling, because I certainly want you. All I ask is that you not touch me, not just yet."

You whimpered. "Please, Star. I promise not to touch you, I promise. But please touch me."

"That's my girl," he whispered. "Spread your legs for me, no need to be so nervous."

You readjusted your stance, widening the space between your previously clenched thighs. His hand filled the gap, cupping you gently. You sighed, leaning your head against his chest again, looking down to watch his ministrations.

Astarion pressed his palm to your clit. You watched his wrist move as he slid his fingers along your slit, teasing you and never quite touching you where you needed him. You whimpered as his fingertip lightly ghosted your entrance, just barely dipping inside before he moved his hand back up, his fingers toying with your clit.

"That's it," he whispered in your ear. "Make those quiet, pretty sounds for me. Show me how you feel."

You rocked your hips against his hand. "Astarion, please..."

He kissed your temple. "Feeling good?"

Your broken moan was your answer. He chuckled, sliding his hand up your side, taking your breast in the palm of his hand. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, making you gasp and buck your hips against him. He closed his lips around it and sucked gently.

"More," you whispered. "Please. I need...I need you."

"Alright, darling, alright," he said against your skin. He rubbed your entrance for another moment, then slid his finger inside you. You clenched down on him as you sighed your pleasure. He curled his finger inside you, rubbing away at your walls, and you gasped loudly.

Astarion grinned. "Make those noises. Moan for me. I want you to show me how good this feels, show me you want me." You gripped tightly onto him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his hip. Your breaths grew heavy and your whimpers louder. "Yes, that's it! Be loud for me, my sweet, the loudest you've ever—"

A branch cracked in the forest. A voice called out your name, then Astarion's. You jumped a mile and Astarion's finger slipped out of you. You stared at each other with wide eyes.

"D...did you hear that?" you asked. "Or am I hearing things?"

As if an answer, the voice—Gale's—shouted again, "I know you're over here, I can see your boots!"

"Shit," Astarion sighed. He craned his head to peer around the curtain of water. "What the hells do you want?"

"Is she with you?" Gale asked. "Shadowheart sent me to find you both, the rest of us have all finished washing up! There's water left for you."

"That's what we're trying to do, Gale!" you called, reaching an arm through the waterfall and waving at him. "Use the water for something else, we'll make do here."

He harrumphed. "If I had known this was just a few minutes away from camp, I would have come to wash up here ages ago."

You and Astarion exchanged a look. So much for a secret getaway spot.

"Be back soon, or Karlach will start worrying," Gale said, in the tone of a chiding parent. "And no funny business!"

"Oh, shut up!" Astarion shouted, the tips of his ears turning a deep pink. He ducked behind the water again and holding you close. You barely held back your giggles while the two of you listened for Gale to walk away. One slipped out and Astarion hurriedly covered your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm and he pulled it away quickly. "You weirdo!"

You wrapped your arms around him and leaned into his chest. "Yes, but I'm your weirdo. You love me anyway."

Astarion pushed a strand of your wet hair behind your ear. "I love you anyway," he admitted, with a fondness that turned you into mush in his arms. He held you close for several moments, then asked, "Do you want me to continue?"

You thought about it, then shook your head. "Not just now. I suspect Karlach will be on her way to investigate the waterfall I didn't have the decency tell anyone about very soon."

"Very well," he said. "I'll finish you off later in my tent, then. As long as you can keep quiet for me, darling." He gave you that charming smile that made your stomach do flips.

"I thought you liked me loud," you teased.

Astarion rolled his eyes, playful and flirtation in such a comfortable way that it warmed your heart more than any of his touches ever could, delightful as they were. "Only when I have you all to myself, lover." He nipped at your neck, his fangs scratching but not breaking your skin. "Your moans are mine."

You stood together like that for several more moments, his hands on your hips and your arms looped around his neck, your foreheads pressed together. You exchanged dainty kisses, basking in each other in the few minutes left you had alone.

At last, you planted one firm, lingering kiss to his lips. "Let me clean you off," you said. "Though you're going to have to crouch for me to get your hair." Most of the blood and grime had been washed away by the waterfall's spray, but his silver hair was still speckled with it all, and you could taste it on his lips—sour and gritty. No wonder he only drank from goblins as a last resort.

Astarion bent his head down, pressing his forehead into your shoulder and holding you by the waist. You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and smiling (but saying nothing) every time your touch managed to pull a soft whimper or moan from him without him realizing it.

You washed his body anyway, wiping away the remaining grime and massaging his muscles. You enjoyed the way he relaxed in your arms, quietly asking for more or less pressure.

"My back," he said, voice quiet and almost timid. "Can you...?"

"Are you sure?" you asked, frowning.

He nodded and turned in your arms, exposing his back to you. You started slowly, massaging his upper back and shoulders before working your way down, giving him plenty of time to tell you to stop if he needed to. But he leaned into your touch and responded with more of those gentle and timid—but happy—sounds.

You kissed the nape of his neck when you were finished, rested your head against his back, and wrapped your arms around his waist. His hands found yours and laced your fingers together.

"Thank you, my love," he said. "I've never... No one has ever done that for me before."

You hugged him tighter. "Any time you need me—I'm here. I will always be here." You stepped away and guided him out of the water with a hand. "Come on, we should head back."

The pair of you helped each other dress, though neither of you were wearing anything that required the help. You suspected Astarion just wanted to keep you close; when he got into his cuddly moods, it lasted for hours at a time. You would sleep wrapped up in your vampire's arms, safe and comfortable, tonight.

You were both pulling on your boots when Karlach found you.

"There you are!" she said. "Why didn't you tell us where you'd run off to?"

You shrugged. "I wanted the peace and quiet," you said honestly. "Besides, you all take forever to clean off."

Astarion snickered. "She's right about that."

Karlach sat on the moss, staring at the waterfall. "Well, you're right about one thing, soldier—this place is peaceful."

You hummed your agreement. "Yes. I'm glad we camped near it, or I never would have found it."

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

"Hunting," you said.

"Really? I assumed it must have been when you and Astarion sneak out so the rest of us can't hear you having sex." You choked on air and she laughed. "What? He found it easily!"

Astarion spluttered. "Because I could smell her!"

You sighed. "Karlach, we stopped sneaking off ages ago. We don't need to, we sleep in the same tent now. Rest assured, if anything is happening, it's happening silently and the rest of you are none the wiser to it."

"That doesn't make me rest assured."

You laughed. Astarion smiled at you, the kind of smile that made his eyes seem a little less dark and made you really remember that he was an elf.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm going back to camp," he said. "I'm sure there's much to discuss about these...impertinent creatures who keep attacking us." He kissed your cheek and whispered into your ear, "I'll see you tonight, darling. What we do is up to you."

Before he could leave, you reached over and held his cheek, kissing him firmly on the lips. He smiled into it.

"Lovebirds," Karlach groaned, rolling her eyes, "will you please get a room?"

"The next time we stop at an inn—yes," Astarion said, winked at you, then disappeared into the woods.

You gulped. "I pity whoever is in the room next to us."

Karlach snorted. "I pity you and your poor cervix!"

"Karlach!" You splashed her with water and she roared with laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Only slightly."

You huffed, scooped up your weapons, and started back to camp. Karlach followed.

"I mean, in all honesty, you two were so loud that first time we all heard you at camp, even though you snuck away. Kept us all awake, but you sounded like you were having a good time. So clearly he's doing something right, but can you take all of that every time? You were walking with a limp the next morning—"

"Okay, let's change the subject," you said loudly, heat racing through your body. Remembrance pulsed through you again, ghostly touches and reminders of just how easily Astarion made you scream.

She giggled. Gods, she was spending too much time with you and Astarion; he was rubbing off on her. "Oh, yes, because what would poor Gale say if he heard?"

You rolled your eyes. "It's not Gale I'm worried about, it's Astarion. If he hears you, he's going to become insufferable."

"Isn't he already?"

You whacked her with the flat end of your sheathed dagger. She laughed, putting her hands up in surrender.

The others were cleaning up camp when you arrived, scrubbing blood from tents and carpets and hauling away corpses and severed limbs.

Gale waved when he saw you, then jerked his thumb toward Astarion. "Didn't he just wash?"

You looked over at your vampire, only to find him feeding on a goblin. He looked up at you and grinned sheepishly, a trickle of blood sliding out of his mouth and down his neck.

"I just washed him, actually," you said dryly. "Astarion, you aren't that messy of an eater. What on earth are you doing?"

"Oh, so now you deign to eat the goblins," Karlach scoffed.

He shrugged. "What? I'm hungry!"

You spluttered. "You could have just asked me!"

Astarion wiped his mouth with a feral grin. "Well, I'll keep that in mind later, darling." He winked at you and then blew you a quick kiss. He shoved the carcass into the woods and went into his tent, closing the flap behind him.

Gale sighed heavily before looking back at you. "That one. Are you sure you want to choose that one?"

"Yes, Gale, I want that one."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

~❊~

Night fell. One by one, the others retired to their tents. Only Karlach and Gale remained awake when you left the fire and slipped into Astarion's tent.

He was laying on his side, reading and drinking blood, the picture of leisure. He closed his book immediately when you laid beside him and pulled you flush against his body.

"There you are," he said, snuggling into your shoulder. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming."

You reached up and dragged your fingers through his perfect curls. "You don't have to wonder about that ever, Star. As long as I live, I'll be coming home to you. Even if I have to crawl."

"Gods, I love you," he said, wrapping himself around you. You kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, too," you whispered. He sighed happily and cuddled into you, sliding one of his legs between your own and settling there. A few minutes later, you felt the pressure of his knee against your clothed crotch. "What are you doing, mister?"

He grinned at you, showing both fangs. "Finishing what I started," he said cheekily. He began undoing the lacing at the front of your pants. "Now, just lay still for me, dear. And please do your best to keep quiet—I'd hate to have to cover that pretty mouth with my hand. Again."

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel @cheeslyy @ofmyth-andmagicart @neetheslayer @whispering-depths @freesidexjunkie @lightsinmycity @the0ldmann @gobbodoggo @oooof-ifellforyou @beeblisss @fangboner @aquaarietes @fiercest-eigengrau-skies @niqhtfell @call-me-nyxx @lueji-m @ceres-xiv @tricksy-trinity @graynstairs @rosa-rubus @ynisthatyou

[paperultra]

HOME (TO THE OL’ BALL AND CHAIN)

(OR, THE PIÑA COLADA SONG)

Pairing: Chilchuck Tims x Fem!Chilchuck's Wife!Reader Word Count: 2,499 words Warnings: None Summary: Five years after leaving your first and only love, you take the plunge into the dating scene – and immediately regret it. Maybe you're too picky, but none of the men you go out with seem to fit the bill; they're too non-committal, or too eager, or too happy, or too sad, or simply just too much ... so after a particularly bad experience, your youngest makes a last-ditch effort to set you up on a blind date with someone who she insists deserves a chance. You reluctantly agree. read on ao3 | read on quotev

DATE #1: CASUAL LUNCH Estranged husband — 1 Estranged wife — 1 Everything left unsaid — as desired

There’s bacon grease on his shirt.

You can see it underneath his collar, round fingerprints staining the pale linen grey, and when he leans across the threshold into Fler’s home all you can think about is laundry day at the end of the week.

It would be rude to admit that out loud, though.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you say.

“When can I see you again?”

“I don’t know.”

Abelwood teeters forward still. “Well, don’t take too long, hear? You ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

Laughter erupts from the beer in his gut, and you laugh along with him. Abelwood is a rowdy drunk, you’ve learned, which is better than a cruel drunk or a lecherous drunk. It is not the kind of drunk that you are used to bringing home, even if he is only brought to the front door, but –

You smile, regardless.

“Goodnight,” you bid, closing the door inch by inch, your last bit of energy disappearing with the click of the lock.

You hold your breath. It takes three minutes and thirty-seven seconds for the man to leave your front doorstep, and you wait thirty more seconds after that to peek through the window, verifying that he is far enough away before resting your forehead against the door with a groan.

“Oh, boy.”

“I’m too old for this, Fler,” you mutter into the wood. “He was awful.”

Flertom lets out a sigh and closes the distance to squeeze you in a hug, pressing her cheek against your back like she’s done ever since she grew tall enough to do so. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she says.

“I’m sorry too.”

As you pat her hands and turn around to smile wryly at her, Puckpatti pipes up from the middle of the living room.

“He was a pig,” she exclaims. “Calling you by your first name! And he wasn’t even that handsome!”

“Looks aren’t everything, Puck,” you reply sharply, and she pouts, squeezing the lump of clay in her hands until it squishes out between her fingers. “He was a pig for the way he acted.”

“Well … that too.”

“He also smelled like one,” Fler says.

You detach yourself from your daughter to loosen the belt at your waist, frowning down at your dress and nice leather shoes. The dress feels just about as worn out as you do, the fabric soft and droopy from the humidity, the sunshine-yellow color less vibrant than it had been earlier this evening. The man had spilled beer on the floor of the bar and your shoes still look slightly sticky. Peeling them off just reminds you of the way he had laughed.

“Fler,” you say, “get me a wet rag, would you?”

“Sure, Mama.” Flertom turns to Puckpatti. “Puck, get a wet rag.”

“My hands are all dirty!” your youngest protests, showing her grey palms. “Mei’s closer to the water bucket.” She points to Meijack, who you now notice lingering by the kitchen.

Meijack blinks slowly, then silently fetches a rag, wets it, and brings it to you.

“Are you gonna keep trying, Ma?” she asks while you scrub the heel of your left shoe. “All these guys seem to be wasting your time.”

The chuckle that leaves your mouth is short and dry. “After this one, I don’t think so.” You glance up at your daughters and smile, straightening. “Maybe I should just take you all out on a girls’ date next time, huh? Forget about men for a little while.”

Meijack shrugs. Puckpatti nods eagerly.

“I just don’t know what’s wrong,” Flertom frets. “I’ve seen most of them at work before, and they seemed nice enough even when they were drunk …”

You shrug hopelessly and cross into the living room to sit on the couch. “Maybe it’s me.” As you lean back into the cushions, Meijack and Flertom join you on either side. “I’ve only ever been with one man my whole life. Maybe I don’t even know what I want …”

There’s a moment of silence. You look up at the ceiling of Flertom’s home, rubbing your temples and willing your frustration with yourself to not spill over while your daughters are watching. How embarrassing. Here you are, their mother, who is supposed to show them an example of a happy relationship, only for them to comfort you after another failed date. It should be the other way around. Half-foots don’t live long enough for things like this; your own mother had told you when you first left him that you should’ve just sucked it up.

Finally, Flertom speaks up. “Mama,” she starts, hesitant, and you look over to see her playing with her fingers, “Do you really want to date someone?”

“It’s been long enough, don’t you think?” you answer.

As you say so, a name resurfaces in your mind, unbidden, and the face that belongs to it. Your jaw tightens and you look down at your hands.

“Well … um … Papa wrote last week, and he said that he wanted to talk to you sometime. Just a little bit.”

Your tone hardens. “And what does that have to do with me dating, Fler?”

She flinches and her lips push out. “Come on, Mama! It’s been years, and after everything he went through, I really think he’s better now! Don’t you at least want to talk to him? You were so in love with each other before he started adventuring, and now that he’s retired from it …”

You hold your hand up, and her jaw clicks shut.

“I know what you’re getting at, Flertom,” you say quietly. “And right now is not the best time to bring up your father.”

Your daughter deflates, her cheeks rosy. “But –”

“I mean it.” Standing, you heave a deep breath and examine the cluttered workstation that Puckpatti had set up on the living room table. “Puckpatti, make sure to clean up after you’re done. I’m going to bed.”

While the girls mope, you head to your bedroom, doing your best to occupy your thoughts with work at the blacksmith’s tomorrow. You think about the chain mail you’re supposed to be making, the little metal rings to form and weave together, and hope they’re what you dream of, not self-absorbed dates or unwanted kisses.

You blame Flertom for the auburn hair and hearty laughs that plague your night instead.

—

A week later, Puckpatti accosts you as soon as you walk through the door.

“Mama, I found a man for you!”

“Oh?” you reply blandly, hand still clutching at your chest from having the living daylights scared out of it. “Who is it?”

“That’s a secret! But he’s really nice, I promise.”

Sighing, you remove your vest. “I don’t know, Puck. How did you meet him?”

“He bought one of my clay sticks.” You can’t stop yourself from frowning, despite your desire to support your daughter’s entrepreneurial spirit, and she giggles. “Oh, please, Mama, he didn’t believe my pitch. I think I just charmed him into buying it. He seems really clever!”

“Are you sure he wasn’t interested in you?”

She makes a disgusted face. “Eww! No, I told him about you and he seemed interested.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mama, you’re a catch. Of course he’d want to go on a date with you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, honey.” You glance at her before heading to the kitchen to put away the bread and cheese you’d bought. “Is he a half-foot?”

“Maybe.”

“I thought I’d met all the half-foots in Kahka Brud.”

“Maybe he just moved here.”

She looks up innocently when you raise an eyebrow at her. “And you’re sure I’ll like him,” you drawl, more suspicious by the minute. (Of what, you’re not quite sure.)

“Positive.”

It is incredibly difficult, you think with equal parts pride and concern, to say no to your youngest daughter. It’s probably why you worry about her the most. “This is the last date I’ll go on, Puckpatti. It will be on you.”

Puckpatti cheers. She hugs you as you chuckle at her enthusiasm, jumping up and down. “Yay! I’ll get a time and day that’ll work best. It’ll be great! You’ll love him!”

“For your sake, I hope so.”

—

The day arrives with a mellow sun and clear sky.

You wear your green dress with the floral details, and Puckpatti picks a necklace to go along with it, a thin, simple one that you haven’t worn in years. Flertom does your makeup and Meijack does your hair.

And as you sit in a corner of the tavern fifteen minutes early, hands nervously clasped in your lap, you wonder, just as you have with every date prior, what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Maybe he won’t show up. It would be improper, and juvenile, but then you could go home and say that you did try. Your desire for a new romance has all but dwindled completely, and as you trace the scratches on the wooden table, you wonder if it was even a desire at all.

Footsteps approach from behind. You can tell they belong to a half-foot by the weight and sound – light and small – as they come around to the other side of the table. Your shoulders tighten. Forcing a smile, you look up.

Your heart promptly surges upward into your throat before plummeting to your toes.

Chilchuck gawks down at you, eyes wide. His mouth parts to utter your full name, and you feel your lungs squeeze at how it sounds coming from him, soft from years of disuse.

“You came,” he says.

“Chil – Chilchuck.” His name is ashy and sweet behind your teeth. “What are you doing here?”

He furrows his brow. “What do you mean? The girls said that you were willing to meet up.”

“No, I’m meeting with one of Puck’s customers.”

“What? That doesn’t …” he trails off, and the two of you seem to realize the same thing at the same time.

You bury your head in your hand as Chilchuck grits his teeth.

Those scheming …

“I’m sorry they dragged you into this,” you mutter as you get up from your seat, your voice cold and flat. “I’ll be going now.”

His head snaps up. “Going? But –”

You hurry past him, dodging the hand that you know has reached out for your own.

Home is a ten-minute walk away. You can clear your head in that time, then scold your daughters for meddling, though it’s partially your fault for not questioning Puckpatti about your supposed date more thoroughly. You just didn’t think that they would try something like this.

(Or that Chilchuck would bother to go along with it.)

You pull the door open with some effort and rush out into a downpour of rain.

Your hair gets drenched before you backpedal with a yelp. Pressing against the wall underneath the awning, you look out helplessly at the soaked streets, their gutters already filling with water and debris flowing down the incline. Is … is that a drowning rat?

The storm’s earthiness floods your nose, late in its prediction by half an hour. Just your luck.

You fumble with the clasp of your necklace to remove it, not wanting to get it wet. While you struggle, the tavern door creaks open behind you.

“So you don’t even want to talk. Even after all these years, you’re going to walk away again.”

“Do you know why I walked away the first time?” The damn thing won’t unhook. You scowl, the presence at your back making your usually nimble fingers clumsy.

“No,” Chilchuck says. “I don’t. Not for certain.”

“That’s why.” With each failed attempt to separate the rings, your fingertips grow sorer, your throat thickening. He’s too close. You hate how he’s watching you fail such a simple task. “You stopped knowing, Chilchuck. That’s why.”

Underneath the sharp sound of rain, you can hear his breath hitch, then quiet.

You bite your lip and let your arms fall to your sides, giving up on trying to take your necklace off. Your chest aches. You don’t want to cry in front of him.

“So, there, we talked like you wanted.”

He stops you before you can step out into the rain.

“Wait. What … what about your necklace?” he asks hesitantly, like it’s not what he really wants to say, but merely a way to stall for time.

This time, you look over your shoulder at him. “I’ll dry it real well once I get home,” you reply.

Chilchuck’s mouth presses into a fine line. He grabs the cloak folded over the crook of his elbow, and it is then that you notice the bouquet of blue and pink flowers in his other hand. The ache in your chest flares into a raw, pulsing hurt.

“I’m guessing you’d rather not have me walk you.” He speaks evenly, holding his cloak out towards you. “It’s not completely waterproof, but keep this over your head, at least …” his voice quiets, “please.”

Wordlessly, you take the garment from him. The inner lining is warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you. “For not knowing.” His fist tightens around the flowers, and he stares at you resolutely. “I want to again, if you’ll let me.”

Ah.

You swallow. “I … I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t have to be today. I can wait.”

Breaking eye contact and looking down, Chilchuck roughs his fingers through his hair, mussing it up. The cut is the same as it’s always been, auburn bangs thick and soft over his brow. And you recognize the shirt he’s wearing, a practical, clean wool shirt that you made some years ago. He’s taken good care of it.

It’s all the same. All the same, and yet, something that you can’t quite identify has changed.

You bring his cloak closer to your chest and bite your bottom lip.

“… Give me a week.”

His entire body loses its tension.

“Really?” He looks at you like he can’t believe it, and you avert your gaze, ears warming and moving back the slightest bit.

“Give me a week to decide,” you clarify. “Fler or Mei will let you know … this is really abrupt, after all …”

Chilchuck nods. “That’s fine!” he exclaims. “You didn’t know, so I understand. A week is – a week’s good.”

You nod back, hesitant.

The rain continues its heavy downpour.

“Right … well …” you turn slightly, casting him one last glance, “I’ll give your cloak back, regardless. Don’t get sick.”

“Okay. Stay … stay safe.”

With that, you wrap yourself in the thick fabric, rushing out of the safety of the awning. The run back home smells of woodsmoke and thyme, and when you open the door to three guilty daughters and three apologies, it lingers.

You hang his cloak near the fireplace. It’s evidence of a weak resolve that you stay until it’s dry, and even more damning that you know your answer long before it is.

[mihii-i]

Pls do something with Andrew and a fem reader I feel like there's too little content of him, of course you don't have to and I totally get if you don't want to just do it when you have time and if you want to

don’t you wanna make me proud?

Pairings: andrew graves x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, dark themes, unprotected sex, marking, smoking, blood, murder, mild gore, decapitation, manipulation, argument, guilt tripping, established relationship, toxic relationship, but he does love reader don’t worry, reader’s also a bad person, there’s no incest shut up, ashley’s actually fucking dead, mild 3A spoilers, guy and woman kissing during pride month my bad guys, slightly ooc but for a reason I swear, crybabies that’ll unfollow me again lmaoo, I mean this shouldn’t be romanticized but this game’s fucked up anyway- INCEST FANS DNI AND SEEK HELP, not proofread.

A/N: I have to clarify this on EVERY tcoaal post, but no I don’t support incest don’t cry in my comments and yes, this game is actually good. it’s not as bad as you say it is, and if you somehow think this is gooner material, you have problems if you goon to this game. also again if yall unfollow thats ur choice on being uneducated so go interact with my other content tf….now playing — I like the way you kiss me by artemas. 🕯️

Warm, metallic flicks of the lighter dragging the flint wheel against chrome swiftly elicited a scratchy hiss that echoed throughout the cramped motel. Followed by a gentle orange glow crackling along the lit end of the cigarette, caving the off white rolling paper to crumple and darken into a blackening grime folding in a brownish gradient upward. Your jaw tightened at the nauseating hit of nicotine clouding the air as a wreck to your train of thought, with even the slightest sound equivalent to a pin drop serving to easily irritate you.

Your gaze narrowed over to the scrunched cushions of the torn up couch, rips and scratches littered over the grey cotton tugged down alongside a few stains of god knows what rubbed on various edges. Though, your boyfriend didn’t seem to mind much while he lounged carelessly on the couch, head tipped back over the edge and legs crossed over the opposing armrest with his knees barely bent to accommodate his taller frame within the confines of the annoyingly small sofa.

Andrew’s fingers kept on the thin cylinder of his cigarette pressed to his chapped lips, while his ring finger idly traced along his chin whenever he drew in a breath to ease his nerves, green eyes mindlessly dozing off into the distance as if he contemplated on an elaborate scenario that awaited you two. He hadn’t exactly been subtle regarding his clear distaste for the wretched situation the two of you had landed yourselves in, despite his eyes scripting a drastically different story from what his mouth said.

That sickening memory was all too clear, the outlines of her once intact skull flat against the carpet, left to drown in her own blood as seeping pools of crimson swallowed up the dampening fabric. Eyes devoid of any light, lacking unshed tears with her sliced head detached from her neck that carried the dead weight of the rest of her body in her usual clothing. Such a horrific sight to behold as you trembled, hand clasped over your mouth to choke in the feeling of your own hot breaths trapped in your humid palm while you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her corpse.

Yet Andrew on the other hand kept his sights fixed on the floor, face decorated with reddening splatters that ranged all over the left side of his face, along with his palm painted in his own sister’s blood as he gripped the polished wood of the cleaver—now tainted with the vermillion that he shared with the one who lay dead before his feet. Dread snaked its way within your senses at Andrew’s gruesome display of rage blinding the usually calm man, even more so whenever you were met with Ashley laying limp on the floor. Unable to respond, nor protest.

You hated her. Never was there a time you hadn’t wished death upon the disgustingly attached piece of shit that refused to grow up from clinging to her brother. Seeking to preserve a fantasy of having her caretaker at her beck and call in such deluded hatred and cuts of anyone else that seemed to come close to him. Hell, you wanted to find your own chance to cut her neck off with that cleaver, and delight in the sight of her gone to be plunged into the burning pits of the underworld.

Despite all that, you couldn’t even swallow back the pure trepidation lumped in your throat at the sight of your longing wish finally come true. Fuck, didn’t feel as good as you hoped…if anything it made you feel awful, retracting every mental thought that piled up to cover the initial elation to see those once hatred filled pink eyes finally darken. Hatred morphing into pity & remorse plagued by fear. Fear that crashed onto you with Andrew’s lapse in judgement when he struck his sister, his glare cold and unfeeling when set on her laying without any sort of burial.

But you knew, behind that oddly cool expression, lie a scream of misery and regret, rotting him from the inside out with the lingering whispers of him wiping out the only person he ever had before. The girl he raised perished by the claw of his own hands, that were drowned in her blood.

No matter. You were still here, right? He was fine with that. His darling girlfriend just needed to support him through the loss of his sister. It’s better this way, no matter how much he missed her.

Strangely enough, he was able to play it off unaffected. Although the consequence remained with his feelings for you simply stinging tenfold. Playing the role of the overprotective boyfriend, dictating the two of you as a single aspect rather than seperately as he refused to let go. Decisions he made had to accomodate to you both, and the thought alone of you no longer at his side only widened the existing pit aching in his stomach.

You wouldn’t think to leave the man you loved, he’s going through a hard time. He lost his sister after all, so you should stick by his side. No matter how much he frustrates you, or how much of a dick he’s been recently, stay by his side.

You can do that, can’t you, (Name)?

He’s scared he’ll let you down.

Distressful silence swallowed the tense air continuously as you expelled a hushed sigh, growing increasingly perturbed by the lack of noise from Andrew still letting clouds of smoke roll off his tongue in a thick, fluffed fog. His knee poked further out of the torn denim holes from his jeans, loose threads peeking out of the rips the further his leg retracted back to sit upward.

“Andrew.”

You finally spoke his name firmly, pivoting over from the flimsy wood of your chair to face him. Well, that certainly caught his attention as he whipped his head over to you, messy locks hung down his head as his fluffed hair stuck out. The quizzical expression plastered along his face almost made you reconsider retaliating his recently shut out behavior, blurs of exhaustion lined along the bottom of his eyes in darkened circles bagging down his face. It made you feel sorry for the tireless efforts he exerted for the sake of you.

“Hm?”

“So..about the next course of action after we get out of here? We need to have a plan somehow.”

Andrew only clicked his tongue pensively to the roof of his mouth, pondering possible scenarios of what he could possibly do upon vacating this crappy motel. Pursing his lips, his sharp eyebrows furrowed deep in thought to evaluate any possible outcome that hurled his way. Both to keep you safe, and to eventually end up out of the run in the shadow of his awful self—hopefully safe with you in the disgruntled effects of this awful person he was. He blinked, curling up off the couch as his socked feet planted into the ground with his elbow resting atop his thigh.

“I don’t have anything. Give me a bit, (Name).”

Since when was your boyfriend suck a lazy prick? At least get a hook of sorts on what you could ease into gradually! You wondered with the drops of sanity left in you on what consumed the once calculating and farsighted man who planned ahead on the smallest of conundrums, shielding you from any ills possible. Perhaps the previous encounter with Lord Unkown—or that’s who Andrew said he was—could’ve played a part, or maybe your lack of cooperation with his initial plan. Either he was drained and unable to formulate his thoughts properly, or he was just straight up upset with you. Well, the latter made more sense in this case.

“Look, if this is about us being caught by the police, I’m sorry. But we disposed of them and even destroyed the camera! I just wasn’t thinking with that giant demon and accidentally caught the attention of an officer. It’s been handled, we can move on.”

Andrew only exhaled a scoff through his teeth squinting over at you to contain the deep wave of disdain. He couldn’t possibly be upset with his love, yet why wouldn’t you listen to him? Why didn’t you trust him?

“I told you to trust me. And we don’t know if the footage was deleted altogether, by the way. We just got rid of any other potential footage of us butchering the cops.”

“I always listen to you, Andrew. You can’t flip out because I thought you were going crazy with a single idea. I just thought my judgement would be the better one. And how was I supposed to trust that your idea would be more ‘beneficial’ as you put it?”

“Stick around and you’ll find out.”

You grumbled at his vague, yet cryptic reply huffed past those beautiful lips, deep in their desaturated hue. Likely from the lack of being tended to and cared for. Standing from your chair, you stepped over to his spot on the couch, plopping yourself down at his side against his shoulder, baggy drags of black fabric draped loosely past his exposed collarbone to brush against your arm. Expression knit tight, you delivered a disapproving shove to his arm, earning that darkened expression as he cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what’s been up with you lately, but—“

“But what? Don’t tell me you’re taking it out on me for your screw-ups.”

By the second, you could feel your seething vexations slipping through the cracks of your composure at Andrew’s indignant attitude and presumed grudge harbored toward you. You drew in a deep breath, scrambling for any sense of control over wanting to smack him upside the head before rising to your feet, folding your arms as you stared down at Andrew not even bothering to look over at you.

“What the fuck..? Look at me when I talk to you.”

You hadn’t done anything, to be frank. In fact, Andrew preferred your company far more than Ashley’s. Even enjoying yours by miles ahead due to your civilized nature, and endearment of reciprocated affection toward him. He’d hate to hurt you, but of course your refutation towards his already shattered mental state could do nothing but drive him crazy, even as Ashley’s ghost continued to haunt him. Leading to him abruptly kicking the bottom of the dented coffee table as the ashtray clanked against the wood, and standing upright before you furiously.

“You don’t get to order me around, (Name)!”

“Then quit being pathetic and act like my partner for once instead of a child who didn’t get his way!”

“Why can’t you see it?! I’m clearly hurting! Can’t you atleast stick by me instead of being a bitch! Hell, I should’ve killed you instead of her!”

Shit. That one stung.

Your breaths only came out ragged and uneven at his words that cut you apart from the inside, prodding at your heart gently before spearing through. You didn’t know what you expected from him, he did raise her his whole life after all. By now, Andrew had picked up on the mindless words he had spewed out in no time, his initial heated irritation boiling down back to the plane of rationality.

“(Name). You know I didn’t—“

“Is that how you really feel, Andrew?” You heaved out, your own heavy lidded eyes meeting his. He was quick to shake his head vigorously, stepping back from you as he raised a hand to his nape, the tag of his sweater flicking along his skin in his increased sense of everything around him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before he fell back into the couch, head craned down to bury in his knees as he set the shrunken cigarette into the ashtray weakly. “I love you. But I can’t help but wonder if I regret it.”

Unfortunately, you shouldn’t understand. You shouldn’t feel sympathy for this man who missed someone who clung to him like a leech. And yet, here you were. Weak in his wallowing call of pity that bit at his judgement and possessed its collar of need on him.

“You know I love you.” He reiterated, almost pleading for you to stay with him, knowing the foul monster he was in a corrupted cage of dread. You could simply sit beside him once more, cheek smushed to his shoulder from sheer exhaustion building up within you. Both of you.

“Sorry. I forgot it’s tough for you.”

“Don’t be, my love. It’s just, I lost my sister. The girl I raised. Dead by my own hand. Can’t you spare some patience for me? I know I haven’t been able to think straight recently.”

You hesitantly stared down at your lap, chest twisted in rue. He’s going through such a hard time, and so are you. He was the only pillar you could lean on in this storm of grief you could navigate through, and you were his. Your lover and clear equal, the one you’d give up the world for and vice versa.

“I’m going through a bit. Love me the way I love you, (Name).”

“I do love you. I’d never let you go over something so petty.”

“My beloved.”

He leaned further into your touch to seek a brief sliver of warmth radiated by you, jet black locks tickling your face as he breathed out a hum of contentment.

“Mm. Wonder what I get from following your orders then?”

“…don’t you wanna make me proud?”

“…I do.”

Andrew tentatively clasped his hand in yours, lacing his fingers as he thumbed at the soft flesh contrasting his leather like touch, sighing out in utter need to adhere to the warmth he sought from you.

“Can I make it up to you?”

“As in sex?”

“You’re way too on the nose about it…but yeah.”

Your gaze pierced those hollows of devilish green at his gradually reddening face, eyes hooded low as you carefully examined him up and down, wanting to take in his thin figure concealed by the baggy clothing he wore.

“Of course.”

That small whisper was the final switch that flipped over, darkening the empty cavern that was Andrew himself to fill up with your existence as his ground. The tip of his nose nudged up to yours as his eyes never left you, flickering down to your lips for a split second through his hazed vision blurring together lust and love into one. Before lunging in to collide his lips to lock against your own. In which you gratefully accepted, leaning into the kiss you yearned for as your hand squeezed his at the painfully close proximity.

—

It would be pathetic hadn’t you loved him, really.

The way you caved in so quickly to his pleas, happy to sob out those sharp, needy gasps that occasionally dissolved into a choked out moan when you felt him inside you. Yet it was of no concern to be ashamed of, especially when it was something you craved no matter how swollen your cunt ended up being, or how bruised your body was from the various marks he ingrained onto you. His apology was quite enough for you to bask in when he took care of you this well.

You were utterly drunk on the dizzying bliss of Andrew prying you open on his thick cock, legs coiled tightly around the bony end of his waist as his thin figure stuck to yours in a thin layer of sweat. His nose dug deeper into your feverish skin to scramble for some sense of semblance in the blanking ardor that intensified with each thrust into you, each contraction of your spongy walls squeezing around him as if you were begging him to stay inside you.

Surely his hunger for your pussy was difficult—if not impossible to satiate, while the fire that raged within him to drive himself into you couldn’t be put down even by an army. His need for you only rose everytime he rolled his hips in and out of your cunt, starved gaze flickering to the glistening slick moist along every inch of his length. Showing you with every breath expelled from his body, every movement and every ounce of his being to let that display of affection shine through.

His physical need for your body wasn’t even enough. Thrusts burying himself deep inside you, pressing his tip roughly to dig into your womb a scorching testament to how badly he desired you, what you truly were to him. A show of how intense the need for his everything was. Fingers sinking into your thighs, his bruising hold on you tightened, squeezing the cloud-like softness that brought about his refuge, fervent thrusts speeding up to seek more of your whimpers gradually heightening in pitch and volume as his veins dragged along the gummy velvet of your walls.

Lingering kisses sloppily traced down your throat to your chest as his tongue ran long every purple tinged bloom of his teeth dragging your skin to suck in, accompanied by outlines of his teeth dotted in your flesh. Alleviated by his warm tongue pressed to those marks as an apology of sorts. An apology for the pain you endured for his desire, and a remedy for you to be enveloped in the same desire of his which you both yearn for.

Andrew’s quickening thrusts speared into you over and over as your shaky thighs remained pushed apart in his iron grasp, your free hand off his back tangling in his dark hair, threading through before squeezing a fistful of his locks to ground yourself from his harsh movements. Rather than gently rolling his hips at a leisurely pace, he merely rammed them forward to slam into you, lodging his cock deep within you as he relished in the vice like grip you maintained around him.

Your nails dragged down his back swiftly at the height of your intense orgasm drowning you in pleasure, heart slamming against your chest as you could only manage a small whimper once he withdrew his cock from you, ropes of hot white painting your lower stomach. Without hesitation, Andrew hemmed you in his protective grasp, thin arms wrapped around you as your hand rubbed his shoulder, seeking his affection after practically being hit with the wave of your climax.

You weren’t supposed to cling to him like this.

You were supposed to let him know this was pathetic.

But you weren’t any less pathetic, were you?

Andrew finally rasped out in his strained voice, clearly faded from the low groans he let out earlier.

“I’m so proud of you.”

A/N: OMFG help this was highk fun to write because I’m really in my dark themes mood and I feel guilty if I write it with my comfort characters—but honestly tcoaal is perfect for writing these kinda themes so. But tbh again, if yall cry im writing for this game just leave atp and don’t be dicks my bday is tomorrow yippee because again, if you refuse to be educated on this game and want to point fingers with TikTok and Twitter knowledge be my guest.

Also, to the requester, please don’t be so cautious with your request. It makes me upset how the tcoaal fandom is a mix of weirdos and normal people, and the normal ones get treated like utter ass by rude fucks, so requests are overly cautious. Ofc I’d be happy to write your request especially cause you asked nicely, but honestly take care of yourself and bring up the confidence when requesting ❤️

And again, don’t cry in my fucking comments…yall wanna cry about video games but where are yall working towards stopping ACTUAL issues like…I dunno fucking human trafficking, child marriage, HELL EVEN IRL INCEST WHERE PEOPLE ARE MADE TO MARRY THEIR COUSINS. So if you really wanna talk about how incest is bad, stop acting like something that isn’t glorifying incest is, and go help the world you sorry excuse of a human. I love all of u guys sm and this fic was high key fun to write because me and my friend were on call and I asked him whether I should add the nsfw or not lmao

[slvtrlv]

~ ULTRAVIOLENCE ~

part 1. Cruel world

Summary: "…I did what I had to do. I found another, anyhow..." Y/N leaves home behind with nothing but a suitcase and her mother's rosary. Birmingham is cruel, grey, and teeming with danger. But Tommy Shelby notices her. He always notices the broken things.

Relationship: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader.

Warning: diary style, smut, 18+, smoking, alcohol, slow-burn, drama, angst, fluff, age-gap, power dynamics, obsession, protection, forbidden love, feminine rage & surrender, based on album "ultraviolence" by lana del rey.

Words: 1264

A/N: comments and reblogs are appreciated

_ _ _

“…Share my body and my life with you. That's way over now. There's not anymore I can do…” — Y/N’s diary, 1923

The Garrison was half-asleep when I walked in, a lull between violence. The kind of silence that comes after blood has dried and before it spills again.

I stepped inside slowly, like I was slipping into something forbidden. My coat was too thin for the storm behind me, the hem soaked through, dragging the wet weight of the streets along the floor. Water dripped from my cuffs, trailing ghostly fingerprints on the wood. My hair clung to my face, damp and curling slightly at the ends like ivy reaching for warmth.

Then a voice cut through the dim. Low. Measured. Too clean for this place, too sharp to be drunk.

— You look like you’re running from something - it came from the shadows, smooth and sure. The kind of voice you don’t argue with because it already knows the end of the story.

I didn’t flinch.

I turned my head slowly toward the sound, lashes heavy with rain. My eyes were darker than they should’ve been, like something had been left behind in them. Something bruised. Something watching.

— Aren’t we all? - my voice was calm, disinterested, the kind of calm only someone very tired or very dangerous could fake.

The warmth of the room pressed against me like a body. Firelight crackled from behind the bar, catching the edge of every bottle like the glint of a blade. Men spoke in low tones, hands wrapped around half-full glasses and half-empty threats. But I didn’t see them.

I only see him. Thomas Shelby. Lit by a single amber lamp and the orange flicker of his cigarette. Smoke curled upward, soft and slow, like it had nowhere better to be.

— Not me - he said, exhaling smoke through his nose like a man who'd already made peace with the devil — I don’t run.

I stepped farther inside, the door clicking shut behind me. It felt like a lock. Like a choice. My boots left damp prints on the floorboards, small and shapeless like a girl trying to forget where she came from.

— Then what do you do, Mr. Not-Running? - I asked with a half-smile, the kind that doesn’t reach the all honey and knives eyes. A challenge in a teacup voice. He didn’t blink.

— I handle things - he replied, tapping ash into the tray with precision — Problems. People. Threats.

The words didn’t sound like a boast. They sounded like facts. Like bullets counted after a job. I tilted my head, letting the pause linger just a second longer than polite.

— Sounds exhausting.

He smiled, if you could call it that. Just a twitch of the mouth, not warmth. Recognition, maybe. Or restraint.

He’d been flirted with before. He’d been wanted. But this wasn’t that. This was something different. I wasn’t a girl in love with danger: I was danger, still raw, still bleeding at the edges.

— You’re not from here - he said then, voice quieter now, almost curious.

I looked around: the stained-glass windows dulled with smoke, the worn-down bar polished by generations of elbows, the rust-red wallpaper clinging to the walls like secrets.

— What gave me away?

— Your coat - he said simply — Stitched by hand. Not Birmingham work. Boots too fine for a factory girl. And you smell like lilies.

That last part made my chest tighten. Not because he noticed - but because he noticed everything.

— You make a habit of smelling girls who walk through your door? - he tapped the end of his cigarette, eyes steady.

— No. Just the dangerous ones - I narrowed my gaze, amused and wary all at once.

— I’m not dangerous - he looked at me for a long, measured moment.

— Not yet - he gestured toward the seat across from him. I sat without hesitation, without breaking eye contact. I didn’t ask his name. I didn’t need to.

Thomas Shelby. The name wrapped itself around Birmingham like a noose. Sweet. Lethal. Impossible to forget.

He poured a drink without asking.

— Whiskey?

— If I say no, will it matter?

— Not really - the glass was heavy, warm from his hand. The first sip hit my throat like a warning. I didn’t flinch. But he noticed anyway.

— You don’t drink much.

— I don’t do anything much - I replied, watching him over the rim of my glass — But that doesn’t mean I won’t start.

He studied me then, like a soldier studies a map. Like he was calculating how far I'd already come and how far I had left before I’d break.

— How old are you? - his tone had shifted, quieter, more dangerous for it. Like he was deciding how deep he’d let himself go.

— Twenty - I said it without blinking. I said it like someone who had been twenty for years.

He didn’t reply. Just inhaled, smoke curling like a question.

— That’s young.

— Maybe.

Another silence stretched, this one more intimate. The kind that breathes between two people who don’t know each other’s names, but know each other’s damage.

He didn’t ask why I was in Birmingham. And I didn’t offer it. But he could read it in my posture: the way I sat like I didn’t expect to be allowed to stay. In the bruise under my collarbone, blooming purple just above the edge of my dress. In the calluses on my hands, earned from more than just work.

— You shouldn’t be here - he said finally. Not as a threat. More like an apology he didn’t believe in.

— And yet I am - I replied, my eyes meeting his, really meeting them — Why does that bother you?

His mouth didn’t move, but something behind his eyes did.

— Because girls like you get eaten alive here - I tilted my chin slightly, like I was daring him to be right.

— Then maybe I’m hungry too - that stopped him. Not startled, he didn’t rattle. But something went still. Like a dog hearing the soft click of a rifle.

— I’m not going to save you - his voice was the barest breath of a threat. Or a promise. Or both.

— I didn’t ask you to - I smiled. This time sadder. This time real.

Then I stood. Just like that. One motion. The coat shifted around my shoulders, rain still clinging to the edges. I left without goodbye, without even touching the drink he poured me.

Outside, the air had turned sharp: all metal and wet stone. The rain had softened to a mist, gentle and cold against my cheeks. I didn’t look back. But I knew he was watching me until I disappeared.

Inside, Thomas Shelby reached for the glass I left behind. The lipstick stain still fresh. The heat from my body still ghosting the leather of the seat.

He ran a thumb across the rim of my glass.

And he already knew:
I was going to be a problem.
And he was already deciding if he cared.

DIARY, 1924 He saw me. Not with hunger, not with hands. With knowing. He looked at me like I was a question he’d already answered. Thomas Shelby. His name tastes like smoke and sin. A prayer and a punishment in the same breath. He told me he wouldn’t save me. I believe him. But he didn’t say don’t fall in love with me.
And maybe that’s the cruelest thing of all. — Y/N.

[bat-mom-writer]

Rage and Redemption Part 2

Bruce Wayne X orphan(Female) Reader

Summary: months after losing your parents in a fire, you become a troublesome child for the workers at the orphanage. But one day Bruce Wayne comes to your orphanage to adopt you.

Rating: sad, angst, happy ending?

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bruce Wayne, dressed in a casual yet elegant suit, stepped out of his sleek black car, which purred softly as it came to a stop. Before him stood the orphanage, its ivy-covered bricks telling a story of neglect that starkly contrasted with his polished vehicle. He took a deep breath, his heart weighed down by the enormity of his decision. The cool air, tinged with the faint scent of charred wood from the fire that had devastated the nearby apartments, stirred painful memories. The image of the girl’s tear-stained face lingered in his mind, pushing him to move forward as he approached the building, filled with a sense of compassion and resolve.

As he walked up the familiar, well-worn steps, the door of the orphanage creaked open, unveiling a warm and inviting interior that contrasted sharply with the cold exterior he had just left behind. The joyful sounds of children’s laughter and chatter filled the air, creating a vibrant atmosphere that felt like a heartbeat amid the heavy silence he had endured since that fateful night. He gently closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing down the corridor. Approaching a kind grey-haired woman at a desk, he shared the reason for his visit, his smile reflecting a mixture of hope and nostalgia. In response, she offered him a warm and encouraging smile, guiding him toward Ms. Jenkins' office with genuine warmth, as though she understood the weight of his journey.

With a mischievous grin stretching across your face, you dashed down the dimly lit hallway of the orphanage, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the worn wooden floors. Your heart raced wildly in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and exhilaration coursing through you. In your grasp, you held tightly to a small purse, its fabric cool against your fingers, a prize you’d deftly snatched from Ms. Jenkins’ cluttered office, a thrill of rebellion sparking within you with each step.

A stern voice echoed behind you, but you refused to look back. You knew it was her, the one who had been pursuing you for what felt like an eternity. The click-clack of her heels grew louder, yet you were faster, driven by anger and an urgent need to break free from this place. You charged through the cafeteria, skillfully dodging tables and chairs as the other children stared at you in wide-eyed disbelief, their spoonfuls of oatmeal suspended in mid-air. The smell of burnt toast from the kitchen enveloped you, momentarily overpowering the usual stench of the orphanage.

You jumped onto the first table, the metal screeching under your weight. You kicked a plastic tray off the edge, and its contents splattered on the floor with a loud crash. The laughter of younger kids encouraged you as you moved from table to table, creating chaos. Trays clattered and food was scattered everywhere. You felt a rush of excitement, a feeling you hadn’t experienced since the fire took everything from you.

Ms. Jenkins’ shrill voice closed in, making it clear she was far from amused. The rapid clicking of her heels echoed as two imposing male staff members charged behind her. You could practically feel the heat of their breath on your neck. But as you approached the last table, you seized your moment. You took a determined running start and propelled yourself off the edge, targeting the exit of the cafeteria. The open floor loomed ahead, and freedom was within reach just as Ms. Jenkins and the two staff members rounded the corner, their eyes wide with shock and fury.

With a swift and powerful kick, you launched the last tray into the air, sending its colorful contents flying like a delicious, chaotic storm. As the food scattered across the floor, the three adults—each one heavyset and awkward—lost their footing on the slick surface, their arms windmilling wildly in a desperate attempt to regain balance. The burly men collided with one another, their bodies thudding together, which sent Ms. Jenkins toppling to the ground with a surprised yelp.

The delightful chaos sparked a wave of laughter and squeals from the circle of children nearby, their eyes wide and gleaming with a mix of delight and mischief. The entire scene unfolded like a scene from a live-action cartoon, a perfect blend of slapstick humor and unexpected absurdity, and you couldn't suppress a giggle at the hilarity of it all.

For a brief moment, everything around you seemed to come to a halt, as if time itself had decided to pause. The chaos of the chase morphed into an unexpected dance of slips and stumbles, each mishap adding a touch of humor to the frantic scene. With a surge of adrenaline, you seized the opportunity presented by their misfortunes and sprinted through the cafeteria's exit door. The cool breeze that greeted you felt refreshing against your skin, whispering promises of freedom and escape.

But as your sneakers touched the polished tiles of the hallway, a sudden collision interrupted your joyful laughter. You ran headlong into a wall of muscle and affluence—none other than Bruce Wayne himself. The impact knocked you back onto the floor, sending your purse skidding away from your grasp. Disorientation set in as you blinked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise at the unexpected encounter. Yet, amidst the initial shock, you noticed his expression soften as he recognized you.

“Hey, are you okay?” he inquires, his hand outstretched in an offer to help you up.

But you were quicker than he anticipated, weren’t you? The adrenaline coursing through your veins transformed you into a blur of motion, nimble and swift like a fox darting through a forest. You seized the purse from the cold, unforgiving floor and bolted toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The metal handle glinted in the dim light, tantalizingly close, as if it held the promise of liberation just beyond its threshold.

Freedom was merely a push away, an intoxicating invitation to the vibrant world outside that had been beckoning you for far too long. The smooth, cool surface of the handle felt like the key to a cage in which you had been trapped, yearning for escape and the sweet taste of the open air that awaited you.

Just as you were about to dash away, a hand—firm yet gentle—wrapped around your arm, bringing your frantic movement to an abrupt halt. Startled, you looked up to see Bruce Wayne's familiar face, his expression a mix of concern and determination as he kept you from making your escape.

"What are you running from?" he inquired, his voice steady and calm, cutting through the tension in the air. His grip tightened just enough to convey importance, not enough to inflict pain, but enough to signal that he wouldn’t relent easily.

"Let me go, dipshit!" you snarled, attempting to pull away from him, your eyes blazing with defiance. The purse was still in your hand, and you swung it around, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary.

Bruce's grip didn’t waver. His eyes searched yours for something beyond your hidden anger and fear. “I won’t let you get hurt,” he said, his voice firm yet kind.

Ms. Jenkins and the two male staff members stumbled into the hallway, their faces flushed with exertion and embarrassment from their fall. "There you are!" she exclaimed, her voice high-pitched from the effort of chasing you. She straightened her skirt, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene before her: you, holding her purse, and Bruce Wayne, standing as an unexpected obstacle to her authority.

"Mr. Wayne!" she exclaims her voice a mix of surprise and urgency as her eyes flicker nervously between the designer purse you hold in your hand and the calm, unwavering determination etched on Bruce's face. "I sincerely apologize for this disturbance," she continues, her tone softening slightly as she takes a breath to steady herself. "This girl is quite a handful," she adds, casting a wary glance in your direction as if trying to gauge the situation. With a swift motion, she tilts her head toward the staff members nearby, her fierce expression conveying a clear message for them to take action and intervene.

In an instant, the two burly men grab your arms tightly and pull you behind Ms. Jenkins, wrenching the purse from your grip and spilling its contents on the floor. You struggle to break free and run for the exit, but their hold on you is unyielding.

Ms. Jenkins bends down, her nose in the air as she rummages through her purse, her eyes narrowed in accusation. She picks up a lipstick, then a set of keys, before her hand closes around a small, tattered photo of a family, its edges burned. The sight sends a jolt through her, and her expression softens for a moment as she looks at you, recognizing the pain. But quickly, her face hardens again.

"You know why you can't have this back," she says, her voice low and measured. She holds up the photo, the flimsy paper almost transparent from your constant touch. "You've caused enough trouble today, young lady."

Anger surges in your cheeks as her words pierce through you. That photo was the final fragment of your old life—the one before everything turned to ash and despair. It captured a moment of joy, with you, your mom, and your dad all smiling, the happiness you've yearned for since that fateful night. You wrench against the staff's grip, desperation flooding your voice. “It’s mine! Give it back!” you cry out, but Ms. Jenkins only tucks the photograph into her pocket, a painful reminder of the fire's merciless destruction.

"You'll only get it back when you learn to behave," she says, her voice icy and dismissive. Each word feels like a dagger to your heart, twisting deeper with every syllable. "Take her to detention for the night," she commands the staff, who nod and move to drag you away. You kick and scream, desperation clawing at your throat, but their grip is like iron, unbreakable. Their faces are as hard and unyielding as the prison bars that seem to loom closer with each step, leaving you feeling utterly powerless and frightened.

As you are taken away, you catch a glimpse of Bruce’s face, his brow furrowed and eyes filled with concern. For a moment, you see a flicker of anger aimed not at you, but at Ms. Jenkins. That brief comfort vanishes, replaced by dread as you leave the only person who has shown you kindness since the fire.

Ms. Jenkins looks at Bruce as the two staff members take you to detention. She straightens her skirt and smooths her hair, regaining her usual authoritative stance. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she says, her voice overly sweet. "We have rules for a reason. She's a troublemaker, that one."

Bruce nods, his eyes fixed on you as you turn the corner. He can feel the anger radiating from you—a fierce intensity that he knows well, one that drives his nightly battles as Batman. He fully understands the pain of loss and the unwavering need for justice that comes from witnessing the suffering of the innocent.

Ms. Jenkins clears her throat, regaining his attention. "Not that you're not welcome here, Mr. Wayne, but is there something specific you were looking for?"

He nods, his eyes still lingering on the spot where you had disappeared. "Yes," he clears his throat, "I am looking to adopt."

The words linger in the air, heavy with meaning. Ms. Jenkins’ eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, she is speechless. Then she smiles broadly, clasping her hands. "How wonderful!" she exclaims. "We’re thrilled to have people like you offer homes to our children. They need someone like you to give them a chance at a better life."

Bruce nods, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm interested in her," he says, pointing down the hallway where you were taken.

Ms. Jenkins' smile weakens as she glances back, expecting to find someone there, but finds the hallway empty, save for the distant echoes of your protests. "Who?" she inquires, her tone a bit less pleasant than before.

Bruce maintains his steady gaze on her and responds with clarity, "I’m referring to the girl you just sent to detention—the one you were chasing."

Ms. Jenkins' smile fades into a strained grimace before she quickly recovers. "Ah, her. She's quite a handful, I'm afraid. She's still adjusting to the loss of her parents in the fire, you see. It's been quite a challenge for us to manage her grief and behavior. Would you be interested in another child?" she suggests, her voice saturated with insincere kindness.

But Bruce's mind is made up. With a firm expression on his face, he shakes his head and declares, "No," his voice is steady and resolute. "It's her."

Ms. Jenkins' eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "Mr. Wayne, I must advise against that. She's a very… troubled child. She's been through a lot, and it's affected her in ways we're still trying to understand. She's prone to outbursts, theft, and violence. We've had to restrain her more than once."

Bruce's jaw clenches, but his gaze remains unwavering. "I understand she's been through a traumatic experience, and she needs guidance. I believe I can provide that for her."

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne,” she says, her voice suddenly cold as ice, “but she’s not even on the list of children available for adoption.”

Bruce's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What do you mean she's not on the list?" he demanded, his voice firm with confusion and determination.

Ms. Jenkins' smile shifts into a smug smirk. "Exactly, Mr. Wayne. She is not suitable for adoption at this time."

But Bruce isn't one to be deterred. He reaches into his inner pocket and pulls out a sleek black checkbook. "Twenty thousand," he says, his voice steady, "she's on the list."

Ms. Jenkins' eyes widen at the sight of the checkbook, and for a moment, a greedy expression crosses her face before she quickly regains her composure, adopting a professional demeanor. "Mr. Wayne, I appreciate your generosity, but it's not that simple. The welfare of the children here must be our top priority."

Bruce's hand hovers over the checkbook, the pen ready to sign. "Fifty thousand," he says simply, the words slicing through the tension like a knife.

Ms. Jenkins glances around the empty hallway, seemingly wary of being caught. The distant laughter from the cafeteria fades away. She licks her lips, and her greed is evident. "Why don’t you and I talk more in my office?" she whispers conspiratorially, nodding toward her door, its nameplate glinting in the fluorescent lights.

"Thank you, but I would like that picture back," Bruce says firmly, holding out his hand with his palm up, expecting the family photo.

Ms. Jenkins hesitates, her eyes flicking from the checkbook. "Mr. Wayne, I must insist that the photo stays with us for now," she says, her voice a delicate balance of greed and authority.

Bruce's eyes narrowed, a steely glint reflecting his determination, as he slowly tucked the checkbook back into his pocket. "First, the picture," he repeated, his voice a low, menacing rumble that reverberated off the walls and sent an uneasy silence down the hallway.

Ms. Jenkins lets out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging with the weight of her emotions. With a subtle, trembling hand, she reaches into her pocket and withdraws a worn photo, its edges frayed with time. She places it gently into Bruce's outstretched palm, the paper warm from her touch. To you, it feels like a lifeline—a precious remnant of a past that has been shattered beyond recognition.

As Bruce gazes down at the image, the fierce anger that once burned in his eyes begins to dissolve, giving way to a profound sadness that reverberates in the depths of your own heart. It’s a shared grief, one that has lingered like a haunting shadow since the day of the fire. Carefully, Bruce tucks the photo into his pocket, the corners peeking out like a fragile promise, a glimmer of hope amidst the overwhelming darkness.

“Thank you, please lead the way,” he says, his tone firm and a winning smile on his lips.

Ms. Jenkins nods, her arrogance fading as she realizes she must comply with Bruce. She turns and walks down the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor.

Bruce trails behind, his eyes fixated on the very spot where you were forcibly taken from him. The memory lingers in the air like a haunting specter, as he can almost hear the anguished echo of your cries—each one a desperate plea that pierced through the silence. He recalls the raw urgency in your voice as you begged for the one thing that could provide even a flicker of solace in this cold, heartless world. A tight knot of anger and determination forms in his chest. He vows, with unyielding resolve, that he will never allow anyone to strip that comfort away from you again.

Part 3

[neverniko101]

Niko we need to yap more about Icv!Dream and Curd.

Pretty please a moment of your time 🥺🥺

Something is wrong.

“Obviously, feather-brain,” the Hero huffed from his perch on Curd’s shoulder. “There’s color, for one thing.”

The usual monochrome silence of the woods was broken by the gentle hushing of a nearby ocean, small blossoms and tropical plants shining like gemstones between the grey trunks. Glittering beams of sunlight filtered through trees too high to see the top, a light mist signifying the humid breeze.

I like it.

“Yes, it’s pretty, but does that mean something’s wrong? This has never happened before- the Narrator’s gone too, isn’t he?”

“Oh noooooooo,” the Contrarian commented sarcastically. “WhatEVER shall we do without that overbearing son of a bit-“

“Okay, yes, shut up,” Chara interrupted, flapping his wings irritably.

“You shut up. We’re not getting anything useful just standing here.”

“I guess,” the Hero muttered reluctantly. “It’s not like we can do much other than go to the cabin, anyway.”

Curd nodded, starting down the marked path. Soft dirt stuck to his talons as he walked, foliage whispering as he passed. At the crest of the hill overlooking the cabin, he had to stop, doubling over to catch his breath.

“You’re more built for cold weather, huh,” the Hero said as he examined Curd’s thick white coat of feathers, frazzled in the humidity.

I’m sweating through my feathers.

“Gross. Can birds even do that?”

“Let’s just focus on getting to the cabin. It’s usually nice in there, right?”

The avian skeleton managed to stumble through the cabin door, sighing with relief at the break from the sunlight. He wanted to lay facedown on the smooth marble floor to cool off, but he had the feeling that would be considered rude.

“It would. You should do it anyway.”

“It’s not like there’s anyone here that would see you, right? The Prince is always locked in the basement…if we’re assuming that still applies here, and that there’s even a Prince at all.” The Hero paused scanning the room. “It looks like there’s The Blade, though.”

Should we take it?

“Up to you. I personally would, for protection, but it could also give the wrong impression if we meet someone new.”

“Throw it out the window.”

Curd frowned at the thought of shattering one of the intricate stained glass windows. They filled the tall marble hallway with bright rays of color, each depicting a different intricately painted figure. Curd liked the ones with images of suns, moons, stars and planets.

“You have weird taste,” The Contrarian said, landing in front of the window with a dark, multi-eyed figure. “This one is clearly the best-“

“Shh, I hear movement from below. Whatever your choice, Cross, please make it quick.”

Leave the blade.

“Alright.”

Curd cautiously crept down the massive marble staircase, the towering columns and sweeping carvings making him feel small- which, as a 7’2” bird creature with the strength of a Royal Guard, was pretty impressive.

The room they arrived in was stiflingly hot, even more so than outside. Every inch of wall seemed to be covered in tall, arching windows that poured sunlight into the room like the crystal stream that ran along one wall. Curd had to shield his eyes from the blinding light, thus he didn’t see the other figure in the room.

“And who are you?”

Curd barely suppressed a yelp as the temperature shot up to that of an oven as a voice radiated around a room.

“Shit.”

“Well…guess we aren’t alone.”

“J-just a…Royal…Guard-“ the avian managed to gasp through constricting lungs.

“Are you? One of my sibling’s?” The figure asked, taking a step closer to examine him. The chokehold of heat released somewhat, leaving Curd collapsing to the ground. “Mm…no, I don’t think so.”

From the ground, Curd has able to get his first good look at the other. She was an impossibly beautiful skeleton clothed in shimmering silks and trimmed in gold, eyes like twin stars that bored into him and heated the room around them. A delicate gilded circlet mimicking the rays of the sun rested on her head.

Curd pulled himself from the marble floor and into a bow, wings spread out at his sides.

“What are you doing, putting yourself in a vulnerable position?” Chara hissed, flapping circles around his head.

She’s clearly royalty with immense power, Curd replied to the Voice. I’m not sure I could survive very long in a fight.

“Simp.”

“What are you?” The god interrupted his inner conversation, tilting her head slightly. “You most certainly aren’t a god, and yet you aren’t a scrawny mortal, either. Get up.”

Curd shakily rose to his feet as Dream slowly paced around him in examination. “I’m not…quite sure what I am,” he said. “I don’t really remember much beyond waking up in these woods.”

“Ah, a mystery.” Her face remained composed but a spark of interest shown in her eyes. “Well, perhaps someone I know can- ah.” She sighed in exasperation as Curd fell again, this time fainting from the heat.

[thanksbutno98]

Putting Out Fires

John Price x fem!reader

Authors note: I have spent countless hours on this one. The fics I spend the most time on I tend to be the most self conscious about. So I’m going to post this and hide under a rock.

Summary: After the announcement of John Prices parents divorce his father, Paul, comes to stay.

Warning: sexual themes, divorce, domestic argument, toxic family dynamics, favoritism, toxic in laws, sexism.

——————

“Pst, Jj.” Evelyn was peaking her head into her brothers room. It wasn’t unusual for the little girl to come in here and try and bug her brother. Jj was sprawled out on his bed with his head resting at the foot of it and playing his Nintendo switch.

Jj’s bedroom door was located in the right corner of his room. There was a large blue rug that took up most of the floor space and that had been flipped around to hide the stain from when Jj got sick when he was four. Across from the thick door was his desk made of birch wood. The top was scratched and covered with stains from past science projects, birthday card decorating, and the occasional attempt at coloring or painting.

Within these forest green walls to the left side of Jj’s room was larger, with his twin sized bed up against the same wall his door was situated. His bed stuck out to bisect the room and had two night stand on either side of it. One nightstand had a lamp and the book he was reading, while the other held a family picture and another photo frame of John and Jj on their last fishing trip. They were both holding up the large fish they caught with matching cheeky smiles and rosy cheeks from the winter air.

Jj was good about making up his bed every morning, the sky blue plaid comforter neatly tucked in, covering his navy blue sheets. He had two fluffy pillows at the head of his bed that matched his sheets.

There were two windows that overlooked the front yard but the young boy had his copper drapes pulled closed to keep the light out. In between the windows was Jj’s mahogany dresser, that matched the nightstands and bed frame, which he kept his trophies from sports on and above it was a poster of the Liverpool football club.

To the left of the dresser was an old jean bean bag that was heavily used. Then finally the wall to the left had a cork board that took up most of the wall and a book shelf to the left of it by the closet. It was decorated with Polaroid pictures, ticket stubs, flyers for upcoming events, and a few signed autographs. The most valuable thing that hung on the overflowing board was an old patch from one of John’s military uniforms. Proudly Jj hung it up and imagined that ‘Price’ would be read across his own chest one day.

“I’m busy.” Jj didn’t bother looking over at his little sister. She had been pestering him all day so Jj hoped she would just go away.

“I think grandads crying.” Evelyn shuffled in. Jj’s head shot up, his feature twisting into worry. Placing the switch on his pillow Jj sat up.

“Is he okay?” Jj was getting off his bed and walking to his door to look down the hall way.

Looking down the hall from Jj’s room, Lily’s door shared the same wall as the young boys room and was to the left of his. The washroom was the first door on the right and then there was Evelyn’s door, then your and John’s room. The hallways walls were covered in light blue wallpaper that was decorated with ornate ferns, flowers, and vine work that all matched the same grey tone and faded together.

It complimented the dark rosewood hardwood floors, molding, door frames, and the railing that wrapped from the top of the stairs closest to your door and around to Jj’s room and ended in front of Lily’s room. There was a circular stain glass window that was situated hallway up the staircase and would refract colorful reds, yellows, and greens through the upstairs and bleed against the matching wallpaper down the stairs.

“I think so. I went to get my markers and I heard him crying. Do we give him a hug?” Evelyn was whispering as she asked her brother for advice.

“No. We shouldn’t be listening to what he’s doing when the doors shut, Evie. Mum told us not to ease drop.” Jj scolded her. Moving around her Jj peaked his head down the hall to see his sister bedroom door closed. The purple sign hung up awkwardly hanging to the side with her name written in cursive in white lettering.

“I think it’s ‘eavesdrop.’” Evelyn corrected, getting an annoyed look from her brother, but continued on.

“I didn’t mean to. I was just checking if he was awake before I knocked. It is my room.” The incredulous tone of Evelyn’s words had Jj rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but mum and dad said you have to let him have your room while he stays here.” The retort now had Evelyn rolling her eyes.

“I don’t mind. I kinda like sharing a room with Lily. She’s really cute in the morning but man does her diaper stink.” Evelyn shrugged.

Pretending to wipe her nose so Jj couldn’t see the genuine smile on her face of how much she adored their baby sister. Everyone thought she’d be a jealous sibling but Evelyn was proving to be an amazing big sister who set limits better than John at times. She had also been practicing her reading at nights to Lily so she wouldn’t feel embarrassed reading aloud at school. It was the best your youngest daughter had ever slept and you didn’t know why.

“Hey, dad.” Jj called down the hall as John exited your shared bedroom.

It was clear John was exhausted from the bags under his eyes and how he moved sluggishly. Dressed in jeans that had become a little snug and a baggy black crew neck, with his white t-shirt peaking out at the collar, John tried to hide his sigh. John hadn’t been sleeping well recently and now having you working crazy hours, most things within the home were falling to him.

Since John’s parents announced their separation you and John had been an incredible tag team. Putting out fires within the family and now having John’s dad staying with you. These fires ranged from small to large scale things. Most consisted of John’s siblings being roped into financially supporting their mother to alternative childcare, because John’s mother now refused to help watch the grandkids without Paul.

It didn’t help that you had just started your new job of being a museum curator. The hours were much more demanding and you found yourself responsible for much more than you first thought. There was no boss for you to be reporting to everyday, you were the boss people reported to. You and John were struggling to get use to the life style change and how you were now free most mornings but spending later nights at the museum.

It was affecting your marriage in a way that left you both tired and unable to really spend quality time with the other. Now having Paul staying with you both and the impending divorce was only hurting more and John was in the line of fire for that. With your busy hours you were left neglecting your husbands emotional needs; although he’d never tell you that. John was too strong and proud to admit such things. It also left him neglecting your excitement and struggle with work. Leaving you both lonely and desperate for simpler days.

Your normally hectic house was falling into chaos as your nieces and nephews would come over after school most days while John’s siblings worked out babysitters and nanny’s or their inlaws help. It was greatly appreciated that you and John had stepped up so willing in his families time of need.

John and Paul were left with three teenagers and five children if John’s siblings were unable to find sitters or help. Thank god, it had only happened once when you had a full house and when you got home you’d made a dinner the size of your normal holiday dinners. It made you privy to what Mary dealt with most days since she was the home where all the grandkids were dropped off at without a second thought. It had you and John appreciating her in a way that you never had, although it had been years since she was left to watch your children. Clearly you had taken her for granted in certain ways.

“How can I help you little man?” John’s voice was deeper than usual.

He was in need of a nap but it just wasn’t in the cards while you were at work. Jj waved for John to come into his room and once he was in, Jj shut the door. Evelyn was quick to sit on Jj’s bed while John glanced around the neat room confused why he was in there.

“You two fighting or something?” John asked his eyes narrowing as he noticed a stack of dirty cups on Jj’s desk. Pointing at them Jj nodded his head in acknowledgment not actually needing his father to tell him to bring them down.

“No. We don’t fight all the time.” Evelyn rolled her eyes at her father’s assumption.

“Is grandad okay? Evie accidentally heard him crying. It’s cool that he’s staying here but it’s weird. Jacky said we need to ask our mums and dads what’s going on, yesterday when he was here.” Fiddling with the hem of his shirt Jj watched his father’s face intently. Trying to find any tell that might give him more information.

Jackson or ‘Jacky’ was the oldest of the Price grandchildren and had been approached by most of his cousins asking what was happening with Nan and grandad. Jacky was born to Harrison and Amy, the first son to get married out of John’s siblings. John spent a lot of his free time with Jacky as he grew up and the two were exceptionally close. The teenager would come to John for advice when he felt too embarrassed to ask either of his parents. It felt natural to come over since he already bounced between homes since Harrison and Amy were divorced.

Jj and Evelyn had asked you day one when Paul came to stay what was going on. You told them it was grow up stuff but everything was okay. Since then Jj had been trying desperately to figure things out. It had come out in small question and was now boarder lining out right pestering. You and John discussed that it might be best to just tell your children but it was ultimately Paul’s choice.

“Yeah really weird.” Evelyn added.

John sighed deeply not wanting to have this conversation with his children. This was something John needed you for. Knowing him he’d say something wrong and the kids would end up in hysterics. John was also not in a place where he was emotionally okay with why his father was staying with you. John could still hear his mother’s pained sobs when he stopped by over the weekend to check on her.

“Why don’t we wait for your mum to get home and we can all chat about it.” John was already reaching for the door knob so he could go finish the laundry you asked him to do before you left for work.

“Dad, cmon. Please just tell us.” Jj pressed his body against the door in hopes to stop his father from leaving. It was also a risk since Jj knew his dad was not in the mood but Jj was dying to know.

“Look, your mum would explain this so much better than m-“

“Please.” Jj and Evelyn spoke in unison.

John felt the frustration building. He was absolutely exhausted and the constant pestering about such a sensitive topic to him was becoming taxing on his mental state. John honestly just wanted to curl up in bed with his head in your lap and have you read aloud whatever book you were reading until he was asleep. Nurture was what he needed and you were the only person on the planet he’d tell this to, but you two had barely had a moment to chat this week.

“The answer is, no.” John stepped toward the door which had Jj retreating away. An angry look on the young boys face that matched his father’s almost identically.

John opened the door with a lot more force than needed and marched down the hall to go downstairs. That’s when Lily screamed bloody murder from her room directly next to Jj’s. With a huff of a sigh John grabbed the stairway railing and sighed as he pinched the bridged of his nose. Breathing deeply, John willed himself to not lose his temper as he went to go get his youngest daughter. Jj and Evelyn both b-lined it to the door and followed their father into Lily’s room.

With a huge smile on his face, that was somewhat forced, John entered the screaming toddlers room who quickly stopped her crying at the sight of him. Just the sight of his baby was enough to begin to quell his foul mood. The cruel reality disappearing for a moment as John saw his babies tear stained cheeks and freckled face.

“Hello, peanut. You awake?” John used the higher pitched voice only reserved for his children and small animals.

“Da-ddy.” Lily hiccuped out reaching over the cribs railing and grabbing air to make John come grab her quickly.

She had fat crocodile tears in her eyes and looked distraught. Her wavy brown hair was sticking up in odd directions and her shirt was pulled up so her chubby tummy was on display. She was dressed in her pjs that were white with little giraffes on them.

Evelyn and Jj took this as the chance to shut Lily’s door and corner John for the second time. John knew what they were doing but was more concerned with his two year old.

Lily was usually happy as a clam after a nap, crying for either of you was out of character. She normally would giggle and call for one of you then as soon as you entered the room she’d scream ‘boo.’ You would have to act fake scared so you could hear the toddler laugh hysterically. If you didn’t she’d be moody toward you.

Lily’s crib was across from the door while the changing table rested against the left wall. On the right wall was the rocking chair and a short bookshelf. She had the smallest room and no closet. Only a trunk that sat against the same wall as the door. Her room was lilac and had a mural of a giraffe on the right wall that your niece painted, and all the furniture was a light tone of grey.

“What’s the matter?” John asked the two year old as he hoisted her out of her crib.

Lily was hiccuping and sniffling. Her little body stiff and upright as she rubbed her teary eyes. John rubbed her back and laid her down on the changing table as he prepared to change her diaper and then back into her day clothes. With one hand on Lily’s chubby belly John was looking through the drawer where you two kept the diapers only to see it was empty.

“Daddy, cmon you gotta tell us about grandad. Is he sick?” Evelyn pushed.

“He’s not sick.” John said simply.

“Dad, please. Granddads been gutted ever since he got here.” Jj was now in Lily’s trunk, pulling out a package of diapers and tearing them open. Handing John one Jj began to place the rest where they belonged.

“Listen you two. I know it’s alarming but me and your mum planned on chatting to you about this as a family at dinner.” John was a lot more even tempered now as he changed his youngest daughter’s diaper. Lily was still pathetically hiccuping back tears which was worrisome.

Jj and Evelyn shared skeptical looks. Evelyn stayed pressed up against the door, refusing to be batted away as easily as her brother was previously. With a deep breath, Jj and Evelyn shared a determined look and nodded at one another.

Jj was ready to get grounded as he geared up to be fresh to his father; knowing his sister would back him up. The young boy was frustrated now and just wanted to know what was going on even if it meant no tv for the week. He was tired of being treated like a little kid, he was old enough to know what was happening.

By the grace of Lily she started to cry and hiccup out broken sobs as John pulled her purple striped sweater over her head. This stunned both Evelyn and Jj. Lily was not usually a sad child. Vindictive and willing to throw a massive tantrum, yes. but sad? No that wasn’t Lily.

“What’s the matter?” John picked his little fighter up and pressed his lips to her forehead. His facial hair tickled the skin near her baby hair which had the toddler pushing John away by his cheeks. This was a trick you taught him for checking a child’s temperature, but she felt normal.

“Daddy, is she okay?” Evelyn asked still refusing to budge from the door.

“Lily’s what’s wrong?” John asked the two year old. Lily only choked out broken little sobs, looking absolutely devastated. There was no fight behind her tears which had John frowning.

“Are you sad?” Jj asked, tugging his youngest sisters foot. Her pink sock slipping off slightly.

Lily shook her head adamantly that she was sad. John glanced down at Jj feeling appreciative that his son thought to ask that question. Taking his large calloused hand John ruffled Jj’s hair which had the young boy groaning as if it was embarrassing.

“Why are you sad?” John asked his little girl, his deep voice soft and gentle. Hoping the few words she could string together might give him some idea so he could fix this and dry Lily’s tears. John hated when his children cried and he was ready to do anything to help his youngest feel better.

“Fry.” Lily hiccuped out, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout. Her big blue eyes glistening with tears as she stared at John. Her single word was enough in her young mind for her daddy to know exactly what she meant.

“Fry?” Jj and Evelyn said in unison. This had Lily’s sniffles rapidly picking up until she was crying into John’s chest and kicking her legs. Mumbling the next word and having John’s heart flutter.

“Wice.” Lily sputtered out, pathetic sobs ringing in her lilac room and into John’s chest. Leaving behind tear stains and a little bit of snot on his black crewneck.

John snorted a laugh out and then pulled his two year old away from him. Holding her out about half an arms length he looked his blue eyed baby girl in the face as she kicked her feet in protest. Head thrown back and hands reaching for John to pull her close again. With a pathetic sniffles she whispered ‘daddy’ as fat tears rolled down her cute face.

“Do you want fried rice?” John asked which had the little girl shaking her head up and down frantically as if he had cracked the code. Her arms shooting forward again for a hug, so John did just that. Hugging her close and taking his thumb, John whipped her tears. He couldn’t help but laugh at his baby.

“We’ll get you some.” John hushed her, rubbing Lily’s back in soothing circles which had her calming down significantly. Resting her head against John’s neck and mindlessly playing with his facial hair as she hiccuped and started to calm down.

“She wants food?” Evelyn said in disbelief. Annoyed she had waisted any energy being concerned for her baby sister.

“Well, she’s your mother’s daughter; crying over food we don’t have in the house.” John snickered out his words. He knew if you were here you would’ve given him a sharp glare for saying something so cheeky.

It was no surprise to John that Lily wanted fried rice. You had consistently craved it while pregnant with her so it was no wonder it was the little girls favorite food. John could make both of you very happy by ordering take away from your local Chinese restaurant. With the long hours to u were working John was happy to do anything that would leave you with a smile.

“Mum only ever cried about food when Lily was in her belly. She’d kicked your butt if she heard you.” Jj jumped to your defense., desperately wishing you were home to scold John. The young boy was beyond ticked off at his father and was looking for any excuse to give him a hard time.

“I’m allowed to say those things. Your mums been pregnant three times so I think I’ve been around her a little longer than you two.” John shut down the sass, too giddy from how cute Lily was to be annoyed with his son.

“Fair enough.” Jj grumbled practically pouting at this point. The foul mood he was in only intensified now wanting to stick it to John somehow.

“Now how about you two go set the table and I’ll get Chinese for dinner.” John shooed his two oldests away. Hoping the questions about their grandfather had finally ceased.

“Lily cries for rice and now she gets to pick super?” Evelyn asked in disbelief. Mouth hanging open and visibly annoyed.

There was a pregnant pause before she spoke again. John was realizing he had given in to his toddler without a second thought. He knew you wouldn’t mind since you had also been pressing to get Chinese food recently but he didn’t think to ask what Jj and Evelyn may want. John only stared at Evelyn blankly.

“Fine, I’m crying for fish and chips tomorrow.” Her sass was evident and John couldn’t help but playfully scoff at her. She was just like you, snarky.

“Fair. Jj you can pick what we have the day after.” John nodded to his son who looked like smoke was about to come from his ears.

“Why do I get last pick?” Jj was seething now, his bad attitude evident in the tone of his voice. Fists clenched by his sides and his skin feeling hot under his avengers t-shirt, Jj glared up at his father.

“Cmon J work with me.” John groaned out. His hand coming up and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Nothing could ever be simple.

“No I want to pick tomorrows dinner. No fair Evie just gets it.” The challenging tone of Jj’s words was beginning to irritate John. John’s patience was wearing thin while Jj had none left to give.

“Fine, you can have whatever you want the day after.” John said exasperated. Eyebrows raised as if to dare his son to be fresh one more time.

“Whatever I want?” Jj asked just to make sure; a diabolical idea popping into his head.

John knew his son to be reasonable. Jj had always been well mannered and a team player. Jj was not a child who stirred up too much trouble unlike your daughters. But what John wasn’t realizing was Jj was ready to make his father’s life as difficult as possible, out of spite.

“Yes.” John said with a sigh.

“Promise?” Jj stuck his finger out and pointed at his father. Straight faced and making sure there was no way he could back out.

“I promise.” John said absolutely exasperated.

“A man is only as good as his word.” Jj quoted John’s own words and pushed trying to make sure his father wouldn’t take it back. If John did take back his promise Jj’s plan would be foiled.

“Yes, Jj. What do you want? To go out to eat? I’m fine with that.” John was starting to chuckle dryly that his son was being so serious. Did Jj not trust that no matter what his son’s request would be fulfilled?

John thought he knew what his son was getting at. That Jj would request the expensive steakhouse they both loved. To John it wasn’t much of a sacrifice it just meant he would have to pick you up from work.

“I like whatever mum cooks.” Jj said with confidence. A sly smile spreading across his face as he set his father up for failure.

“Your mums not cooking this week because her work schedule is crazy.” John said. Taken aback by his son’s words. Jj knew this so John was confused by the request.

“Fine.” John’s eyes narrowed as his son’s face cracked into a wicked smirk. Jj and John looked a lot alike but right now he was your spitting imagine with that mischievous look.

“I want you to cook mums Sunday roast.” The words were mischievous as Jj hoped his plan would work. This would teach his father to make him wait on family news again.

“Oi, I can’t do th-“

“You said whatever I want. And I want you to cook us a Sunday roast, Thursday.” Jj said smugly having successfully trapped his father. The ten year old felt himself begining to falter at John’s stone cold stare.

“No.” John half barked.

“Okay” Jj shrugged looking at his father unimpressed. It had John becoming suspicious.

“Okay?” John asked starting to feel anger bubble in his stomach. Jj was just doing this to be difficult and it pissed John off. He was already exhausted from putting out the little fires for his family.

“Yeah, I’ll let mum know how you promised me. She’ll probably cook it because she feels guilty because you lied .” Jj said with a shrug. This was something that Evelyn would pull. Jj had taken a page out of her and your book and was going to do whatever it took to get his way.

Jj wasn’t going to actually guilt you into anything but he knew his father had promised to have dinner handled all week ‘no matter what.’ These words were spoken by John at the breakfast table on Sunday and Jj knew his father was not about to end up on your bad side. John’s nostrils flared and the only thing keeping him from flying off the handle was the fact Lily was playing with his mutton chops at the moment and he didn’t want to yell in her face.

“Go to your room.” John said in such a deadly serious tone. Free arm out stretched as he pointed at the wall to the right that intersected Jj and Lily’s rooms. John didn’t have the energy to parent this at the moment.

“Yes, sir.” Jj said with venom.

Evelyn moved from the door and let Jj leave the room. She stood there in shock at her brother’s bravery, this was something she’d pull but clearly Jj was becoming bold. Evelyn was a trouble maker but when Jj decided to go against authority it was him waging war and she was a willful participant no matter the cause. It was her way of paying back her brother for all the bad ideas she normally roped him into.

“Daddy, I think he’s serious. You should just tell Jj what’s going on with grandad and he’ll change his mind.” Evelyn looked at her father who was clearly annoyed. John grunted, internally refusing to be blackmailed by a child and glared down at the eight year old, ponytailed girl.

“If you bring it up one more time you’ll be going to your room too.” John threatened, his voice dropping an octave and the vein by his temple pulsing in aggravation.

“So where does grandad go?” Evelyn looked smug at John. She was challenging him almost begging to get in trouble.

“You know what. Give me attitude one more time and you’ll be sitting in my office, in time out.” John snapped. He had no other place for her to go and think about her bad attitude. It was John’s last ditch effort to get one of his children under control.

Lilly frowned as John raised his voice and visibly pulled away from him. Her little eyes welling with tears that he was upset. Normally it made her giggle but she was sensitive from her need for fried rice. John’s booming voice was a little too close for comfort for the two year old.

“I’m not allowed in your office. That’s mummy’s rule.” Evelyn popped her lips.

She was doing everything in her power to piss John off and also fly under the radar of needing to have consequences. It was her way of standing with Jj even when he wasn’t in the room. She was just like you. Testing the limits until John was losing it.

“Evelyn Mae Price!” John shouted only to have his daughter skirt out of the room and around the corner, sliding into her older brothers room. Lily was now screaming and crying at John raising his voice. John paid for his strong reaction by Lily death gripping his facial hair and high pitch screaming into his ear.

———————

“Sorry, I’m so late.” Your sweet voice came from the back door as you shuffled into the house. Heels thumping against the floor as you kicked them off haphazardly.

John lightened up instantly and felt like the lights in the house were just turned on at how bright your presence was in the house. He missed you so much and desperately needed you by his side. A hug was in order but that would have to wait for later.

John, Paul and the kids were sat at the long kitchen table, all eating dinner. You hung up your jacket and tossed your bag by the door. You were starved and couldn’t wait to sit down and have dinner with your family. You had been looking forward to it all day.

Working these much longer hours was taking a toll and you had been missing your husband and children like crazy. But it was something that needed to be done. You were now spending your days working your dream job but it was harder than you expected. The upside to you fulfilling your dreams was that pay bump, so sending Jj to private school didn’t take such a big financial hit, and maybe you could go abroad for holiday this year.

Lily was covered in grains of rice as her chubby hand dove into the bowl sitting on her high chair and shoved more rice into her mouth. John was actively trying to show her how to use her spoon but she kept humming angrily at him when he got between her and her food. Letting out an aggressively loud shriek as John persisted that she try and use the plastic baby spoon. Normally Lily tried and used the spoon but she was almost ravenous for her fried rice.

“She’s not going to listen when fried rice is in front of her. Good choice of food tho.” You giggled placing a loving kiss to the top of John’s head. He could’ve melted right there on the spot from the loving gesture but looking at him you’d never be able to tell.

“Not giving up that easy.” John grumbled back, a tug of a smile finally having his features soften. Eyes trained on the toddler who was fighting him tooth and nail. John snatched the bowl off the high chair and was now loading up Lily’s spoon and handing it to her so she had no other option but to use it.

“How was work?” Paul asked.

Glancing at his plate you noticed he had barely touched his food which was unusual. Paul and John could eat an absurd amount but you had noticed since Paul first came to stay he had very little appetite. The weight was falling off him which wasn’t necessary since he was of an athletic build. Paul was beginning to look gaunt and you hoped this trend would stop.

“It was good, long. But good. Amazing even.” You smiled politely taking your seat, one over from where you normally sat. It was hard to hide how exciting your jobs was.

Then Lily screamed at the top of her lungs which had you jumping as you gave Jj a side hug and reached across the table to squeeze Evelyn’s hand as a hello. John was at the head of the table with Jj to his right and Paul to his left. Evelyn sat next to Paul and across from you, while Lily’s high chair was pulled almost in John’s lap.

“Bloody hell, she’s got pipes.” Paul grumbled watching his son struggle to get the stubborn two year old to use her spoon, ultimately accepting defeat and tossing the spoon to the side.

This was the most time Paul had spent with Lily not knowing his grand daughter nearly as well as he did Evelyn and Jj.

Since Lily’s birth Mary and Paul had been absent in her life. Paul had never held Lily until recently and Mary had never held her at all. It had been due to you forbidding Mary from coming to the house or John bringing Lily around his mother. Paul had refused to come by if his wife wasn’t allowed and it was unfortunate but you weren’t going to budge on the topic. Paul was a grown man, he made his decision and you weren’t going to feel bad about it. The only thing that you felt bad about was how it tore John up inside.

“Now, that your mums here I think it’s a good time to chat.” John’s words had everyone on edge.

Evelyn and Jj were staring at their father intently, desperate to know what was going on. You on the other hand internally cursed having forgotten you and John decided to talk to the kids about this tonight. You just wanted to eat your food and pig out, if you were honest.

“Right.” You nodded at John, a sadness in his eyes making you feel guilty for wanting to eat instead of aid him.

You knew John was dreading this and how upset he was about his parents splitting up. He had been very open with you about how devastating this felt for him. That even though he saw his parents flaws, that never in his life did he expect for them to get divorced. He may be a Captain in the military and one of the strongest men you had ever met but he was still someone’s child.

This was affecting John deeper than you thought and he had asked for you to be the one to break the news to your children. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the words out. Paul had also asked for you to be the one to say it because he was scared he might get emotional. And apparently showing sadness was taboo to both the Price men.

“So, your dad and I have talked and we think you two are old enough to know what’s going on.” You started, the tension at the table building. Paul nodded for you to continue so you did.

“Your grandad is staying with us while he looks for a flat near by. Him and your Nan won’t be living together anymore.” You paused to see if John or Paul wanted to add anything but they didn’t.

“It’s a very sad thing but they think it’s best for them to not stay married anymore. This does not change how much they love each of you. And if you’re sad or have any questions, me, your dad, and your grandad are here to talk.” Watching your children faces drop made your heart ache.

You hated that this was not the first time you had to explain divorce to them and it be about John’s family. You knew Evelyn and Jj both understood what you were saying and that was upsetting for you since they were both so young.

“Why?” Jj asked immediately. His appetite had vanished and it felt like his stomach had dropped down to his feet. This is not what he was expecting and it made his heart ache. Jj angrily shoved his plate away and everyone could see just how upsetting this was for the ten year old. He was breathing heavily through his nose and his face started to turn red as he tried not to cry. Jj batted your hand away as you tried to place it comfortingly on his shoulder.

“Your Nan and I love you both so much. But we just aren’t happy anymore. I’ll be moving close by and will be around a lot more.” Paul spoke softly. You couldn’t help but notice how Paul said both, excluding Lily. But you chalked it up to a mistake, he wasn’t quite use to including Lily as one of his grandchildren.

“Won’t be staying married? Like Uncle Harrison and Auntie Amy?” Evelyn asked. Her eyes fixed on her grandad since the moment you broke the news.

“Well I’m pretty sure they’re getting b-“ John glared at his father as you quickly cut in.

“Well nothings set in stone with them. Let’s keep it to you and Mary.” You cut off Paul and gave him a meek smile. It was not any buisness of your children’s to know at this point if Amy and Harrison were getting back together.

“Did you and Nan get into a fight or something?” Jj asked.

It made no sense why his grandparents weren’t happy anymore but his young mind was finding a way to blame it on John. If John had just let his grandparents come over more this wouldn’t have happened. And if John continued to argue with you Jj would have divorced parents too. It was all John’s fault in the young boys mind and he was resenting his hero for the devastating news.

You and John both watched Paul’s shoulders sag. The man had been so defeated and you and John were realizing questions weren’t helping him at the moment. It was hard enough to tell his grand children this.

Jj’s question also was right on the money. The last fight between Paul and Mary was the final straw. Mary had made the fued between you two seem mundane when it was so much worse than he realized. Paul felt like a fool for having his head buried so deep in the sand but he realized the night he came over on Halloween that he couldn’t be without his family any longer. Mary had dug her hands into each of their children’s relationships in detrimental ways and hearing you tell the brutal truth was a wake up call.

“Why don’t we save questions like that for another day. What’s important is your grandad loves you all very much and it makes him happy to be around you.” You were gently trying to guide your family down the right path. Deciding that creating a loving narrative with the promise of seeing Paul more was best for your children. John just stared at you with a cold expression but just wanted to wrap you in his arms and thank you.

“Exactly, I want to be happy and you all make me very happy.” Paul added. Thankful for your nudge in the right direction.

“You don’t seem happy.” Evelyn stated.

Kneeling on her seat she leaned over and wrapped her arms around her grandads neck. Paul didn’t hesitate to scoop her up and bear hug her. John let out a pained sigh and dropped his head to look at his plate. Paul use to hug him like that, when he was that little and it stirred a bitter sadness up that was inescapable. It felt suffocating but John needed to be strong and show his children they didn’t have to be upset or afraid of these changes. So John pulled it together but still sat their stoic as ever, his fluctuating emotions barely visible on his face to everyone but you.

“Yeah, I’ll be sad for a while but you’re the best at cheering me up.” Paul felt himself getting teary eyed. Clearing his throat and shyly whipping his eyes. John felt a tight sensation in his chest seeing how upset his father was. The only time John had seen his father cry or get emotional was when Paul’s mother passed away.

“We’re all going to be doing our best to cheer up grandad. Got it.” John said firmly. John couldnt provide the comfort that came so naturally for you. The hurt was too fresh and behind closed doors he sought out your emotional support and comforting words.

“Are you sad daddy? I’d be very sad if you and mummy didn’t stay married.” Evelyn asked. Her slender arms still looped around Paul as she snuggled up to him.

“Yes, of course I’m sad.” The deepness of John’s voice was his own way of hiding his emotions.

For John this wasn’t the normal type of sadness he felt where it came out in fits of anger or a sour mood. This was the kind of sadness that left John tired after a full nights sleep. The type where he just wanted to lay down and shut the world out. But as a father of three and with you working so much John wasn’t able to grieve in that way.

“Now, how about we finish eating. Your mums got to be starving.” John pushed having reached his limit.

The room became silent the only sound being Lily blowing raspberries and the scraping of utensil against plates. You watched John fill up his plate again and you knew he was stress eating as a way to cope. Evelyn was sitting in Paul’s lap and you could see how comforting she was to him. Your sweet little girl always rushing to comfort the people she loved.

“Mum?” Jj asked. Pushing his plate farther away from himself.

“Yes, Jj.” You asked, around your spoon.

You had skipped lunch so you were eating much quicker than you normally did. More focused on your food so once you were done eating your family could have your complete attention. Most importantly you wanted to check on John. The bags under his eyes were deeper and his shoulder looked heavy. You also wanted to pour your love all over him since he was all you could think of while at work.

“Can you give dad your Sunday roast recipe and tell him how to make your potato’s?” Jj still had his eyes fixed downward.

The young boy was having trouble grappling with what he had just learned. The anger he felt towards his father only intensifying. It wasn’t fair for these hurt feelings to be directed at John but Jj was too young and inexperienced to know that. So he decided that taking all these feelings out on John might have him feeling better.

“What?” You asked in utter disbelief at how fast the subjected had changed.

John’s eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a firm line and he was instantly ticked off at the request. Jj wasn’t going to give up on making John’s life as difficult as possible. All because he wouldn’t tell him what was happening until now. It was petty and John wasn’t sure how to parent this issue.

“Dad promised that if Lily got to pick dinner tonight and Evie picks tomorrow I get to pick Thursday.” The words came tumbling out as if it was a defense. Then Paul started lightly chuckling. It was the first genuine glimmer of happiness he had shown since he had gotten here.

“So you picked a roast?” Paul was belly laughing and having trouble containing himself. The thought of his son in the kitchen making an entire Sunday roast dinner clearly tickled the man.

“You going to wear an apron too?” You rolled your eyes at Paul’s joke finding it just a bit sexist.

“It not funny.” John sniped.

“Not yet, it’ll be bloody hilarious on Thursday.” Paul started coughing from laughing so hard. Jj looked proud of himself.

“So we’re assuming I’m just going to make this.” John was fuming at this point. Turning to you he gestured as if to get you to be the voice of reason.

“You’re the one who made the promise.” You said with a shrug. You weren’t going to worry yourself about this, John would manage to figure it out some way.

“So you’re not even on my side?” John asked you in disbelief.

“John, this is your fire to put out. You promised me that you’d have dinner handled. However you choose to handle it is up to you.” With that being said you went back to eating your dinner.

“You promised, dad. And you said it’s our job to cheer grandad up and I think this will.” Jj chimed in a teasing tone.

——————

“Daddy?” Evelyn’s sweet voice came from the kitchen doorway, giving John her best puppy dog eyes. She was standing with her hands behind her back and twisting her right foot sweetly as is she was squashing a bug.

“Go away Evie I’m concentrating.” John glanced up to see Evelyn giving him her signature look when she wanted something from him.

She looked so cute with her pig tails and leotard, having just gotten home from dance. John almost faltered and gave in to giving her his attention but then shook the thought away. He had too much to get done and he was stressed enough to be roped into any of Evelyn’s antics. John had also already watched Evelyn show off the dance she had learned today at dance class so he didn’t feel too guilty.

“Jj’s name calling again.” It was clear by the tone of her voice that Evelyn was tattle tailing.

“What did he say?” John was half paying attention. His finger running down the sheet of paper you wrote the recipe down for him on. John was double checking that he had all the ingredients he needed.

“He called me a muppet.” Evelyn sounded hurt and annoyed but John wasn’t too sure because he hadn’t bothered to look up from his list.

“Jj don’t name call!” John yelled from his spot in the kitchen. It was obvious Jj had learned the word from John.

“She started it!” Jj called back.

“If you two can’t figure it out, I’ll finish it.” John shouted feeling a twinge of annoyance. Shooting Evelyn an expecting look she only nodded and scurried back to the living room. She told Jj she was going to get him in trouble for calling her that even though she had started the argument by flinging a rubber band at him.

“Hi, grandad.” Evelyn zoomed by Paul who was now entering the kitchen with Lily in his left arm. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning, having went down for her nap an hour late.

“You’re actually doing it.” Paul said with a snicker.

“Promise is a promise.” John grumbled. That’s when Lily noticed her father and began to fuss for him to take her. Kicking her feet and grabbing in his direction.

“Ah, so I did teach you a thing or two.” Paul was smug as he spoke. That was until Lily high pitched screamed and tried to throw herself in John’s direction. Flailing and kicking to try and get to John at any cost.

“Fuckin’ Christ she’s a daddy’s girl.” Paul flinched at the volume Lily was capable of reaching. Quickly pulling her away as she tried to bite his shoulder.

“This is why I told you to stay out of the kitchen with her.” John snapped.

He knew if Lily saw or even heard him she would need to be in the same room as him. Which is why John told his dad to play with her upstairs in her room when she was up from her nap. John couldn’t understand why his father was incapable of following such a simple request. John could hear your voice in his head saying ‘men’ incredulously; and for once John did agree. Men were the worst sometimes.

Now having to take his crying daughter into his arms so she would calm down, John gave his father a mean look. Bouncing her lightly Lily’s tantrum and tears stopped quickly as she buried her face into the crook of John’s neck, one of her tiny hands coming and lightly gripping his thick facial hair. Lily let out a content sigh and whispered ‘daddy’ as she snuggled up to John.

“You sound like a girl.” Paul was quick to insult his son. Finding it ridiculous that John was cooking dinner and now complaining how Mary or you did.

“Watch it. I don’t need any of the kids hearing you talk like that.” John said in disbelief. He swore his dad couldn’t hear himself or didn’t understand how offensive he came across.

“Talk like what?” Paul was defensive as he watched John put Lily in her high chair and then set her up with some age appropriate art supplies. They ended up throw on the floor almost instantly.

“Like being a girl is something to be ashamed of. Or like it’s Y/N’s job to cook for all of us because she’s a woman. I don’t want the kids taking her for granted or thinking that just because I’m a man means I shouldn’t have to help.” John snapped at his father, speaking much more rudely than he normally would. He could take an insult fine but when there was an undertone of disrespect for his wife, John wouldn’t have it.

“It was always your mums job to cook. You never once saw me step in the kitchen? Has, Y/N got your balls in her purse too?” Paul placed his hands flat on the marble counter top of the kitchen island. Challenging his son in a way that wasn’t appropriate in this house.

“Yeah, and you and mum are doing brilliant. I’ll be sure to take your advice.” John smacked his hand onto the counter and barked the words at his father.

The disrespect had the military part of his brain lighting ablaze. Not able to deal with that level of carelessness it was easier to yell than to explain how it made him feel. How belittling his father could be and just why John only respected parts of the man and not his father as a whole.

“I’m sorry?!” The anger was evident in Paul’s voice at his son’s cruel comment. It was lost on Paul how his words could make John react in a volatile way. Paul had trouble accepting he could be wrong to anyone but Mary.

“Look, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have said that. But maybe it’s time you step out of your comfort zone. You’re going to have to cook for yourself if you and mum are serious about the split. Can’t live off takeaway.” John felt like he opened his mouth and you spoke for him. Clearly your influence on him was greater than he realized and he thanked you internally for helping him grow to a point he could be even and measured like now. In fact John felt proud he didn’t fly off the handle for once.

“I’ve never cooked before.” Paul said simply.

“Well, we’ll both be learning together.” John waved for Paul to join him by the stove.

“Why don’t you just tell Jj no?” Paul asked, still fighting back against the idea of cooking.

“Because I promised.” It was said earnestly but also a dig. Paul had made many a promise that wasn’t fulfilled and John promised he wouldn’t be a dad like that.

“What do you need help with?” Paul asked, a chip forming on his shoulder. He didn’t mean to, but part of him started to resent you for sticking him and John in a position they’d have to cook.

“Here, I need you to peel the vegetables, I’ll do the roast and potato’s. Then I’ll start the gravy.” John seemed to lighten up significantly now having two extra hands to help.

“Actually, I think you’ve got this handled. I’ll go watch telly with Jj and Evie.” Paul walked away smug. Finding it hilarious watching his son’s face drop and be saddled with all the responsibility.

Once again, John was left disappointed and neglected by his father and it was just a joke to Paul. But John wasn’t going to concern himself with that at the moment. He was going to knock your socks off with an amazing dinner. John would have you so impressed that maybe you’d both be able to carve out time for him to vent to you and get the love and support he desired desperately.

——————

Pulling up the driveway to your family home you parked in your usual spot. As you exited your car you noticed your children and their grandfather standing on the back patio with their eyes trained on the window that looked into the kitchen. Lily was crying for John and Paul was trying hush and soothe her, bouncing her lightly and rubbing her back.

“What are you four up to?” You asked in a chipper tone. Heading over to scoop your youngest daughter into your arms to help calm her, but stopping when Paul waved you off.

“Watching dad, burn the house down.” Jj said simply. Thats when your ears tuned in to the sound of the fire alarm going off inside the house.

Evelyn was standing on the picnic table getting a better view of what was happening inside. Her Polaroid camera in hand and a stack of pictures sitting by her feet. She had documented the entire event and would later share these pictures in her class on fire safety day.

“What!” Your voice cracked in fear as you hustled past your children and Paul to go see what the damage was. You threw your purse and keys in the direction of the picnic table only to hear them hit the brick patio instead.

Bursting through the back door a puff of smoke billowed out into the open air behind you. Immediately coughing you waved your hand in front of your face to try and find some breathable air. The kitchen was shrouded in a dense grey smoke. Rolling clouds coming from the open oven and attempting to smother your home.

“Oh my god! John, what did you do!” You shrieked.

John was standing by the oven with a fire extinguisher in hand and looking stone cold as if this was any given day. John had messed up many a time in your marriage but he had to admit this might be the worst one yet. It was definitely the most embarrassing and expensive mishap he’d found himself in.

That’s when a flicker sounded and you watched an orange glow spark in the oven and then flames lunged in your husband directions. John quickly shot off a round of the fire extinguisher snuffing out the flames instantly. Your jaw was on the floor and all your mind could muster to think about was saving your house from going up in flames.

“Is the oven off! Open the windows!” You shrieked again.

Without a word you and John both set into action to fix the mess he had created. John felt like an idiot because, no the oven wasn’t off. How could he be so stupid to not think of that. John’s waited for your back to be turned and then shut it off so you wouldn’t think he was that dumb.

You opened the back double doors and the set out to open every window in the house. You assumed John was doing the same until the shrill sound of the fire extinguisher being used again had you thinking otherwise. You were out of breath by the time you ran back in the kitchen. All the windows on the second and first floor opened wide along with your front door. The fire alarm was hanging by a single wire from the ceiling, John had clearly whacked it with a broom to get it to shut up.

John had ovenmits on as he carried your favorite roasting pan toward the back door. The bottom of it was blackened beyond recognition and it was covered in a foaming white substance that looked like it would be great for decorating around Christmas time. All it was missing was a ginger bread house sitting in the center and it might just look right.

You couldn’t get yourself to follow after your husband. Making your way over to your right you felt like screaming at the top of your lungs. The stove and oven were covered in the foamy white substance. The ceiling now had a brown mark from what you assumed was the roaring fire John started.

The smoke was fading but your anger was building. After working such long hours and now coming home to a mess of this size was far from what you wanted or needed. Not only had John almost burnt down the house but he put your family in danger.

The pots and pans used to cook what looked like vegetables had dribbles of white foam all over them and were burnt to hell. There were carrot peels all over the floor along with other food scraps that had fallen with the cutting board. The gravy had been left forgotten and had clearly burnt to a point that John scrapped it and tossed the pot in the sink to clean later.

You could see the scorch marks on the bottoms of half your favorite pots and pans. Thats when you noticed the fire damage to the wall behind your stove that reached up to the hood leaving the metal blackened. You prayed the backsplash wasn’t ruined and that the damage was just superficial. This was going to cost a fortune to fix and replace everything that was ruined but you weren’t sure your husband would live long enough to see the bill.

“I’ll clean it up. Maybe you can take the kids out for dinner?” John’s raspy voice had you turning around rapidly with one of the most violent looks he’d ever seen. Your fists were clenched by your side and you looked about ready to scream at him or maybe faint, John wasn’t sure.

John swore you could have knocked him out from that stare alone. You looked like you were about to tear him to shreds. Violence was never your style but John feared you may resort to it from how angry you looked. John prayed to be snatched up by the high heavens and spat back out into war, anything to avoid your wrath. Bullets felt less deadly or terrifying compared to the way you were looking at him.

John visibly cringed watching as you grabbed the seat cushion off one of the bar stools from the kitchen island and screamed into it. You stomped your feet like a child and screamed longer than John thought you were capable of. You then threw the cushion in his general direction but missed. Oh, he was in for it.

John didn’t know what came over him in that moment but he reached into his back pocket and tried to hand you his wallet. Silently telling you to spend all of the money he had if it just meant you would be a little less angry with him. He had never been more scared of you in his entire life, the thought that you might just kick him out looming in his mind.

“You are never allowed to cook again.” You hissed, eyes filled with a blazing rage that made the fire from earlier look dull. Only John was still frozen with his arm out stretched and wide eyed like a petulant child who was deserving of a grounding.

“Put your wallet away and grab the mop.” You snapped. Making your way outside to get a breath of fresh air. John moved quickly out of your way his eyes trained on you as you stormed by him.

“How’s everything?” Paul asked as soon as you stepped out onto the patio.

You waved your hand for him to leave you alone and hunched over, placing your hands on your knees. It was taking every ounce of you not to go on a tirade and throw a massive temper tantrum. You hadn’t felt this kind of rage take over you since you were a teenager and you wanted to throttle your husband.

“Want me to take them-“

“Take them to the god damn moon, if you have to, Paul. This is going to take all night for me and John to clean.” You spoke at the ground sounding lost for breath. Paul blinked at you a few times never having seen you so angry before. Part of him felt bad for his son to be on the receiving end.

“Okay, let’s go get some food and pray your dad’s still kicking by the time we’re back.” Paul joked trying to lighten the mood.

The sharp stare you gave him had him now fearing for himself. Paul had never seen you like this and he instantly thought of his children talking about how sweet you were and how John was lucky. Paul wasn’t sure how lucky his son was anymore.

“You can take my car, it has Lily’s car seat. And grab my wallet too, you don’t have to pay, it’s on us.” You told him with a heavy sigh at the end.

You walked over to Evelyn and helped her off the picnic table, your eyes falling on the copious amount of Polaroid pictures she had taken. You hugged your daughter tight and she did the same. Evelyn was always so sweet and comforting it made loving her one of the most natural things in the world.

“I think I’ll pay. Best save your money for new kitchen supplies.” Paul looked sympathetic but you couldn’t bother at the moment. All your children were in stunned silence seeing you the angriest they ever had. Even your two year old stopped her crying and looked at you with wide eyes, mouth hung open and pacifier in hand.

“Feel better mummy.” Evelyn whispered before running over to Jj. Your son was blank faced and you knew he would end up feeling guilty having been the one to ask his father to cook. But you were going to deal with that when he got home. You had too much on your plate at the moment.

Without a word and no push back what so ever your children followed Paul and loaded into your car. You stood at the top of the driveway and watched as they left. It gave you the little bit of space you needed to get yourself in order and go clean the mess John made.

Walking back into your kitchen you caught sight of John with his face in his hands. You wanted to feel sympathetic toward him, comfort him, but then you looked over your kitchen again and those feelings vanished.

You and John didn’t utter a word to one another as you set to work. The pans on the stove had to be thrown out even though you tried your hardest to salvage them; which was a shame because they were high quality with a hefty price tag.

By the time the oven was cleaned you realized the top inside of it was cracked from how hot the fire had gotten. You and John unknowingly were both racking up the cost in damages mentally but once it was obvious the oven and stove would need to be replaced you both stopped.

Paul and the kids were home a few hours later but you were still cleaning things while John went and turned off the gas line so he could get the now ruined oven out and into the yard. Paul told you he’d handle his grandchildren and you thanked him for doing so.

Each of your children came to give you a hug and kiss good night after their baths and brushing their teeth. Jj apologized to you for asking his father to cook but you assured him it wasn’t his fault. That his father should have enough common sense to not set the house on fire.

It was nearing midnight by the time you and your husband were done. Paul had just helped John carry the oven into the back yard while you sat on your kitchen floor with a bottle of wine and didn’t bother grabbing a glass. You were dressed in black leggings and a fitted old t-shirt that was now marked up with black stains.

John shooed his dad to go upstairs and Paul gave you a small nod finding it endearing that you were sat against the kitchen island and being driven to drink because of John. It made him not feel so bad about his situation with Mary.

John shut the back doors and locked up the first floor. Leaving the kitchen windows open to hopefully get the suffocating smell of burnt plastic and food out of the house.

John was exhausted as he plopped down next to you on the floor, the two of you still not speaking or even looking at each other. Your anger had dissipated greatly as you accepted the situation over the hours of cleaning.

“Here.” You said softly, passing John the bottle of wine.

Taking the thick glass bottle John took a large swig from it. It tasted of youth and happier times; he then checked the label. It was the same wine you two served at your wedding. You and John saved a case of it for special occasion and this certainly wasn’t one.

John was shocked to see this was the bottle you opened. You tended to be particular about when you two opened a bottle the only two times being your five and ten year wedding anniversary. With a heavy sigh he took another swig and placed it on the floor between you two.

“Well, it’s still good after all these years.” John mumbled, not sure if you were going to unleash your wrath upon him. Either way he was ready.

“Needed a reminder of why I married you.” You joked dryly. Your snarky humor was always a way to help you cope and even when it came off a little mean John knew it was never your intention.

“Fair enough.” John shook his head a bit dazed after the events of the day. You had every right to be pissed at him and John could accept that.

Thats when he heard a light snort of a laugh come from you. Turning John watched as you started to chuckle a bit more until you were full on laughing. You almost sounded deranged, laughing as if you’d heard the funniest joke ever told.

“Oh god, have I driven you mad?” John asked. Eyebrows knit together, he watched his darling wife lose her mind.

“The one time you chose to cook you almost burn the house down. Who doesn’t know what broil means?! You’re one of the smartest people I know but god was that dumb.” You laughed out. You had no anger left in you and felt a bit dazed after everything. The wine was doing its job and helping you lighten up significantly. John took notice and nudged the bottle towards you, watching your pretty painted nails and then lips as you drank from it.

“I’m so sorry, darling. It’s embarrassing to say but I was trying to impress you.” John’s voice rumbled softly from his chest. The anxiety he was feeling fluttering away. John really thought at the very least you’d ask to grab take out; not for this to happen.

“You’re cute. No more cooking for you tho. And please handle replacing the oven I can’t even wrap my head around it right now. If you get everything fixed and I don’t have to be apart of it, I’ll think about forgiving you.” Your sweet nature had returned and John felt so thankful that you were the kindest person he ever had the pleasure of knowing. It was true what they say, opposites attract. Your kindness and sweet temperament balanced out his moodiness and influenced him to find more forgiveness in his heart. The wine was also helping you lighten up.

“I’ll make sure everything is back to the way you left it. It’ll just take a bit of time.” John sighed out the words feeling a twinge of relief that you weren’t freaking out anymore. Taking a deep breath you rested your head against your husband’s muscular shoulder, yours hands finding the others and intertwining.

“I did get this gem of you. Don’t tell Evie because I’m keeping it.” From your back pocket you pulled out and showed John one of the multiple Polaroid pictures your daughter took of John freaking out about the fire. There were photos of him rushing everyone out of the house and some with the fire extinguisher taken through the window.

The one you snagged was of John reaching forward with a concentrated look and trying to snatch the camera from his daughter. The fire extinguisher in one hand and a smudge of some unknown food on his forehead; T-shirt stained and mid shout. He looked so serious and in control but you found it hilarious that your daughter took pictures the entire time until John chased her off.

“I rushed everyone out and she stood there taking pictures like everything was fine and dandy. You can see the fire in the back!” John pointed to the bottom right corner. John was right you could see the fire raging in the oven with the door closed. You were so focused on your husbands face in the photo you didn’t even check the surroundings.

“You must have been so scared. I know I would’ve been.” You whispered as you looked over the photo one more time. John’s thumb was lighting caressing the soft skin of your hand

“I didn’t have time to be scared. If I’m honest I wasn’t scared until you screamed into that pillow. Thought you were going to kill me on the spot.” John admitted with the smallest of smiles.

“Almost did.” You joked with a cheeky giggle. John sighed out and chuckled, wrapping his arm around you. Bringing you close so you were tucked into the crook of his neck he gave your head a firm kiss. After it all, the comfort of your husband was what you needed more than anything. You both had missed the other’s embrace in the chaos of the past week.

“I’m starving.” You sighed feeling your stomach twist uncomfortably. The wine was hitting you harder because of the lack of food and you already were feeling a little tipsy.

“Icecream?” John asked knowing you always said yes to it.

“Yeah, don’t think you could set that on fire.” You joked and John gave you a playful pitch to your bottom for being cheeky.

“I don’t know I might just find a way.” John joked feeling better that you weren’t as angry as you were before. You snickered at his words finally able to find the humor in it all.

“C’mon, let’s go lay down I’ll grab the icecream.” John was about to get up but noticed that your softness had turned timid.

“John?” You whispered.

“Yes, darling?” With a concerned gaze John sat back again and cupped your cheek so you would look into his eyes. His blue eyes were mesmerizing, you could see your youth in them and the truth came pouring out.

“Your mum called me today.” You bit your lip trying to hold back from name calling her. You wanted to drag John away as soon as you got home but your attention had been snatched by the fire.

“Seriously?” John asked. Legs pulling up and bending at the knee as he leant against the kitchen island; the both of you still sitting on the kitchen floor.

“Yeah, she really laid in to me. Like a final dig.” You whispered down at your knees that were tucked near your chest and your arms lightly curled around them.

“That’s- a lot.” John barely got the words out.

“It was.” There was a lapse of silence as you and John passed the wine back and forth. He wanted to ask if you were okay but he couldn’t get himself to do so. Being too torn up about the situation had John unable to be your normal support.

“She signed the papers today.” You told John hoping the news wouldn’t hit him too hard, but you knew it would.

“I had a feeling. Dad’s moving his stuff into the new flat this weekend. So he’ll be there tomorrow evening to finish packing everything up.” John whispered. It was the first moment you two had found to really talk about what was happening with his parent in the past few days.

“You know I’m not her biggest fan. But maybe they could work it out.” You asked, turning and looking up at John.

“I don’t think so, darling. I am surprised to hear you say that.” John tried to seem okay and joke but you knew he was hiding how horrible he felt on the inside.

“Sounds a bit rude but they’re kinda made for each other. Your dads no peach himself and honestly I think your moms bad attitude overshadows how sexist and stuck in the past he is.” You said it with a sigh. It was nothing new, you and John both already knew this.

“Well, maybe this’ll be good for both of them. Now they’re forced to grow instead of being stagnant.” John sighed almost in relief. It felt better knowing things may change than it all staying the same.

“I never want to end up like them, John.” The shift in you made the air around you both feel electric. John could feel your seriousness as you stiffened next to you.

“We won’t. You’d never allow that.” John turned to look down at you but your eyes were fixed off to your right, looking away from him and out the bay window.

“I mean divorced. It scares me.” You couldn’t even look John in the face as you uttered your greatest fear to him. With what was happening between Paul and Mary you couldn’t help but feel a sense of insecurity; maybe your life would fall into shambles one day.

You knew you should be ashamed to say something like this. John would doubt you as his wife now and you hated that you admitted this fear to him. You always thought you’d be scared of him dying young or you getting sick. Between his job and your family history neither of you should live long.

Yet divorce and the thought of him finding someone else would always leave you petrified. No one else could ever match up to John Price and you’d be lonely forever, if he wasn’t your person anymore, you’d have no one.

But John was handsome he’d be able to move on. You’d just end up an old lonely lady and you were okay with that. You’d spend your days loving your kids and swearing off love. Because the only person you were ever cable of loving was their father. John Price would be your soulmate until the day you died.

“Darling, we’d never split up. Not on my account at least.” John laughed in a light hearted way that made you feel childish or foolish. The feeling wasn’t a present one and you felt belittled. Then the worry and the ‘what if’s’ came spilling out.

“But- what if. What if I end up being a horrible grandmother or the kids despising me when they’re all grown up. Or I become miserable and impossible to deal with and make your life difficult. You’d still stick by me?” You babbled out reasons for John to hate you enough he could leave or cheat.

“The kids would never despise you. Yeah they’ll dislike you at times I mean they’re going to be teenagers sooner than we want. But nothing in this world could keep me from sticking by your side. And there’s no one in this world who’s better than you.” John moved so he was now kneeling in front of you. Your left leg between his thighs as he grasped your face in his rough palms and looked at you with the utmost sincerity.

“Promise.” You asked as if you had no knowledge of your husband’s valor, of his loyalty, or his love for you.

“Of course, I promise. Where’s this coming from?” John asked staring deeply into your eyes.

“Your mum told me I’d end up just like her. Alone, and with you and the kids hating me. And when that day comes she hopes I think of her.” You whispered. It was shame you felt for even listening or feeling this way.

“My mums a mean old bat. You’ll never end up like her.” You stayed silent not knowing what to say to John insulting his mother so blatantly. Only cable of staring at your hands as John rubbed your shoulders.

“The fact you’re even worried is more than my mum’s ever done. You’re nothing like her so that means you won’t end up like her.” John spoke and watched how you stared down at your hands unconvinced. He leaned back to rest on his heels and watched how your pensive expression stayed etched across your features.

“You’re not selfish, you’ve never laid a hand on our kids, and you are the kindest person with such a gentle heart. I know you act all tough but you’re a softy for the kids and you don’t favor one over the other like my mum did. Our kids are lucky to have you as their mother and I sure as hell am lucky to be your husband.” John was lightly grasping your shoulders at this point and love was spilling out of him and adding to the mess of the kitchen.

“I love you.” You gasped out and cried, the tears finally spilling over from the mix of exhaustion and alcohol. John somehow just knew you well enough or maybe he was made for you and just knew what to say. But you melted like butter on a hot skillet and fell into him.

“I love you too.” John whispered as he hugged you tight to his chest. You two stayed like that in the dimmed kitchen light, holding one another on the tiled floor.

“And if me almost burning down the house isn’t enough for you to kick me to the curb I think we can make it through anything.” John joked and felt your sobs turn into confused hiccups as if unable to decided if you should cry or laugh.

“I stil can’t believe you did all this.” You hiccuped with little humor as you gestured to the missing oven and the scorch marks on your wall and ceiling.

“You’re not going to let me live it down are you?” John spoke softly, trying to coax you out of your sadness and worry.

“Never. I’ll be teasing you about it in this life and the next.” You whispered back. You felt silly suddenly realizing John wouldn’t want anyone but you. It took saying those feelings out loud to finally understand you were being irrational and fear was guiding your thought process.

“As long as you’re by my side I can put up with all the teasing your heart desires.” John’s words had you forgiving him but you weren’t ready to tell him that.

“Don’t fib John. Even you have your limits.” You joked. Pulling away you grabbed the wine bottle and took three large chugs of it.

“Okay that’s enough of for you cheeky minx. Let’s head to bed.” John pulled the bottle away, only to be surprised by your hesitation.

“I’m going to call out tomorrow. Why don’t we stay up, get drunk, and play some cards. Be bad parents for once?” You asked expecting John to say you both needed rest.

“Well, we’ll have my dad’s help in the morning so why not. I’ve missed you, darling.”

——————

“Good morning, Y/N.” Pauls voice was like nails on a chalk board to you. He was just walking in after dropping your kids off at school since you and John slept so late that the kids missed the bus.

“Shhh.” You muttered your hangover causing a splitting head ache. You knew he was doing it on purpose.

“Hung over?” Paul asked loudly and then chuckled as you held you head in pain. This was where John got his need to tease from. Paul was notorious for getting under peoples skin and then playing coy when they got upset.

“Dad, leave her be.” John was just walking into the kitchen with a mean look. Dressed in athletic black shorts and a green crew neck sweatshirt, John smiled at you sweetly. He was still thankful you had put your anger aside and chose to be there for him when he was struggling with his parents divorce.

“Clearly. Surprised you aren’t too. Heard you two giggling like school girls last night.” John could only roll his eyes at his father’s words.

You and John got drunk in the living room and ate all the snacks in the house. After losing continuously at cards John popped on a movie and you two chatted away and finally caught up. Giggling about the mess your lives had become and thanking the other for joining you for the ride. John opened up about how upset he was getting from his parents split and told you he felt like a fool for being this hurt. That since he was an adult and no longer a child this shouldn’t be upsetting him this much. You explained that he was allowed to feel what he was feeling and it made sense he was struggling since family had always been his main priority. That of course he’d be struggling because he’d be letting those hard things he felt as a child go unanswered for even longer. John always thought there’d be a time he’d sit down both his parents together and hash things out and now that wasn’t an option anymore and it was okay for him to grieve.

“Thought you had work?” Paul turned to you.

“Used a personal day. After yesterday I just want to rest and enjoy the kids when they get home from school.” You sighed out. Avoiding the vacant spot where the oven used to be and making a bowl of cereal for yourself and then passing the box and milk to Paul.

“Mary use to dread the kids getting home. Well not John she was weak for Mr. Tough Guy over there. Refreshing seeing a mum like you Y/N.” Paul grabbed two bowls for himself and John and then sat at the kitchen island across from where you were standing.

“Mum like me?” You asked handing both men a glass of water since you had no way of making tea. Well, there was the American way of heating up the water in the microwave but it was a little too early to get lectured by John.

John was now sitting next to his father and looking over the back of the cereal box trying to solve whatever kids puzzle was on it. It was easier for John to ignore the conversation at the moment. He was upset with his father’s rudeness yesterday before John lit the oven on fire.

“Yeah, a mum who wants to see all the kids at once. Marys got favorites.” Paul spoke between bites. His words made your heart ache and you couldn’t imagine treating your children differently or favoring one over the other. You knew it was something John felt guilty about since Mary favored him over his siblings but it was no fault of his own.

“And Lily’s not her favorite?” You asked not sure what the answer would be. It was a bit sneaky for you to pry like this but you had no loyalty to Mary.

“I suggest not leaving Lily in her care.” Was all Paul said.

“Why?” John asked shocked at the response. Setting the cereal box down and looking at his father with concern and anger. Yes, Mary was difficult but never had John thought of her as unfit to watch any of his children. John wasn’t sure if his father was being cruel because of the divorce and how he stopped loving Mary or if his words actually held weight.

“You know why, Johnny. You remember how it was with Sarah.” Paul nodded at John as if that was enough to communicate the message, and it was. It left you out of the loop and you looked at your husband who’s faced dropped. John looked sullen and avoided your gaze, not ready to share that part of his childhood. It was also something Sarah hated to talk about or have people knowing so John had kept this to himself out of respect for his sister.

“Oh.” John said simply. John couldn’t look at you as he pushed his bowl away cleary losing his appetite.

“Didn’t that bug you that she favored John.” You asked grabbing John’s bowl to eat since he wasn’t interested. You’d ask John for details later it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it now.

“Never concerned myself with the raising of them really. Only stepped in when she needed me to discipline them. Back then that’s what I thought a good dad was but I see my faults now.” Paul was openly admitting their flaws and you wondered why. But then it occurred to you that that papers had been filed and the loyalty to Mary was signed away with it.

“Don’t you think you missed out on a huge portion of their lives?” Your question had John giving you a pleading look to stop. It was too much for him but you just needed to know. You’d never had such a candid conversation with Paul before and you weren’t sure you ever would again.

“I do. And now I have nothing holding me back to enjoy my kids and grandkids. No one filling my head with nonsense that makes you look like a bad woman or John a weak man.” Paul seemed adamant that things would be different for him now. The admission very telling of how Mary spoke of you to him in private. John scoffed at Paul’s words, never thinking himself weak but clearly his mother had a different perspective. The hurt was only building for John now knowing his father would possibly be spilling the hurtful things his mother said to only him because she thought Paul would always hold her confidence.

“Yeah?” John asked a bit skeptically, biting his tongue from lashing out at how calloused Paul was unintentionally being. But Paul wouldn’t be able to see it that way. He was too weighed down by the pain and sadness of divorcing the woman he thought he would be buried next to.

“Yeah. I don’t think if Mary caught you two half naked at your flat all those years ago it wouldn’t have been so hateful for you two. But it has and I can tell you she has no intentions of stopping. If you ask me she should’ve kept her nose out of it but she’s her own worst enemy.” Paul spared you a quick glance and looked embarrassed to do so. It was the first time he’d blatantly acknowledged what had happed over a decade ago to you. How Mary tried to paint you as a whore that the family should turn their backs on and John was weak or shallow to stay with you.

“Why don’t you care.” You asked, lightly prying for information. It was also said in slight disgust because it took this long for Paul to acknowledge the start of you and John’s relationship. It took three kids but he finally got there.

“Because I knew you were all going to grow up, fall in love, and get married.” Paul shrugged and continued to eat his breakfast.

“Yeah?” John’s asked indignantly, he was so nauseated by the display he almost missed how sincere his father’s response was.

“Yeah. And you’re lucky, son. To have married a woman who’ll never drive your children or you away. A woman who’ll cook you a meal because she just wants to and without expecting you to give her everything you have to offer in return. Someone who isn’t bleeding you dry financially and emotionally just to later use you as a pawn in her game. Ya’know, real love. An unselfish love.” Paul glanced down at his hands and the sullenness he had shown you faded into shame. You couldn’t even feel complimented by his statement you just felt sorry for the years he’d spent chained to someone who made him feel so awful. You weren’t sure if he felt stuck or willing stayed because he was scared to be alone. Either way you were happy he was strong enough now to make his way on his own and find happiness.

“Spent too long thinking I had that only to realize too late how much time I’ve waisted and hurt it caused. I’m sorry to the both of you for not standing up to Mary. And I’m sorry Johnny for laying hands on you when you were just a boy. And never putting a stop to how Mary favored you at the expense of Sarah.” Paul looked you both in the eyes as he spoke and apologized.

It was the most sincere he had ever been and he wore his shame on his face. A silent plea for forgiveness that wasn’t yours to give.

Looking over at John his face was etched in pain and it looked like he might be sick. You knew how much this meant to him and he was having trouble processing his father’s apology. John wasn’t even able to hide the hurt on his face, his stoic nature faltering and leaving him vulnerable for the first time since he was a child with Paul. Paul had never said he was sorry for anything to John and the words felt as if John had plunged into an ice bath. He wasn’t sure if he should resent his father or cry out in relief to finally have gotten what he was searching for after all these years. The child inside of him wept to hear such things but John sat there silently not able to find the right words.

“Are you okay John.” Your sweet voice felt like a warm blanket draping over his broad, heavy shoulders. The love you had for him would be enough to get him through this, no matter the hurt.

“No, but I will be.”

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

@exhaustedpotat0 @glitterypirateduck @ivymarquis @crazymela @what-0-life @boredfairy4 @hihhasotherfixations @stephanswhxre @shanjisan @k4es @luvleywrites @kita03-0 @midwesternwitchery @aleynaleia @suckerforbassist @misshoneypaper @theaonlax @blackstar9005 @tooterbutt @havoc973 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @freshlemontea @cosmoscoffeee @sae1kie @ohworm-writes @ghostslittlegf @fanficwriterlover @arminarlertssword

[consultingskeletondetective]

Virginal, chapter 4

You're given a rare day off from work to recover from your wounds, both physical and emotional, trying to process what the hell was happening to you and what your life had become.

You were Michael's play thing now, and it wouldn't be long before the shape came looking for more fun.

masterlist ❤️🖤 ao3

chapter tags: serial killer, murder, death, violence, blood, gore, weapons, knife, female reader, non con, stalking, forced orgasms, choking, squirting

Three days this time. 

Three, for crying out loud, wasn’t Michael meant to be a patient man?

You woke late on the third day. It was a rare Saturday where you weren’t working, all to yourself, you already had messages from your friends asking if you wanted to go out that night, and a few messages from a dating site you’d absentmindedly joined a while ago. You pointedly ignored those. Infact, you left your whole phone on the bedside table as you went into the bathroom after you woke up. It was nearly midday by then, and you'd rewarded yourself with a lie in. Those were few and far between anyway, but then you were generally exhausted these days.

You rolled your eyes, you had no idea why.

You stripped out of your nightclothes and left them in a messy pile on the floor by the bath, no matter how many words you’d had with yourself to leave them in the laundry hamper you’d bought for exactly this reason. You turned the shower on and waited a few minutes for the temperature to even out, and you were just about to step under the running spray when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the slowly steaming bathroom mirror.

Your legs were a mottled mess of aggressive bruises. You’d thought that black and blue was a phrase that people threw around but now you knew that it was irrevocably true. Your body was a canvas of pain and destruction. You watched your own hand travel to your throat, it was still sore from where Michael had stuck his cock down it a few days before.

You shivered at the memory, the pain and the way you couldn’t breathe, like it had burned itself into your mind. 

You wondered if this was his method of killing you - to put so much strain and stress on your body that it simply gave out. Perhaps it was simply an experiment. Michael definitely seemed to enjoy it, otherwise he wouldn’t keep coming back for more. 

Your thoughts were blank as you showered, it was almost as if it was your minds way of protecting you from the dark thoughts that seeped black ink into the grey matter of your brain, staining you dark just like him. Michael was leaving his own sickly imprint on your body with every cruel fuck.

You wrapped a freshly laundered towel around yourself, not bothering to dry your skin anymore than that. It was a warm day and you didn’t mind the chill on your wet skin as you walked into the kitchen.

The kitchen was alight with sunbeams streaming in through the gaps in the closed blinds, highlighting the dust particles dancing in the air. The plaque of wood you’d fixed temporarily to cover the hole in the glass left by Michael’s fist cast a grim shadow across the otherwise pleasant day. You planned on fixing the door yourself - it wasn’t like you were going to tell your landlord that a murderer had made child’s play out of your double glazing with his bare fist - but honestly you had no idea about glass or doors.

This was what men were for, you thought absentmindedly, perhaps you’d ask Michael to take a look at it the next time he dropped by.

You smirked at the absurd thought as it crossed your mind before your smile promptly dropped. You really were going mad, weren’t you? Maybe Michael hadn’t escaped at all, maybe he was just a figment of your crazy imagination, or maybe you were locked up next door to him in Westbrook Sanitarium. 

You opened your fridge door and spied a bottle of Chenin Blanc you’d bought for this very weekend, wondering briefly if midday was too early to start drinking, but then you figured that if anything were to drive you to it, then your new friend was.

You hadn’t made your mind up when your kitchen went dim, like someone had turned the brightness down on the sun, and you frowned to yourself. It was rarely sunny in your hometown and you were enjoying the temporary reprieve from the cold and rain, but now it looked like it was turning back to your regular scheduled programme of overcast grey skies.

You closed the fridge, one hand wrapping around the knot at the top of your towel to keep it secure, as you turned to the back door.

Oh fuck.

It wasn’t the clouds that had blocked out the sun, it was Michael.

You couldn’t see him clearly through the blinds, but his bulky silhouette casting a dark shadow over your kitchen floor was enough.

Fear shot through your spine and you backed off, nearly tripping and stumbling over your own feet. You couldn’t, not again, you couldn’t take him again, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You glanced towards your only exit, the door to the living room, before remembering how well that went last time. 

“Just leave me alone!” You screamed foolishly at the door, and the monstrous presence that lurked behind it. “You sick fuck! I don’t want this, just fucking go away!”

You supposed it was your distance from Michael that made you so brave, the door between you giving you some sort of power that you knew you didn’t really have.

Your screams were silenced with a deadly ferocious crunch of wood as your back door shuddered dangerously, another thud and a large crack appeared in the wood, your door creaking and dipping, hanging on for dear life by the aged metal hinges fixing it to the doorway, the wood splintering at the edges. You screamed again at this inhuman knocking, before another blood-curdling blow came, and then another, rattling the door, the frame, the walls and all you could do was sob and watch as the metal hinges gave out and bent inwards, screws spitting out onto the floor, and then the entire door was loose and falling, slamming into your kitchen lino with the same death rattle as Gulliver being slain.

Michael stood in the doorway, his bare hands poised in front of him as if he were preparing for a fight. His knuckles, you could see, were torn and bloodied, from pulverising your door to the ground, no doubt.

Your stomach jumped into your throat at the sight of him bleeding, before he was marching into your home again. His heavy footfalls creaked the wood of the door at his feet that he was walking over, until the glass of the backdoor was cracking under his boots, then he stepped off of the door and onto your lino, stopping in front of you.

He lowered his hands to his sides again, unclenched and unflustered, and merely peered down at you with a slight cock of the head, as if it was no bones to him that he’d just torn your door down - unphased by something it would take a team of men and power tools to accomplish.

You shivered in your towel, were you crying? You didn’t know anymore. Your cooling skin felt like it was being burned by Michael’s close proximity with the heat that broiled off of him. Hell fire.

You glanced up at him with fearful eyes and your voice came out shaky: “I - I should give you a key so you st-stop bre-breaking th-things.”

He cocked his head from one side to the other as he regarded you through those empty eyes of his devoid mask, as if trying to decipher a foreign language you were speaking to him in. 

You blinked, now you could feel the hot tears on your cheeks.

“Just kill me, please,” you begged softly. “I can’t live like this. I don’t know what you think I can give you, but I can’t, please just let me go.”

You didn’t know what you were asking for, to be honest, your brain just went to mush around Michael like it always did. You just wanted whatever this was to stop, so you didn’t have to feel all this guilt and regret anymore. Your stomach felt hollow just at the thought of never having his thick fingers around your throat again, or his thick cock stretching you open, but you didn’t care. 

You closed your eyes against him, trying to expel the heinous thoughts from your mind that ignited those animalistic and wrong urges inside you. He was a murderer. He murdered innocent people. Why couldn’t you get that through your thick skull? Maybe you deserved to di-

A solid brick hand around your throat made your eyes fly open again, meeting Michael’s mask. He was closer to you now, his back bowed to reach down to you, his heavy breathing faster and harder than before, as if angry with you for closing your eyes against him. He wanted your full attention and he took it. You will look at me, little girl, you’re mine.

Both of your hands shot up to grasp at his wrist and you shuddered when your fingertips didn’t even touch each other. You tugged uselessly at him, but it only made your own muscles flex. He just stared at you as you tried to wrench his hand away from your neck, as if slyly asking, are you done yet, with a tilt of his head.

“Please, let me go.” You gasped. Michael wasn’t cutting off your oxygen, not as much as you knew he could, but your voice still came out raspy.

Michael’s only answer was that heavy breathing, loud in the otherwise quiet room. He was utterly still as he held you firm against the fridge, but you caught a shadow dancing across the sunbeams that were streaming in freely now through the open cavity of your kitchen and then those bloody knuckles of his free hand were pressed against your collarbone and his thick fingers were curling hot around the knot of your towel.

You wailed when he ripped it from you, letting the sodden fabric hit the floor disinterestedly as he took a step closer to your now completely naked body, utterly bared for him. Michael’s large back protected you from the spirals of chilly air coming in through the hole he’d made in the back of your house but you shivered all the same. His heat crowded you as he stood closer still, his mask hovering just above your forehead, head cast down so you could feel the cool rubber against your hairline, his metronomic breathing was the only sound.

Michael’s hand flexed on your throat, almost as if in warning of what would happen if you even tried to move. You stifled your cry and bit your lip as you swallowed your own tears, feeling more afraid and more vulnerable than you’d ever felt around him, naked and exposed like this. 

Michael pressed his rough and calloused palm against the soft flesh of your belly and you let out a low moan, expecting it to hurt and you were surprised when it didn’t, except for the drag of hardened flesh of course. It was an experimental touch, flat-palmed and curious. You trembled. 

Michael watched his own hand as he dragged it up your side, rough and tickling, hot and heavy until every hair on your body stood up, tingling in the wake of his rough, killing hands on you. 

He paused when his fingertips pressed against your ribs, he didn’t need to pick a left or right side, his hand settled comfortably around your entire rib cage. You imagined he was weighing up how easily he could close his hand, crushing your ribs inwards until they pierced your own heart. You wondered how many people he’d done that to and felt panic rise in you like bile.

Michael finally moved his hand and cupped your breast. 

You let out a breathy exhale. His skin was hot and rough against your tender flesh there. Your head span, your nipples peaking to attention, your insides soaking yourself. 

He waited like that for longest moment, maybe even minutes as he just stared silently before finally giving your soft and vulnerable breast an experimental squeeze.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned quietly.

He wasn’t listening to you, but then how would you know, as he ran his whole palm over your breast, grazing the stiffened peak of your nipple with his calloused flesh and you gasped loudly. The sensitive sensation went straight to your clit and you trembled.

You were utterly frozen, caged in a murderer’s hands as he tried and tested the most vulnerable nerve endings in your body, and all you could do was take it. You didn’t know if it was actually possible to come like this, but your desperately clenching cunt was giving it a damn good try.

Michael’s mask moved stiffly, finding your face again, and he kept his head bowed so he was level with your gaze, as if studying your face, as he dragged his palm across your nipple again and you bit your lip, your cheeks scarlet with blood as you stifled your moan.

Your body wriggled. You’d always been particularly sensitive there, it was a sensation you wanted more of and was too much for you to handle. 

He flexed his fingers around your throat, tightening incrementally but you didn’t know what that meant, you didn’t know what he wanted from you so you kept silent and still. 

He dropped his hands from your breast and your throat and you barely had time to take a breath in before you felt his fingers curling around the backs of your thighs until he was scooping you up, quite literally lifting you into the air.

You gasped at the suddenness of it before tucking your legs around his waist to stop yourself from falling. Your hands, once gripping his wrist, worked on instinct alone and you wrapped your arms around Michael’s neck for support as your fingers linked together and your whole front was pressed snug against him, your head in the crook of his neck.

You could smell him like this, the heat and dirt and copper of blood. You could feel him against your cheek, just a single strip of human, male flesh where his boilersuit met his mask and your whole body shuddered against him.

His hands were solid under your ass, holding you tight against his body as he took you from the fridge and walked the pair of you away from the kitchen and into the living room. 

You couldn’t guess why he was moving you, maybe he didn’t want an audience with the door off or maybe he just liked fucking you on the couch.

You trembled even as you clung to him, unsure as always of what was going to happen to you, if you were going to make it out alive this time, all you knew was that you were at his mercy. 

You could feel the heat and pressure of his solid cock, pinned against your core and sodden with your wet cunt pressed against it, wetting the dark blue of his boiler suit to black with your desperate desire.

He stopped in the middle of the living room where your coffee table used to be and you were grateful for his large hands curled under you. Your arms and thighs were beginning to strain under the effort of clinging to such a thick body, he was quite literally about three times the size of you, and your legs weren’t meant to spread that far. Michael made them spread as far as he wanted. 

He tilted his hands and your whole body followed, tumbling back slightly in his grip and your forearms tightened a little around his neck in response. You were face to face with him this way, well, face to mask. In any other situation, if you were a normal couple, this would be the part where he kissed you. But you weren’t and he didn’t.

You dipped slightly when he adjusted his grip on you before he steadied you again and good christ why was that so hot? The cocksure flex of his fingers like he knew he wasn’t going to drop you, it made your body flush with heat.

You realised what he’d done then, transferred your body weight to one hand so his other could drag his zip down, which was quite a feat, really, with you pressed against his front like you were. That must have been why he tipped you back, to make that room for himself. 

Not that you cared even a little bit as that sliver of pale flesh came into view. For one mad second you wanted to push the fabric aside and see him, but you knew you were going mad, and that you’d be dead before you even tried. 

Then Michael’s cock was in his fist and you lost all sense completely. It was thick, hard, his head red and sopping and twitching in his mammoth grip and he pumped himself in his hand just once. Your mouth fell open as molten lava flooded your core just at the sight before he was adjusting his hand under you once more and running his head through your soaking wet folds.

His cock glistened with your need for him until it dribbled down his hot shaft and wetted his balls. 

You tried to breathe steadily. You wanted to close your eyes, or maybe bury your head back between the crook of his neck, but you couldn’t look away from the way he fucked his cock against you before he sunk inside, like he was enjoying the foreplay, and it was the single hottest thing you’d ever seen. 

Your hole was quivering entirely of its own volition, desperate to be stuffed and fucked and he knew it, he was playing with you, watching for your reaction as he slipped his crown up and inside you and your eyes rolled. 

He kept you speared just on the thick and unforgiving head of his cock as both hands cupped your ass again, keeping you utterly immobile as you clenched uselessly and deliciously on just the tip - you wanted desperately to beg for more but you just couldn’t, not to Michael, not to a murderer.

He seemed more patient with you today than he had been before, more exploratory, like he was testing your body’s limits and reactions. You hardly knew why, maybe he just didn’t want to accidentally kill his favourite wet hole.

His devoid mask was inches from your face and if he wasn’t wearing it then you’d have felt his breath fanning over your lips.

His fingers gripped the meat of your ass and the familiar sparks of pain made you sigh, before he began lowering you down on his cock.

Oh, fuck, yes, your mind gasped at your descent, as Michael stretched you obscenely around the fucking steel rod he called his cock, sliding inch after inch wetly into you, his weight and heat and girth carving up your insides like a pumpkin on halloween. 

Your legs tightened around his waist and one of his hands inched up, pressing the small of your back firm against him while his cock twitched and jerked, fully seated inside you. Your mouth fell open as your head tipped back, you’d swear you’d never had him so deep before. It felt dangerous , like any minute shift from either of you might tear your insides. It was worth it, it was so fucking worth it, he felt so fucking good that you might die anyway if he didn’t move.

Michael tilted your hips and your thighs responded by clinging even more pitifully around his broad waist. Every shift inside of you felt like fire, felt like breathing again after days of being under water.

Your cunt squelched audibly around his cock and you winced, fear thrumming through you and adding to your arousal as Michael tipped you back. You envisioned your back crashing to the floor and at this height? Something would break.

Then hot and large hands were curling around your hips, holding you steady and you let out a little breath, your eyes fixed to Michael’s hollow mask eyes as your heart hammered. He began to move your hips up and down, bouncing you on his solid cock and every upward thrust drove him up into your guts.

Guh, fuck, your head tipped forward into his neck, your whole body trembling as he fucked up into you. Michael’s body was utterly immobile, a solid mass, a shape, servicing himself inside your weeping cunt with every brutal bounce of your hips.

Your eyes fluttered at the mixture of pain and pleasure, both one and the same, and the lightning in your nerve endings. Cradled like this in his large hands, your tits bounced with every one of his thrusts and you waited in embarrassment for when his mask tipped down to watch but it never did, it just stayed on you,

Tight to his pelvis like this, you could feel every vein of his cock as he slid into you, and the fat head splitting you open from the insides, making room for himself in your small body. Your wet folds kissed his black pubic hair as he pulled you down on him over and over again with that same steady rhythm that managed to be calm and aggressive all at the same time. He went as he always did, like a machine, the stamina of a teenager and the control of a middle-aged man. He was everything, both, nothing, all at the same time.

You tipped your head back as your cunt clenched and your stomach rolled, thighs quaking - you didn’t know what ripped it from your throat but rip it did -

“Michael, I’m going to come.”

Suddenly, the pressure between your legs became intense as the piston of Michael’s hips sped up until he was ramming inside you. You could hardly tell if he was thrusting in and out anymore, it was just a hard and fucking amazing feeling of fullness. 

You couldn’t help it when your mouth curved into a silent cry and you came hard on Michael’s cock, your fresh spend copious and spurting around his thick length, flying eveyrwhere with how hard and fast he was fucking into you.

Your eyes actually crossed as he kept his brutal pace, hurtling you over the edge once again in a matter of seconds and the feeling of your release being fucked from you was glorious, it made your entire body quake.

The noise you made was loud and hardly ladylike as pure animalistic pleasure was ripped from you. Michael didn’t react, not in any discernible way and somewhere in your subconscious, because your conscious was having its brains fucked out, you realised that you weren’t being punished for making noise. Instead you rode out orgasm after orgasm, coming pitifully on this beast’s cock over and over as he didn’t falter for a second and you had no choice as you were forced to clench and squirt and shiver until you couldn’t think straight, no, you couldn’t think at all.

Your vision was hazy and your head was swimming, nothing in your mind but hot fierce coming pleasure as you eased your forearms down Michael’s neck a little, not realising until you’d done it that you were searching for and then gripping the seam of his exposed flesh with your fingers, shuddering under the warmth of his hot skin.

He stepped closer to you, bringing your hips down against his, until that space between your torsos disappeared and your bare and sweat-soaked chest was rubbing against the unforgiving material of his boiler suit with every measured rut into you. Your nipples rubbed cruelly against the fabric and you winced and shivered as your hitherto untouched clit trembled and kissed Michael’s solid abdominal muscle.

You buried your head where your hands were, and you sobbed as you came again, the new sparking sensations running tight through your body forcing you indelicately over the edge again. The rubber of Michael’s cool mask pressed into the seam of your neck, that loud breathing right against your ear and you whimpered.

The rub of his boiler suit against your cunt was unforgiving, scraping your clit in a way that was almost painful. You didn’t think, your animal brain zeroed down as you let one hand leave his neck and trail between your tight bodies until the pad of your finger found your clit. It was hard and aching, ready for the attention it had been so cruelly denied for the last few weeks, and you shuddered as a gentle rub made your eyes flutter and your cunt clench deliciously on the big cock inside you, this new and intense orgasm making you dribble onto Michael’s collar.

You yelped a little unexpectedly as your body dropped, but then Michael’s hand was framing your ass again and you breathed as you rolled your hips against him, your hand pressed protectively against your still twitching clit.

Michael’s large hand framed yours, his fingers pressing messily against your spent cunt and you squeaked as you felt his calloused fingers rubbing hard against your clit in a poor and heavy-handed imitation of what you’d just done to yourself. You winced as pleasure shot through you, too over-sensitive to feel anything other than intense, and your fingertips found the bones of his wrist, not so much to pull him away but more to hold on for dear life as he rubbed sloppily against your poor, used clit and your cunt squeezed his still moving cock as your hand reflexively squeezed his wrist and you came sharply and painfully, clamping down on him until a deep exhale caught your attention and Michael stilled, holding you tight against him as his cock erupted a gallon of burning seed into your used core. 

You blinked slowly, overwhelmed, grip not loosening on his wrist as you felt your exhausted head spin. The feel of Michael’s heartbeat under your fingertips accompanied your descent into darkness.

The world came back to you slowly, like strips of colour entering your vision as your heavy eyelids blinked open. You floated aimlessly on the edge of consciousness for a few moments before your mind re-entered your body and you groaned, feeling every sore and pained inch of it. You were still naked, and still damp from your shower, but you were rested wonkily on your couch like a cadaver in a horror movie.

You sat up with a frown, muscles stiff, trying to remember when you’d passed out. Your thighs were stuck together with the creamy white mess of Michael’s come and the memory of the herculean beast bouncing you on his cock came back to you with a flash and your eyes fluttered.

It was still light outside, so you reasonably couldn’t have been out for very long, but you couldn’t see or hear Michael anywhere. You made your way cautiously upstairs to retrieve a nightshirt and pull it over your head for decency, and for the chill that was beginning to sit deep in your bones. Michael wasn’t up here either.

He must have left, you thought, like last time, as soon as he’s done with you.

You walked, bow-legged and shaky, back into the kitchen, definitely after that wine now.

The first thing you noticed was a hammer on the countertop, which was weird, primarily for the fact that you were fairly sure you didn’t own one. The second thing was that the door was no longer on the floor, which you’d completely forgotten about, but rather it sat wonkily back in the door frame with heavy screws brutally nailed through it until the heads were at odd angles. Regardless, the door was back in its frame, haphazard but sturdy. You walked slowly towards it like it might jump out and attack you. It creaked a little as you swung it open onto the empty street, but open it did. 

Huh, your startled brain chipped in, as was often its way lately, at the most inopportune moments, Michael really did know about doors.

[cheollipop]

Yo you're so right about Wooyoung's nose. Wanna ride it 🤧

HNNNNGHHHH DON'T EVEN DO THIS TO ME RN IT'S ONLY NOON

(also may or may not have dedicated an oral scene to riding wooyoung's nose in this bc of how hard I was brainrotting—shameless promo ahem ahem)

no bc it's curved just right?? just imagine him being so desperate all day, pacing around the living room, dusting the shelves, testing out his baking skills—all to distract himself from thinking about the taste of you on his tongue while you finished up your back-to-back meetings in the room only three meters away from him. imagine you finally getting a break, trudging to the kitchen while stretching out your sore back to find wooyoung carrying a tray of cookies, the oven mitts you'd gifted him last christmas shielding his palms from the heated metal.

those same mitts now on the floor, you found yourself with your back flat against the dining table, your bottoms discarded somewhere behind the man between your legs, lapping at your cunt as though it was his last meal. two fingers found their way inside you, the back of your head colliding with the stained wood when the tongue previously flicking over your clit slid down to catch the arousal gushing out of you, now replaced by the curved slope of wooyoung's nose. your legs constricted around the sides of his head, a veined hand gripping your inner thigh to spread you open for him again. 'taste so good,' his words vibrated over your folds, 'wish I could do this all day,' and he'd purposely nuzzle his nose into your throbbing clit, moving the rounded tip from side to side before sliding down to pass the bridge over your sensitive nub. his fingers pounded into you, curling into your walls to hit the spongy spot that made your back arch, your hips rolling frantically to meet his thrusts as a sweet melody of moans sent violent waves of arousal straight to his cock—pressed against the grey material of his sweatpants, precum forming a dark spot around his crotch.

the familiar squeeze of your walls around his fingers alerted him of your impending orgasm, a whispered 'ride my nose, baby,' enough to turn your vision white, desperate moans rolling off your tongue as you pressed your feet to the edge of the table, urgently chasing your orgasm over the slope of wooyoung's nose. you came with a broken cry, the pads of his fingers prodding against your g-spot as he guided you through your high, gliding his nose over your swollen clit once, twice, before moving off to flick it with his tongue, the corners of his lips curling at the violent spasms shaking your body.

moving off you, he wrapped his arms around your upper thighs to pull you towards him, pressing his softening cock to your spit-soaked folds, a pool of his cum soaking through the thin fabric. the rough material rubbed over your overstimulated cunt, breathing out a soft moan as you fixated on the content smile gracing wooyoung's features—having came in his pants to the mere feeling of you riding his nose.

(haha, ha. HAHA. feeling so sane rn)

[spider-manz]

What I think is the correct art medium to draw the following Marvel characters in based on vibes:

Captain America: He is the one doing the drawing

Bucky: Charcoal pencils.

Tony Stark: Crayons (half do not have wrappers), Cheap Markers (The blue is perpetually dried out), broken pencil crayons.. really any art supplies commonly found in an under funded elementary school art cabinet.

Pepper Pots: Black ball point pen, or if you're feeling whimsical, blue.

Bruce Banner: Calligraphy pen on top of water colour.

Hulk: Macaroni.

Black Panther: Pencil crayons, really nice ones you spend a lot of money on! That or a fountain pen :)

Peter Parker: Spray paint (On a brick wall specifically).

Loki: Oil paint and Stained glass (Except in the movies the glass is cracked and in the series the oil is olive).

Thor: Sand. Not as in sand art, as in drawn in the sand at the beach.

Clint Barton: Sharpie.

Natasha: Idk the blood of her enemies??

Rhodey: Mechanical pencils (Not the kind you find on a classroom floor with one and a half led left inside, like you went out to the store and specifically bought these mechanical pencils for Rhodey).

Dr. Strange: A pen with a considerable amount of whiteout.

Wanda: Ink and Quill.

(Speaking of) Peter Quill: Four coloured pen.

Rocket: Stray bullets, probably.

Nick Fury: Gouache paint.

Antman: Highlighter.

Vision: Chalk (On a chalkboard).

Sam Wilson: Some sort of pastels, chalk or soft, probably.

Quicksilver (not to be confused with his Avengers: age of Ultron counterpart, SlowAluminum): despite being able to steal literally any medium, he would just grab a average, #2 pencil.

Wolverine: A sketch pencil, the kind where the graphite is super long because the the wood is cut off with a knife.

Jean Grey: Copic Markers

Scott Summers: Acrylic Paint

Charles Xavier (James McAvoy): Alcohol Markers

Erik Lehnsherr (Micheal Fassbender): A Metallic marker (pun not originally intended)

Professer X: Watercolor Pencils (Practical but pretty)

Magneto: The kind of paint you use to paint a wall

Nightcrawler (Alan Cummings): Paper Mache

If I missed anyone, feel free to ask!

(This is such a stupid post wtf)