#i wonder what makes them think that i’ll turn to jesus this year but not last year or the year before…

[ennabear]

does anyone know how to get your extended family to stop sending you bible verses or do i just have to ignore it

[estrellami-1]

How Steve Harrington Gets a Family

The first time it happened, Steve didn’t remember. He had no idea why Hopper was acting so weird until Joyce took him aside, sighing softly.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs. “You don’t remember, do you?”

He frowns at her. “Remember what?”

“You called him dad, Steve.”

“I-” he gapes. “What?”

It goes like this.

He’d been hospitalized, after the Russians; he doesn’t know all the details, won’t for years, but Hopper had escaped from the reactor, thrown his weight—and title—around until someone had put Steve in a room, in a bed, gotten an IV into him, run whatever tests doctors run.

He was delirious with the truth serum still in his system and the adrenaline wearing off, groaning in pain and mumbling nonsense.

Hopper had put a hand on his head, said, “I’ve got you, Steve. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

“Dad,” Steve had mumbled, shifting into Hopper’s hand, and promptly passed out.

“Oh,” Steve whispers after Joyce tells him. He runs a hand through his hair. “Well, no shit he’s been acting weird, I mean why would he want me as a kid- shit, I need to apologize-” 

“Whoa,” Joyce says seriously, hands on his shoulders. “Slow down, Steve. You know Hopper loves you, right?”

Steve bites his lip on the snark that wants to come out, instead choosing to just blink at her.

“Christ,” Joyce laments, “I’m going back to school, everyone need so much damn therapy.” She takes a breath and looks Steve in the eye. “Hopper loves you, Steve. He’s considered you his kid for a long time now.”

Steve gapes at her. “No he hasn’t!”

Joyce raises a brow. “Uh-huh. And how many parties has he busted, exactly? And how many marks do you have on your record?”

Steve snaps his mouth shut. “Oh, shit,” he whispers, looking up at Joyce. “He- he does? Really?”

“Really,” Joyce confirms, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh,” he mumbles, before letting himself enjoy the hug.

Later, when he’s about to head home, he stops in front of Hopper, glancing nervously over to Joyce, who nods encouragingly. “Can I, uh. Talk to you? For a second?”

Hopper narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “No, nothing! Just-” he sighs, runs a hand through his hair, gestures Hopper out the door and around the side of the house. “So, Joyce and I were talking, right? And I was wondering why you’d been acting weird around me, and I didn’t even remember what I said in the hospital, so Joyce told me, and- and I don’t expect anything from you! At all! And it- how I feel doesn’t have to change anything-”

“Christ,” Hopper says, but he’s smiling. “I think you’re worse at emotions than I am.”

“Well I’ve never had to tell anyone I think of them as more of a father figure than my own father before!” Steve blurts out, then freezes.

Hopper bursts out laughing. “Jesus, kid, do you think before you talk?”

Steve’s not hurt. Really. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but at Hopper. “I’ll leave.”

A hand on his wrist stops him. “C’mere, kid,” Hopper says, pulling him into a hug.

Steve stiffens. “What?”

“Boy, you’ve been my kid since the third time I didn’t write you up for one of those damn parties,” he grouses.

Steve relaxes into the hug. “So. If I, uh. Were to, maybe, call you dad again…”

“Just see what I’ll do if you don’t,” Hopper says gruffly, and it’s really not that funny but Steve’s just so relieved that he cracks up anyways.

They pull apart after a minute, and Steve has a giddy grin on his face as he backs up. “Bye, Dad,” he says, before turning and running to his car. Hopper’s laughter follows him.

He’s been close to Dustin for a while now, but still refuses to call his mom Claudia. The most he’ll do is Mrs. H, even though every time she sees him, she tries to get him to call her by her first name.

He can’t do it. He can’t make himself. Maybe it’s the manners instilled in him, maybe he’s just awkward as fuck, who knows. But he chickens out every time.

That’s why, when she answers the door, he smiles. “Hey, Mrs. H.”

“Steve,” she greets him warmly. “Come in, come in. Call me Claudia. Oh, what is this? I told you you don’t have to bring anything!”

“Just some cookies,” he promises her, putting them down where she directs and falling into the hug she gives him.

“Dear,” she asks him later, when they’re sitting at the table with Dustin, “call me Claudia, please?”

Steve can’t look at her; passes the butter Dustin’s silently asking for. “Sorry, Mrs. H.”

“Jesus,” Dustin groans, buttering his roll. “If you can’t even say her name then at least call her mom.”

Steve’s cheeks are on fire. “That’s not exactly up to me, Dust,” he grits out.

“Oh, dear,” Claudia sighs. “I would love for you to call me mom.”

“Then we’d be brothers,” Dustin adds, “which we basically are anyways.”

Steve snorts. “I don’t think that’s exactly how it works,” he tells Dustin, but takes a breath and smiles at Claudia. “Thanks, Mom,” he says quietly. Claudia beams back at him.

“I don’t give a damn!” Claudia yells at the hospital receptionist, who really just looks exceedingly bored.

Steve knows the look of someone who’s grabbing their pepper spray. “Mom?” He calls, wet and wobbly, and Claudia spins around, running to his side.

“Oh, Stevie,” she murmurs, gently cupping his hands. “Oh, goodness, your face- have you gotten looked at? Has someone come to see you? Where’s Dustin?”

Steve opens his mouth to answer and promptly bursts into tears. “He’s f-fine,” he manages. “Ankle. Getting- getting helped. But- Mom-”

She hushes him, pulling him down into a seat next to her. “Let it out, Steve, there you go. Mom’s here, I’ve got you.”

He finally composes himself enough to pull back and look at her. “It’s not good, Mom,” he whispers. “I tried, I really did, and I know CPR but he was losing so much blood-”

“Steve,” she stops him, “I thought you said Dustin was fine?”

“He is, it’s just his ankle, but Eddie, Mom… he’s back there, they’re doing surgery, but he- I felt-” he grabs at his own chest, and somehow Claudia knows what he means. “Oh, dear,” she murmurs, pulling him into another hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers into his ear. “You did what you could, you kept him stable until the doctors could do their job, and now it’s their turn, okay? Let them take care of it. They’re gonna do everything they can.”

His eyes well up again. “He didn’t kill anyone, Mom.”

“Oh, I know that, sweetie. It’s okay. I never thought he did.”

“But they do!” He sniffs, wipes at his face. “And what- what if-”

She pulls his attention back to her with a hand on his face. “Did I tell you about the time a known serial killer came in?” She whispers. He shakes his head. “He’d been in an… altercation, with the police. Shots had been fired. We all knew who he was, but when he flatlined on the table, we got his heart beating again.” She grips his hand tightly. “Doctors take an oath, Steve. They’re going to do everything they can. Okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbles, letting her pull him into another hug.

“Y’wanna tell me about Eddie?”

“You know Eddie.”

“Mhm, from Dusty. I’ve never heard about him from your perspective before.”

“I didn’t really know him before today,” he admits. “I knew of him, in high school, a little bit, but then I graduated and he didn’t and then Dustin started raving about him and… I got jealous.”

“Oh, Steve.” She cards a hand through his hair. “You know Dustin will always love you. You’re brothers.”

Steve sighs. “I know, but… we’re also not. I love you more than I love the woman who birthed me, and I love Dust as much as I’d love any biological sibling I could ever have, but-”

“I know,” Claudia says. “It’s okay, dear. Keep going. Tell me about Eddie.”

“Right. So I got jealous, and then I really didn’t wanna meet him, ‘cause he actually sounded kinda cool and I’m just… me. And I know what you’re gonna say, but you’re biased as my mom.” Claudia just chuckles. “But then I met him, and… he’s really nice, Mom. He really loves the twerps. And he’s, like… kind? And I know nice and kind are synonyms but it’s different. Like he’s just… an inherently good person. That’s kind. Nice you can fake. But you can’t fake kind. Y’know?”

“I know what you mean,” she agrees.

“Okay, good. Well he’s kind. He-” Steve sniffs. “He called me a good dude.”

“Well,” Claudia says, smiling, “you are.”

Steve chuckles wetly. “I am now, maybe, but I wasn’t when we knew each other in high school, and I didn’t really expect him to say anything. And he’s so passionate, Mom, and he’s talented, and he’s selfless, but that backfired because it landed him here-”

Claudia hums, strokes a hand through his hair. “How long have you liked him?” He stiffens. “Oh, please, like I haven’t known this entire time. Honestly, Steve, I’m not an idiot. And I’m not some backwards idiot especially who thinks two boys who love each other are the greatest sin.”

“No, it- Mom, you love Robin, of course you’re fine with it, I just- I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”

“Oh, Stevie,” she sighs, running her hand through his hair again. “When he gets out, are you gonna do something about it?”

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Maybe. If- if he even wants to be friends-”

“Okay, now I know you’re talking crazy,” she teases him, grinning.

Just then Hopper walks in, looking around with wide eyes, stopping when he sees Steve. “Dad!” Steve yelps, standing and walking quickly towards him, stopping about three steps in. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, because he knows the way the room is spinning and his vision is going out.

He’s out before he hits the ground.

He wakes up later to find he didn’t hit the ground, actually; Hopper had leapt forward and caught him the second he’d stopped walking and started swaying.

He blinks bleary eyes open and finds himself looking at a ceiling tile. “What-”

“Don’t move,” comes Hopper’s voice from beside him.

He turns his head to frown at him. “Dad? What happened?”

“You passed out. Jumped outta Claudia’s arms like she’d burned you when you saw me. Much as I love you, kid, the parent’s gotta go first this time, ‘kay? No more self-sacrificing bullshit and not getting medical attention when you need it.”

“M’kay,” Steve says. “Sorry, Dad.”

Hopper puts a hand on his head. It’s comforting. “Go to sleep, kid.”

When he wakes up again, he’s more lucid. He looks around, sees Claudia asleep in the chair next to him. Looks on his other side, and his breath catches when he sees Eddie. His eyes are closed, he’s still asleep, but he’s alive.

“Mom,” he whispers, tearing his eyes away from Eddie to look at her. He feels bad, a little, waking her, but only a little because he knows she’d tear him a new one if he didn’t. “Mom.”

She starts awake and tears up when she sees him. “Stevie,” she murmurs, cradling his face with her hand.

“Mom,” he says again. “He’s here.”

Claudia chuckles. “You can thank your father and I for that one. We raised hell.”

“I bet you did,” he says appreciatively.

“And you, young man,” she says, too full of love to really be mean, “next time you tell me when you’ve been half eaten, okay? Or have you forgotten I’m a nurse?”

“Didn’t forget,” he murmurs, nudging her hand with his face. “Just wanted to stay with you.”

“Oh, Steve,” she murmurs. “You beautiful boy.”

He falls asleep again.

He wakes up again later and looks over to see Eddie also awake, and also looking at him. “Eddie,” he breathes.

It’s hard to tell from where he is, but it looks like Eddie’s blushing. “Looks like I’ve got you to thank for saving my life.”

Now Steve’s blushing. “Ah,” he eloquently says. “No, I mean, just- what anyone else would do?”

“Are you asking me?”

Oh, god, is he teasing? Steve barely survived the flirting before, but now there’s nothing else to keep his attention off Eddie, nothing else he can blame the blush on. “…I just didn’t do much,” he belatedly says.

“Bullshit.” He shifts and hisses in pain. “Fuck, those bastards got me good. But that- that’s proof, y’know?”

Steve blinks. He doesn’t know. “What?”

Eddie grins at him. The stitches in his cheek pull, but don’t tear. “That you saved me.”

Abruptly, Steve tears up. He looks away, up at the ceiling, wills the tears to stay inside. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you-”

“No,” he answers quickly. Too quickly. There’s an awkward silence now. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I- I felt your heart stop, okay?” He looks over again, knows the tears are there, knowing they’re leaking into his hairline and across the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t sure the doctors were even gonna try that hard to save you. And now you’re joking with me, and-” he takes a quick breath, holds it. Releases it slowly. “‘M just glad you’re okay,” he finally says.

“Oh,” Eddie says quietly. “I, uh. Didn’t think you really… cared. About me.”

“I think I care more than I should.”

Eddie takes a breath. “I’m about to say something way too brave, and I’m only saying it ‘cause we’re both in hospital beds and I’m assuming you can’t just, like, walk over and punch me.”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. But, uh. Anyways. I don’t… people don’t care about me. My uncle Wayne does, sure, and the kids, but that’s different, and- well. I’ll take whatever care you wanna give me. It won’t be too much.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “well I definitely don’t want to punch you for that, what the hell, but I hope you know you’re gonna get hugged for that as soon as I figure out how to undo all this shit.” He gestures to the tubes in his arms, and Eddie starts to laugh, then stops just as quickly with a hiss.

“Okay, abs got eaten, no laughing,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Shit, dude, stay in bed, you had like five people in here earlier who all told me specifically to not let you out of bed, though how I’m supposed to do that I dunno.”

Steve blinks over at him. “Five?”

“Well- four, now that I count. Dustin was here with his mom, he’s getting released later but was allowed out of bed for a minute and came to see us. Robin, and she looked angry, are you two, like, okay?”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, she’s just worried.”

“And then Chief Hopper, which- do you wanna explain why the actual Chief of Police was in here?”

“Ah,” Steve says, and blushes again. “He kinda, like… adopted me? Not officially, obviously, but he’s… well, I call him dad, so-”

“And Claudia?”

Steve hums. “‘S my mom. Dust’s my brother.”

Eddie snorts. “Jesus, Harrington, d’you just go around collecting people to call your parents? How many d’you have now, four?”

“Nah, just two. My parents fucked off pretty permanently by the time I was nine. And before that I had nannies when they were gone.”

Eddie blinks at him. “You- wait. Back up. You’ve been alone for the entirety of high school?”

Steve thinks. “I mean, I had Hopper, kinda, but that was before he became Dad, so… I guess?”

“Goddamn,” Eddie whispers wonderingly. “And you’re still sane?”

Steve snorts. “Jury’s out on that one, I mean I do willingly hang out with the twerps, so-”

“Fuck, don’t make me laugh, man.” He sighs. “I get it, though,” he says quietly. “Mom was an angel, but… Dad got to her, y’know? Tore her wings off, rubbed her halo in the dirt. Poured alcohol down her throat until she was dependent on it. And him. And when she-” he shakes his head. “Then it was just Dad, and he got sent away ‘cause apparently his new car wasn’t his, y’know? And I went to live with Wayne at twelve.”

“But now you’ve got Wayne.”

“Mhm.” He smiles a little. “Call ’im pops sometimes, ‘cause he’s my real dad now. Sometimes Wayne, sometimes Uncle Wayne. He doe’n’t care much.”

“What’s it like? Living with him?”

“It’s been a dream, honestly. He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met, and he’s got patience to rival a saint. Doesn’t care when I play my music loud, or forget to eat, or bring boy—uh, girls—over.”

Steve hums. “There’s still the house in Loch Nora, but I stay with the Hendersons most days. I tend to bring people I meet to Loch Nora, just ‘cause it’s empty, y’know? I mean, Dust’s a little shit, and he’d tease me regardless of who I brought home. Mom wouldn’t care. Hell, she’d probably give me a condom and lube,” he laughs. “And she’s teaching Dustin to be the same way. He’ll get there one day.”

“He’s a twerp,” Eddie agrees. “I didn’t know you, uh-”

“Mhm,” Steve answers. “Robin says I’m like Bowie.”

“Like Bowie- you’re bisexual?”

“That’s the one!” Steve says happily. “I can never remember the name.”

Eddie looks at him wonderingly. “Who are you, Steve Harrington?”

Eventually they get out of the hospital, and eventually they stop circling around each other. Eventually they kiss, and fall asleep on the couch, and make each other breakfast, and do certain things behind closed doors that Steve still can’t think about without blushing.

Eventually they’re outside the Munson’s trailer, working in the garden that Eddie, surprisingly, loved.

“Imma go in,” Steve says eventually. “Get a drink.”

“Alright,” Eddie says, not looking up from where he’s pulling weeds near his tomatoes. “I’ll be here.”

Steve has a bit of a headache already, and he knows drastic temperature changes don’t help. He didn’t think the trailer was that big of a difference, but it’s cool enough he’s got goosebumps breaking out along his arms almost immediately. Then he’s hit with a blast of freezing air when he opens the fridge, and his head begins to throb. “Fuck,” he mutters, shutting the door and grabbing for a glass, hoping the sink water isn’t too cold.

It’s cooler than he’d like, but it’s all he’s got right now, and he knows if he doesn’t hydrate it’s going to end up worse. He chugs two glasses, sets the cup down, and goes to sit at the table, rubbing his eyes.

It gets worse almost without him realizing: one second his relatively fine, the next he’s groaning in pain, trying to block out all the light by laying his head on his forearm.

A hand on his back startles him. “Dee?”

“Wayne,” comes the gruff voice. “Not Eddie. Y’got a migraine?”

“Mhm.”

“Y’take anything for it?”

Steve waves a hand. “Had water.”

Wayne leaves for a minute, comes back and presses two pills into Steve’s hand. A glass of water is placed in front of him.

He takes the pills, squinting, and lays his head back down.

“Nuh-uh,” Wayne says, “up you get, c’mon, you’re sleepin’ this off.” Hands at his shoulders guide him out of his seat, shuffle him slowly down the hall to Eddie’s cool, dark room. Lay him down and pull the blankets over him.

Steve sighs and relaxes into the bed, cracking an eye open to look at Wayne. “Thanks, Pops,” he murmurs, then winces when Wayne freezes. “S’rry. Wayne.”

Wayne pets a hand through Steve’s hair. “Pops works just fine,” he says. “I’ll tell Ed you’re in here.”

“M’kay,” Steve breathes, and lets himself fall asleep.

They’re at Hopper’s cabin, an annual We Saved the World semi-party that usually ends in at least one disagreement.

Eddie’s got most of the kids corralled away in the living room, with promises of an epic one-shot. The adults, Steve, Max, and El are in the kitchen.

He doesn’t know who started it, but someone teases him, and Hopper ruffles his hair with another jab. “Dad,” he complains good-naturedly, laughing.

“Steve?” El asks.

“Yeah?” He looks at her.

“Hopper is your dad.”

Steve glances at Hopper, who’s listening, but making no move to answer. “I mean… not, like, biologically, but yeah.”

“Me too,” El says. “Are you my brother, then?”

Steve flounders. “I- I guess if you want me to be?”

“You’re a good brother to Dustin,” she answers. “I haven’t had any good brothers besides Will, and we are the same age. I would like a good older brother.”

He smiles, tugs her into a hug. “I guess I’m your brother, then.”

She goes willingly. “Does that mean Joyce is your mom too?” She looks up at him, big eyes serious. “She is a good mom.”

“Uh,” Steve says, “that’s kinda up to Joyce.”

“Oh, honey,” Joyce says, because of course everyone had stopped talking the moment El had started. “Why don’t you call me Mama J?”

Steve smiles bashfully, accepting her hug. “Sounds good to me.”

When he tells Eddie later, his boyfriend laughs. “You really do collect parents!”

[imfinereallyy]

“Dad is going to be very angry,” El says with wide eyes taking in the scene before them.

“You think Hop will kill him?” Steve says as he leans against the doorway, eating a Twizzler.

El looks at Steve momentarily, sticking her hand out for some candy. Steve hands her one without hesitation. El rips a piece off before speaking. “Oh yes. He might ask you to help hide the body.”

Steve nods solemnly, “I’ll do what needs to be done. Mikes’s my least favorite child anyway.”

“Hey!” Mike yells, gaining the duo's attention. It brings them back to the scene they walked in on. Mike and Will, with the door closed (no three inches in sight) on top of each other, making out.

Steve doesn't think he’ll ever get that image out of his brain.

“Chill, Wheeler, I'm joking,” Steve says pointedly before turning to El and mouthing no, I'm not.

El giggles, and Steve can't help but feel like he won a prize at the sound.

“I'm sorry, El.” Will blushes with shame, like he is betraying his sister somehow.

El just shrugs, “I do not care. But Dad might. He hates Mike.”

Steve snorts, “That's the understatement of the century. I don't think Hop has ever hated someone’s partner like he has Mike. Honestly, I was surprised he liked Eddie. I mean like is a strong word. But he tolerates him.”

Will pipes up, “I think he does mostly because he knows you'll move out, and he only just got you to agree to stay here.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ll take what I can get. At least he doesn't walk on me having sex.”

“We weren't having sex!” Mike practically screams. Hands up exasperated. “And don't talk about you and Eddie; it's gross.”

Will blushes deeply with head in his hands, “Oh, God.” El pats him on the shoulder in sympathy.

“Also, this wouldn't have happened if you weren't an idiot and just knocked!” Mike stomps. Jesus, this kid is 15 acting 6.

“I was the one who walked in, Mike. I wanted to know if Will wanted to watch a movie.” El says coldly, getting defensive of her brother.

Mike clams up, Steve can't help but feel smug.

“Who’s having sex?!?” A distinct Hopper-like voice echoes through the house.

Will and Mike share a panicked look while Steve and El take more Twizzlers from the bag.

“Oh no. Mike! What are we going to do?”

Mike sputters, “He doesn't have to know it was us! And we weren't having sex!”

Will looks at him like Mike is the biggest moron he's ever met. Steve loves the kid (despite early protest) but has to agree. “Oh gee Mike, I wonder who he will think it was about. Steve? Who is dating a man who isn't here and keep in mind, it's Steve. Who is our brother, and five years older than us? And in a relationship? And let's not forget..is Steve?!”

“This is fair.” Steve agrees. If anyone but Baby Byers had attempted to say that, Steve would have been pissed. But it's Will, so it's coming from a good place.

“Also! Also! The other person here is El! Who is my sister! Not to mention your ex—”

“—well it could have been—”

“Micheal Steven Wheeler, if the next words out of your mouth are it could have been you and El, I will never be kissing you again.” Will uses a deathly tone. Steve isn't convinced he didn't get from El.

“Your middle name is Steven?” Steve fills giddy.

“Shut up Steve!”

Will pinches his brows, “And you idiot, if it were you and El, you would still he toast.”

Steve whistles, “Shit, Will. Next time I need to win an argument against Eddie. I'm coming to you.”

“How long does it take for dad to get upstairs?” El interrupts.

All of them look down the hall. “Huh, maybe we are in the clear,” Mike whispers.

“I said who is having sex?!?” Hopper comes thundering up the stairs.

“I think this is what Max calls a jinx.” El looks at Mike unphased.

Steve can't help but feel a little bad for Will. He looks panicked around the room, probably looking for a hiding place. Steve knows that it isn't that same fear Will once had of Lenny, Hop wouldn't hurt them ever, but he can't help but feel a little protective of him. Steve knows all too well how the fears of biological fathers can sneak up on you, even if you know you're safe. “Don’t worry, Will. I'll make sure Hop takes it easy.”

Will relaxes, “Thanks Steve.”

“What about me?” Mike asks, eyes wide.

El shares a look with Steve. Spending as much time as they have lately has allowed them to talk without speaking most of the time. It freaks everyone but Robin out (she gets it). Seconds go by before they both nod in agreement.

Steve and El both wip their heads towards Mike, and Steve says, “You were grossed out by my relationship and called me stupid. Suffer.”

Mike's outcry is in synch with Hop breaking through screaming, “There better be three inches!”

[artdcnaldson]

Alllll I can think about is the changeover au SO I had a thought, art having bragged to Patrick about all the little things he had picked up that make your eyes roll to the back of your head and body tremble during your “relationship” and and and Patrick being a sly fucker and not telling you about it but doing them to you when you eventually do fuck and secretly thanking art in that moment for the tips !!!

this is part of my changeover au :) you can read that here

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Angst, SMUT (mild descriptions of p in v), post changeover pt.1

Summary: It’s been months since you called things off with Art, but Patrick still can’t stop thinking about the two of you together.

A/N: This was supposed to be sexy and fun, and I turned around and made it depressing 💔 my bad!

Patrick shouldn’t have been thinking about Art.

In fact, he’d been trying very, very hard to stop thinking about Art lately. Missing him felt like having a phantom limb, like a part of him was suddenly cleaved and his entire body expected it to still be there.

But that was different from the way he was thinking about him then. With you, laid out for him on the hotel sheets, your body gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat after a day watching tennis matches. You’d been a perfect little cheerleader, just like Art had told him that first time.

I mean, Jesus, you’d homemade the tightest little shirt that said ZWEIG across the tits. You wore it beneath a modest white cardigan, since it was a nice country club he was playing at, but still.

“You played so well today, Patrick,” you’d said sweetly after the match, holding his hand while you walked with him to the locker rooms.

“I played like shit,” he said with a huff. Frustration was welling up within him. He wanted to smash a racket, or pick a fight. “I should’ve beat that asshole.”

“There’ll be other matches,” you reassured, brushing a sweaty curl from his forehead. “Go shower, and when we get back to the hotel, I’ll make you feel better.”

And you were doing your very best to make that happen. It would probably be perfect… if only he could stop fucking thinking about Art.

It had been a problem each time he’d seen you since March. It was fine, until he got you in bed, then the fucking blond was all he could think about. Memories of Art talking about fucking you, all the times he’d gone on and on about just how good you could take it.

He supposed he deserved it. He’d gone on tangents about Tashi more than enough times, and it probably drove Art crazy, knowing what he couldn’t have. Maybe he wanted Patrick to feel the same way, so jealous he couldn’t stand it.

But now you were the one beneath him, moaning as he bottomed out within you, filling you up completely. Your hair was sticky, plastered to your face with that thin sheen of sweat.

She likes when you’re nice to her. She gets off on the compliments. It’s Art’s voice he hears in the back of his mind, almost a year ago now. Like a perfect recording.

“You feel so good,” Patrick murmured against your ear. He felt your cunt clench around him as your nails dug into his shoulders. “So good for me.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist— pulling him closer. And your pretty, wet lips panted out little gasps right by his ear. Thank you thank you thank you, over and over and over.

He moved his lips to a spot just beneath your ear, sucking and licking at the soft skin there until you moaned, growing louder as he laved your throat with bites and sloppy kisses. Art had given him that one too.

And he knew he was making you feel good— knew that without fail, you’d wind up as putty in his hands. But he wondered if you thought about Art too, if you missed the ways he would treat you reverently, with that gentle, sweet way he always got with girls. If you would go back to Art if you ever got the chance.

Patrick had long since decided not to bring up Art while he was fucking you, or when he was with you at all. Instead, he lingered like a ghost in the recesses of Patrick’s mind, and probably in yours.

“Close,” you gasped in his ear.

He pulled back, kissing you deeply. Licking into your mouth like he could somehow erase the memory of Art’s tongue there too. Because Art was the one who told him that you liked being kissed when you were right on the edge, that you got super clingy like that.

When you came, you always made the prettiest sounds— like you came straight out of a porno or a wet dream. Art hadn’t warned him about that. He didn’t last much longer before he finished too, panting and sweating on top of you.

You smiled and pet his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp as he kissed the soft skin on your shoulder. You used to do the same thing to Art, playing with his hair after you’d fucked. He knew that too, and it made his chest ache.

He wondered if he’d ever have anything with you that Art hadn’t had before.

He shouldn’t have cared that much. He would’ve been happy sharing Tashi with Art, back in that hotel, back at Stanford. It wasn’t that he didn’t like that Art had you before, it was that he missed Art now

Thank you for reading!! Sorry this is so depressing, I couldn’t make it sexy no matter how hard I tried. I had to lean into the angst and pining from Patrick over Art

If you have any Changeover au thoughts or requests, please feel free to send them my way :)🩵

[witchwyfe]

not the only one - jhs

I pairing: college jake ‘hangman’ seresin x female reader

I précis: jake’s turn getting drunk and pining + a little backstory and info for him :)

I content/warnings: college au, roommates to lovers (that haven’t gotten past the roommates stage yet), mentions of alchohol, mentions of throwing up, mentions of being drunk

I word count: 1,066

I a/n: part of the roommate predicament !!!!

“Man, can you just help me get him into the car?” 

“I swear to god Jake, if you puke in my bronco…”

“He’s not going to!” Javy hisses, hoping he’s right. “Just help me get him in.”

Bradley sighs, running a hand over his face. “Fine. Jake, c’mere bud.”

Jake doesn’t respond, too busy singing to himself under his breath. 

“Hey lover boy!” Bradley calls, cutting off the drunken tune of My Girl. “We’re going home.”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow as he looks up at his friends. “What?”

“Jesus,”

“Time to go home Jake.” Javy says, looking at him. “Get in the car.”

Jake hangs his head and does as Javy says. Javy reaches across him to buckle his seatbelt, ignoring Jake’s complaints and swatting hands. 

Once everyone is in the car, Bradley starts it up and slowly backs out of the parking spot. “You wanna go home or am I dropping you at Javy’s?” He wonders.

“Home.” Jake says. “Is ____ there?”

“I don’t know man.” Bradley shrugs, shooting a look at Javy. 

"I'll ask her." Jake announces, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

You receive a less-than-decipherable text from Jake a couple minutes later, and then a handful of heart emojis.

You call him and he answers eagerly, thumb swiping the answer button before he holds the phone to his ear. 

"Hey darlin'!" He greets loudly, not noticing the way Bradley and Javy wince.

"Hi Jake." You say cheerfully. "What's up?"

"I'm in the car." He states. "But I'm not driving."

"Oh good," You say, biting back a laugh. "Do you need something or...?"

"Are you at home?"

"Yeah." You say slowly.

"We'll take you there." Bradley says, ignoring the smack Javy delivers to his arm.

"We can't take him home right now," Javy hisses. "He can't be alone with her right now. He's too drunk he'll tell her he's in love with her in two seconds."

"And that's exactly why we should take him!" Bradley argues. "He needs to tell her at some point or he's just gonna be pining for the rest of his life." Bradley who spent too long overthinking his own decisions, and doesn’t want Jake to make the same mistakes that he did. Bradley who’s known Jake since freshman year, where they met during a fraternity rush before they both realized that neither of them like being told what to do by a senior on a power trip. Bradley, who see’s Jake as one of his best friends, and wants Jake to be happy. 

"He's not ready." Javy says firmly. "Just because you told Melanie you liked her after too many beers and--"

"--yeah and look at us now! It worked out pretty well!"

"He's not ready." Javy repeats. "He told me he wants it to be the right moment." Javy, who’s known Jake almost his whole life, when Jake’s family moved into the house next door to Javy’s grandmother. Two boys who discovered each other one summer when Javy came to stay with his grandma, and spent every day together running through the Seresin’s sprinkler. Javy has known Jake longer, so he thinks he knows him better, but he still wants what’s best for him. 

"He's just telling you that because he's too scared. It's a way for him to put it off."

Both men sigh, not even realizing that Jake has hung up the phone until he clears his throat.

"Can y'all stop fighting about my love life and just let me suffer?" Jake groans. "My phone died." He pouts. "I was still talking to her."

"Sorry bud." Bradley grins. "We'll take you home and you can see her soon."

"No, you're gonna stay at my place tonight." Javy cuts in. "We'll see ____ tomorrow, you can even bring her coffee."

“No, we’re gonna—“

“Stop.” Jake whines, head drooping against his seatbelt. “I want to go home and sleep in m’bed.” He hums. 

“Fine.” Javy sighs. “But we’re walking you up.”

Less than ten minutes later, Bradley’s pulling his car into a guest parking spot, before he and Javy help Jake out of the car.

“M’fine.” He pouts like a petulant child. “I can walk!”

Javy backs off a bit, but is still right by his side, with Bradley close behind. 

You’re on the couch in your pajamas when they unlock the door, pausing your show and flinging your blanket off your lap. You beeline for Jake, inspecting his face.

“Hey sweet thing.” He drawls, accent a little sloppier than normal. “Missed ya.”

“Missed you too Jake.” You murmur sweetly. “You okay?”

He nods, head wobbling a little bit.

“He’s had a lot to drink.” Javy cuts in. “We should probably get him to bed.”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod, stepping back. “I’ll grab him some water.”

You take your time walking to the kitchen and filling a water bottle with ice and water. The last time you gave Jake an open cup while he was drunk, he spilled it all over himself. You wait until Javy and Bradley are exiting the room. 

“Let me give him this then I’ll walk you two out.” You acknowledge them before going into Jake’s room.

“Hey Jake.” You smile. “I got you some water. How about you drink some?”

He lifts his head of the pillow and opens his mouth. You bite back a giggle before popping the straw on the water bottle and connecting it to his lips. He chugs some water quietly, before pulling back and wiping the back of his mouth. 

You lean over to take the water bottle and set it on his nightstand, when he laughs a little.

“You’re so pretty.” He tells you. “Like it doesn’t even seem real, you’re just so pretty.”

Ignoring the way your cheeks flame, and your heartbeat kicks up, you bend down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you Jake. Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night,” He murmurs, pink rising on his cheeks.

Bradley and Javy spring away from the door as soon as they hear your footsteps on the floor. It’s hard for them to knock their matching grins, so they keep their heads down and wish you a goodnight as you let them out the front door.

And you go back to the couch and your show, but your mind is stuck on the boy sleeping in the room over.

© witchwyfe 2023. absolutely no reposting, translating, or modifying, even with credit.

[shdo-xplosion]

SLIMEBALL!AIZAWA X READER

Warnings: dubcon, explicit content, aizawa wrestles with his conscience but his dick wins, aloe vera as lube, talk of when reader was his student, almost somnophilia, fingering, p in v, creampie, cum play, fem-bodied reader, reader is white-coded, described as turning pink/red from sunburn

Word Count: 2.1k

Notes: my contribution to the Wet Hot Slimeball Summer collab! thank you to @bastardblvd for letting me join! i’ve been wanting to write aizawa for a little while now and this just possessed me. hope everyone has fun with it, and make sure to check out the masterlist for more slimy content!

He should wake you up, give you a nudge where you lay in your beach towel, but Shouta can’t bring himself to. Not when he has such a perfect view of your body, the arch of your back, the curve of your ass, the way your tits squish out from beneath you, your skimpy top barely doing anything to cover them.

Fuck, he should wake you up. Your skin is already turning pink. You’re going to have painful burn lines that will peel and turn into sexy tan lines, and Shouta has to shake his head to get the image out of his mind.

His sick mind. There must be something wrong with him. You were his student for fuck’s sake, and sure, you haven’t been for a few years now. Now you’re a big shot pro, one of the top 10, but he can still remember you sitting in the back row of his classroom, mouthy, obnoxious, still learning to control your quirk.

He remembers having to tell you to shut your mouth every single day, a mouth that he finds himself staring at more and more, lips parted and pouty, and Shouta wants to slide his fingers between them, feel your tongue on his fingerprints.

But he refrains, just bites the inside of his cheek and looks out at the waves.

The beach houses are nice, other pros having rented a few out for a nice little getaway. There are still heroes in the city to protect civilians, nothing to worry about. All Shouta has to do is relax.

He’s in a house with Hizashi, All Might, Snipe, and you, and his patience is running thin. Between Toshinori’s loud ass voice and Hizashi forgetting to turn on his hearing aids, Shouta is beginning to think that maybe he does deserve a little treat. Maybe he should indulge.

No. No. Ex-student. And the media would have a field day if anything ever got leaked. Not worth it. Definitely not worth it.

But hours later finds everyone back in their respective houses, resting after a long day in the sun. Hizashi and Toshinori are passed out and Snipe has retired to his room, probably also sleeping, leaving Shouta tired but awake, listening to you hiss every time you move.

“Jesus, I haven’t had a sunburn like this since I was a kid,” you whine.

“Should’ve put on more sunscreen,” Shouta replies. Or he could’ve just woken you up. Been an actual good person instead of perving on you in your bikini.

“I meant to! But the sun felt nice, and the waves were so soothing, and I just…”

“Dozed off. Just let all those UV rays cook you.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t need a lecture, Aizawa Sensei,” you scoff, and the way the old title makes Shouta’s dick twitch in his sweatpants. Fuck.

“You’re right, you’re right. How about I go pick up some aloe vera, then?” he offers. He needs to put some space between the two of you.

“What, I’ll stop whining?”

“Maybe,” he smirks.

Once he pulls on a shirt Shouta leaves and makes his way down to the little shop at the end of the street. All it sells is beach stuff, but lucky him, that’s all he needs.

One bottle of overpriced aloe vera and a meaningless chat with the cashier, and Shouta is on his way back to the house. He wonders if you’ll lather it on in front of him. Maybe you’ll even ask him to help.

The lightweight shirt you had put on earlier must be too much for your raw skin because you’ve gotten rid of it, walking around in a t-shirt bra and little shorts. Have you gotten even redder?

“Oh, thank god.”

“Let me throw it in the freezer for a few minutes,” Shouta says, pulling the bottle out of your reach when you practically lunge for it. “It’ll feel better cold.”

“But Aizawaaa,” you pout, sounding a lot like a petulant child, crossing your arms only to whimper and drop them back to your hips.

“It’ll be worth it. I promise.” Without giving it much thought he hooks a finger under your chin, thumb flicking your pushed-out bottom lip. When you don’t recoil from the touch, he fights to keep from pulling you closer.

Unfortunately, you don’t ask him for help when you apply the cold cream to your skin, but Shouta is granted a look at your hardened nipples through the material covering them, the icy aloe making you break out in goosebumps.

“Thank you for getting this,” you say genuinely. “It’s gonna make my nap so much easier.”

Shouta has always been good at hiding his emotions, so you aren’t able to see the disappointment he feels as he watches you retreat to your room, the green bottle in hand.

It’s fine though because an hour later he finds himself creeping in after you, eyes locked on your sleeping form. You’re lying on your stomach, likely to avoid the burn on your back that you weren’t able to reach. No blankets are covering you, the heat from your skin keeping you well warmed.

The bottle of aloe is on the nightstand, and Shouta reaches for it—room temperature now, and squirts some in his hand.

He’s doing you a favor, he reasons with himself. Your back is an ugly (beautiful) red, and he wants to help soothe you.

His hands on you don’t wake you immediately, just make you sigh and snuggle further into your pillow. Shouta gently rubs the remedy over you, as careful as possible. You feel so nice under his palms, so warm and smooth, the dip of your back calling to him. He could make you arch further, make your hips roll and buck. Your shorts ride low, waistband just above the swell of your ass, and Shouta wants nothing more than to rip them off, but he resists. Instead, he rubs up your sides, slowly and purposefully, fingers barely dipping beneath the elastic of your bra so that he grazes the sides of your tits.

That makes you stir, eyes slowly opening as tired little noises make their way out of your throat.

“”zawa?” you ask quietly, and his self-control breaks.

“Shh, just relax,” he tells you in a low voice. “It’s okay, m’just taking care of you.”

He sees your eyebrows furrow, and you try to roll over, but his strong hand presses against the small of your back to keep you from turning.

He unclasps your bra, squirts a generous amount of aloe between your shoulder blades, and begins working again. At first he thinks you believe that his actions truly are innocent. You can’t see or feel how hard he is in his sweats, how precum is already beading at his tip.

That belief is shattered when he moves his hands upward again, this time sliding under you to cup your tits.

“Aizawa!” You push yourself so that you’re sitting up awkwardly, but all it does is make it easier for him to grope you and press his lips to your shoulder.

“You don’t have to pretend you don’t want this,” he drawls, smirking into your skin. “I haven’t forgotten about your little schoolgirl crush.” Because as much as you may have annoyed him in class, you still looked at him with hearts in your eyes. It was easy for him to deduce that all your smartass comments were just to get his attention.

“That doesn’t mean…” You trail off when he pinches both of your nipples, pulling a quiet moan from you.

“Just once, sweetheart. You owe me after teasing me the last few days.”

“I wasn’t…”

“Walking around in your short little dresses, prancing around with these pretty tits falling out of your bikini tops.” He gives you a tight squeeze before letting go of the plump flesh in order to trail his hands down further. “Let me have you just once.”

You only resist a little when he pushes you back down on the bed, face down again. You’ve lost your bra, and Shouta is quick to pull your cotton shorts down your legs, revealing that you’re wearing nothing underneath them.

He groans, groping your ass, bouncing your cheeks before spreading them to show your folds.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he growls, running a finger down your slit as far as he can. You’re already wet for him—such a good girl—but he still wants to get you slicked up and messy.

Shouta grabs the bottle of aloe vera once again, covering his fingers with it then slowly pushing two of them inside of you.

“Ahh, fuck, ‘zawa,” you gasp. With your cheek against the pillows, Shouta can see the way your mouth opens, eyes wide as they flick around to whatever you can see. Your body is tense, but you aren’t fighting him, thighs parting a little more.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he purrs. You don’t respond, just bite your bottom lip. Doesn’t matter. As long as you let him touch you he’ll be a happy man.

Pumping his fingers, Shouta stares at your reddened skin and gets the idea to mark you, presses his fingertips into your flesh then pulls them away, admiring the light circles they leave behind. Mesmerized, he grips your ass with one hand, squeezing to create those same marks just under the curve.

“Fuck, you’re sexy.” He punctuates it with a spank that makes you jolt, but you quickly melt when he curls his fingers a certain way. “You ready for my cock, baby? I’ll be gentle. I know you’re sore.”

A lie. He slicks himself up with more aloe then thrusts into your heat all at once, stretching you on his fat cock and holding you in place when you squirm.

“Y-you said… nnfuck.”

“I know what I said, but your pussy is just too—” he snaps his hips back and forth, eyes rolling in his head. “Too sweet. Can’t help it.”

Shouta tugs you up so that you’re on your knees, back pressed to him, and he knows the friction is hurting you, the coarse hair on his chest chafing your raw skin, but at this angle he can reach in front of you to play with your neglected clit, massaging it with two fingers.

“‘zawa let me… at least let me ride you,” you plead.

It’s a tempting thought, but… “you feel so good like this, though. So warm, taking my cock so well.”

He presses a hand low on your tummy, swears he can feel his dick moving, but he gets distracted when you let your head hang back to rest on his shoulder. Opportunity presents itself with your neck so open, and Shouta wraps his fingers around your throat, just barely squeezing.

He’s so deep inside you, cockhead nudging your cervix. Ohh, he wants to fuck you so full of his cum, wants to see you sprawled on the mattress dripping with him, wants to see you ruined.

Words stick in your throat, but your lips are moving like you want to say something. Shouta pants in your ear, “what is it, baby? What do you want?”

“Wanna—wanna cum,” you whimper, and now Shouta knows that you’ve fully accepted him. You’re not mad at him for fucking you, no. You want this. You want him.

“Cum, then,” he growls, nipping your earlobe. “Cum on my cock, I wanna feel your pussy—”

Your back arches painfully, sensitive skin pulling taut as you cry out and cream all over him. Feeling your cunt contract around him, Shouta fucks into you harder and deeper, using you like a rag doll as he gets lost in your climax, climbing to his own.

He’s not sure he’s ever cum so hard in his life, thick lines shooting from his dick and coating your guts. Shouta bites into your shoulder hard enough for you to yelp and try to slap him away, but all of his muscles are so tight that even his jaw is locked. His hips stutter as strings of white keep shooting into you, your used cunt so full of him that it starts leaking back out of you.

When he pulls out, Shouta scoops some of his cum out of you, dazed as he smears it down the pink of your spine.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask breathlessly, falling forward onto the mattress and glaring.

Shouta shrugs his shoulders. “Aloe works just as good as lube. Maybe cum’ll work well as aloe.”

“That’s disgusting.”

So is he. But at least he finally learned to relax on his vacation.

2023©️shdo-xplosion. please do not plagiarize or repost my work to any other platforms.

[hannahssimblr]

“I do. You always look pretty. Every time I see you, I think that.”

With this, she bursts into a flood of fresh tears. “Oh God, you’re so nice.”

“Look, I know this isn’t helpful, probably, but if things were different, if I wasn’t leaving, then maybe… maybe things would have turned out another way. I know you don’t think much of yourself, but I think you’re a great person. You’re really sweet and sensitive and talented and you make me laugh, and from my point of view anyway, you light up every room you walk into. Whoever the next person is that gets to be with you is lucky.”

“But it won’t be you.” Her mouth is so down-turned at the edges that she looks almost cartoony. Those looks are one thing I will miss most about her. If I were lucky enough to know her for longer, I think I’d fill a hundred sketchbooks just drawing the expressive shapes of her face.

I simply shake my head, and my arms are outstretched and ready to catch her as she falls into them for another round of sobs. There’s nothing I can do. I learned this a long time ago. Sometimes all you can do is hold someone until they’re ready to be let go again. I’ve spent whole nights holding Ivy like this, and I’ll spend hours with Evie if it’s what she needs.

Into her hair, I murmur an admission I have never made to another person. “Leaving is going to be so horrible. Sometimes I can’t think too much about it. Like, I know I won’t be that far away, but it’s going to change everything. I have amazing friends here that will be so hard to leave behind. And my family, obviously. I have a sister who’s nine. Ivy. She’s in that stage where she’s obsessed with me. She wants to do everything I do… Jesus, it’s going to be rough. I’ve never lived away from home before. I don’t really know how to be a functioning adult who, like, pays electricity bills.”

“It will be hard at first, but then eventually it will be really good,” she sniffles. “You’ll meet all these cool new people and you’ll forget all about everyone here.”

“Is that your way of telling yourself that I’ll forget about you, too?”

“You will.” 

“I won’t. We’ll still be friends. I’m not great at keeping up with people, and I don’t use Facebook that much…”

“So you’re saying we’ll be friends, like, on a symbolic level, but we’ll never actually talk to each other ever again.”

I laugh. “Shut up and let me finish before you start getting cross with me. I’ll email you. Old school, like.”

“Hm. That will be nice, like sending letters.”

“Exactly.”

She squeezes me, and I squeeze her back, gazing down at her face, red nose and smudged makeup, and I still think she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in real life. “How are you doing?”

“Very badly.”

“Well, one day, you won’t care about me at all. And maybe when you go to college, in like a few months, a year, or after that, you’ll look back on this and think ‘oh, ew, I can’t believe that when I was seventeen, I liked that lanky guy with the weird accent. That was so embarrassing.’ And you’ll wonder why you ever cried over this at all.”

Her face becomes fierce, like she wants to be serious, but it’s hard not to smile when she sticks her lip out like that. If I was being stupider, I might like to push my thumb into that crease between her eyebrows. “You don’t have a weird accent.” She insists. “Well, okay, you do, but I like it. And there’s nobody on earth that’d be embarrassed to have ever liked you.” 

“Okay, Evie.” I chuckle. “Lets see how you feel in a year.”

“A year?”

“Yeah, one year from now, I’ll email you, like I will every single week, mind, and you’ll roll your eyes and think, ‘oh God, him again?’ I’d be willing to bet on it.”

“You underestimate my feelings.”

She overestimates them, more likely, because we’re young and stupid and that’s just what we do, but it’s fine. She’ll learn, like I did with Michelle and all the girls that came before her, that the things that feel raw and real in the moment, the people you swear you’ll spend your life loving and wanting and missing, you forget them in the end.  

We lapse into silence as the grasshoppers chirp in the long grass. The cleaner comes by to pick some of the rubbish nearby and makes small talk with me about various happenings at the festival. Ignoring Evie, firmly locked in my arms with her damp cheek against my chest.

When he finishes, and the rubbish is gone, and the music in the distance goes silent, it is just us and the insects and the blanket of dew, and the smell of lingering summer in the air. Evie shivers, and I draw back to look into her sad little face.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

“I think you are.”

She smiles, and her teeth chatter. “If I say so, then you’ll make me go back to the tent.”

“We have to go back eventually, don’t we?” I take the opportunity to stretch out one of my legs, which is cramping. “What time is it?”

“Don’t care.”

“It’s got to be… I don’t know. You can see the sun rising a bit.”

“If we leave, then it’s over,” she whispers.

I murmur, “It’s over, anyway.”

Green eyes skim my face in one last pursuit of a truth they won’t find. And then she sighs with resignation. “You’re leaving.”

“Yeah, I’m going away.”

“It’s just sad.”

“Of course. For me too.” And I’m not sure there’s much left to say. “Come on. Let’s just end this day.”

She doesn’t protest. Climbing to our feet, we make our way back towards the campsite, hand in hand. Though she’s not my girlfriend and never will be, it feels good to pretend while I can.

It’s lights out in our circle, embers smouldering in a campfire that we missed, and someone’s, Joe’s, Kasper’s, snores float from their tent. Evie’s is wet with morning dew as I unzip it for her with the same chivalry as any man opening a door for a lady. She shuffles inside, and the moonlight shows up the goosebumps on her arms and legs. Claire is not inside, her shoes stacked neatly outside Shane’s tent instead.

Evie grabs my wrist before I zip her inside. “Do you want to come and stay with me?” She whispers. “We won’t do anything. I just think it’d be nicer than being alone.”

We will do something. I’ve been a teenage boy for long enough to know the score, and tempting as it is to have one final, movie-magic experience with her to round off the summer, I know it is different for her than it is for me.

I shake my head. “Not a good idea, Evie. Sorry. Goodnight.”

The last thing I see is the dismay on her face before I zip her inside the tent, and head for my own.

There is Jen, cocooned in her sleeping bag. She stirs as I fumble with my clothes.

“You’re back,” her voice cracks with sleep. I ignore her, as the anger I felt for her in the woods resurfaces with a vengeance. My heart thuds with the memory.

“What time is it?” she says, and again, I say nothing. I struggle into bed and turn my back to her.

“Jude?”

“Talk to me in the morning.” I whisper sharply, and I shut my eyes, willing away the heaviness of the day, and all the things I know are still to come. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[missmarveledsblog]

It's just pretend right ? (Bucky Barnes x reader) part 5

summary : after an amazing day the terror twins come to bring kitty's world and everything she has known crashing to the world making her run off and face a past she's never known while she discovers a new "gift" , bucky find out she not the only one .

warning : this one is angsty i'm sorry but it for the plot i promise it not all angst , violence and shitty family .

Previous part

To say tony stark spent his day digging through everything and anything wouldn’t be a lie , they man had to give it to fury , he had the file completely locked but he’s tony stark  of course he found a way in and he suddenly wished he never did . He wished he could have gone back to be in the dark because what was hidden made his stomach twist and turn and it was all  information on a person he considered family.  How was he going to tell her this without breaking her beautiful stubborn little heart breaking the bonds and trust she’s had all these years. He read it over and over wishing it was some sick prank but when Nick fury walked into the lab the look on his face only confirmed it. 

“ How long did you know” was all he said, making Bruce look at the men in confusion. 

“ you shouldn’t be hacking the servers stark that file was not meant to be read”. 

“ does she know what’s in those files  the ones you hide very well i might add but not well enough” he crossed and uncrossed his arms frankly wanting to punch someone or something.  

“She has no idea and it’s not for us to tell her” fury stood tall on the issue . 

“ So what , you're just going to have agents looking after her and hope she doesn’t notice , well hate to tell you buddy she did” he scoffed. 

“ What are you talking about Stark? I never had agents watching her. the whole point of it no one  knowing  where she was” fury stopped face dropping . 

“ These aren’t your vehicles because their registers with shields” he turned the screen. 

“ Jesus for a genius you're a dumbass sometimes that’s a list of known vehicles we’ve had on watch list not inventory , how long she notices these”. 

“ Since she was a kid, she just thinks it is one of those strange routine things , what or who is watching her fury” Bruce gritted his teeth. 

“ hydra” he sighed. 

 “ we have to tell her” . 

“ Just let's think of a plan , she's safe now with nat and the guys” tony sighed not really knowing what to do.

 “ We need to tell them tony. "I know i’ll send the file, let her family give her the chance to tell her, i better go to see if they need back up  “ he felt his own heart fall into his stomach as he pulled his phone out . 

Walking into the kitchen nat gave her a quick hello before answering the phone and rushing out the room.  

“ How was the church?” her mother smiled. 

“ I didn't go in , me and Bucky walked around town and had lunch” she smiled brightly. 

“  Let me guess bacon burger and milkshake”.

 “ most definitely shared stories of the past and even had grandma laughing” she sat . “ Maybe she is dying,” Izzy mused as Maya slapped her arm . 

“ we were talking about pop pop , wonder if he would be proud of me” her eyes fell to  her hands in her lap . 

“ Would he, that’s a stupid question , he’d be down the bars and fishing lake bragging majorly at his kitty kicking ass  and saving the world” .

 “actually kicking names and taking ass” she chuckled, only for them to be confused as the inside joke. 

All of her years being in the life she had moments she loved and moments she hated  and as she looked at the file on the jet computer this was a moment she despised completely.  The moment in time finding out her close friend represented her own in a way , a family raising her for an evil organization yet this time it was prolonged .  how was she going to explain to her best friend her life was basically a lie , that the ones she loved were just pretending to care . 

“ What is this” was all she heard, turning to see Steve and Bucky standing completely shocked at the words on the screen of the jet's computer. 

“ This is why she has been followed ,  she’s an experiment from hydra god i hate that even came out of my mouth because she’s not , she’s  our Y/N “ nat sighed. 

“ what?” . 

“ she’s a experiment , her mother is a test subject , they pumped her full of serums under the guise of being some new drug for expectant mothers but she died during the childbirth and well Y/N was kept so they could continue it that was  now she must be with host family” nat growled the last parted . 

“ we have to tell her , i mean this is a big thing to hide” bucky feet heading towards the door only to look up and see her father standing looking like the color vacated his face. 

“ explain” nat growled .

“ Where's dad?” she asked, seeing the two boys coming into the kitchen . 

“ He's on that jet seeing if the others are coming in” Jack shrugged. 

“ probably showing off” she mused but still she felt her eyes looking to the door. 

“I’ll get them” she smiled softly, kissing her mothers cheek before heading out to the door.  Just as she stepped off the porch the car stopped in front of her screeching . 

 “ YOU DRUGGED US”  the voice screamed as she felt her heart beating and her body shaking.

 “ you insolent child , what was the soldiers attention on my daughters too much? '' her aunt's voice called coming toward her . then the world went a mumbling and muttering like she was underwater , she could hear the protest of cassie sort of but the fear in her had her in almost like internal bubble. 

 “ hey back the fuck up before i pull those dollar store extensions out of your head” she heard izzy voice standing before her and jessies arms around her pulling her back to earth .  

“ she made a fool of us in front of the avengers because of her vendetta against us” leah screeched. 

“ vendetta you almost killed her” izzy growled  the whole commotion as they stood out of the jet. 

“ whats going on? '' Nat asked, coming to her side for the first time ever seeing the powerhouse she knew all these years, shaking like a scared child . 

“ i don’t know why you think you're so special , you’ll never be one of us. ''Emma cried, holding her still sore stomach. 

“ i don’t know why you hate her but she is family. '' Izzy went to dive at the woman but Jack held her back. 

'' You're still feeding them that crap” her aunt scoffed. 

“ what are you talking about? '' Jessie spat. 

“ she is not one of us..”. 

'' Shut up, don't be so cold, let us tell her '' her mother cried . 

“ what you talkin about tell her .. what’s going on” she felt the world spinning completely , everything so much as her knees threatening to fail holding her up .

 “ Mom, stop this is ridiculous , I wish I was never part of you guys” cassie cried. 

“ live somewhere else hey sis since you take unwanted dumpster babies you can take one more”. “ mama” y/n spun around. 

“ What is going on” Jessie snapped. 

“ Well your mom and dad found her in a dumpster and we all had to pretend she was our family, sad really” Emma snarled . 

“ mama” she asked again looking for the woman to tell her it was a sick lie but the look she gave her was  there was truth in there words . “ It was all a lie” she asked, feeling the stinging tears falling down her cheeks . “ i  can’t breathe” she pushed off her brother walking away from the gang of her family or where they are strangers now. She didn’t listen to the calls from her or the fighting going on behind her.  Her skin becoming brighter as the flames took over not letting anything or one come closer it was all too much . she started running straight to the one thing she could always depend on and  gripping  the reigns in her hands  and belting out jumping over the cars ignoring the cries and pleading to come back .  

She knew something was always off , how she was always treated so differently . Never accepted nor values and only got worse when she got her “gifts” . The way they could never be proud of her , she could solve world hunger and bring peace to the universe And they would still find a way to find a way to criticize her. Everything she tried To get their approval it was met with a wall and disapproving scowls. It all made sense but her parents to Keep something so big , so major away from her.  It was soul destroying why would they keep It , where were her birth parents why didn't they want her? She heard the car Coming she turned slightly relieved That it wasn't a familiar one except it beep spooking Star as she turned to see the incoming branch so quick she couldn't miss it only for it to hit her head And send her straight to the ground as the horse kept going. 

“ oh shit my bad” the voice called. 

“ well you shouldn't have beeped asshole” she groaned She couldn't focus her vision and the warm liquid going Into her eyes didn't help . 

“ here let me” he Walked and instantly  She felt some thing was off moving away from the man her hands filled with flames shooting them into the sky About almost as a flare Hoping Someone would see it .

 “ I ain't gonna hurt you I just do the delivery “ she could hear the cockiness in his voice. 

“ get away from me it's a warning”. 

“ how The head?” He asked. 

“ perfect “ she smiled wiping the blood off Her eye. Her Hand ready as he walked The flames got stronger ready to toast the creep .

“ You are gonna pass out either way Just get in the car” .  She didn't Like he was right she could feel the exhaustion Take over.  

“ she not alone creeper” a voice Called. 

“ tony?” She whisper.

 “ hello my little pyro baby” he called as he blasted the car as a jet  Parked behind her. “ oh buddy you wanna hope my horse Is ok” She laughed . 

“ put the gun down dipshit” she could hear Tony's eyes rolling as she stood behind Him . 

“ Who's in the jet” she asked . 

“ that's not us  , the guys are coming you think you can help hold Them off Til then” she asked. 

“ I think I can burn bitches , ask questions later” she nodded seeing them slowly approaching her . 

 “ lets show them why is a bad idea to mess with us then kiddo”  he shot the a blast as the agents began running towards them . she started throwing blast of her  own hitting them ignoring the scream from the men as she felt the flame push higher  trying to keep herself from falling or letting tony to deal with it alone only for her whole body to go on flames like a surge of power burned through her as she took on a new lease on life suddenly she didn’t feel pain nor tired she felt something else though like she thought of everything else and shift of her mind and the flames where gone completely . 

“ holy shit” she gasped as tony turned to see her looking down as the vines came from her palms wrapping around the agents .

 “ did you know you could do that?” he asked. 

“ really does it look like i knew ?” she asked looking at her hands in disbelief. 

“ freak out later” he huffed knocking the delivery man unconscious .  

“ i don’t feel so good” she said softly before hitting the ground only for tony to see the dart sticking in her neck . 

“ shit shit” . 

“ stay back here also thanks for the lift”  nat called as they ran over tony . 

“  where can i help” jessie asked.

“ knock em out” nat threw her batons over . 

“  she ok?” steve asked. 

“ dart to the neck , vines and shit  , i’ll  explain later” tony called nodding to more agents coming out of the jet.   

“ ready soldier and knock out don’t kill” nat called . “

 i  know what to do natalia” bucky called. 

“ i meant the other soldier forget it go” she charged towards each of them taking them down easily and thankfully to his training and past years in combat spots jessie was able to hold his own while bucky stayed near y/n not daring to let anyone close to her til he was able to get her to the car safely wondering how it went so good to so bad almost in a blink of an eye.   Least it wasn’t what nat thought well not fully what she thought and it was better she heard it herself once she woke up . agents down as they used whatever was to hand to detain them knowing fury had shield already on the way  the moment before tony could even land . 

“ who was that and why did they sedate my little sister” jessie panted handing nat back her batons  as he pulled took the dart up only for tony to take it . 

“ hydra and they want her back “ tony  flew off heading in the direction of the ranch. 

“ lets get her off the ground” only for bucky to life her up  seeing a flower in her hand almost clutching it . 

 “I’ll get star” was all jessie said heading off as they drove off knowing he would follow off . as they drove the shield vans drove straight passed almost too fast while she was completely out cold as bucky guarded her barely even letting nat check her over . they pulled into the drive seeing her family the other clearing out after nat told them colorfully what she would do if they didn’t . her cousin sitting completely lost knowing it was for the best but it didn’t hurt less knowing her own parents and sibling were borderline shallow ego filled monsters . 

“ what happened is she ok ?” jack asked almost lost himself in a spilt moment the family shifted and change not with y/n though didn’t matter  she was their sister. 

“ she out cold but she be ok well sort of” nat smiled weakly . 

“ you’re friends in the jet … where is jessie” izzy asked unsure of what to even do . 

“ coming he’s getting star, jack you wanna get the door we need to get her to bed” bucky asked . 

“ course erm cassie come on we can show you to the guest room” he called as the girl nodded heading into the house.  “ she ok she just needs rest” he explained as his parents rushed to her side.  

“ erm i don’t have clothes or anything?” cassie sniffled . 

“ me and maya will get your things” izzy smiled softly. 

“ i’ll get your things” jessie stormed in not once looking at his parents only checking y/n then storming out. 

“ jack “ izzy nodded as he followed. “ he’s alway been protective of y/n probably cause knew deep down she was like him “ izzy explained. 

“ like him how?” bucky asked confused . 

“ well he must of known deep down she was adopted like him , which i don’t understand this we knew he was , why is y/n different we wouldn’t have treated her different” . 

“ adopted or like y/n adopted “ bucky looked at her dad. 

“ what’s the difference?” 

“ he knows why , answer me “ bucky asked . 

“ y/n adopted “ her dad sighed as bucky almost growled carrying her out of the door to the jet not  stopping . 

“ y/n not the first “ was all he said as they looked at him wondering if the revelation would ever end .

Part 6

taglist : @vicmc624 @babble28 @scott-loki-barnes @ozwriterchick

[tgmsunmontue]

Online & Anonymous 10/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

Odd year = Bradley's POV and Even year = Jake's POV

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014

2015 – Bradley

                He doesn’t have the location feature in Grindr turned on by default. He can’t and won’t pick up while he’s deployed, not considering the fact that they have all sort of security hoops and communication blackouts, the location hasn’t ever been important. Except when he’s on leave and he’s looking at it now and Jas is in the same state as him. Not close by any means, but holy shit he’ll travel if he has to. Jas is meant to be deployed, however Texas is a huge state, and Jas has no reason to lie about being deployed. Unless their luck has changed, and Jas is somehow on leave and they’re in the same state. There’s a chance that Jas is on base, and if that’s the case it rules out the Marines and Coast Guard, but not Army, Navy or Air Force.

                He wonders if it’s even possible for them to meet. He would totally fly a couple of hours to finally meet Jas.

>>Not to creep on you, but I can see you’re in Texas.

>>You here long?

>>You have got to be fucking kidding me.

>>What?

>>I’m here for two days. Just here to attend my grandma’s funeral.

>>And avoid my family as much as possible.

>>Okay. Not exactly ideal meeting conditions.

>>Fuck.

>>I’m almost tempted to just ditch the funeral.

>>But I can’t.

>>Of course not.

>>God I hate this entire state.

>>Special leave to attend.

>>Turn around is tight.

>>I’m sorry for your loss.

                Bradley isn’t sure what else to say, because he hadn’t even realized that Jas spoke to any of his family members, had left them all behind when he joined up whatever service it is he’s in. 

>>Thanks. She was the last decent family member I had.

>>Not that I was the best grandson.

>>Another thing to feel shitty and guilty about I guess.

>>But I don’t think I’ll be coming back here unless it’s for work.

…            …            …

                He studies his calendar and the dates Jas has sent through of when he’s on leave. There’s not more than twenty-four hours of overlap with his own leave and he gets that people come and go and in a twelve-month period it’s fine, however this has been going on for several years now. The world feels like it’s going crazy and he doesn’t know if it actually is, or if he’s just paying more attention now, as he gets older and aware how world events will impact where he might be sent next. Where Jas might be sent next.

                Massacres.

                Shootings.

                Coups.

                Wars.

                Foreign airstrikes.

                And that’s just the first two months of the year. God, no wonder they can’t seem to catch a break. He scrolls back up to the pictures Jas had sent through last night and studies the tan lines, wonders where he might be to develop them. It’s not a comms blackout, but it’s close. They’re time zones apart now and it makes him regret not appreciating all the times when they were only hours apart.

                “Is that your guy?”

                “Jesus Christ! Natasha!” Bradley presses his phone to his chest and squirms away from where she’s trying to sit on his thighs in an attempt to pin him.

                “I mean, I’d be distracted too if someone sent me pictures like that. Maybe worth the money you paid for that ridiculous phone,” she says, poking him in the thigh.

                “He’s not my guy. Just… okay. Yeah. I guess it is my guy. He’s also a friend. He doesn’t need you drooling over him.”

                “A friend you have pretty regular sex with… And I’m sure you drool over him enough for the both of us.”

                “Yeah. But we’ve never met and it feels like we’re never going to. And we don’t even know each other’s names. It’s not a romance for the ages.”

                “And yet you admitted it’s one of your most important relationships. And not just because of the sex. That does sound pretty romantic to me.”

                “This is why people think we’re sleeping together, all you talk about is sex.”

                “I just said it was romantic! But I talk about sex because it winds you up.”

                Bradley groans.

                “Is it phone sex, when your still just sending messages? Isn’t phone sex when you’re actually on the phone with each other? Have you tried that? Does he have an accent?”

                “Why are you so interested?” Bradley replies, because he’s wondering now, and he hadn’t really thought about it before and he’s annoyed at himself. Wonders if they could talk on the phone, hear each other’s voices. Wonders if Jas has an accent, because he is Texan.

                “Because I’m bored.”

                “What do I have to do to make you leave me alone?”

                “There’s nothing you can do. You need to entertain me. Can I talk to your friend?”

                “No!”

                “I could find him and talk to him. You’ve given me enough details to find him I think…”

                “Why would you want to do that?”

                “The entertainment value alone would make it worth it.”

                He rolls his eyes but pulls a deck of cards from his pocket, because while he doesn’t think she would go through with it he also wouldn’t be entirely surprised if she did.

…            …            …

                His next deployment once again finds him on a carrier with Jake Seresin. Carriers are huge, there are thousands of people on board and yet Seresin seems to be there every time he turns around. Fortunately Seresin’s squadron are meant to leave in two months so at least that’s only one-third of his deployment he has to suffer through, and another squadron is cycling through in one-month, so between them he can at least try and avoid him. It works better in theory than in practice. Their downtime in the rec room nearly always seems to coincide and he’s not really listening to what the others are talking about until he hears Seresin mention going home to Texas.

                “You’re Texan?” Bradley asks, eyes shooting up to meet his and Seresin raises an eyebrow.

                “Born and bred. How did you miss that fact Rooster? It’s not like you haven’t heard my gorgeous dulcet tones.”

                “I guess I just never thought of it before, about where you’re from.”

                He doesn’t mean it as an insult, he just really hadn’t thought about it, because he was in Corpus Christi where everyone seemed to sound Texan. And Seresin sometimes doesn’t sound as Texan as he does right now. He’s pretty sure that’s the case anyway.

                “Proud Texan through and through, go back every chance I get.”

                “Of course you do.”

…            …            …           

                Bambi arrives like a breath of fresh air with five others, and he grabs her and swings her around and then brings her in for a tight hug.

                “God it’s good to see you.”

                “Good to see you too BB!”

                “Congrats on the promotion.”

                “Yeah, now you can stop being an asshole about it.”

                “Only with you. And Natasha.”

                “Yeah yeah. It really is good to see you. Come on, think we can get a party started up in here and do some dancing?”

                “I’m certain you can achieve anything you want.”

                “And don’t you forget it! You can play the piano for me later!”

                “As you wish…” Bradley says, and she cackles madly and he grins, glad that she’s here.

…            …            …

                Things get a lot less fun for a while, they’re in the air dropping bombs, patrolling airspace and this is what he’s trained for, years of training paying off, and it’s necessary, and he loves flying, and when it comes down to an enemy plane or Seresin being shot down he’s glad that Seresin made the shot. As much as he might find him arrogant and annoying he doesn’t want him dead. He does wish the guy would learn a little humility though, and he definitely snaps when he hears him re-telling the kill.

                “Judge, jury and executioner… You’re just a modern-day hangman now aren’t you?”

                The nickname of Hangman sticks to him, and he can tell it grates him a little, but then he starts leaning into it and somehow becomes even more arrogant and Bradley didn’t think it was possible but he’s been wrong before. Two weeks later Seresin and the rest of his squadron leave and he lets out a mental sigh of relief.

                Four months to go.

…            …            …

>>You ever kill anyone?

>>No.

>>You okay?

>>Probably not. Good enough to fake it.

>>You shouldn’t have to fake it.

>>I’m assuming this isn’t a hypothetical?

>>No. Not hypothetical.

>>I’ve probably been responsible for people dying before.

>>Just never seen faces before.

>>I’m having nightmares.

>>Shit. I’m sorry. Wish I could give you a hug.

>>Thanks. I’ve got J helping me out.

>>They aren’t going to keep me down.

>>I’ll be fine.

>>Jas. Take some time. Talk to someone.

>>And say what?

>>I throw up every time I think about it too much?

>>It’s okay to feel upset about it.

>>Yeah? Then why is everyone congratulating me like what I did was a good thing?

>>War on terror… fucking hell.

>>You’re on leave right now right?

>>Go and get laid?

>>If I could be guaranteed a good lay, I would take that advice.

>>You know what I feel like?

>>What?

>>Just… pinned down and fucked until I can’t think about anything except how I’m feeling physically. Nothing in my head.

>>I mentioned once about tying you up… would you let me?

>>Yeah. Of course.

>>No. Not of course. We can talk about anything and everything, but actually doing it is another matter.

>>You know what I want the most?

>>What?

>>Giving you what you need.

>>If that’s tying you to a bed that’s all well and good, but I can pin you with my body, hold you down while I just rub against you. Get you hard and desperate for it, just rubbing up against each other like horny teenagers.

>>Would be an interesting experiment to try out.

>>Yeah, especially if I was already stretched and lubed up, that potential for more just there on the edge for both of us…

>>But you’d have to figure out how to keep me pinned and get you dick in me.

>>God you’ve gotten so good at this.

>>All the practice with you baby.

…            …            …

                He’s back in a squadron with Natasha and for the first time also Hangman, and it’s a learning curve and a half because he remember Seresin and how he was at Top Gun a few years ago. He seems to have embraced the title of the only naval aviator in active duty to have an air to air kill, and all it does is make him wonder what has happened to Maverick, because surely he’s still active. The idea that he might have died and he wouldn’t know about it scares him, so he sends a carefully worded email to Ice and asks about them both. The response he gets back isn’t overly open or encouraging, but it is still a response and Bradley takes it as the small stepping stone it is. He’s still angry, but not angry enough to not want to know that Mav is alive and well. Ice too. It’s been over fifteen years and what he really wants now is answers. So he sends another email back, shares a funny story about something that happened and hopes for the best.

…            …            …

                “Every turn he assumes I think the worst of him.”

                “Don’t you?”

                “No! He’s an asshole, but I think he maybe uses that to cover up stuff.”

                “Hmm. Deep.”

                “Shut up,” Bradley mutters.

                “Maybe the two of you have more in common than you think.”

                Bradley looks at her sharply.

                “What do you mean by that?”

                “I can’t say. Just… keep an open mind I guess?”

                “Oh my god Nat. I don’t need an open mind,” Bradley says with an eye roll, putting sarcastic quotation marks in the air when he says open mind. “He made a pass at me.”

                “Oh, so you know he’s gay.”

                “And so do you…” Bradley observes.

                “Yeah well, best friend privilege I guess? I haven’t said anything about you though. Other than you being in a long-distance relationship.”

                “Oh, great, thanks for that.”

                “What?”

                “If I go and hook up people are going to think I’m cheating.”

                “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t think about that. Wait, how long have you known Seresin’s gay?”

                “Uh. Few years. When I was at Top Gun for the year.”

                “When you spent a large chunk of time bitching to me about how annoying he was?”

                “He asked me out for a drink after that. After most of that…”

                “Did he?! Really?” Natasha sits up and leans forward, eyes wide and excited.

                “I turned him down obviously.”

                “Why obviously?”

                “I was sort of an instructor at the time. Didn’t want a reputation of sleeping with people anymore than I want one as a cheater,” he says, poking his toes into her thigh in annoyance, although all she does back is pinch the delicate skin of his ankle and he yelps in pain.

                “So… you haven’t slept with him.”

                “Nope.”

                “Thinking about it now though right?”

                He groans and she laughs. It’s annoying because they both know she’s right.

…            …            …

                It wasn’t him. That’s the only thing he can think of when he hears the news. Who ever it was got the target wrong and hit a hospital. He hears all the talk about collateral damage but he still thinks he’s going to be sick. He didn’t sign up to kill injured people and doctors. He sends another email to Ice, wonders if he’ll have any magical words that will help him sleep at night.

…            …            …

                It hits him over dinner one night that Seresin’s first name is Jake. He has the same initials as Jas, is maybe born the same year and is also from Texas. That’s quite a few coincidences. He starts paying a little more attention. He knows Natasha thinks it’s because he wants to maybe fuck him, and okay, she’s not wrong, but it’s not the only reason he’s looking. Then he hears Hangman on the phone talking to someone, his sister he tells Natasha later when she asks (at Bradley’s not so gentle request). It’s that that makes him realize that’s all they are; coincidences. Jas doesn’t talk to his family and hates Texas, Seresin is the opposite. Seems about right.

…            …            …

>>How are you going?

>>Good. Didn’t need to vomit when a nightmare woke me up this time.

>>That’s what I call winning.

>>You and I have very different definitions of winning.

                Bradley walks into the rec room and Hangman is there on his phone, thumbs flying over the screen and he wonders who he’s talking to. He looks happy, clearly not as troubled as Jas is feeling, and he guesses they’re different people and have very different experiences.

                “Hey Hangman, you okay?”

                “Would you care if I wasn’t?” Hangman says back, and he’s smiling, but his eyes are glinting with a challenge. Bradley shrugs, because he can extend an olive branch, but shoving it down Hangman’s throat pretty much defeats the purpose.

                “I just thought I’d check in on you. Some people… struggle, when they’ve killed someone,” he doesn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, or detached, but they’re not friends. Maybe he should be checking in with Coyote instead, asking him if he thinks Hangman is okay. He’d definitely get a more honest answer, that’s certain.

                “I’m in the wrong profession if that’s something I’d allow to bother me.”

                “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”

                God, he’s such an asshole.

2016

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 15.5k | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak

After four years away at collage, you’re finally home with the tools and knowledge to save your family ranch. That is, if their ranch hand would stay out of your way.

Or: Ranch hand Joel doesn’t know how to handle the return of his bosses prodigy daughter, her snarky little attitude, or her sinfully tight jeans.

a/n: this chapter gets me right in the feels every time. I love watching the way Joels character changes and his train of thought shifts. I hope you guys like this chapter because it was so fun for me to write 🥹❄️

Masterlink

Chapter 3: Blue

As it turns out, extreme levels of dopamine in his brain after a bone chilling orgasm is exactly what Joel needs to level himself out while you’re sitting beside him in the passenger seat. It doesn’t make him stop thinking about it, but it does keep the tiny little gremlin in his head that tells him to pop a stiffy at bay. The only thing he has to worry about is his eyes, keeping them off of you and on the icy driveway as he pulls away from the house. The snow has started to melt, leaving behind a sloppy mud that makes the truck slip and slide. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get your car out, even if I can I don’t think you’ll be able to drive it in this.”

You make an exaggerated groan and he doesn’t even need to look to know you’re rolling your eyes at him from your spot beside him on the bench seat. “You just love deciding what I can and can’t do, don’t you? You know I lived here my whole life right?” He dares a glance over and you’re staring at him with your eyebrows knitted together and your arms crossed. His eyes tick down and he wants to kick himself in the head for even looking because your shirt is leaving nothing to his imagination and little to wonder about how good they would look bare with his dick between—jesus christ, Joel, get yourself together Man. “I wasn’t doubting your ability, I’m suggesting that it would be dangerous for you to even try.”

The truck hits the pavement and most of the snow has melted, but the freezing temperatures leave a icy film across the top. He had to go easy on the breaks and hope to god the truck makes it up the inclines he has to take to get to your car. The last thing he needs is to be stuck out here in the cold with just your bodies to keep each other warm. He absolutely one hundred and ten percent wont survive that, not without absolutely humiliating himself. God, he fucking hates how much you affect him against his will.

“Since when do you care about what’s too dangerous for me, huh?” Why in the hell is he arguing with you like you’ve been married for twenty years? “You left me in the snow to freeze to death in my car four days ago, why am I going to listen to you about whats too dangerous for me?” You have a point, but so does he so he just shuts his fucking mouth and keeps on driving.

It takes twice as much time to get down the pass than it usually does, but the lower Joel gets, the more the ice melts into cold water and mud. By the time he gets to your car, the road is clear but the car is still sunk down to the rims in the embankment. Theres a uneasy sort of silence in the truck, something lingering around the cab of the old blue pickup that feels like shame and embarrassment.

“Texting, huh?” He breaks the silence with a crude joke that earns him a deep glare. “Fuck you, asshole. You know, I really don’t know what it is that my parents see in you. My mom always said how polite you were but I don’t believe that for a second after knowing you for a few days.” You prop open the door and climb out into the snow with your car keys in one hand and the other holding your unzipped jacket closed. Your stupid fucking shoes and that tight ass—fuck.

How is he supposed to be okay with the way you make his body react when you literally curse the ground he walks on, thinking he’s the worst thing that ever happened to this damn town? He gets out after you and slips on his gloves to keep the cold off his hands. The winter always leaves him cracked and brittle from cold work, sometimes his knuckles bleed and his bones ache for gentle hands instead of hard callouses and a cowboys scars. “You don’t know anything about me.” He reaches into the back for a chain while you open the door to your car. “I know enough. I know you’re bullheaded and selfish. I know you’re rude and you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Fucking bitch, like he’s not allowed to have some self preservation after the life he’s lived, always cleaning up Tommy's mess and abandoning his own life in the process. “Don’t act like you’re any better.” You lean out of your car and make a face at him while he hooks the chain to the front of the truck. “Me? You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Like you didn’t just spout off about all the things you think is wrong with him—he can do that too. He has a fucking list of reasons you piss him off. “I know that you’re entitled and expect people to be at your beck and call. I know you’re privileged with no regard for anyone around you.”

He follows the chain to your car and hooks it to the chassis underneath. “Well were just a match made in fucking heaven then, aren’t we?” Its dripping with distain and bitterness, so Joel ignores the comment no matter how much his brain runs and runs about all the way he could be made for you, the way’s he’d fuck that attitude right out of you until you’re quiet. But he can’t and he won’t, he’ll probably spend the rest of his life wondering what you’d feel like, the way you’d shake and scream and beg for more—but wondering is far as that fantasy will ever go.

Because at the end of the day, you’re still Hank's daughter and you’re still half his age and—you hate his guts, which is definitely a deal breaker when it comes to getting someone in your bed. So he keeps his mouth shut and heads back to his truck to tug your car out. “When you’re out, hit your brakes so you don't slam into me.” You sink down into your seat and glare at him. “I’m not stupid!” He never said you were, but he doesn’t expect you to know everything, so he does his best to be the helpful asshole he usually is.

He pulls the little car out, manages to keep the chain tight until it's back on the road and the brake lights come on in front of him. He puts the truck in park and hops out to unhook the chain, but you don’t open the door. When the car is unhooked, you’re already pulling away without a word of thanks. Joel knows he’s well past earning the way you treat him, but that doesn’t make him stop wishing he could just get you out of his head already, wish he could hate you with that same mind altering disgust that you have for him, maybe watching you drive away would be easier.

Two months pass much like the first week. Joel keeps to himself, you frown at him and avoid him where you can. When you do see one another, Joel feels like you’re always at each other's throats. Everyone in the house has started to notice the distaste in your strained relationship, if Joel is willing to let himself call it that. It’s more like a forced acquaintance. Either way, your parents even see the way the two of you bicker and fight, but rarely does anyone but Tommy make comments about it. Tommy likes to bring it up any chance he gets, usually when Joel is alone just to rile him up further. He says stupid shit, like “I bet the sex you guys would have would be crazy good” when it’s just him and his brother at the dinner table and it makes Joel stiffen and run off to the cabin without his plate or a goodbye.

He sneaks in later for his plate and catches you in the kitchen with red eyes and tear stained cheeks, but you cross your arms over your chest and try not to meet his eyes. You’re dressed in just a big tee shirt and he can see from your bare feet to the tops of your thighs. He’s the luckiest son of s bitch in the world that he just worked himself over twice because he would be tenting his sweatpants right there in the kitchen.

That was three days ago and he still can’t get the sight of tears in your eyes out of his mind. He wonders if he did that, if he’d said something that struck a nerve and there you sat at the kitchen table after everyone was tucked in bed, crying your pretty eyes out. He feels like the worst fucking person in the world because of it, so he stays away even more, makes himself sad little ramen noodle dinners in his sad little hunting cabin he shares with his brother and he stares at his ceiling wishing it was you he was looking up at—smiling instead of frowning for once—all he wants is to see you smile. Really smile, for him, at him. He wonders what your eyes look up when they light up, wonders what your skin feels like when its not shaking in rage.

But between all the avoiding and hiding, Joel didn’t even realize how quickly Christmas had snuck up on him. He checks his phone sometime after lunch, his day spent getting the herd ready for another brutal snow storm. He’d been to town that morning for hot feed to keep them warm and any supplies they might run out of while snowed in, while deep, dark clouds hung in the distance. He was leaving the feed store when the clerk waved at him with a polite “Merry Christmas!” When he made it into the truck, he pulled out his phone and realized the date, December 24th. It was Christmas eve and it was an absolute miracle that stores were open right now. It was only eleven thirty and the sign posted on the door says it closes at two.

He starts to put the truck in reverse, turning around to look behind him while he pulls out. When he does, something inside of him doesn’t let his foot off the brakes. He thinks about you—in Christmas pajamas on the floor opening dumb little gifts from your parents because it's the first Christmas they’ve had with you for years. He imagines what they’d get you, probably things a grown adult needs—products, socks, underwear, (don’t even go there Joel) and he thinks about how disheartening that must be to a woman like you, used to proper city living now, expensive gifts and pretty things. You deserve pretty things, Joel wants to give them to you.

He turns around, throws the truck in park and jumps out, heading back into the feed store. He makes a bee-line for the glass jewelry case sitting in the corner, partially scavenged through since it is the day before christmas and all—he should have thought about this weeks ago. He scans through everything, shiny horse shoe earrings, matching pendants, jeweled cowgirl boots on a chain and turquoise ring sets. None of them look good enough, none of them scream you, sweet you—fuck, he’s seen it, when you’re so damn sweet, when you think no one is looking—Joel is, always looking.

He kneels down, scanning the bottom shelf of the case when he spots a simple golden chain and a bumble bee dangling delicately from its tiny hoops. It doesn’t have any stones on it and Joel thinks he likes that more, that it’s simple and graceful, not too flashy or obviously shoutings “look at what you do to me, look at how much I wish I could have you.”

In the end, he has just enough bills in his wallet for the necklace, tells the clerk he doesn’t need a bag as he stuffs the box in his pocket and heads back to the truck.

He has a busy day when he gets back to ranch, Tommy is checking on the pregnant heifers while Joel fill’s multiple feeders with hot grains that will keep them warm through the impending storm. He has just enough time before it starts to snow to get the horse fed and the equipment properly covered in tarps. This storm is set to drop more snow than they have seen all winter and Joel doesn’t look forward to the animosity that comes with never being able to get out of each other's hair. “How’s the heifers?” He asks Tommy when he brushes grain off his hands. “They all seem pretty far out besides one, she was really soft, sort of worried me.” Heifers get soft around the tail when they are close to caving, but Joel doesn’t think she’ll be willing to have her calf in this storm, so he lets it go. Instead, he takes a spot beside Tommy at the stable door.

“Snow’s comin’ down thick now,” Tommy says from the protective covering of the stable, staring out across the yard at the powder covered ground. Snow blows through the big sliding door, filling the building with cold gusts. “We should get inside before it gets worse.”

Joel wants to—when he looks off at the two story house, the christmas tree shining through the window, he spots you on the other side of it, fixing and ornament hanging from the nettles. The stable is a stone's throw from the house, Joel can see every feature, the color of your eyes, your sweet, sweet smile—because he’s nowhere to be seen.

He’s so busy staring, he doesn’t catch it in time when your eyes meet his across the yard. That sweet smile falls, those soft eyes harden and he feels his gut lurch. “You go ahead, Tommy. Think I’m going to hit the hay.” Tommy knows this bit just about as well as Joel does, knows he’s been avoiding the house, your parents, you because nine times out of ten, it’s just Tommy at dinner these days. Joel spends his night with microwaved meals and old episodes of The Rifleman to keep him busy until he finally gives in and slips his hands in his pants.

Tommy doesn’t put up a fuss, instead, he claps Joel on the shoulder and gives him this sad sort of smile before heading off towards the house. Joel turns in the other direction, follows the fence line for a half mile until he reaches the cabin. His feet are cold, his lips feel cracked after a long day outside in the harsh weather. He microwaves a sad little dinner, pretends the mac and cheese on the side is half as good as warm food at the table when the people he looks at like family. He’s simply not welcome there anymore.

He gets through two episodes before he promptly passes out, his pants left intact tonight because it’s not his dick leading the way tonight, its that look in your eyes when you saw him across the driveway. The pang he felt in his chest when you frowned and turned away like it hurt you to look at him.

He sleeps through the night, propped up like that on the couch and when he wakes on Christmas morning, his neck has a crick in it and his back is killing him. He barely drags himself off the couch and into the shower before his day has to start. The hot water eases out some of his muscles, but it still hurts like a bitch to stand up straight or turn his head.

But the cattle aren’t going to let him take a day off, the horses won't care for themselves, so he gets to it only a few minutes late. When he heads out the door, the ground is covered in two feet of pure white snow and dark clouds still hang overhead.

His Christmas is spent in the field’s and the stables and the box in his pocket burns a hole through his thigh the entire morning, until he’s shoveling off the driveway and the front door comes open. Louise makes her way onto the porch with a plate in her hands, shuffling down the slippery steps when she gets Joel’s attention. He tosses down the shovel and hurries over when she starts to wobble on the second step and nearly slips. He catches her arm and helps her steady before letting out a cold gust of air that fogs through the chill around him. “Miss Lou, what are you doin’ out here? It’s freezing.” She has a light coat on and her cheeks are red from the cold.

“You’re the one out here in the cold, Joel. It’s Christmas and you’re the only one working. Have you had a decent meal this week? I haven’t seen you at dinner in…well, I don’t know how long.” She’s the one reason Joel feels guilty for avoiding the house, in the years he’s lived here, she's always enjoyed cooking for them, she’d always tell him he couldn’t keep her dream alive if he was malnourished. He feels like that now, running on half the calories a man his size should be taking in and his mind is in a constant state of despair these days.

“Just needed some space is all, Ma’am, nothin’ you did.” He assures her, taking the plate carefully and helping her back up the steps. “I know it's not just that. My daughter can be really difficult sometimes…I know you two bicker. It’s a shame, really—I thought the two of you would hit it off.” That's the whole problem and what a shame it is that Joel can’t look at this woman’s daughter without thinking about all the ways he could have her, make her his. “Would you come inside? Hank and I got you something, he thought you would be in this morning but you never came. I'm sorry if your food is cold.”

He didn’t care if it was cold, his stomach hurt because he was so hungry, he'd eat it if it was frozen. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her no, so he heads inside the house with snow covered boots and a nervousness he hasn’t felt here since the first day he stood in this living room. For so long it's felt like his home too—but now he can't help but feel like an intruder.

When he closes the door behind him, Hank and Tommy are watching the game, but you’re nowhere in sight. He tries to shake off his nerves, moves to the couch beside Tommy and sits down. At his brother's feet is a brand new pair of deer skin gloves, Tommy’s favorite—but hard to come by. He knows they weren’t cheap and his heart aches a little, knowing they’d worked hard to pull together the money.

“Glad to see you can pull yourself away for a few minutes. You know it ain’t goin’ anywhere, stay for a little while.” He knows that—the storm will be with them for four days and he knows there will be more snow to shovel tomorrow, but he can’t stay for long, not when your prying eyes finally detect him in your safe haven. “I’ll stay for a little while, still a lot to do out there.” He knows Hank is too old for that kind of work, Tommy’s too lazy and Joel wants nothing more than to escape. “Got you somethin’, been saving up for it for a while now.” He leans down towards the tree and picks up a rather large box—it’s not gloves thats for damn sure. “Sir, I…I didn’t get you nothin’.” He didn’t have the money, he spent every dollar he had to his name on a stupid necklace for his daughter that would rather see him outside in the freezing weather shoveling snow than on her couch in front of the fireplace.

Hank throws a hand, playing off Joel's concern with an amused huff. “You do so much for us around here without asking for anything in return. You had one when you got here but i know it got tore up taking the cattle to pasture.”

Joel rips the wrapping paper, revealing a simple white box with the word Stetson on the top. Joel doesn’t even want to open the damn thing, he knows what's inside and how much it cost, an arm and a leg, probably a month's saving in the off season. “Hank…”

The olde man shakes his head firmly. “You deserve to have the sun off your neck, son. Just say thank you, make sure it fits.”

He pulls open the box and inside lays a black felt hat with a matching band, beautiful leather work that loops into an ornate metal buckle to hold it in place. He pulls the cowboy hat from its box, puts it on his head and—it’s a perfect fit.

It's been a long time since he had a hat, a lot longer since he had a nice one and a lifetime ago since he had the money for a new one, especially one this nice. “I don’t know what to say—thank you, Hank…this really…means more than you know.” More than he knows how to convey with words. It’s been a long time since Joel had a hat that fit, one that wasn’t second hand or made for someone else’s head. But this—this was made for his head, the measurement must be damn near perfect. “How’d you know my size?” He wobbles his head around and the hat doesn’t budge, hangs on snuggly. He’ll even be able to ride with this on. “I measured your head while you were sleepin’.” Tommy tells him with a smug grin. “That's weird, Tommy. I would have kept that to myself.”

It draws a laugh out of Hank who has abandoned the game in favor of watching Joel's excitement. “Well, what are you waiting for—go check yourself out in the mirror, make sure you like it,” he stands and walks over to the mirror hanging on the wall above a decorative entryway shelf. When he spots himself in the reflection, he realizes just how long it’s been since he’s seen the man looking back at him. He’s graying in his beard a little, the age lines on his face have gotten deeper and more pronounced, but the black hat on his head makes that same man grin from ear to ear.

The stairs creek behind him and he turns half of his body to look up them. Stopped halfway down the stairs, you’re staring at him with a slightly slacked jaw. Joel knew it, Christmas jammies that leave your legs exposed to his greedy eyes. This time, he tries to keep them to himself. “Oh, uh…” he swallows down the lump in his throat and his pocket burns all over again. Should he give it to you now? Will everyone question him if he does? If he waits to get you alone, does that suggest that the necklace means everything he wants it to? A peace offering, an ice breaker, a “I’m sorry about the way I’ve treated you, but I want to try again.”

Instead, he leaves it in his pocket and tries to tamper down the way his cheeks heat. “Merry Christmas, Honey.” He tilts his hat up a tad so he can look up at you, but your slightly dumbfounded look morphs into irritation and discontent.

“What are you doing here?” You cross your arms and Joel’s good mood disappears. “Your mom asked me to come in and eat. Your dad wanted to give me this.” He points to the hat and your eyes roll as you make the descent down the rest of the stairs. “So if you’re in here, who’s taking care of the ranch?”

It isn’t often that someone sticks up for one of them in an argument, they tend to not get between the two of you, but to Joel’s surprise, Hank interrupts his daughter. “He’s allowed to come in the house, Honey—he works hard around here, he’s not a yard dog.” But that doesn’t stop you from sneering at him when you pass him on your way to the kitchen where your mother is. “Sure looks like one to me.” It’s under your breath so Hank doesn’t hear, but Joel does.

And he feels like a fool. A fool for spending the last of his money on this stupid fucking necklace, like a fool for being so plagued by thoughts of you in a different world, one where you don’t innately hate him, one where he doesn’t fuck up every chance he has to change the narrative.

“I should get back to it, I’ll see you guys…later.” He starts to head for the door when Louise pokes her head around the corner. “Please come in for Dinner!” Joel tells her that he will, he hates lying to miss Lou, but he does it because it’s Christmas and the last thing he wants to do is worry her today.

He wastes the day shoveling off the driveway, tries his best to rub out the crick in his neck and finally calls it a day when the sun is nearly set and the animals are bunkered down for the night. It’s started to snow again, so Joel makes his way back to the cabin with tired limbs and a new dusting of snow hanging onto the brim of his hat.

Dinner is just as lonely as the night before but this time he doesn’t pretend it's Lou’s cooking, he lets it be exactly what it is—a tasteless mush and his misery to sip on.

The Rifleman is just as predictable as it was the night before, as is Joel—who falls asleep before he has the heart to get his hands on his dick. But unlike last night, he doesn’t make it long propped up on the couch before a knock startles him awake. He drags himself to the door with sleep in his eyes and a chill in his bones. When he pulls it open, his pocket ignites again. On the other side of the door, you’re standing in front of him with a plate in your hands and a vicious storm letting down behind you. Did you walk here in that? “My mom said I chased you off, that’s why you didn’t come to dinner.” Well, you aren’t wrong. If you were still away at college, Joel would have no problem spending Christmas with Hank and Louise and Tommy who is apparently too good to walk you down here.

“You didn’t have to bring me anything.” He says. He glances to the side where his hat hangs on the rack. “Actually, my mom made me so no, I didn’t have a choice.” Ahh, of course—of course you wouldn’t do something that nice for him. “Well, thank her for me, then…” he reaches out for the plate and his fingers brush yours—bolts of electricity shooting up his arm and igniting his starved skin. It’s been so damn long since someone has touched him with kind hands and all he wants is yours—your soft, gentle hands he’s seen folding laundry and soothing horses. You don’t release the plate, but your eyes track up to his, meeting them across the threshold.

He could hold that gaze for the rest of his life if you’d let him—he’s always wanted a chance to get lost in your eyes and he’s getting it right now, his home pouring with cold in exchange for the heat in your cheeks and the sparkle in your irises. “Joel—“

There's a loud sound somewhere over the fence beside the cabin. It draws both of your attention to the blinding darkness. Joel knows that sound, a distressed heifer, probably the one who was too damn close to calving in a storm like this. There’s no way Joel can save that calf if it doesn’t make it and even if he wanted to, the snow is too thick to help.

“What is that?” You ask, finally dropping your hand away from his when you glance back up at him. “Heifer, think she’s calving—Tommy said she was really soft and her milk came in. Afraid that calf might not make it tonight.”

There's a look of disbelief in your eyes, shooting from Joel to the fence line and back. “You can’t help her?” Joel shakes his head and listens to the cow cry out again. “Nothin’ I can do for her. They aren’t supposed to be calving yet, we still have a few more weeks and it’s too cold out there. We might lose the heifer too.”

Joel observes the way sadness takes over your face, then determination. “I’m going out there to help her.” You tell him, already heading off the porch before Joel can even interject. “Don’t you hear me? She’s not going to make it, honey, just let it go.” But you don’t, you start to jog towards the fence line, so Joel huffs in annoyance and slips into his boots and jacket, finally pulling his hat on on his way out the door. He grabs a spotlight off the shelf by the door and follows your tracks through the snow to the fence line. It doesn’t take him long until he finds you, knelt behind a laboring cow, who’s already pushing in the freezing cold. “I can’t get this calf to safety and this storm is getting worse—it’s not safe to be out here.”

There's blood marring the white snow and your delicate hands. “I’m not letting her die in the snow on christmas because we made her have a baby, Joel—she didn’t ask for this.” Joel sets the light in the snow beside him and rolls his sleeves up, kneeling down beside you in the soaked snow. “She’s not going to make it.”

You make a face at him, one Joel is more than accustomed to. “I’m not letting her die alone, then.” And Joel isn’t going to leave you alone in the snow for a second time, so he stays there beside you, helping deliver the little black calf, who shivers wetly in the cold. It’s a little boy, floppy ears and a wobble to him when he tries to hold his head up. Joel can't help but smile, because this is always beautiful, even if he can't save this little calf. He looks up and you’re grinning right back at him, your cheeks bitten red by the cold and your hands shaking, but you look so fucking proud right now. Joel is too, after watching you pull that calf out of his momma like you were made for that.

“What if we get them inside, would they make it then?” Joel doesn’t see how, the snow is too thick and someone would have to carry him. “They wont fit in my cabin and the stable is a half a mile away. We’d have to drag momma through this snow.” He has a lead in the cabin, he could get her out of this snow, he thinks. Would she even want to go, after having a calf in the ridged cold. “We should try—we should at least try.”

Joel leans back and brushes the blood off on his pants. “Yeah—fine, we can try. Stay right here, keep rubbing him to keep him warm.” He stands and jogs back to the cabin, racing inside for the lead that he runs back to you with. You have the calf laid out along your legs while you rub his wet skin. “He’s slowing down. I can feel his heart slowing down.” He’s getting too cold out here—if Joel doesn’t act now, he won't make it, so he wraps the halter around the heifers head and hands you the lead. “Think you can pull her? She’s going to put up a fight.” You take the lead from him and nod, grabbing the light out of the snow while he picks the calf up under his belly. He makes a little sound at Joel while he starts to make his way through the deep snow.

It’s a long walk back to the stables, but you tug on that heifer and Joel carries the calf the entire way there, until he reaches the gate and manages to push it open just enough to get them through. He makes it to the stable doors in just enough time, throws it open and helps you inside. It’s not much warmer in here, but theres no snow and theres straw in the empty stable towards the back, so Joel makes his way over and lays the little calf down in the bedding. You’re right behind him with the heifer who takes straight to her baby once she has him in her sight again.

Joel plops down in the straw in the corner of the room once they are both situated, trying to catch his breath and warm himself up at the same time. He’s covered in blood, so are you, but you saved both of their lives and Joel has more respect for that than he knows what to do with. You risked your life out there for a baby cow and his momma.

“You did a good thing, out there. I’m sorry I didn’t want to listen to you.” You find a spot beside him in the hay and sink down, leaned against the wood wall with your shoulder pressed against his with how closely you sit. “You have every right to question me…you’re right, you know…I have no clue what I’m doing around here. Four years of school and the only thing I know how to do around here is the books, which is easy because were so broke.” Joel's heart aches for you, the sadness in your tone and the defeated look in your eyes. “I almost got us killed out there.”

Joel shakes his head and leans himself back against the wall too. “But you didn’t. You saved us a lot of money and saved his little life. I’d say that's a win.” He knows it doesn’t feel like one when everything else is coming down on your shoulders, but he can pretend it is for your sake. “Thanks, Joel.” You lean a little more, bumping his shoulder with a quiet yawn.

His pocket begins to burn again, but this time, it isn’t followed by the shame he’s felt all day. “I uhm…I hope it’s not weird, but I got you something…” he reaches into his pocket and starts to fish it out. “You didn’t have to do that,” you interject but he shakes his head. “I just saw it while I was at the feed store, thought of you.” He pulls out the blue box and holds it out to you. He tries not to read too much into the look on your face when you open the box, but he has to know. It looks like confusion, then shock and finally, sadness. “I was really rude to you this mornin’…and you had this in your pocket to give it to me?” You look over at him with big eyes, full of something Joel has never seen in them. “It’s alright—I deserved that.”

You shake your head and start to pull the necklace out of the box. “I called you a dog, Joel—you didn’t deserve that.”

He shrugs his shoulders, trying to rid both of you of the shame of that conversation. You hold the necklace up and admire it for a while, the little gold bee that’s going to lay against your chest, against your heart. You hold it out to him with a little quick of your lips. “Would you?” He takes it from you and you turn your back to him, using one hand to hold up your hair while he undoes the clasp and brings his hands around your neck, laying it around your delicate throat. It feels so intimate, sitting here in the hay beside a newborn baby calf in the middle of a snowstorm on christmas.

His knuckles brush against your neck gently when he does the clasp together, letting is hang from your neck, feels like a fucking brand on his skin. You turn back around, meet his eyes and smile carefully. There's a comfortable silence filling up the space between you, so Joel leans back against the wood and sighs to himself. “Let me walk you back to the house…it’s getting late.” His words are low and slow.

You nod at him and he stands, holding out a hand to pull you to your feet. He walks you out of the stables, through the blizzard and up to the porch of the big white house. “Where are you going?” You ask him when you get to the door. “Don’t know if I can make it back to the cabin in this. Might sleep out in the stable so I can keep an eye on the little guy.”

You don’t say anything, just stare at him for a long moment, then glance behind you at the warm house. “Come inside…Tommy took the guest bedroom but you can have the couch. It’s better than being out here in the cold.”

He wants to decline, but when will he get this opportunity again? To mend what's been broken between you? “Yeah—sure, that sounds better than straw poking me in the ass all night long.”

It makes you giggle and that makes Joel's stomach churn, his cheeks heat and his hands flex as he follows you inside. You get him a blanket, help him get situated in the low glow of the christmas tree in the corner.

When he kicks his boots off and settles down on the couch, you start to head for the stairs. He thinks you’re going to head up, but you pause at the bottom of the stairs before turning to look at him. “Thank you for helping me today.”

He hums, smiles and shakes his head. “It was my pleasure.”

There's another long silence, then you take the first step up the stairs. “Goodnight, Joel…Merry Christmas.”

He smiles back at you with tired eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Honey.”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

would you ever be interested in writing a more masc reader? i kind of got it by know you write fem!reader exclusively, so i've been wondering if you'd write something along the lines a manly gal.

like the type that sees könig do his pushups, she must also immediately try to catch up to him? she sits manspread and wears manly clothes and makes everything a raunchy sex joke and has no shame and is kind of a muscle mommy and a total gremlin? something like that? and it disarms könig completely cuz he's used to damsels in distress, but this one can do everything herself but somehow wants him?? like an equal partner?

also can u pls tell each of your königs i love them with all i have? pls? 🥺 they're like my reason for living this past year i wanna give them a big sweet kiss and pet them

🤲 here, have an offering as gratitude. ignore the arms lol

Maaaan your offering 😭😭💖💞

And yes I have a habit of writing König with helpless maidens and sassy fairies don’t I 😂

So… König with masc!reader…. (Lol this turned out very rivals to lovers but I hope you enjoy!)

König can be a little off-putting. One would think that a man of his size wouldn’t get so threatened by a girl with some muscles on her... But you catch him mansplaining guns to you more than once, showing off his new rifle and then snapping his mouth shut when you fire a round of 5 bullseyes with a calm, stable breath and perfect posture.

“It’s nice,” you give it back to him, “but I’ve seen better.”

Knowing that you just threw his own words back at him – he’s always boasting on the field – König just blinks and grabs his rifle from you.

“...Where?”

“In my safe,” you shrug, trying to keep a neutral face.

And you’ve seen him during sparring, knowing already that he likes to one-up everyone. König is skilled and fierce, but he’s also competitive to the point of petty, which is why you’re amused when he suddenly turns gentle, even hesitant when paired with you.

At some point, it starts to get on your nerves though. It’s slightly insulting, even sexist, that he’s trying to treat you like a gentleman when you’re supposed to hit each other. So, you snap a good right hook through his guard and watch the man see some stars. Hoping that it would fix that attitude, you do it again, and again until he stops giving you the princess treatment.

But even after that, you see he’s holding back. The more you try to get him to attack properly, the more pissed off he gets, refusing to strike you even when you bring him down – a man twice your size – and gloat over him. His eyes are flaming because he just lost for the sake of some weird “I don’t hit women” policy, and it shouldn’t bother you. The man’s an asshole, what are you to do?

Still, it’s giving you a headache. Did you win the match only because he allowed it? You almost smack him in the head again. You already dealt with these kinds of idiots at the training program, and now you have to take shit from pros too? While you’re the pro? Jesus.

Determined to give him hell for the rest of the week, you make a lousy joke about the size of his gun when you go on a mission. It’s a bit unhanded, because this lame ass fool actually gets bothered by your quip, and you mentally beat yourself up for messing with your partner’s head before an important hostage rescue.

He barges through the door like a bull, and you purse your lips under your balaclava – on the other hand, is it even your fault if he gets killed because of some stupid Freudian joke?

This guy is simply too much fun…

So what happens is that you can’t keep your mouth shut. It’s horrid, what comes out of your lips when he’s trying to save lives. Things such as:

“Do you have your gun in hand?”

“I’ll keep an eye on your six while you take the women”

“Did you see their faces when König rammed himself in?”

The innuendos are obvious and rampant and so bad that König is surely blushing under that hood before you even board the plane. On top of everything, he rubs the barrel of his gun up and down in the plane because he’s so nervous. He does it absent-mindedly; the poor guy probably doesn’t understand the outrageous amount of Freudian jokes that could be cracked about that…

You try to pull yourself together after that because otherwise, people would start to suspect you’re having a crush on him. Army humour is army humour but you’re taking this shit a bit too far… Your jokes have never been this bad before, they certainly never induced such crazy behaviour from a guy.

...Because it turns out that you’ve awoken a demon.

At the gym, you see König watching you do pull ups – you’re the only girl there, yes, but you don’t wear some sculpting, seamless gym pants and a suggestive sports bra. You only have your old sweats and a tank top on, but the man's looking at you like he’s dreaming of either killing or fucking you. He's smashing the plates around like they've just personally insulted him, and glares at your way again, then lifts more than you’ve ever seen anyone lift before. He never talks to you: just stops and stares when you’re doing a set, then does his own, then glares.

You don’t know if it’s some kind of an awkward challenge or if he’s trying to flirt with you – menacingly – but you’re a mess after that gym session.

Next time during training, König personally offers to spar with you: he even pushes away the guy that had been assigned as your pair. And this time, he doesn’t hold back. He’s serious, and rough, and fucking frightening.

“That’s it, big boy,” you’re panting before half a minute has passed, “You finally found your groove?”

“No talking during sparring,” he grunts, and almost manages to land a blow – almost, because it ends with him on the floor. The takedown is something even KorTac’s best would be proud of, but he doesn’t allow you to gloat this time. Oh no: he rolls through it: actually, he rolls so that he lands on top of you, then smashes his whole weight on your chest to keep you down.

“Right where I want you,” he says, so brunt and brief that you’re not sure if you just imagined it.

“Is...that...so?”

You try to fight him in vain: he only presses you further into the mat and forces even your face to the side with his own.

“I thought you liked girls,” he pants into your ear, so low that the others can’t hear.

“That’s funny,” you whisper through clenched teeth, fingers curled around his shirt. “I thought you liked girls.”

You hear him draw air right beside your ear, and then – it’s unmistakable, the throbbing pulse against your thigh.

He’s getting hard.

The fucking moron is getting hard during a sparring session with you–

“There’s no need to crush your partner,” the trainer instructs, to everybody grinding on the mat in general, perhaps, but you have a feeling he’s directing the words König who’s currently choking you with his entire body.

“Is this what you want?”

He lets you breathe, only enough so you can turn and have another staring competition with him, this time with his mouth only a hair’s breadth away. Those eyes are hard as steel and as beautiful as snow, and that stare still wants to either fuck or murder you…

“Hm? You want to get crushed?”

“...Why do you think I joined the army?” You laugh breathlessly, eyes glimmering from mirth. He’s such a sight when he’s angry and confused.

Your cheeky answer only makes him more perplexed. Poor man – it’s so easy to tease him that you almost feel like a bully.

“That's right... Take your time getting up, there’s no need to rush,” you breathe, and watch the snow melt into a bewildered cerulean sea.

It sets sooner than you thought, his lids dropping as he settles to watch your lips, the heavy pulse on your neck.

“Oh I’m up already.”

[bubble7o7]

Mature Content

Over 18’s Only

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Seven T’s…

“Aaaaaah my lover hath returned!” You declare loudly as you dramatically bow while opening the door to greet him…

You look up wondering why he’s so silent…

That’s because it’s the mailman with a stash of mail and not your boyfriend!

Red faced you laugh awkwardly “I’m so sorry, I thought you were…”

“Your lover?…” he laughs “I should be so lucky!”

“What’s going on here?” a deep voice interrupts.

“This must be him” laughs the mailman. “Can you sign for this one please? Ok, see you guys tomorrow… nice t-shirt by the way!”

“Erm should I be worried?” He asks grabbing your waist and pushing you through the door with him.

“About what?”

“You and the mailman? I hope you’re wearing something under that t shirt?”

“I have shorts on Grandpa!” You roll your eyes.

“Wait… what does it say on your t shirt?”

He turns you round and stretches your shirt out to see “Yoongi Marry Me!” in all its pink bedazzled glory!

“Ha ha! Yah!… what!?… wait is this your way of asking me?”

“No” you laugh “But… what would your answer be if I was?” you ask coyly

“Should I put my answer on a t shirt?” He leans in closer to you… stroking your hair behind your ear he whispers “I think you know exactly what my answer would be”.

He slowly kisses down your neck, then softly kisses your lips.

“It would be No!” he quickly grabs his bags and keys from the worktop and runs away down the hallway laughing.

“You fucker!” You laugh. “Fine!… Well next time I’m answering the door naked to the mail man!… Maybe he’ll love me!” You yell.

You hear footsteps thundering back down the hallway, with barely anytime to register he’s behind you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you to him. His mouth pressed hard against your ear “I never said I didn’t love you…” he growls.

He flips you round to face him “Don’t make eye contact with that mail man ever again” he kisses you hard “You’re mine!”

“I’ll have you know, no one owns me!… I am a strong independ…. Oh fuck me…”. He’s interrupting you by gently sucking on your ear lobe, kissing down your neck then moving on to your lips…

“Mine” he whispers before kissing you passionately.

Then he leaves you and saunters back down the hallway yelling “MINE!”

“Holy shit… that man!“ you sigh. He has you frazzled. You can’t remember what it was you were doing before the knock at the door? You take a deep breath, pull yourself together and get back to preparing dinner. Your lips still tingling from his touch.

A little while later you shout “Dinners ready Yoongs!”

“Oooh looks good! Thank you for the food my love. Wait has it changed colour?”

“Eh?”

“The t-shirt?… it was pink before and now it’s blue!”

“Oh… no I’d slopped food on it so just changed it.”

“Jesus how many of them do you have?”

“One for every day of the week and in different colours!”

“Yah!” He yells

“Hush! Just let me be! They’re my comfort t-shirts. Shut up and eat your food.” You say eating your noodles.

He suddenly leans over to you, you offer your noodle laden chop sticks to him but he shakes his head no, then softly swipes his thumb across the corner of your mouth to remove some sauce and settles back down sucking his thumb clean.

You catch yourself gazing adoringly at him, wondering how did you get so lucky?

He catches your gaze…

“Wait, don’t move…” he says softly

“What?! Why? Have I got more food on my face?” You pat at your cheeks.

“No”

“Then what is it?”

“Just let me look at you”

You blush “Oh stop Yoongi!”

“How did I get so lucky?” he asks

“Shut up!… I was literally just thinking the same thing about you!” He leans over and kisses you hard, you drop your chop sticks in the bowl moving them to one side as he pulls you over on to his lap.

“I love you you know?…”

“I know” you say in between kisses.

“Please don’t flirt with the mailman anymore though” he mumbles laughing into your boobs.

“Shut up!” you laugh! “He’s about 70 years old!… although he does look good in uniform” you wink.

“Yah!” He grabs your waist, tickling and pulling you into him “Mine remember?” he whispers.

“All yours my love… all yours” you assure him.

“Let’s clean up and watch some TV”

“Sounds good” you agree.

It’s not long before you both dose off on the sofa, wrapped in each other instead of watching TV.

-

Weeks have passed and you have successfully resisted flirting with the mailman and you’re home after a busy and late day at work, fortunately it’s Yoongi’s turn to cook and you’re famished.

You start to enter the pin on the keypad but the door is quickly pulled open and Yoongi greets you, abruptly taking your coat and bag from you.

“Hi… is everything ok?” you ask.

“Yes fine, you’ve had a long day and your dinner is ready” he rushes you in.

“Good I’m starving!”

He walks behind you, his hands either side of your waist guiding you to the direction of the living room.

You turn to face him “What’s going on?”

He gently pushes you through the door. Your eyes scan the room and the floor, it’s covered with red and black rose petals scattered amongst giant lit candles.

You turn to him “I don’t understand?” You look down he’s on one knee, holding a ring in his hand outstretched to you. He puffs out his chest so you can see that he’s wearing a t-shirt bedazzled with “Y/N Marry Me?” across his chest.

You burst into tears “Is this really real?” You sob “Is it? Oh please let it be real?” You cry.

“It’s real my love” he wipes a tear from his cheek. “Will you be mine… for forever?”

You fall to your knees, grabbing his face you kiss him desperately “Oh Yoongi… you’ve made me so happy!” You cry.

“I love you Y/N” he cries scattering kisses all over your face. He slides the ring on your finger fitting perfectly.

“It’s beautiful Yoongi” you start to cry again. You stroke his chest with the “Y/N marry me?” across it “I love it!” You laugh.

“Here… these are for you…” he hands you a black box with a giant black ribbon. “They’re for when you’re officially my wife” he smiles.

There’s seven t-shirts all in different colours with the words “Yoongi Married Me!” across the chest.

“I can’t wait to wear them” you smile.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John the Apostle | What Matters Most | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: "Are you insane?"

Sibling-hood requires tough love, especially when inappropriate questions are asked.

Requested by J Bart

The Thunder Brothers aren’t subtle. At least not to you, their younger sister, who has been familiar with her siblings her entire life. You’ve learnt your way with them, learnt to stand up for yourself in their face, to bite rather than bark. In their teenage years, your brothers were even a little afraid of you from time to time, for the two of them have found out over the years that it is basically impossible to keep a secret from you. 

It’s written all over their faces when you find them stealing glances at one another, non-verbally communicating. You know these looks, these raises of eyebrows and twitching of mouth-corners. Of course you do — it’s the same way you can speak to them without saying a word. As you are walking with Andrew, bag around your shoulder as you had gathered your belongings for the journey up ahead, you clear your throat and quicken your step.

“What are you guys whispering about?” you ask as you force yourself between them.

You never fail to startle them, and whereas you otherwise would have found a sense of pride in the way their shoulders tense at the sudden sound of your voice, you now raise a questioning brow when they slowly turn to face you. 

“Ah, (Y/n), I think that’s none of your concern.” James mutters, unamused with your sudden interruption.

“You know it’s rude to whisper while in company.” 

“You don’t need to know everything.” James replies. 

John nudges him and gives him a look. “We can tell her.” he says, “We can trust you, can’t we?”

“It entirely depends on the contents discussed.” you say with a shrug. “Do I need to set you up with a girl, maybe I can put in a good word. However, if you guys need my help to hide a body, I have no choice but to report you.” 

They give you an annoyed look at your blasé answer. 

“This is a serious matter, (Y/n).” John mutters. 

“Yes, this is about—” James is cut off as John puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait. I’ll tell her.” He halts in his step and turns to Andrew. “You two walk ahead for a bit.” 

Your oldest brother nods and starts walking off, whereas Andrew gives a confused look before joining the older Thunder anyways. Turning to John, you look at him curiously. 

“So… Remember what eema implored us to do during lunch the other day?” John begins, causing your thoughts to drift back to your recent meals together at home. “When she suggested that we ask for our role with Jesus, since Simon has received another name?” You wonder if this is why eema had sent you out earlier than your brothers when Andrew had come to fetch the three of you no longer than an hour ago.

“Oh. You… You are seriously considering that?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. “You guys didn’t think it was… A bit out of place to ask for these places in heaven? Do you think that Jesus actually has favourites?”

“Well, if He does, I want to make sure that James and I are among them. Nothing against you, of course, but you are one of His followers whereas He actually called James and I with the twelve of his Disciples.” 

Your eyes narrow into slits. “Wait. You think this is about you?” 

“What?” John blinks. “Of course not! We just want to make sure that we get the position we need to make all of this work! Besides, we’ve been with Him just as long as Peter has been.”

Letting out a long sigh, you turn away as you slowly start walking towards Andrew and James still waiting for you.

“Look, John, I think this is a horrible idea. I think it’s not your place to just ask such a thing out of the blue. Especially when it is about such an important position. It’s just… Not appropriate, at all.” 

“Psh, you’re just jealous.” 

“Jealous?! Are you insane?!”

“Yes, that we are actually called and you just decided to tag along.” 

You stare at him in disbelief, halting in your tracks with a brow knit together in both confusion and hurt. “I belong here just as much as you do, John. Just because you’re called by name to be one of the twelve doesn’t mean the rest of us are unimportant!” 

“That’s not what this is about—”

“—You know that it is. Isn’t the thing that matters most, that we follow Him and do what He says? Following Jesus’ example and learning from Him? It is all about Him! About God! Not about our own glory!” 

John huffs and grits his teeth. “You know what? Maybe we should just ask Jesus about it Himself, see what He has to say. Because I think that eema has a point!” 

You push your tongue against the inside of your cheek and exhale. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

“We know what we are doing, (Y/n). Trust me. Trust us.” 

With that, he starts walking towards James and Andrew at a quicker pace, who are waiting for you on the corner of the street. There is tension between you and your older brother as you round it, heading towards the house of your friends.

A strange sight: the former Roman Primi-turned-Praetor exits the house you’re headed towards. Gaius brushes past you, beaming with happiness. You frown a bit as you halt and turn to look after him, wondering what he had been doing in Simon and Eden’s home and what has him in such a good mood. As you turn back again, your brothers have already headed towards Jesus, Who is exiting the home with a bunch of His followers in tow. 

“What happened?” John wants to know. 

“Gaius had faith that Jesus could heal his servant without even coming to his house.” Peter explains.

“We know He can do that.” James replies. 

“But such faith from a Gentile?” John adds. 

Jesus smiles. “Exactly.” 

James and John look at one another, as if quietly contemplating something. That same kind of communication that you are familiar with. It causes your heart to clench inside your chest.

“Let’s do it now. Let’s ask Him.” John nods in agreement. “It will change everything.” 

“Ask what?” Simon Peter wants to know. 

John nods at James, who straightens his back. “Rabbi?” 

“Yes, Big James?”

“Remember when You said that we could ask for anything and it would be given to us?”

John joins in. “Knock, and the door will be opened?”

Jesus frowns, looking at the ground in thought for a moment, His face twisting. “I… Don’t remember that.” 

The Thunder Brothers seem caught off-guard by that statement, suddenly flustered.

“Um… That was the right sermon. I thought eema told me it was the right…” 

Jesus grins. “I’m kidding. I remember, yeah.” 

They both breathe in relief. “Oh, of course. Yeah.” 

“We knew that.” 

Jesus chuckles. 

“Um, well, we have something to ask, and for You to do.” James states. 

“I’m eager to hear it.” 

Jesus gaze alternates between your siblings. “Would you…” John momentarily looks at James for affirmation, who nods at him to go on, “…grant for us… To sit at Your right and Your left hand in Your Kingdom?” 

Time seems to stand still for a moment as your brothers look at Jesus with a hopeful gaze, whilst the Lord Himself lets his gaze go from one to the other, something shimmering in his dark eyes that you’ve rarely seen on Him before. Perhaps that He looks like that from time to time, when nobody else is watching Him. Seeing Jesus like this makes your stomach drop. The tension that grows within the group swells rapidly. You feel your heart clench inside your chest as you observe the Sons of Thunder.

When you were younger, you had this habit that whenever they’d be sitting together, you’d sneak up behind them and slam their skulls together in a firm motion when they’d least expect it. Of course it wasn’t that nice of a move, but you weren’t exactly strong enough to get to them otherwise. After all, they never shied away from pushing you over either. 

Now you’re quite a bit older and thought you had outgrown said urge, but now that they are asking this question in spite of your warning, you have the overwhelming compulsion to do so again, especially now that they stand with their bodies turned away from you, with Jesus looking between them as if they have just asked Him the most insensitive question ever. And in a way, they have, for Jesus appears to grow distressed at their query.

Jesus takes a deep breath, His bottom lip quivering. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” 

A few beats of intense silence fall. Your siblings’ gazes are full of regret as they realise how much they’ve hurt their Messiah with that question. Wordlessly, Jesus walks on between them. Nothing is said as Simon follows Him.

“What? Rabbi…!” John and James rush after Him, the rest of the group soon in tow, including yourself. There is tension in the air as Jesus legs away, causing everyone to hurry after Him. 

“Rabbi, what’s wrong?!” John breathes with worry in his voice, Jesus halting in His step as He sharply turns to the man asking Him the question. 

“Are you able to drink the cup that I would drink, or be baptised with the baptism with which I am baptised?”

“Yes, we are able. We are the Sons of Thunder.” James immediately responds with conviction in his tone.

“We’ll do anything for You.” 

“You don’t even know what that means, either.” Jesus comments, but they still hold on, not reading the room.

“Tell us. We’ll do anything.” James states. 

Jesus swallows hard, then shifts on His feet, breathing in to speak. “It means that when we go to Jerusalem, the Son of Man will be delivered over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn Him to death and they will deliver Him over to the Gentiles. And they will mock Him, and spit on Him, and flog Him, and kill Him. And after three days, He will rise.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest right now. Jesus looks so defeated and sorrowful that it nearly causes your throat to tighten. Your brothers had seriously overstepped and you stand there with second-hand embarrassment.

There is such a line etched into Jesus’ brow that everyone remains quiet for a moment. With his eyebrows knit together, John softly asks: “Who are You talking about?”

“I thought the Son of Man was You.” Matthew says behind you, and you give him a nod that you agree on that.

“And you will drink the cup that I drink, and be baptised with the baptism with which I am baptised. But you do not want that now. You are not ready for it. To sit at My right hand and My left, it is not Mine to grant… But it is for those for whom it has been prepared by My Father.” Jesus points at the sky as He so often does, a powerful gesture whenever He speaks of His Father in heaven. 

“You have no business asking what you did.” Nathanael speaks your thoughts exactly.

“No offence Nathanael, but we were here long before you.”

Judas steps forward, too. “How could you ask it? And in front of all of us.” 

Peter slowly shakes his head. “Now, ruling positions, high seats of honour—”

“—Oh, look who’s talking!”

Your heart sinks as you see Jesus turn away, swallowing hard as you see the defeat in His shoulders. 

“Hey, I didn’t ask for it! He gave it to me!” 

“You don’t even know what ‘the rock’ means!” James counters.

“Stop!” Jesus exclaims, pivoting to the group with a tightened jaw. “All of you have been granted leadership and authority. All of you make up the foundation on which I’ll build My church. But you are thinking like the Gentiles, whose rulers lord their authority over their inferiors. That is not how My Kingdom works. I have told you this before… And you still don’t get it.” 

Suddenly, you are overcome with a sense of guilt, too. Even though you had tried to stop your brothers from asking this question, this is not a one-time incident where people had been bickering about positions within the group and beyond, and you hadn’t seen the full picture, either.

“This has to change, because their way is not how it will be with you. Do you hear Me?”

A few murmurs from the group, positive answers that they had heard the message loud and clear. 

“Whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave. Because even the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve. And to give His life as a ransom for many.” 

The words He speaks do not fully make sense to you. You aren’t the only one who is confused, Simon Peter voicing the same question out loud. “A ransom for who?” 

“Who is being held hostage, Rabbi?” Zee asks in a serious tone. 

Jesus plants His hands on His hips as He steps away, gathering His thoughts, as if none of you have understood it yet. And perhaps that is the exact reason He is upset, because you indeed haven’t. He is spelling it out, word for word, and met with nothing else but either ignorance or protest. Your throat is clawed red with sudden shame. Even though you thought you knew it so much better than your brothers, that you had been so convinced that you had been on the right track with your thinking, you knew next to nothing, as much as they did.

A sniffle. Jesus is trying to keep it together in front of you. As you look upon Him, you suddenly realise how limited your own knowledge is. You had been quick to judge your brothers and your mother for wanting to ask Jesus such a thing, but you were no better. You had to learn a thing about the words you had preached to John, too. To do what mattered most — to actually listen to what He said. To process the words, not just the signs and wonders. To live by them. To trust. It still didn’t make much sense to you. You hoped and prayed you’d learn in time.

“Go.” Jesus whispers after a long silence. “Continue south to Jerusalem.” 

John steps forward. “Rabbi, do You need any—”

“I will catch up.” 

“I can stay with You.” 

“I said, I’ll catch up, Zee.” There is a slight raise in the Messiah’s voice, but He lowers it just as fast.

Jesus is adamant about it. You join the others, glancing at the Messiah upon passing Him by. Your heart clenches at how defeated He looks. Catching up with John and James as Jesus remains behind, you walk in silence for a bit as you prepare for your trip to Jerusalem. The entire group is quiet for some time as you ponder over the words that Jesus had spoken.

“What do you think He meant?” you hear Andrew ask his brother, but Peter knows just as much. You cannot answer it, either. 

“You were right, (Y/n). It wasn’t proper to ask.” John whispers apologetically.

You give a small shake of your head. “I am no better than you guys. I have no idea what Jesus meant and I’m starting to wonder if I’m hard of hearing.” 

John looks at you from the corner of his eye as you walk. “Do you think He’s angry with us?” 

Your shoulders lift and drop again. “I’m not sure. He’s definitely upset, but angry?” 

“Disappointed?” James suggests. It somehow hurts more. At the same time, it sounds more logical. 

“Perhaps.” you sigh. “I think we all should be more humble and pay better attention to what He teaches us. Ask Philip what he knows about the prophecies regarding the Messiah.” 

At the mention of his name, Philip looks over his shoulder, but when you just nod at him while smiling in a friendly way, he returns the gesture and turns back. 

“We hear, but do we listen?” 

“None of us is better than the other, I suppose.” John concludes, “Special name or not.” He glances at Peter, who walks in front of the group. The usual swagger in his step is absent.

“Are you still a bit miffed about that?” you ask with a hint of humour in your voice. John shrugs. 

“Maybe a little.” 

You huff and roll your eyes. 

“As I said. We all have a whole lot to learn. Some more than others— Hey!” 

As John ruffles your hair through your veil, it lightens the mood, and the group of followers set out to Jerusalem, knowing there is much work to be done, both in the city itself and in your own hearts.

[specialagentlokitty]

Sherlock x reader - choices

So Sherlock fakes his death but he and reader were in a relationship. After he faked death, she found it hard to move on, but after a year she dated a guy, and that guy turned out to fall for him, she liked him but she knew loving someone else is hard. So when he was about to propose that day Sherlock appears? - Anon 💜

Looking at your boyfriend from your side of the table, you smiled softly as he handed you a menu.

“I’ve never been here before.” You said.

“Me neither, I’ve heard it’s really good though.” Ryan smiled.

You hummed, looking at the menu, not really paying much attention as he spoke to the waiter about choices of drinks.

Once he managed to get the waiter to leave, you placed your order for food and he cleared his throat as he looked at anything but you.

“Is everything alright Ry?” You asked.

“I.. I have something to talk to you about..”

He started to fiddle with the hem of his napkin and you titled your head a little bit.

“I know after what happened you found it hard to love again, and I know even now you’re still having a hard time with it. But I love you so much (Y/N), I really do, and I know I’ll never be him but I was wondering if-“

Ryan was cut off by the waiter coming back, setting a plate down in front of you with simple writing on it.

‘I’m back.’

You frowned and looked up, only to nearly fall out of your chair as you found the face looking back at you to be one you never thought you’d see again.

“No.. no…”

Ryan jumped up and stood in front of you, holding his arm back to keep you behind him.

“Oh please you know you don’t need the hero act.”

“I.. I need to go…”

You spun around and all but ran out of the restaurant, you didn’t even bother to get a taxi, you just ran down the street until your couldn’t run anymore.

Then you finally got a taxi straight back to your flat and you slammed the door shut, locking it, and then you shut all the windows and locked them.

Your phone chimed and you pulled it out to see you have numerous messages.

John: we need to talk.

John: right now we need to talk I’m coming over.

Ryan: I’m not sure what happened back there but I think I understand. Call me or message me to let me know you got home safe. I love you.

Sherlock: it’s rude to run away from someone.

Sherlock: I’m coming over.

Sherlock: John said you moved again.

Sherlock: I know you’re reading these.

Sherlock: stop ignoring me.

You tossed your phone aside and just sat on your bed, head in your hands as you tried to process everything that was going on.

A pounding on your door knocked you out of your head.

“(Y/N) it’s me!”

Getting up, you made your way to the door and opened it, there stood Mary, John and Ryan.

You let them all in without a word and closed and locked the door again.

As you turned around John hugged you tightly, and finally your tears fell free as you hugged him back.

“John.. I.. I.. I saw him.. he can’t.. he can’t be…” you sobbed out.

He shushed you and lead you to the sofa and sat you down, Mary made you some tea and Ryan just sat with you, holding your hand lightly in his.

“I know. He’s just done the same to me.”

You sniffled and looked up at your best friend, shaking your head a little.

“I.. I can’t…”

“I know. I know you can’t. It’s okay.” He said softly.

Mary sat down next to John on the table and she smiled softly at you.

“If it makes you feel better John didn’t let him get away with it. He’s currently treating a bloody nose and a split lip.”

You cracked a small smile and looked at John who just nodded his head with a little smile of his own and you sighed.

Leaning back, you rested your head on Ryan’s shoulder as you just tried to process everything.

“I watched him jump…”

“Maybe he had a good reason?” Ryan offered.

Was he upset that your ex mysteriously risen from the dead? Of course he was, but he also knew how much Sherlock really meant to you.

You scoffed, shaking your head a little.

“No, no there’s no reason he didn’t tell us. And Mycroft? Jesus of course Mycroft would’ve been part of it…” you mumbled.

It made sense, Sherlock wouldn’t have been able to pull this off without the help of Mycroft.

Mary and John stayed for another hours before they had to go home, but Ryan stayed with you.

He ran you a warm bath, he made your favourite drink and ordered your favourite food since you hadn’t had a chance to eat at the restaurant.

And he held you in bed as you cried, all the unwanted memories coming back up to haunt you.

You didn’t dare leave your flat for the fear you would bump into Sherlock somewhere.

You ignored his calls and texts, you ignored Mycroft, only messaging Mary, John, and Ryan when he was at work.

Days slowly turned into nearly a weak, and you were sitting in the sofa when the door opened so you turned to look at Ryan who was with Sherlock.

“Wait! Wait! Please, just talk to him.” Ryan sighed.

He walked over and knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in his as he gave you a gentle smile.

“I love you, okay? I love you so much, but I know you can’t love anyone like you loved Sherlock. Just hear him out okay? It’s up to you what you want to do, if you want to be with him, if you want to just take a break, or be with me that’s your choice. No matter what I won’t be angry, and even if we’re not together I’m always going to be here for you.” He said gently.

Ryan stood up, kissing the top of your head he walked to the door and nodded and Sherlock who gave a nod back and closed the door.

He wasn’t really sure what to do now, so he decided to walk over and sit on the sofa opposite from you.

He looked up at you, you refused to meet his gaze. You couldn’t even look at him.

Even after all the stupid things he had done, you had always looked at him, but you couldn’t even meet his gaze now, and something inside of him hurt at the thought of it.

“I watch you jump…” you whispered.

“There’s a good explanation.”

“A good…”

You stood up and walked over to him.

“A good explanation?! I watched you jump Sherlock! I watched you his that floor! I had you blood on my hands!”

You went to slap him but he quickly jumped up, dodging your hand as he walked around you, hands in the air.

“I had to do it. I couldn’t let Moriarty win.”

“I don’t give a crap about him Sherlock! I give a crap about the fact you didn’t tell me! I blamed myself for your death! I thought about everything I could’ve done to prevent it!”

“Why would you blame yourself? You never made me do it?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sat back down, looking at your hands as you balled them into fits, resting your forehead on them.

“I blamed myself because I thought I could’ve done something to help you… I wondered how I didn’t see the signs…”

Sherlock watched you for a moment before he slowly approached you, taking a seat next to you on the sofa.

“There’s no good reason for what you did.. you faked your own death…”

“I did it for you.”

You looked up at him.

“I did it to keep you safe. John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, I did it to keep you all safe, especially you.”

“I don’t care Sherlock… I.. I don’t care. I cried at your grave every day, I thought I’d never love someone ever again, I thought I’d I loved someone they’d leave too…”

Sherlock sighed.

He didn’t know what to say, because he knew nothing he said could make the pain he made you feel away.

No amount of words could fix that damage.

“I… I’m sorry (Y/N).”

You looked at him. Never had he apologised for anything.

“I have no right pushing my way back into your life, none. I know that. But I’m a selfish person, and I don’t want to come back if I can’t see you again.”

“Sherlock you can’t just expect it to go back to the way it was. Not after this… maybe you can with John… but not me… not after what we had…”

Sherlock nodded his head.

“I know. But you’re the better part of me, the human part of me. The part of me that tells me when I’m being rude or unfair, you’re the part of me that I don’t want to let go because I can’t.”

He reached out and touched your hands lightly, pulling away before he clasped your hands between his.

“I never wanted to hurt you, in fact you’re the last person I want to hurt.”

Sherlock looked at your, staring for a minute before he sighed.

“He was going to propose to you tonight. He loves you a lot. You don’t know who to choose, and that’s okay. Just think about it, he’s a good man, you deserve that.”

Sherlock kissed your forehead, lips lingering there, his hand coming to hold the side of your face as he pulled away.

“I know you need time to think, I have a case but I’ll be back.”

Sherlock left the flat and stood in front of your door.

He didn’t know how to tell you that every night he thought about you, every day he pictured your smiling in his head.

You were the only thing that kept him going through everything, the only reason he carried on powering through everything that had happened.

All he wanted to do was hold you, never let you go again because these past two years were unlike anything he had experienced.

Sherlock never thought he could care for anyone like he did for you.

Sherlock Holmes was so deeply, madly, in love with you it drove him mental.

But he knew after what he did he didn’t deserve you to forgive him.

He hoped you would choose him, but he couldn’t read you like he used to able to, you had changed so much, all he knew is you still loved him. But you loved Ryan, and you didn’t know who to chose.

Did you choose your first love? The one who broke your heart and trust? The one you were so deeply in love with?

Or did you choose you second love? The one who picked up the pieces of your broken heart? The one who would hold you every night when no one else could?

[girlreviews]

Review #149: John Prine, John Prine

The genius of John Prine is that he skillfully sang stories of any kind of lost overlooked person with wit and a wink, but never mean spirited or punching down. He sings a gentle dignity and grace into every character in his songs. Some of them are flawed. Some of them are hopeless. Some of them are dim-witted. Some of them are victims of terrible circumstance. Some of them are terribly lonely. Each one is worthy of a song and the humanity it bestows upon them. Who knows if they are real people, but I do know that they definitely represent very real people. Veterans. Unhappy couples. Seniors. Disillusioned citizens wondering why entire generations were sent overseas to die, or sent overseas only to return empty, vacant, abandoned and addicted.

It’s sad. It makes me sad. I don’t often get through this record without crying a little. I see the faces of those in my life who haven’t been able to escape their demons, or break cycles of trauma. To their detriment, to the detriment of us all. But despite their flaws, they’re humans, and they’re worthy of dignity and love too. I’m reminded that I’m a work in progress. After all, “to believe in this livin’, is just a hard way to go”. You’re damn right, John.

Whether you hear the message in the songs is really up to you. Even though some of them — Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore — are silly sounding, cheery-almost songs poking fun at empty patriotic displays — if you’re listening, you hear what he’s really saying. It’s a protest. Your God wouldn’t support this shit. I really believe it though, that plenty of people might hear these songs and tap their foot along happily, never really hearing the pretty stark criticism in it. It’s a choice.

Sam Stone is a man returning from conflict overseas, to be abandoned by the government in coping with this struggles, and in turn abandoning his family through his need to self-medicate. Again, who you are and how you see the world might dictate how you empathize towards Sam Stone:

“There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes

Jesus Christ died for nothin' I suppose

Little pitchers have big ears

Don't stop to count the years

Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios”

Each line suffocates you just a little bit more. Taking just a little bit of a sharper gasp of air to ward off an emotional response or to settle down the wobble of your chin. At least, it does if you were a little pitcher with big ears. A child wondering whether your Dad would make it to your game, your high school play, whatever it was. A child who knew how to recognize the subtle changes on the face of a man growing inevitably less sober. I suppose the point John is making — is that someone out there also knows and noticed the subtle changes on your little face too. The face you made each time you dared to hope and then had to let it die when you saw that your Dad was drunk, again. You had hope, but not for long. That sweet song didn’t last long, and you learned not to bother singing along, because the radio is shot to hell and it turned to static before you even got to the chorus. Eventually, maybe you even gave up on that radio and threw it out. Or maybe you hold onto dusty old broken things wishing that you could fix them. John saw you and had love for you. But he had love for Sam Stone, too, and recognized how he and all of us had been failed. I think that’s beautiful.

Hello In There is a song about growing older and growing increasingly more isolated. I thought about this song yesterday before I decided to review this album next. I was behind a frail, elderly man wearing overalls at the checkout at the grocery store who needed a hand. We interacted briefly, and he’s remained on my mind. If I’m lucky, I’ll be an old woman someday and I hope someone will talk to me at the grocery store checkout if I’m having a bit of a moment. Honestly, I hope someone will talk to me if I’m having a bit of a moment at the grocery store checkout tomorrow.

If you don’t know Angel from Montgomery, John wrote it for Bonnie Raitt, but his version is pretty definitive. The organ in it really does sound like flying. Or what I think it would feel like to fly. I think anyway. It’s fucking good.

In keeping with the big sad feels, there’s Far From Me, which paints a detailed picture of a deeply unhappy couple. We have all been there. I’m always struck by the observation “ain’t it funny how an old broken bottle, looks just like a diamond ring?”

One of my favorites, and maybe one of the few I don’t find too terribly sad, is Quiet Man. It’s got a real something to it. I don’t know what he was going for but it’s so cool and clever:

“Last Monday night I saw a fight

Between Wednesday and Thursday over Saturday night”

“Oodles of light, what a beautiful sight

Both of God’s eyes are shining tonight”

Recommend listening to the entire song for the full effect. I am unaware of any other song in existence that can utilize the word oodles and still be considered a masterpiece. But he gone done did it.

Listen, more than any other record this one truly brought me to Nashville. Here’s something I wrote in 2020 when John Prine died after a pretty long stint in the ICU with COVID. He was really one of the first people we lost in the pandemic. And it really hurt. It hurt because everyone in Nashville that’s been here for a minute knows what John Prine meant and means to this city. But he truly, truly, brought me here and made my life better:

“Nine years ago, I visited my cousin to help her move. It was my first visit to Nashville. We were looking for John Prine’s self-titled album everywhere (streaming wasn’t quite like, a thing yet, I guess). I think we found it at McKays, but I might be mistaken. Anyway, we listened to it on repeat that entire trip, and it always reminds me of the first time I came to Nashville, which two years later became my home and gave me everything. I love John Prine. I could listen to his songs forever, and I expect that I will. Oodles of light, what a beautiful sight.”

John knew how to live. He told us what to do. Blow up your TV. Throw away your paper. Plant a little garden. Eat a lot of peaches. It’s all sound advice and we should heed it more frequently. Next time you’re out, order a “Handsome Johnny”. Be kind but don’t be too serious, and listen to some good music.

[angeltreasure]

Hi, this is not really a prayer request but I was wondering what you think. You mentioned spiritual warfare in one of your earlier posts, and my boyfriend is being oppressed by a demon. I know her name. He's a convert and he's going to be baptized soon. The thing is, he used to take meth and neither of us is certain if it's a meth induced psychosis (it's been a couple years since the drug use) or if it's all real. He vacillates between saying he needs help and not really wanting it, especially from medical field. I think a part of him doesn't want help because he's afraid it'd all disappear and then his life would have been a lie. Or that the meds would change him too much. I don't really know what to think or what to do. I would like to support him unwaveringly but I don't feel like I'm strong enough for this. I know this isn't an exactly easy question, but any idea who to turn to? Priest? Psychiatrist?

I am by no means a medical professional so I’ll give you what I think would work. I was listening to a Catholic exorcist last night telling the story of how he became one and said how important it was to have his background with psychology to be able to understand what might be going on for the mental health of the patient before assuming that everyone comes to him is possessed. So, I think it’s important to take care of the mental health of your boyfriend as well as the spiritual health, hand in hand. The exorcist said that 90% of the battle will need to be done by the patient, and this means the patient needs to to open to treatment, seeing doctors, be willing to start new health habits, self care (that’s the mental health side). The patient also needs to be open to prayer, the Sacraments, avoid mortal sin.

“Meth is especially dangerous because it can cause you to lose weight quickly, making you look gaunt and unhealthy. It can also lead to dental problems, skin sores, and other health issues. Additionally, meth can severely damage your brain, leading to memory loss, paranoia, and even psychosis.” It wouldn’t be a stretch to say it has been affects of drugs which can mimic what one would think of seeing an oppressed or possessed person of a horror movie. Addicted to meth is strong in many people.

When we listen to the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us how we are to follow His ways. Every single human being you see is created by God and is a temple of the Holy Spirit (yes even enemies). We must see the face of Jesus in every person and love them. Even if he doesn’t currently take it, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to try a treatment center just to have a safe environment for any medical professional to help him with a better detox. You could offer places in your country that help with detox, remind him to go to regular Doctor appointments, do self care things with him, pray with him, introduce him to the Mass or the Rosary, pray for him each day, etc. Since he will be baptized soon, you can always at any time visit a priest together or him one on one with the priest to ask for guidance, advice, spiritual direction, and yes you can ask questions about oppression. Priests are always here for us. Don’t be afraid to reach out. The squeaky wheel gets the grease! Remember to also have patience, addiction isn’t easy. When you get overwhelmed, remember you can step back and give yourself self care and keep prayer up and the Sacraments too. God is with you both. If you need anything let me know.