#on a scale of one to hitting me for real in real life...

[arcane-vagabond]

Meet Me at the Sea: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the at his family's summer home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but now there are bodies washing up on shore and you're starting to lose pockets of time. Bob and his friends are acting strange. Is it fear, or do they know more than they're letting on?

Content Warning: Nothing major. Allusion to neglectful parents, Death of a grandmother. Please let me know if I need to add anything!

Word Count: 1.5k

Series Masterlist

Music poured out from the music box that sat atop your dresser, the sweet melody filling the room easing some of the tension from your shoulders and neck. It was a small thing, something your grandmother had found while on one of her many antiquing trips. Luminescent shells decorating the sides, edges traced in gold, gave the illusion of something magical. It reminded you somewhat of the mermaid figurine she kept placed atop her mantle. She had left it to you when she passed a couple years prior, and it sat proudly on your desk for all to see as they entered your room.

Finals had been stressful, but they were finally over and you had the diploma waiting safely at your childhood home along with most of your belongings. Your parents had driven out to North Carolina for your graduation ceremony, celebrating with you for the weekend before heading back to the Midwest. They had announced their intention to travel for the summer, an announcement you were more than familiar with by this point as they had taken every opportunity to travel since you had been old enough to stay with family over the summer. Once you were eighteen and off to college, they had taken to traveling throughout the year as well. It didn’t bother you all that much—not really, anyway.

You were an only child, and while you knew you were loved, you often wondered if your parents considered you a burden rather than a beloved child, and you had spent most of your summers with your maternal grandmother. Grandma Madge had been so fun and full of life, and you had been closer to her than any of her other grandchildren, though you had fond memories of playing on your grandfather’s boat with your older cousins in the Florida heat, the ocean spray hitting your face and easing the sting of the summer heat. You had been closest with Bubbles, your cousin closest in age to you, and the two of you had been attached at the hip during those summers, calling each other often during the months apart. Of course, Bubbles wasn’t her real name, just like Skipper wasn’t yours. Names given to you by older family members, Bubbles because of the nervous tick she had of blowing bubbles into her drink while lost in thought, Skipper given to you by your grandfather because of the way you commanded your cousins around on the boat.

You may have been the youngest, but you were a natural born leader according to the older man.

You and Bubbles had drifted apart during high school, preoccupied with friends you saw every day and the different dreams the both of you pursued. Bubbles chased a dream of writing the world’s best-selling novel, and you chased a dream instilled in you by your grandmother.

You supposed it was natural to be drawn to the ocean. How many people do you hear lament about their yearning for a beach vacation? You weren’t just interested in the beach, however. No, you were fascinated by the fauna that called the body of water home, wanting to know all you could about it. You begged your parents to buy you every book available on the different creatures living beneath the waves, taking nearly weekly visits to the aquarium. You loved all the creatures, but your favorite had always been the stingrays. The little cow-nosed rays glided through the water, racing up to you for pets. They were like little water puppies, and you spent hours with your hand in the water petting them until your parents had to drag you away to finish looking at the rest of the exhibits. It was on one of those early trips that you procured your closest confidante, Rusty—a stuffed cow-nosed stingray who you kept with you as much as possible.

Rusty had been with you during every embarrassing moment, every bad test, and had even moved with you halfway across the country to attend Duke University in North Carolina. He hadn’t been your only friend for long, as during that first week of classes you met a boy who you would know as your greatest friend four years later.

Bob Floyd was a North Carolina native, having come from the small, island town appropriately named North Island. Bob told you all the stories about growing up in that small, island town, even inviting you to spend holidays with him, but you had politely refused. You still spent that time with your grandmother, keeping her company as much as possible after your grandfather had died your sophomore year of high school.

Grandma Madge had passed at the beginning of your final year, and you had considered taking time off to grieve. It had been Bubbles of all people who had called you up to remind you that your grandmother would have wanted you to continue and finish earning your degree, and so though it pained you to push on, keep going you had.

Now, you were at a loss with what to do for your final summer before starting your PhD program at Duke’s graduate school. Finals were wrapping up, and you found yourself confronted with the possibility of returning home for a summer spent alone while your parents were god only knew where.

“When are you gonna take me up on my offer to just spend the summer at my folk’s place?” Bob huffed in a laugh. You rolled your eyes playfully at him from where you lay sprawled out on his bedspread, several textbooks scattered around you. Bob was seated at his desk, textbooks also cracked open as the two of you studied for finals. “I’m serious, Skipper. It’s senior year, and I’d really like if my best friend would come hang out with me for the summer.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you started, stopping when Bob scoffed, shooting you a scowl.

“You’re never a bother. And where’s that same attitude when you’re over here eating all of my poptarts?”

“That’s different,” you giggled.

Bob glared playfully at you. “I beg to differ. Besides, you’d be doin’ me a favor. I’m always so bored when I’m at home. I could really use the company.”

“Wow, what a ringing endorsement,” you joked, Bob rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have friends?”

“I do,” he conceded with a grimace, “but Nat and Mickey are the only two that are at least somewhat normal, and I always feel like a third wheel. It’d be nice to have another person there to even things out.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, pen tapping against your notebook as you considered his proposal. It would definitely beat a summer in the Midwest. Bob scooted forward, putting on his best pleading look, blue eyes dark and round as he pleaded with you.

“C’mon,” he urged, lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. “Pretty please?”

You sighed. “I’ll think about it, alright? I want to see what my parents have planned.”

As it would turn out, your parents had planned a trip abroad for the whole summer, and you were left with no other option but to accept Bob’s proposal.

“Don’t sound so happy,” he had laughed. “You love the ocean, and the house is right on the beach.”

“I am happy,” you countered, loading your bags into the back of his car. “But, I’m worried that I’ll just be an imposition.”

“For the thousandth time,” Bob said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “you are not an imposition. My parents love you, remember? Sometimes I think they like you more than they like me. Do you really think they would have let me invite you if they didn’t? Hell, I had to fight’em to keep’em from inviting you themselves.”

Bob’s parents were a sweet couple. Susan was a stay-at-home mom turned entrepreneur, while Richard was a tech developer, and both absolutely adored their only son. They had latched onto you the second Bob had introduced you to them during one of the home football games they had driven up to see, and now they considered you the daughter they never had.

“How did they react when you told them I was coming?” You asked him with a grin. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Pretty sure there’s a mountain of balloons waiting for us when we get there,” he mused, closing the door to the trunk. The two of you rounded the different sides of the car before getting in. Once your seatbelt was fastened, you looked up to see Bob giving you a peculiar look. You returned it with a confused one, and he looked down pointedly at your lap.

“Rusty does not sit in the back,” you said, hugging the stuffed ray closer. Bob let out a little laugh as he held his hands up in surrender.

“You sure you remembered everything?” He asked you as he started the car. You nodded, shifting in your seat to get more comfortable.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then,” he grinned, turning to you. “Let’s get goin’.”

A/N: Here it is! I told y’all I was gonna rewrite it lol But I’m finally getting around to it!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do tag lists, but you can follow my side blog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications for all updates! You can also find my stories on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[aestheticsyoutubers]

gavin free, letsplay ↳ enchantment level 30 (let’s play minecraft #47)

[spacemancharisma]

.

[tritoch]

the other thing I find very funny about trying to write a canon compliant wol is taking all the wolship hints extremely seriously.

I don't really wolship because I'm just fundamentally not that kind of fan. But I know for those who are, the sheer number of romance hints FFXIV throws at you can be overwhelming to parse in a context where you have a preferred/intended wolship, particularly if you're not attracted to the gender the hints are coming from in the first place (a particular tip of the hat to wlw fans navigating the g'raha of it all). I've seen plenty of people write around them or write them out or be like "no aymeric was for real inviting my wol to a nice platonic zero-subtext dinner," and God bless all of you.

But it's really funny to imagine them all as all-too-real but unreciprocated or perhaps unreciprocatable. The sheer scale of it is comedy. Spoilers for all of FFXIV follow.

Oh God, the Lord Speaker wants to have dinner, just the two of us, at his family estate and not a government building. I hope he doesn't bring up his crush on me. Thal's balls he's about to bring it up—oh thank God there's an emergency. Oh no someone got hurt! Oh no it's the teenage girl with a crush on me.

Your life is a cosmic joke. You watch the Sultana get poisoned and all your friends probably die to save your life and it's kind of all your fault in some ways, I mean at the very least you should've spoken up when they gave the teenager a private army, and then the teenage boy speaks up and is like, "hey, I guess we have at least one ally. What about if we go visit that guy who is really obviously down unbelievably bad for you and wants to lick the sweat off of you." and you have to be like, yeah, Alphinaud. Great idea. Let's do it. I'll call him.

(brief interlude: also haurchefant's DEATH hits so good if you don't reciprocate. It's okay. He gets it. You're going through a lot and even if you had time to sort through your feelings maybe you're just not into him. That would be okay! You can love someone, or the idea of someone, without needing it to be romantically reciprocated. That's chivalric, even. Knightly. So he won't ask you to lie to him and say you love him as he lies dying in your arms. He's not so low as all that. But could you smile for him as you used to? That true hero's smile of yours. And you do, and he dies. And you both know he died for a lie, in a way, or a flight of fancy. And he's okay with that. Are you? Should you be? Should he?)

Then you're into Stormblood and it's like wow, okay. That last part was all high fantasy, of course there were loyal knights and elegant princes. But this is war. Imperialism. Grim business, surely there's no way—oh no BOTH handsome young revolutionary leaders seem to have a special interest in you?! And so does the Crown Prince of the Empire? Come on, man. I should get to do the whole horrors of war thing without having to also deal with this. Gaius sucked and it was weird that he let his foster daughter run around being openly obsessed with him but at least he never made it my problem.

You can't even get away from it across dimensions. Shadowbringers is a horror story about going on a teambuilding camping trip with your work colleagues for some reason except they all suddenly got really hot and they keep touching you affectionately on the shoulder and being like "I care for you and your happiness. Truly." And also you're being stalked for the whole camping trip by two old men who are obsessed with you. The false climax of the story is that the one old man tries to betray you and give a dramatic monologue about how he loves you but the two of you are doomed by the narrative and then the other old man shoots him in the back like "no actually its MY turn to betray them and give a dramatic monologue about how our love is doomed by the narrative." Then the real climax is old man #1 backstabbing old man #2 in the middle of said monologue before old man #2 dies and gives ANOTHER wistful monologue about his doomed love. Then for the patches they're like okay so we have this even CRAZIER old man who's gonna strike when you're weak and give a dramatic monolo—

and that's without even getting into the literal soulmate ghost only you can see

my warrior of light never felt more betrayed than in that scene where Y'shtola is like "haha Alisaie and G'raha have crushes on the warrior of light." Like I thought we were COOL, Y'shtola! I work here! This situation is already in such a delicate balance! Right when I got here I met Alisaie's "friend from work" who was like oh haha so YOU'RE the one she can't stop talking about and we never followed up on that because the woman died horrifically like five minutes later right in front of us! Then when Vauthry got away and we had to do all that shit with the dwarves, G'raha kept pausing every ten minutes to be like oooooh I'm so old I'm gonna die soon...at least I got to spend some time with some people who are really important to me...in fact here's what I'd tell the person who's most important to me...actually u know them really well haha. And I just had to sit there and be like wow, dude, crazy.

even in the face of apocalypse you still gotta go back in time like 12,000 years and there's somewhere there who makes you sit and listen to his story which is that the purpose of his whole godlike immortal life was to be in a throuple with you and old man #2 from the camping trip. and you just gotta sit there the whole time knowing you/your past life is the one who broke up the throuple over politics. He's like come help me harangue the old man into streaking in public, he'll do it if you ask.

then you meet and fight and kill God and you gotta turn to the team and be like hey sorry guys can you give me a sec. I'm gonna call God by her real name because we met one time for like four days and after that the promise of meeting me again was one of the things that sustained her through her millennia of suffering. Not like that but like. Idk. Just gimme a sec!

It's a relief when you finally get to Lahabrea and he's like actually I still don't fuck with your vibe. Like thank GOD.

And my WoL is very obviously dad-shaped so Dawntrail had a very specific energy for me but I understand that for plenty of people your deepening rapport with Wuk Lamat had a romantic subtext (same for Koana depending on how you read a few of his lines). And personally I think it's the height of comedy to be like, noooo, babe, your highness, I know you and your brother the king are in love with me and want me to stick around and support you emotionally through this governmental transition haha. But it's just...the cursed wineglass, babe. I GOTTA go figure out what's up with this cursed wineglass.

It's a running gag in some of the more optional content that people are like "you have an unreasonable number of hobbies and side gigs" to the WoL from time to time. But if every time you tried picking up a new hobby some new elf started baring their soul to you, you too would be like Hey Jessie (or sometimes Krile or Tataru), my good friend who is one of the only people in my life who knows what professional ethics and work-life boundaries are, any chance you need muscle on a gig on the other side of the world? Ideally with only Cid and his ex so all libidinal energy in the room is directed towards machinery or someone who isn't me?

ironically one of the only places you get a break from psychosexual obsession is the nier content

[irishmammonagenda]

MC's magic going wrong 😱😰

or right depending on ur outlook on life ig

warnings: swearing, mentions of death (extremely brief and only notioned towards), physical affection

You hadn´t thought much of it at first when you got back to the human realm. Everything went back to normal. Or as normal as it could be.

Your mother and father sobbed when they saw you, stating how they though´t you were lying in a ditch somewhere in the stretching countryside. You´d lied, told them you were away on a residency based apprenticeship, that you were sorry for worrying them. Your siblings showed signs of worry you never thought they were able to feel for you. Thus you were being babied for a month or so.

That´s when it started.

At first, it was more corvids at the bird feeder in your garden than usual. Then it was stray cats. Then inexplicable black and white feathers dusting your clothing and hair.

Your mother smiled picking out the ivory feather from the confines of your unbrushed hair, "Oh! Your guardian angel´s been watching over you!" she says playfully, an old wives´ tale, nothing too serious.

You tense for a moment, before laughing with her. "Well I´ll take it as a good sign." Stupid old wives being the smartest people.

At first it was easy to brush off.

Then your father started getting lucky, he hadn't been one to gamble persay, putting a few coins in on a bet for the horse racing or the football was a regular occurrence, sometimes he won,sometimes he didn't. The difference of a few silvers, a share bag of sweets basically, made no real strain on your belts. But now, he was winning left right and center. Winning amounts that shouldnt be possible based on the amount he input.

Though, after you woke up to cats and corvids staring at you unblinkingly, in your room, with a few flies and insects on the walls, and your bedsheets covered in feathers and scales of all colours and sizes, enough was enough.

You were going to give those nerds a piece of your mind.

After shooing the animals out, (making sure to pet the cats), you picked up a lipstick, and channeled your pact magic before drawing a circle with various symbols on the floor,

You stilled, "Ah, shit. I dunno how to do this, i mean half of those symbols are angry faces and squiggles...." but ever the theatre nerd, you improved.

"I, MC, call upon the power of my pacts with the Avatars of Hell! and, using their power; a portal to the Devildom shall open for me!"

And a portal did open for you. Unfortunately, not to the best place. As you travelled through the time pocket you ended up stumbling once you made it to the other side, the stumble turnt into a tumble turnt into a fall. Unluckily for you, the thing you fell on was toned flesh and chuckling heartily, you were in Diavolo's lap.

"It's great of you to drop by MC!" He says, his massive hands pulling you further into his frame.

You cover your face with your hands, now noticing the various other nobles in the council room who are staring at their Prince, attempting to mask the fact their jaws are going to hit the floor.

Atleast the Brothers weren't there, but Barbatos' half polite smile half smirk and Diavolo whispering various playful musings of, "Did you miss me that much little human, we missed you too.", and "Summoning a portal illegally into the Demon Lord's castle and onto the Demon Princes lap...tututut." almost made the brothers seem like a mercy....

...almost.

You couldn't tell if this was a win or a lose.

[ohtobeleah]

Day Nine [Frozen]

Summary: Jake is so intoxicated he forgets he played a life-threatening prank on you. Leaving you to freeze, for hours.

Warnings: Violence. Violence against women. Drunk!Jake. Hypothermia

Word Count: 1.5k

Whumptober Prompt Day Nine: Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Researchers have theorised that nightmares are the brain’s way of processing unsettling events of the past. Others believe nightmares are how our subconscious mind prepares us to deal with our real-life fears. Either way, they agree that nightmares are most commonly brought on by one thing…..

Stress. 

“Trick or treat Y/n,” Jake cooed as he cornered you in the hallways that led not only to the bathrooms of the Hard Deck, but also to the fridge, freezer and storeroom. 

“Not now, Hangman, I've got too much on my plate to entertain whatever stupidity is about to come flying outta your mouth,” You sighed as you pushed Jake away softly. It had been a long day and was about to be an even longer night. 

Halloween had the Hard Deck going crazy with costume contests, two-for-one specials, half-price beer and speciality spooky season cocktails. You barely had time to breathe, let alone entertain Jake's cheesy pickup lines. 

“You wound me, Kerner, what's a guy gotta do to get a second of attention?” Jake followed you drunkenly down the hall as you made your way to the walk-in freezer. The kitchen freezer was running empty on fries and burger patties, so you offered to do a run to the bigger, more versatile freezer. 

“Find someone with attention to give?” You replied as you rolled your eyes. Jake stood right behind you as you unlocked the freezer door. He was standing so close that he could almost see the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. “I’m really busy, Seresin, I don’t have a second to piss let alone stroke your ego tonight,” It was a little hash, but you and Penny were truly run off your feet. It was only that you were home visiting family that she’d asked you to work a few shifts. 

“Maybe you should take a break then?” Jake nearly hissed as the alcohol he’d consumed coursed through his veins. He’d been drinking nearly all afternoon with Rooster. “Even if it's just for five minutes?” He wasn't thinking straight. Hell, he couldn’t even see straight at the moment. 

“Jake, take a hint man–” You groaned as you slid open the door to the freezer. You handed him the lock and key as you stepped inside. The freezing cold air was harsh against your exposed skin. “I. Don’t. Have. Time. For. This!” You couldn’t deal with Jake and his incessant ability to get under your skin. You weren’t in the mood to deal with his normally flirtatious ways. “You can stay if you wanna help me carry these boxes out but–” 

“Take a damn break, Kerner,” Jake chuckled as he shut the door behind you. You didn’t even have a chance to finish your sentence before the door had rolled across its tracks and shut completely. “Trick it is,” 

“Jake?” You frowned as you tried to open the door as your own breath blew back into your face. You could see it bouncing off the door. “Jake open the door!” There was no answer, only the sound of the very lock you’d just given him, clicking back into its place. 

“Five minutes, Kerner,” Jake chuckled to himself as he pocketed the key. “Maybe a few minutes in the ice box will,” Jake paused as he found humour in his own actions. “Cool you off,” 

“JAKE THIS ISN’T FUNNY!” You panicked as you tried to open the door once more. “LET ME OUT!” As the reality of the situation hit you like a freight train, panic set in on a seismic scale. “OPEN THE DOOR!!” 

“I’m a catch,” Jake slurred to himself as he stumbled down the hall, barely able to stand straight in his American Pscycho-esk costume. “A damn catch,” 

“HELP!!!” The chill was all-consuming. “SOMEONE HELP ME!!!” You shouted as you hit your first against the sliding door, begging someone to help you. “JAKE! SOMEONE!” 

The burn was serial, it dug into every fibre of your being as you screamed at the top of your lungs. Your tears dried frozen on your cheeks the longer you stayed inside the walk-in freezer. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into an hour. Two. Three. 

“I haven’t seen her, George, I swear! I’ve been wondering where the hell she is too,” Penny sighed as she looked around the Hard Deck. Her eyes immediately fell on the group of rag-tag aviators crowded around their favourite corner. “Hey!” She called out as her steps took her across the bar. 

“Penny!” Fanboy called out with a smile smeared across his slightly intoxicated self. “How’s it going!? Happy Halloween!” he cooed, somewhat captivated by the Leia costume she chose for the evening. “Woah, is Penny hot?” 

“Dude,” Rooster spat his beer back into the bottle he’d just sipped at the thought of his teammate having a crush on the woman who had become a second mother to him. “You just said that out loud,” 

“Has anyone seen my barback?” Penny sighed as she held her nose to ward off a headache. “I can’t find her anywhere,” She explained briefly as Jake shot out of the conversation he was having with another unsuspecting Hard Deck visitor. 

“Oh my god–” His eyes were as wide as dinner plates as he fished the key to the walk-in freezer out of his back pocket. “Holy fucking shit I didn’t mean to leave her in there,” 

“Leave who where?” Bradley asked as he followed Jake, all the colour had been wiped clean from his face as he made his way through the crowded Hard Deck. “Jake!” 

“It was an accident!” Jake’s drunken hands shook violently as he made his way to the freezer where he’d forgotten he locked you in. “I-I didn’t mean to–” 

“Oh my gosh,” Penny was in utter disbelief at what her brain was trying to put together. There was no way Jake locked you in the freezer. He wouldn’t? Would he? “Tell me you didn’t,” 

“Give me the key–” Bradley growled as he shoved Jake to the side. Jake immediately forfeited the key as he slid down the wall in unimaginable shame. 

“Kerner!?” Rooster shouted as he worked to unlock the sling door. He had known you for years, you were like a little sister to him. Always a pain in the ass but a good, genuine person. He’d lay down in traffic for you. 

But the minute Bradley saw you sitting up against one of the freezer shelves with blue lips and closed eyes, his heart stopped inside his chest. 

“Y/N!” Bradley panicked as he stepped inside. “Hey!” He slapped your cheek softly, but hard enough to gain your consciousness. “Hey! Y/n, you alright?” 

“Oh my gosh, she’s probably hypothermic, Rooster, I’ll call an ambulance,” Penny added as shock overcame her. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. 

“And the fucking police!” Rooster made sure he said it loud enough for Jake to hear. “Come on sweetheart, open your eyes, you’re alright, I’m here,” 

“I’m sorry!” Jake cried as he slumped over himself in the hallway. “Y/n I’m so sorry!” His apologies fell on deaf ears as Penny ran emergency services, one of them being the police. “I didn’t mean to forget!” 

Sometimes your worst nightmare comes true, but you find it’s really nothing to worry about. Occasionally, you discover what your dread is really a blessing. And your life is better because you persevere, despite your fears. 

“Rooster?’ You could barely speak as Bradley carried you out of the freezer to the shock and horror of the rest of the squad. “M-so cold,” 

“You look a little pale, Kerner, but you’re gonna be alright,” Bradley tried his best to sugarcoat the situation, but with every step he took, his heart broke a little more. He’d promised your dad he’d keep you safe, he just never thought he’d have to keep you safe from Jake. He’d let his guard down, never again. “I’m gonna burry him six feet under for this,” 

“He l-locked m-me away,” Sometimes your worst nightmare is truly scary. And it feels like it’s never going to end. “No one came,” That’s why support from friends and family is vital. 

“I did,” Bradley corrected you as he held you in his arms, warming you up as much as he could as sirens grew louder from the distance. “I came for you, I’m right here,” 

You only ever want to surround yourself with people who will wake you up from your nightmare……and bring you back to reality.

[alchemistc]

911 was always in my periphery bc of how popular Buck x Eddie is on Tumblr and Ao3. I didn't really want to watch a cable network procedural drama, especially one that came off as so unserious. I could also see how such invested shipping by a lot of fans who are young and think it’s ok to demand things from the cast and crew would inevitably become a toxic cesspool. I stand by that assessment of the show based on the behavior of the fandom these last months, as well as the overall quality of the writing and how often good story lines just get dropped or undermined.

However, I heard about Buck coming out. Over the summer, I was going through a lot and feeling aimless, so I finally started watching the show. And I liked Buck and Tommy, but what I really loved was the quality of the fan works they inspired. At the end of the day, I never really had real expectations of high quality television from a show like 911; that’s not what it’s for.

Despite this, what really affected me last night—which was also the first episode I bothered watching live ever because of how terrible this last week has been—wasn’t even how badly it was executed or the fact that they broke up. But how unnecessarily and viciously cruel the whole thing felt?

What was the point of showing Tommy as a caring, supportive, present partner in the previous episode if it was going to lead to an unceremonious break up? What was the point of showing his yearning for connection and family only to see him throw it all away? Why have him say such wonderful things about Buck moments before questioning the commitment of their relationship after six months together? What was the point of Buck getting that speech from Josh and bringing up marriage and moving in together and that Tommy had been a transformative relationship when it was going to end with him being dumped? It just felt so horribly cruel to see a character bare his tender heart and see it get stomped on. He looked so sad at the end.

Up till the very end of the episode, I was actually really enjoying it. Their acting was so good from heart eyes to heartbreak, and the show seemed to understand Tommy’s reaction to Buck getting hit on by those women would cause friction. It even made sense to me that Tommy would recoil at the prospect of moving in together because Buck clearly hasn’t come to terms with being queer yet (sir, you haven’t researched the Kinsey scale? You?) And Tommy is also clearly afraid to reach for the connections he wants and the seeming inevitability of his heart being broken and is masking that with nonsense about Buck needing to play the field and the biphobia present wherein. It was such an interesting depth to his character! I thought the break up speech was so well-acted, and I was so ready for the conversation they were going to have that would address it and let them move on together stronger. To see Buck learn from Josh and see the scars Tommy was unintentionally revealing in that moment and address them.

And then the credits started rolling and I felt like I got punched in the gut.

It was definitely the straw that broke the camel’s back for me, with the election and other personal stuff really stressing me out this week. Last night, I felt sick and unable to sleep, and I spent the morning bawling my eyes out. It feels like one of the few things I really looked forward to had been snatched away for the shock factor. I believe the interviews are the definite death knell, but even if you don’t follow the interviews, it was just a cruel way to end the episode. Even if this ends up being a temporary roadblock or they “fix” it, it’ll always leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Anyway, I’m upset that I let a show I always knew wasn’t very good affect me this much, and I regret spending months of my life on it. But the reason I wanted to send this ask was because my real hyperfixation these last few months was never the show itself; it was always the Bucktommy fandom. Reading some of the most beautiful fanfiction, including yours, these deep and intense character studies or au’s or future fics that show more love to these characters than the show does. The stunning art, the lovingly rendered gifs, the startlingly funny and insightful writing. The fandom has been my real love, and I hope that despite this huge blow, people like you will continue being so immensely creative and artistic for this ship.

I’m sorry this has been so long and vent-y, but I wanted to send you this ask because you’re one of my favorite fic authors, and I’ve been following your posts since last night and you’re still responding to anonymous asks. I’ve always been stealth in the fandom to avoid certain parts of it, so didn’t want this on my own blog. If you do publish it, I hope the other authors and artists and creators who have made my life better get to see it too <3 And that they don’t regret the time and passion and love they’ve poured into the last few months. I have appreciated it, if nothing else.

Hi.

First of all, please don't apologize for the length of this.

Everything you pointed out were exactly the reasons people joined this fandom. Everything you listed here is EXACTLY the reason it left such a bad taste in our mouth.

I'm sorry I won't be more eloquent in this post, because this is such a kind and thoughtful and lovely summation of all the things I've been hearing and seeing and feeling.

The point of all that, if we are to believe Lou (which I do, and honestly props to him for being as gracious as he was in those post-mortems: fucking TWO exit interviews for a guest star? wtf abc), WAS to pull the rug out from under the audience. It WAS to end it all on a shocker of heartbreak. They filmed the bulk of Tommy's S8 scenes AFTER the breakup. It is absolutely vicious and cruel and meant to make people talk about it. The engagement they are getting right now is to some extent WHAT THEY WANTED. I went straight to my notes after work and I can't be fucked to check the insta or FB to see if they've posted anything new and/or what the comment count is on the 8x06 posts but THIS IS THE INTENDED RESULT. Broken hearts, upset people, an increasingly toxic fandom crowing.

That's where I'm at. I think that's where a lot of people have landed. And it's so disheartening to see something that really genuinely drew people in because it was handled so gently and kindly at first just be ripped away and the door shut on it.

And honestly if they close the mid season OR open or close 8B on a premise that includes one of them being injured and the other having a Realization™️ I won't trust this team to do it genuinely or truly. Even the breakup would have held so much potential for me, but not like this.

Anyway. I'm sorry you're feeling so disappointed. I am grieving the missed potential of literally every plot they built up this season for every character and if I do watch it won't be live and I will likely have very little trust for it's potential. There has been So Much wasted potential.

And I want to say thank you. Even if you lurked, even if you disengage now, the creators who made those works made them out of love and they wanted to share them and the community around it all has been lovely to see. Thank you.

Some of us will still be hanging around building the world that could have been. I hope, if you feel up to peeking at that sandbox, that you feel welcome to go play in it or even just clap from the sidelines.

♥️

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part I: Radio's not dead

| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor

"Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow. You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.” “Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?” You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” [Or after a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping . . . *checks notes* . . . the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You pass the tissue box—the third one already.

Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles.

Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes. Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.

“—and I have this . . . uh . . . like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.

Your eyes twitch.

He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”

“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Pastel pink floor.

Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ears. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum ring. Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found.

The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.

“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”

You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.

His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh . . . well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “

You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.

“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says.  “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to do that.”

You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.

Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology.  (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)

“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means.  “What kind of nurse ar—“

“Doctor.”

“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”

You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now.?

“Yeah . . . ?”

You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”

“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”

You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”

His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”

You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”

He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”

You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”

“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”

“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Pheny—what?”

“ . . . Angel Dust.”

“The porn star?”

“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Come on, nurse—”

Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting.

He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns.

You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair.  His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.

Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs.Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.

“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.

Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle.

Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic. You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.

You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus.

You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.

“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”

The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.

He doesn’t close the door on his way out.

The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.

(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)

You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.

“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”

Silence is your reply.

“Tagatha?”

Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date.

Although . . . those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.

Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.

Too bad he’s occupied.

You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.

Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA.

The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears.

The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before

The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.

You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment. Just . . . a small . . . single moment.

 . . . On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.

Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.

“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”

Huh? The feather on your hair preens. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light.  You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.

“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”

Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.

“What a dated voice!”

A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”

Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That . . . that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.

“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”

Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”

Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.

“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.

“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”

The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖̖͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ “Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management.  You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “ . . .Doctor?”

Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.

“The . . . uh . . . the lights are back.”

You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”

She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”

“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are . . . difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”

“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”

Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.

You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”

You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.

You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.

“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”

“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”

“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”

He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”

“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”

“Really, now?”

You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”

“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”

You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”

Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve . . . almost . . . almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.

Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.

You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.

Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You hold your palm out. “May I?”

His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”

Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”

You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”

“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”

He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”

You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.”  You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”

You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.

“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such . . . er . . .interesting decorations around. . . . May I?”

You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.

“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.

“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)

“I figured you were.”

Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”

You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”

He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”

“How ever did you know?”

You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”

You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.

Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”

Alastor hums in reply.

You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?

Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.

“The wall isn’t over here.”

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.

He counts.

“Out loud please.”

He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.

Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”

Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”

“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well . . .we . . . we certainly could be paid more.”

“Why not become an actual doctor then?”

“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me . . . and . . . hmm.” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”

He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”

You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”

You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”

“Oh yes,” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor . . . I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”

“Knitting?”

“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much��

“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”

“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”

“Next time then.”

You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”

He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”

“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”

Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh . . .There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part |Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the dead ringer

buttercup, chapter three

a/n: yeah, this did happen to me in real life, although it happened on a bus so i couldn't immediately get away... ANYWAYS! enjoy this hurt/comfort heavy chapter!

summary: “I think I know something that might help a bit.”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, crying, panic attacks, matt using his superpowers for the sake of hurt/comfort, boxing

word count: 2057

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Drizzling the flour into the wide bowl, like a dusty snowfall, you watched the number on the scale carefully as you neared the desired number. Though just before you hit it, Walter’s head suddenly poked in through the doorway leading behind the counter and interrupted you and Howard’s all-too-important discussion on what the day’s music choice should be. 

“Hey, Y/n? There’s someone here to see you.”

Laying down the scoop still holding a bit of flour, you dragged your palms down the brown apron tied around your frame and exited the kitchen. A bright smile spread across your face and crinkled up your gaze as you spotted who was standing on the other side of the counter. 

“Matt, hey–, oh my god,” you then suddenly noticed the bruising that blossomed out from under his tinted glasses and stretched up over the patched-up scrape that split his left brow, “what happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just wasn’t paying attention last night, tripped and fell, that’s all,” he waved a hand, “I just wanted to stop by on my way to work, get a round of coffees to-go for everyone and perhaps some breakfast for myself, just whatever you think I’d like.”

“You’ll let me pick?” your eyebrows rose slightly. 

But Matt simply smiled and said, “I trust your judgment,” his grip shifted gently on the cane standing tall before his chest. 

As you moved to make the coffees, “alright,” you drew out a pondering breath, “are you in the mood for something sweet or savoury?”

Thinking about it a second, he uttered, “savoury.”

“Do you like sandwiches?” you popped the lids on the to-go cups. When he nodded, you placed the coffees in a little cardboard tray, “okay, I think you’ll like this one,” grabbed a brown paper bag and moved further down the counter, “it’s made with focaccia and has pesto in it as well as some tomatoes and cheese and stuff.” 

“That sounds amazing.”

“I also–, you know what? I’ll be right back,” you then abruptly turned and momentarily disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing a few of the pillowy buns still on the cooling rack into a bag. As you returned, you also snuck a hand into the display case and stuffed a few other goodies into the sack, “just for the others, if they want,” you placed the bundle onto the counter beside the coffees, “I just pulled them out of the oven a bit ago and they’re still warm.”

“What is it?” Matt tilted his chin. 

“Uh, some raisin buns, but I also threw two croissants in there in case they didn’t like raisins...” 

A soft smile warmed his bruised features as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, “what do I owe you?”

“Oh no,” your hands waved lightly before you, “it’s on the house.”

“Y/n, come on,” he cocked his head. 

“Fine,” you light-heartedly sighed, “if you really wanna sing for your supper, then I’ll cash it in at a later date. I don’t know, maybe if I get arrested someday or something you could help me out.”

“You don’t have to bribe me with free baked goods for that.”

“No, but it sure doesn’t hurt, does it?” you chuckled. 

“No,” he joined in as he reached for the bags, “I guess it doesn’t.”

“You want some help carrying it?” you asked, hope seeping through your tone, “I could take my break and walk with you the rest of the way.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we just got through the morning rush, they’ll be fine without me for–, I don’t know, 15 minutes or however long it’ll take to walk to your office and back.”

“Alright, thanks,” he smiled, one paper bag hooked in the fingers that also clutched the cane.  

“I’m just gonna go grab my jacket, one second,” you said before ducking into the back to do so, letting your uncles know as you slipped out of your comfortable work clogs and into your sneakers. 

You ended up dividing the load, with you carrying the coffees and the last bag in one arm, though a few protests left you at first, begging him to let you carry all of it, they melted away as his free hand enveloped yours. 

When you reached his office, your arms wrapped around his frame as you hugged him long enough for your heartbeats to sync up, and just as you pulled away, his wide palms still warm on your back, you leaned in and planted a brief peck on his scruffy cheek. 

One of his hands swept up to meet the side of your face as your lips retracted. You pulled back so slowly that you weren’t sure you were moving at all, being drawn in by his warmth like a moth to a flame. 

His nose gently grazed against yours as he let himself linger, but just as your eyes fluttered shut in expectance that he’d kiss you, his warmth withdrew and he slowly breathed, “have a good day.” 

In a matter of seconds, you had gone from giggling, glancing down at some silly joke on your phone as you walked home, to panic instantly kicking in as a passerby’s voice pierced your soul and made your blood run cold.

Glancing around, you saw a stranger standing off to the side and yapping into his phone. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t Michael, but it sounded exactly like him, so much so that the tone sent your body right back to that very night as if no time had passed at all.

Willing your body to move, forcing it to conquer the short rest of the way home, once your front door shut behind you and your quiet apartment consumed you, painful sobs began to burst out of your trembling frame. Hyperventilating, you crashed into the nearby wall of the entryway directly across from the door, incapable of getting deeper into your home. 

Soon, a quiet and surprising knock found your door. 

“Y/n?” the worried tone of your neighbour sounded from the other side. 

Your shaky voice came out no louder than a whisper, “M-Matt?” 

There might not have been any other instances you could recall where accidentally forgetting to lock your door turned out for the better, because when Matt then tried the handle, it gently complied. 

Shutting it behind him, he rushed to you, “hey, hey,” he uttered softly, a hand soothingly finding your arm, “what’s going on?”

Attempting an answer, “I–, I–,” only incoherent sobs managed to seep from you. 

“Okay, alright,” he sucked in a controlled breath, one of his hands sliding up to the strap of your backpack, “how about we start by getting all the way inside, huh?” gently gliding it off you and resting the bag on the floor. 

You let yourself lean into him fully as he supported you on the short journey towards the couch. Wobbly taking a seat, his touch left you as he settled beside you.

Spine curving, you buried your puffy face in your trembling hands, letting the whole world drift away as small lakes were birthed within your palms from your pain. 

When the sobs eventually began to subsite, growing further and farther apart, your frame slowly unfurled. Instinctively flicking your hands before your form, you tried to physically shake even a fraction of the excruciating sensation off of you, but without success. 

Matt hadn’t moved an inch, simply stayed there right beside you. 

When your quiet voice eventually filled space, it came out broken and overflowing with emotion, “I thought it was him… it wasn’t, b-but it sounded exactly like him… I’ve done double takes every time I saw a stranger with the same haircut or felt nauseous every time I encountered the same name, but this really did sound like him. Same voice, same accent, same everything… but it wasn’t him… it wasn’t… it just sent me right back, you know?”

Hesitantly, you grasped his hand in yours, expecting the contact to only make it worse, to somehow taint and ruin his wonderful and soothing touch, but it didn’t, he didn’t. It was Matt. 

Trying to regain control of your breathing, you shakily sucked in deep breaths, feeling your gulps of air slowly become calmer and migrate from the very top of your chest, down to expand your sore stomach. Eyes only half open and utterly exhausted, you noticed that your head was now leaning against Matt’s shoulder. 

Glancing hazily down at yourself, you muttered, “fuck… I still have my shoes and jacket on…”

Reaching down, he offered, “here,” before sliding your coat off, resting it on the back of the couch, and leaning down to pull your shoes off. 

Curling your legs up onto the couch, the shift in your position offered you more relief than you’d expected. As you attempted to get as comfortable as you possibly could in the state you were in, you snatched up Matt’s hand once more. 

Offering your palm a soothing squeeze, he asked quietly, “what do you need, huh? What can I do?”

“I–…” you thought, your brain just as drained as your body was, “I don’t know… maybe–… maybe just be here a bit?”

Exhaling lowly, he flashed you a faint smile, “of course.”

Glancing down at his fingers, sweeping across your own, you said, “hey, Matt? Could you maybe–, uh… could you give me a hug?”

Not hesitating, his strong arms engulfed your quivering frame and a fresh wave of sobs swiftly bubbled out of you as he held you tight, though your cries didn’t push him away, he stayed steadfast, embracing you close till the eruption ultimately simmered down, leaving you nearly asleep against his tear-stained shoulder. 

As he gently lowered you down to lay on the couch, you tightened your grip on his shirt as he began to pull back, ushering him to sink down as well, allowing you to curl into his safe embrace and let slumber drift you away. 

When you finally stirred, the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey,” you blinked up at Matt still in the exact same spot as before. 

“Hey,” you replied groggily, “what time is it?” swiftly fishing your phone out of your pant pocket before Matt could conjure an answer, “oh, fuck… it’s nearly midnight… did you sleep as well?”

“Not really,” he shrugged, “maybe for a little bit, but no.”

“Oh…” you breathed, averting your gaze. 

“How are you feeling?” his thumb swiped your waist where his broad palm was planted. 

“…I don’t know…” you exhaled, “…exhausted… sad… angry… really fucking angry… so angry that it kinda scares me…” 

After a beat of silence, with only your woeful breaths filling the space, Matt then uttered, “I think I know something that might help a bit.”

Your gaze drifted from the faded paint on the walls to the worn punching bags as you and Matt sat on the edge of the central ring and his fingers worked at wrapping up your hands. 

“Do you come here a lot?” you asked, your vision gliding back to him. 

“From time to time,” he tilted his head slightly, “reminds me of my dad,” tucking the last end of the strip under the weave, securing it into place, he closed your hand into a fist and exhaled, “alright, you’re ready,” he adjusted your grip, briefly offering your wrist a squeeze as he said, “just remember to keep your wrist strong and your thumb right here,” he slid your finger down below your knuckles. 

You hadn’t gone into it with much hope, in fact, it was only out of your desperation just feel better that you even humoured the experiment. In the beginning, it did feel as silly as you’d imagined, nearly stopped completely, but at some point in the mess of it all, your punches grew more ferocious, they grew more brutal, and suddenly something inside of you snapped and unravelled. It wasn’t some magic pill, but the physical act did loosen something within you and gave away to a fresh release of sobs, though not the painful and unbearable kind you’d had to endure earlier. It was the kind that felt like relief. Even if it wasn’t permanent, in that very moment, you didn’t feel like you were drowning anymore. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[idkwhatever580]

I threw it away

Masterlist<< I mostly write Natasha romanoff but if you have a request I’ll be happy to write Regina.

Pairings: Regina George x reader

Prompt: weight had never been a tricky thing for y/n. Until she started dating Regina.

Warnings: bad relationships with food/weight

A/N: idk I wanted to write something like this to show that an ED or a relationship with weight can change even when you’re older and not just at girlhood i guess? Just remember that you are so perfect and loved.

Y/n’s pov

I started dating Regina during the summer between our junior and senior year.

I used to be friends with Janis. That is until I found out what she did to Regina.

I don’t care if a girl is your mortal enemy. You don’t mess around with her biggest insecurities. Even if it’s what she flaunts the most.

Especially not weight. Those Kalteen bars were horrible of janis to do.

I slowly just got “busier” over time. And I eventually just stopped talking to Janis all together. I didn’t want to surround myself with that energy.

So after Regina got hit by that bus I started visiting her and trying to make it up to her.

It might not have happened if I just told her what they did.

But then again, we might not have started dating. So back to now.

I basically have been living at Regina’s place. I spend the night a lot, but if I go home then Gina is always picking me up when I can go.

My parents don’t care much. They say that I’m allowed to live my life. Thank goodness they’re laid back. Of course not as much as Mrs George but they believe that as long as I’m not getting drunk, high, or pregnant then I’m good.

I’m in Gina’s room and she gets up and says

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

I get up to go with her.

“Okay!”

She’s like the black cat and I’m like the golden retriever. But we work really well together.

She walks in and does her business and then after she washes her hands and all, she decides to head over to the scale.

I’ve never used it. But she uses it all the time.

She breaks me out of my thoughts when she thinks out loud

“Yes! Back down to my ideal 120 pounds” (about 54 kilograms?)

I frown. I’ve never heard her say her weight before. And I say

“Congrats baby! Was that from all the kalteen bars?”

She nods her head and says

“I finally worked all the weight off”

I smile and kiss her and say

“That’s great. Why don’t you go tell your mom?”

She shrugs and says

“Eh. It doesnt matter. I’m gonna go back to the room okay?”

I nod my head and say

“I’m gonna pee”

She doesn’t stay since I’m a bit pee shy still so when she leaves I quickly run to the scale and check my weight.

Definitely not Regina’s ideal weight.

Suddenly I feel this rush of guilt fall over me. I walk back to her bed and crawl in with her. As she scrolls through her phone, I get lost in my thoughts.

If Regina tells me I’m perfect the way I am then why would she lie? Obviously she wants to be a certain weight. And if it’s her ideal weight then she clearly wants me to be that way too. I need to lose more weight. Maybe I’ll start a diet. That’s good. I’ll start a diet and just won’t tell Gina until I hit her desired weight and then she’ll think I’m perfect for real.

“What’s on your mind?”

I snap out of it and shake my head

“Nothing! Just watching videos over your shoulder”

She squints at me and says

“Alright. You know if you need anything you can tell me right?”

I nod my head.

Then all of a sudden Mrs George comes into the room and says

“Hey girls! I just wanted to let you know that I made my world famous cookies and they’re cooling in the kitchen right now if you wanted to grab them while they’re warm.”

I smile and Regina gets up so I follow.

She grabs one and says

“Aren’t you gonna eat one?”

I shake my head and say

“I’m not hungry.”

She hums and says

“But you love my mom’s cookies. You always eat a few”

I just now realized how much I eat of those and get slightly flustered so I say

“I’m just not hungry right now”

She nods her head and eats her cookie.

They do smell heavenly. But I must stay strong.

We head back upstairs after Gina finishes her cookie and I go on my phone to look up good diet routines. I find a decent one to start with.

If I don’t like it then I’ll do another one.

So I text my mom and ask her if she can get a few things the next time she goes to the store and she agrees.

Then I turn around and yawn.

“Y/n are you sleepy?”

I nod my head and she says

“Take a nap baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I smile and let my eyes flutter closed and Regina whispers into my ear

“My perfect girl”

I smile at her even though it’s fake. I don’t feel perfect anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been a few weeks on this diet and it’s hard. It’s hard for me to reject a bunch of the foods I love.

Thankfully Mrs George also makes some keto versions of her food every now and then so I can eat those.

I have a routine now. Every time I go to the bathroom I check my weight right after. I check my weight in the mornings and in the evenings. But only at Regina’s house since I am here all the time.

We’re watching tv on her bed and I say

“I gotta pee. I’ll be right back”

Gina nods and says

“Kk”

I do my business and wash my hands. But it isn’t until I go to where her scale is that I find it’s not there.

I look around the room and I don’t see it anywhere.

“Gina?”

I say loud enough for her to hear me.

“Yeah?”

Once I know I have her attention I say

“Where’s the scale?”

“Oh.. I threw it away”

After she says that I walk quickly to the room and say

“What?! What do you mean you threw it away?”

She shrugs as always and says

“I threw it away”

“Why would you do that? I need to see my weight.”

She gets up and comes to me and says

“I threw it away because I noticed that you’ve been doing this thing where you check your weight all the time.”

“Well you check yours all the time too!”

For some reason this is like a huge deal to me. I just want to be perfect for her. She grabs my hand and sits me down and says

“I know. I realized how bad that can be for my mental health. So I decided that I was going to lose the weight from those nasty kalteen bars and then start fresh. I, of course, have been having a healthy balance between my food intake. But it’s not a huge deal if I lose weight or gain weight. As long as I’m healthy.”

I look at her and say

“Oh. That’s nice.”

She nods her head and continues

“I noticed that once I stopped, you started. And I didn’t want that for you. You have never had to worry about your weight before because it was never a bad thing in your house. Most girls would call you lucky. And I don’t want you to start thinking bad about yourself now”

I frown and say

“But you said the ideal weight is 120?” (54)

She sighs and says

“I said that wrong. I wanted to get back to my baseline and start taking care of myself properly. The only reason I lost that weight in the first place was because I didn’t want to feel like Janis had that hold on my body anymore. If I was gonna gain weight it was going to be for myself. And because of myself. Not for anyone else and not because of anyone else.”

I nod my head in understanding and she puts one of her hands on my cheek and the other on my waist and says

“I’m sorry you ever felt less than perfect because of a stupid slip up I made. Your body is literally so beautiful.”

I doubt her until she says things that most people think are ugly

“From your beautiful stretch marks. Right down to the cellulite in your legs. It’s all beautiful. Perfect. And honestly. You’re so healthy. You work out. You’re strong. You have a good balance with food. Well, you did before you started whatever diet thing you have going on. And you are literally like a puzzle piece for me. The way we can cuddle perfectly. I love your soft tummy because I can nap on it and be so comfortable. I love your ass and tits because they make great handles for… sexy times…”

I giggle and she continues.

“I love how each and every scar and divot and bump and mark on your body tells a story. It makes you, you. And I would change that for the world. So I threw the scale away. If I’m starting new. Then you are too.”

I sigh as I get a fluttery feeling in my heart and stomach and I hug her. I finally say

“Thank you. Thank you so much”

She shakes her head and says

“No thank you. You’re the one who convinced me I’m perfect the way I am. And now it’s my turn to do the same.”

I pull away and she says

“Why don’t we go downstairs. I think my mom is making us a snack”

I smile and nod my head.

We head downstairs and Mrs George is making snickerdoodles and I smell the air and say

“It smells delicious!”

She smiles and says

“I made some keto ones for your diet y/n!”

She pulls out one singular cookie that was set apart from the others and I say

“Oh. No thanks. I’m not gonna diet anymore. My body is perfect the way it is.”

She smiles and nods her head affirming that and then hands each of us a cookie that is still warm and soft from the oven.

I hum when I take the first bite and Gina does it at the same time as me so we end up giggling from it.

This time. I eat two cookies and Gina does the same.

Then Gina asks

“Mom? What did you do with that other cookie?”

She turns around and says

“Oh! I threw it in the trash.”

Gina nods and turns to me. I smile at her and say

“Slay”

We love a good parallel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I hope y’all liked it! It’s my first time writing Regina George. But I’m thinking of writing a prequel to this and doing how Janis and y/n had their fall out. And when y/n started being friends with Regina. Let me know what y’all think!

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish

[dannystheone]

Merc With The Mouth (Lee DP/ Ler Wolv)

HI GUYS OMG IT'S HERE!

So I watched Deadpool and Wolverine in theaters being a big-time Deadpool fan since 2016 and I fell into the trenches HARD

I was not expecting to fixate on this movie as hard as I have but I wanted to try my hand at it! Now let me be clear, this is no @lovemybluebully work, they really have their finger on the pulse when it comes to these fics, but nevertheless, I'm still excited to share this piece :)

I hope you guys enjoy this is a big thing to take on after having not written in a while so I hope it's well received! Thank you for everything

WARNINGS: SPOILERS! Cursing, gore, violence, general shenanigans, fourth wall breaks

Wolverine snaps on Deadpool in the Honda Odyssey after hours of being a mouthy handful. But how does he deal with the silence that follows?

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

Hours of driving in the dusty Honda Odyssey, not getting any closer to the Borderlands where they were needed, and a jabbering idiot in his ear made Logan's eyeball twitching damn near audible.

The dense corn fields on either side of the Odyssey whipped past as Wolverine's hands clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Deadpool started up another nonsense topic to yap on about after Wolverine told him to shut up for the millionth time. Apparently, no one's ever taught Wade to sit in a comfortable silence.

"So if they fix your world, what's the first thing you're gonna do? Rubbing alcohol shots with a wiper fluid chaser?" Wade quipped. The weight of Wade's words hit Logan's ear like a bullet. It was the first thing Wade had said that Logan paid any real attention to, but this was arguably the most paramount.

Logan took his foot off the gas and slammed into the brake, making the Honda's tires squeal and jolt to a jarring stop. The vehicle shuddered with the sudden movements. Deadpool looked to Wolverine as Wolverine faced him, malice glinting in his eye.

"What did you say?" Wolverine asked Deadpool with chilling calm.

After discovering the ridiculousness that was Wade's so-called 'educated wish', Logan found himself in an uncontrollable rant after the days' past events caught up with him all at once. Once he started his rant, he found he couldn't stop. Everything he wanted to say to Wade that day poured out of him in a stream of hatred. Deadpool stared at him unnervingly with no comment while he raged.

"-Couldn't even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper! And motherfucker I wish I could say you die alone, but it's one of GOD'S best jokes that you can't die! Except that's on all of us!" Wolverine growled, his heart thundering in his chest after he ended his explosive tirade. He looked to Wade expectantly.

"Oh, what? You got nothin' to say, Mouth?" Wolverine spat.

Deadpool swallowed silently, being taken back to the photo that he had shown to Wolverine that had his whole world inside of it. His whole world, in one tiny polaroid. And even though it was that small, he still couldn't save it.

He felt his resolve slowly crumble as Wolverine's words started to sink in. He couldn't save Vanessa in his timeline, and when he brought her back to life she still left him. What if he failed again like he did last time, on an interdimensional scale, with not even a cream cheese spreader in hand to try to defend his loved ones? His whole world, his whole everything, lost? He couldn't defend them from an entire timeline collapsing. Maybe Logan was right-

Wolverine snapped his fingers in Deadpool's face to snap him back to reality.

"Hey, asshole. I'm talking to you. What have you got to say? You've had some idiotic little quip to respond to everything I've said to you today, and now you clam up?" Wolverine demanded.

Deadpool swallowed again and opened his mouth to speak, but he was truly lost. He was really at a loss for words. He didn't think this would ever happen to him, but he couldn't even begin to think how he could respond. Logan got him this time.

Unfortunately for Wade, this pissed Logan off worse than hearing about this 'educated wish' bullshit. Wolverine didn't want to admit that most of what he said was deflection, and he was frustrated and took it out on Deadpool. The more Deadpool was silent about his explosion, the more Wolverine would have to think and actually reflect on what he said to him. Wolverine wanted to fight, to argue now, to get this aggression out. Wolverine shifted in his seat to better face Deadpool and pointed a gloved finger in his face.

"If you think, that this stupid little game of yours with not fucking talking is gonna make me regret a SINGLE thing I said to you in any way, you're sorely fucking mistaken. We're not moving this car until you open your goddamn mouth." Wolverine snarled. Deadpool snuck a glance at the camera for this gratuitous quote from Wolverine but kept his mouth shut.

Deadpool decided to see if he could call his bluff because he was still at a loss for words. What was the point of any of this if everything would be destroyed, leaving him in the dark like his life before his family?

Wolverine growled and unsheathed his adamantium claws, and shoved them in Deadpool's ribs. The Honda Odyssey jostled with the violent movement. Blood began to seep from the wound and crawl down Deadpool's side. The red bled into the shade of Deadpool's suit. Yet, not a peep left Wade's mouth; He stared nonchalantly at the dashboard ahead of him. Nothing Deadpool couldn't handle of course. He's had worse from Vanessa in terms of penetration.

"Why is it NOW that you finally shut up? I said speak, bastard!" Despite the bliss that was Deadpool not speaking, Wolverine couldn't stand the thought of being remorseful of his words, especially in the direction of Wade Wilson. He should be able to say whatever he wanted and not feel guilt twining in his chest like barbed wire.

With an irritated sigh, Wolverine went to take his claws out of Wade's ribs. He jerked his elbow back to take his claws out, but his claws were caught on something. Grunting, Wolverine drew his elbow back more sharply on the next try, but Deadpool's body swayed with him. Now, if Deadpool were on speaking terms, he would allude to Wolverine's inability to pull out. However, he wasn't feeling funny right now.

Wolverine snarled in annoyance and grabbed Deadpool's ribs with his free hand to brace himself and wrench his claws out. Wolverine's fingers pressed into Deadpool's ribs, causing a jolt to pass through the merc. Deadpool snorted, a small sound coming out of his mouth. He slapped Wolverine's hand off his ribs, but Wolverine heard that small exchange.

"What was that? Something to say, Bub?" Wolverine tested. Deadpool stayed silent. Anger flared up in Wolverine as he clenched his fist. He shot forward and gripped his ribs with more force to seize his claws out. Deadpool jolted as he yelped and shrunk away from Wolverine's hands.

"GAH! Hey, no touching, Penn State. I don't have my rape whistle on me today." Deadpool shoved Wolverine's hand off his ribs again, but Wolverine figured this was the only way to get him talking again. Wolverine took his hand and gave Deadpool an intentional squish in his side just below his sunk claws, causing Deadpool to squeak.

"You're gonna talk, asshole. We're not moving until you show me what you thought about what I said." Wolverine needed to know how Deadpool felt about what he said so Deadpool didn't power down on him when it came to saving the world later. He needed to know that he didn't actually take those hurtful words to heart. Deadpool narrowed his eyes at Wolverine and instead tried to yank his claws out of his ribs.

"What is this, a podcast? We already hosted one to promote the movie, where you said absolutely nothing- might I add- and now you care about my opinion? Too little, too late, Fresh and Fit. You don't get my opinion, you just get to drive." Deadpool faced forward again, but Wolverine wasn't having it.

"Alright that's it you piece of arrogant shit-" Well, this was one way to get his aggression out. Wolverine took the claws that were embedded in Deadpool's ribs and used the leverage to drag Deadpool closer to him. Wolverine took his free hand and started scribbling his gloved hand on Deadpool's stomach. Wade squealed and started pushing against him immediately.

"Mahaha! Nohoho no no- wahahait! Thihihis ihihihisn't hohohow I imahahagined it!! Ahahat leheheast rehehead mhyhy AO3 fihihihirst!" Deadpool started giggling and kicking his legs, trying to curl away from Wolverine's offensive hand. Wolverine kept a gruff expression, not knowing all these inane references he liked to use. Logan scribbled his fingers into Wade's side, making the merc squeal.

"Why do you always jabber on about everything I DON'T want you to talk about. All you have to do is one simple fucking thing and you can't even do that." Wolverine grumbled. He didn't want to sit here tickling Deadpool all day, especially when they were on a world-ending time crunch, but he needed a non-sulking competent partner.

"I cahahan't! I'm tohohoo commihihitted to the bihihihit!" Deadpool shook his head as Wolverine continued, his fingers squishing into Wade's skin as he kept a firm grip on him via his claws. Logan had to admit, he couldn't remember the last time he actively tickled someone. Maybe some antics back at the academy, but that was decades ago. Hopefully, he hasn't lost his touch, however, Wolverine wouldn't be surprised if Deadpool had a thing for this kind of stuff.

"You gonna talk now? We've got no time for games." Wolverine asked. Deadpool threw up his hands and gestured to Wolverine squishing his side repeatedly while still laughing, a wordless show.

"Juhuhust stohohohop ahahalready! Thehehese ahaharen't lihihike my heheadcannons ohohf yohou 'ler'ing' ahahat ahahahall!" Deadpool shouted. Wolverine figured maybe a different spot was in order. He went lower on Deadpool's side nearing the top of his hip, and Deadpool's laughter grew louder with the motion.

"Wahahait wait wahait! I neheheed a pahahassword behehefore yohohou goho behehelow the behehelt! Thehe mohohovie is R-rahated but stihihill!" Deadpool kicked the legroom he had in front of him as Wolverine started kneading his hip with his thumb. He always had to be theatrical, no matter what.

"Why don't you just stop wasting our time and say what I want you to say. You said your world is at stake, isn't it? And you're taking up time being an ass." Wolverine gruffed. Logan's four fingers were pressed against Wade's back as his thumb pushed and pressed into the hollow of his hip, which was surprisingly easy to find through his suit. Wolverine drug Deadpool closer with his claws every time he tried to escape.

"I dohohon't knohohow whahat you wahahant mehehe to sahahay! Thihihis ihihihisn't in the scrihihipt!" Despite this being a dream come true for Wade, he did agree that they were wasting time here. He didn't know what it was Wolverine expected him to do though. He wanted feedback for exploding on him like that? He was unclear about Wolverine's goals if he didn't say them aloud.

"Stop talking and just fucking speak! Quit wasting your breath on fucking nonsense!" Wolverine demanded. He moved his hand to Deadpool's waistline above his belt and started vibrating his fingers into the skin. Deadpool snuck a suggestive look into the camera before bursting out in laughter again.

"Yohohou knohohow fohohor beheheing mahahad yohohou're dohohoing behehetter thahahan my rohohohose tohohoy!" Deadpool shouted, his hands trying to push Wolverine's hand down below his belt line while Wolverine kept up his vibrating motion. Wolverine grimaced in disgust and shoved his hand as far away from his belt as possible, which he found was lodged in Deadpool's armpit. He began scratching into the space.

"Fine, then we'll just be here all day, wasting our time, when an entire timeline is collapsing because you don't want to take two seconds to say one fucking sentence." Even Wolverine didn't know what he wanted that sentence to be. He was starting to think even if he did hear what he thought he wanted to hear, it wouldn't be enough to calm his eternal war.

"I cahahan't dohoho thahahat! I cahahan't ihihimprohovise whehen I'm beheheing tihihickled!" Deadpool countered. Being giggly didn't give Deadpool the best coordination or strength for that matter, so trying to get Wolverine's hand out of his armpit was a herculean feat.

"Whyhyhy hahahahasn't Shahawn yehehelled 'CUT' yehehehet?! Thihihis ihihihis rihihidiculous!" Even Deadpool had his limits, and he was coming up on it. Some of his fantasies were much better on paper rather than practice. Deadpool decided to try and get out of this in a way that wasn't physical. Wade swallowed the remainder of his laughs and pointed out the windshield.

"Oh my God! The Bachelorette! The TVA sent Jenn Tran to the Void?! What is she doing here?!" Deadpool put on his best convincing voice as he pointed behind Wolverine. Wolverine followed his pointed hand before inwardly cursing himself. Deadpool took his leg and shot out at Logan's jaw, kicking the mutant in the face. The force knocked Wolverine's claws out of his ribs (finally) and sent Logan into the door of the Odyssey. The Honda wobbled with the movement, Logan looking temporarily dazed.

"Finally, now you'll- Oh God." Deadpool started, but Wolverine recovered earlier than he'd thought. Wolverine held Deadpool's leg in his grip with his leg draped over the center console, a grin crafted of pure malice on Wolverine's face. Deadpool looked at the camera with a nervous expression.

"Chat, on a scale of 1 to 10, how cooked am I?" Deadpool asked before nearly screaming.

Wolverine had plunged his fingers into Deadpool's thigh and kneecap, squishing and prodding the sensitive skin on top and inside his thigh. Deadpool belly laughed when he was just giggling before, unable to truly form words now. Wolverine snorted with a frown and shook his head at the ridiculous display as he continued scribbling and scratching over Wade's thigh.

"NOHOHO! Thihihihis ihihihisn't hohohohow yohohou treheheat Mahaharvel Jehehehesus!" Deadpool laughed hysterically, his leg kicking as the ticklish electricity zapped up and down his thigh.

"Talk and I'll let go. It's really that simple, you're doing this to yourself, Bub." Despite the huge threat the timeline was facing, Wolverine was starting to brighten with this treatment of Deadpool. He didn't think it would get him this bad, and after being an insufferable prick all day, he was starting to gladden at the fact that he could get him back in some way.

"Ihihihif I hahahad it myhyhyhy wahahay, yohohou'd behehe tihihihickling ahaha dihihihifferent bohohohody pahahart!" Deadpool let out. Even when he was getting tickled to death, he had to express his quips. Not being able to be a smartass was the REAL torture.

So they were there for a minute, going back and forth between each other with Deadpool being effortlessly funny and Wolverine muttering in reply. It would be listed out here for you but the author is running out of dialogue and doesn't want to admit it.

"Okahahahay seheheheriously! Ihihihif yohohou dohohon't stohohop I'm sehehetting Dogpohohool on yohohou!" Deadpool shouted, his leg kicking and shaking from its repeated abuse from Wolverine.

"You ready to talk yet? We go any more and you're gonna hurt yourself." Wolverine eventually asked. Deadpool simply nodded, too overcome with laughter, and Wolverine let him go. Deadpool held his thudding heart while he caught his breath, glad that his mask shielded the view of his red cheeks.

"Ha... ah... and I thought Colossus was mean. He at least asks if I'm comfortable and establishes a safeword first. You're just... vicious. I don't even think Blake has explored my body like that." Deadpool took his leg off of Wolverine's lap and slouched in his seat.

"So. What do you have to say?" Wolverine asked. Deadpool's heart calmed as he opened his mouth.

"Well... truthfully... I mean if we had the time and the budget for a segment that lengthy we could have used it for scenes you'd have to open your incognito tab for-" Wolverine shot his hand out at Deadpool but didn't actually touch him, and Deadpool jumped and yelled in surprise.

"What do you have to say about what I said, smartass? No fucking games." Wolverine said with icy calm. Deadpool exhaled loudly and dropped his head back into his seat, looking up at the ceiling of the Odyssey.

"I think you're wrong. I can save my family, my universe, and my timeline because I've done it before. But not without your help. You're right, I did lie to you. I lied and I told you what you wanted to hear just so you could help me, and there's a reason why you're the anchor being and I'm not. I was willing to say anything to get you here, to help me. And I'm... I'm sorry. I am sorry. I shouldn't have done that." Deadpool looked over to Wolverine who was looking at him with a softened expression.

Wolverine took a moment before he slowly nodded.

"Okay. Come on. Let's save your fragile ass timeline and save your world, so you can stay far away from mine as possible." Wolverine said ultimately. Deadpool nodded, pumping his fists into the air.

"Yes! Ketchup and Mustard are back on the road! The fanservice is our savior once more. It's a blue moon when it doesn't work, and those odds only kick up when you're writing for Voltron." Wolverine started the car back up and began to amble down the road once more.

Only a few moments afterward did Deadpool start back up his antics after Wolverine started driving down the road in the Odyssey like nothing had happened earlier.

"Hey, Honey Badger. English or Spanish?" Deadpool asked. Wolverine narrowed his eyes at the question and shook his head.

"The hell are you asking me?" Wolverine asked. Deadpool cackled unexpectedly.

"HAH! I always knew underneath that rugged exterior was a fruit bowl on the inside. The kind of fruit bowl with a single bruised banana and a brown lime in it, with some garlic cloves at the bottom, but still a fruit bowl nevertheless. Oh, you make me happy." Deadpool went and leaned his head on Wolverine's shoulder until Wolverine shrugged him off.

Something about Deadpool's fruit bowl comment nagged at Wolverine. Something about the garlic cloves made him unexpectedly snort. Deadpool looked at him like the god that he was as a ghost of a smile traced Wolverine's lips.

"You really are the Merc with the Mouth huh? You never shut up." Wolverine commented. Deadpool reached over and gave a generous helping of pokes up and down Wolverine's side. Wolverine growled and slapped Deadpool's hand away.

"You touch me again and you lose that hand." Wolverine threatened.

"That's the game, and business is good. By the way, next time let's establish when we're going to do a tickle scene, okay? Danny tends to be insecure about the length of the tickling scenes in their works because they feel they write too much exposition." Deadpool looked into the camera and winked.

"Who the hell are you- you know what, fuck it." Wolverine shook his head once more and stared out onto the open road.

"Don't worry Danny, you're doing great sweetie. And thank all of you for your unending support. You just say the word and we'll get Steve Irwin hear singing his laughter like he's on The Greatest Showman again. We'll see you next time, here in the Borderlands." Deadpool blew a kiss into the camera and waved off the audience.

[runningfrom2am]

the wedding // LTPF

summary: the wedding of the year, i can see it now.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. she's a bridezilla for REAL and i wish i included more of that energy, protective!coryo, idk people are drinking alcohol? (its a wedding, so duh), also TW for Livia and r's dad just existing p much.

based on this ask and this ask!

series masterlist // playlist

Everything was perfect. Absolutely everything you had dreamt of your whole life when it came to your wedding. Coryo had told you money was no object, and therefore, you spared no expense. You had a strong theory that your father was being sent every last bill, since you knew neither of you had anything more than what the Plinth's were providing for school, but that was the farthest thing from your problem. It was the least your father could do.

The hardest part of the whole thing, even before deciding who would give you away without your father, was deciding on your maid of honour. You didn't have many good friends, or friends at all, outside of your new husband. At one point, you wondered if had things gone differently, would you have chosen Lucy Gray?

Clemensia Dovecote was a fine enough choice. "Let me just say," Her speech began, hitting the side of her overfilled wine glass with a fork. "I have called this wedding for years, and no one believed me." She shot a smile over to you at the head table. "For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Clemensia. Y/N's Maid of Honour." She had just thrived on the title since you offered it to her which, while annoying, was good because she took her position very seriously. She was the perfect choice- she looked nice, presentable in a dress you had picked out, but the colour clashed with the yellow in the whites of her eyes and the few scales that were yet to fall off after the snake bite. She looked fine, but she also made you look better. "But like I said, I knew this would happen."

She was drunk, repeating things in a way that made you cringe internally but nevertheless, you had to watch. The lights spread across the large backyard of the Plinth's mansion lit up the night beautifully, bouncing off every white and red rose you had spread about. You were very grateful to them for allowing you to host the reception there. They had done a lot for you in the last year since you returned from Twelve.

Mrs. Plinth was very involved with planning the wedding- she loved the winter wedding and leaning into it as a theme. It worked out nicely because it gave her something to think about other than the death of her only child, and she was a tremendous help and support to you. You were truly grateful, but this day was hard on them without Sejanus there. She had mentioned on more than one occasion that Sejanus would have been the best man, and you only slightly doubted that. You wouldn't want it to be anyone else- but Coryo would have had different thoughts, you're sure.

"How much longer will this go on for?" Your now husband whispers in your ear, fake smile on his face as he also has to listen to Clem's rambling.

"I really don't know." You reply with the same fake smile, knowing that eyes were on you just as much as her.

"Some choice for a maid of honour." He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, a playful smile on your lips. "Oh, well, I would have gone with Arachne Crane but, you know..."

"Fair enough." He mumbles, sitting back in his seat. "Are you really the only woman in the Capitol who isn't insufferably annoying? You should have been your own maid of honour."

"Well it was her or Tigris, and Tigris is prettier than me so she wasn't really an option." You hum, grabbing his hand under the table as you keep your eyes focussed on Clemensia, not paying attention to a word she says.

Coryo laughs. "Tigris is not prettier than you."

"She's your cousin, your opinion is invalid." You shrug it off.

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm right." He argues, squeezing your hand.

You don't reply, and you let his hand go to clap once Clem is finally finished. You had already eaten, so now it was supposed to be the "fun part", as Clemensia so aptly put it in her speech. You found it rude, yes, but it wasn't a big deal and after tonight you wouldn't have to see her again for a while.

It was brisk out, being a winter wedding you should have expected that, but you still had another dress to change into so you excuse yourself from the table, kissing your husband goodbye as he gets up as well.

You hadn't allowed him to see any of your dresses, and this would be your third one today alone. He loved every one, and did not expect to be disappointed by the next. Or the one after that.

"Hey, congrats, Coriolanus." He tears his gaze away from your retreating figure to whoever was talking to him.

"Thank you, Hilarius." He nods, smiling politely at him and reaching out to shake his hand.

"I saw this one coming miles away." His classmate laughs. "You remember that though, right?"

"When you said that if I wasn't going to go after her you would?" Coryo asks, eyebrow raised. "I do remember that. It makes me wonder who let you in..." It's meant as a joke as he makes a point of looking past him toward the security they have at the entrance.

He furrows his brow when his eyes catch on your father standing there, arguing with one of the security guards, his wife by his side.

"If you would excuse me..." He says, walking toward them before Hilarius could even respond.

"Ugh, I know. Why did you even invite her, Y/N/N?" Clemensia complains as Tigris helps you step out of your gown.

"Who?" You ask, unsure what she was even talking about.

"Livia." She states, yet another glass of red wine in her hand.

"Oh, I kind of had to. Connections and all that." You shrug. You weren't Livia's biggest fan, she had a "greater than thou" attitude that drove you up the wall, but who in this city didn't?

"Ah, yes. Of course." She hums. "She had a lot of audacity to show up in that dress though..."

Your head whips around to look at her. "What dress?"

"You haven't seen her?" She gasps. "I thought you saw her! It's this white-based floral, really questionable for someone else's wedding. Looks like a tablecloth." She accentuates the statement with a sip from her glass.

Your jaw ticks and you look toward the door, already seeing red.

"Hey, Y/N, it's okay." Tigris rests her hands on your shoulders, prompting you to look at her. "We'll tell security, they can escort her out if that's what you want."

You take a breath, forcing a smile on your face. "Let's not bother them. I'll just go chat with her." You smile, stepping out of the dress in bare feet, quickly grabbing Clemensia's overfilled wine glass from her hand on your way out the door.

"Y/N, Wait! Don't!" Tigris calls after you, well aware of your notorious temper by now, but you don't listen.

You're in your white slip when you storm back out to the reception area through the back patio, immediately and quickly scanning the crowd for the guest in question. You know you have seconds before Tigris likely tries to stop you, but you know Clemensia won't. Then, you see her.

You're seething already. That's practically a wedding dress on its own. You would kill her.

You stomp across the ground, tunnel vision locked on her as she raises her glass to her lips, laughing, and talking with other guests, completely careless to what she had done wrong. Well, she would learn today.

"Livia Cardew!" You grin, walking up to her. "I don't recall sending you an invitation, but here you are!"

Immediately, she's taking in your appearance, giggling at your lack of appropriate attire and shoes. "Y/N! Congratulations." She says, eyes finally locking with yours again.

"May I have a word?" You ask, already grabbing her arm and pulling her away.

"Is there a problem here?" Coriolanus asks, addressing only his security as your father stands there, red-faced with anger.

"Yeah, they've got no invite." He nods, showing Coryo the list in his hands which he quickly pretends to look over.

"Oh! Sorry, yes. There you are..." He says, pointing down at the bottom and your father visibly relaxes. "Under the title there that says 'not welcome under any circumstances'... Well then." He looks at your father now for the first time, tilting his head at him.

"No, this is my daughter's wedding and we will be let in!" He demands, raising his voice.

Coryo clicks his tongue, slightly shaking his head. "No, sir, I thought we were clear on this."

"No, you said the wedding. This, if I'm not mistaken, is the reception. I made my sacrifice. Now, I'm here."

"And only about two hours late." Coryo hums uninterestedly, looking down at his watch. "Father of the year."

Your father's fuming, and it's hard for Coryo to not laugh in his face. "I paid for everything here! You can't deny us entry!"

"I can." Coryo says. "Well, actually, my apologies. Mrs. Y/L/N, you are welcome to come in, if you'd like." He smiles at her, polite demeanour flicked back on like a light switch.

Your father quickly pulls her back behind him. "It's both of us or neither of us. Go ask our daughter." He states, gripping tightly on her arm.

"Oh, no. I won't be ruining our wedding." Coryo shakes his head, firm in his decision. "I'll tell Y/N you send your love, Ma'am. Have a good night."

"No! You will let us in right now or-" Your father's tantrum is interrupted by a commotion across the yard, drawing Coryo's attention. People gasp in shock, and then he sees you, about to absolutely lay into Livia Cardew, who now has red wine all over her face and the front of her dress.

"I must be going, now." Coryo tells them, turning back to the security guard and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt to be able to roll up his sleeves. "If you don't mind, call for peacekeepers to escort him from the property. Thank you."

He doesn't have time to hear your father's angry disagreement as he walks away.

"So," You drop her arm, turning to face her. "I'm not sure if you are aware, but this isn't your wedding." You spit, gesturing to her dress. "And listen, I get it! You're jealous. That's fine, but it's extremely tacky and honestly embarrassing for you to wear a white dress to a wedding that's not yours."

Livia's lips fall open in shock, looking down at her dress before she laughs. "Y/N, come on. It really isn't that serious, you realize that, right?"

You stare at her for a moment, weighing your options. You could smash the glass over her head like you wanted to, demand that she leave immediately, or, you could 'accidentally' spill the glass on her. Before you complete the thought, you're throwing the contents of Clemensia's glass at the front of her dress, smiling as it splatters up over her face and in her hair, dripping down the front of her expensive-looking gown.

"Oops."

Livia gasps, wiping the red substance from around her eyes and flicking it off. "I thought that for one day you could be normal! God, you are vile!" She's practically screaming now.

"This is entirely your fault, you do realize that, right?" You tilt your head at her, a slight laugh under your tone. "If you wanted my husband just say that."

"I- ugh!" She groans in frustration and anger, swiping her hands over the liquid on her chest and flicking it all at you, staining the perfectly white satin of your slip. You look down at it, and then back at her. You were about to go through the roof.

The amount of people watching in the immediate vicinity is the only thing keeping you from grabbing her hair and shoving her head into the dirt. You decide to scream instead.

It turns into more of a wail, pumping angry tears into fake sad ones. Coryo is there in a second. "Darling, what's happened?" He asks, horrified as he looks between the two of you, grabbing your shoulders.

"I-" You sniff, pointing to the girl in front of you. "I just came to offer her something to change into because that is out of dress code and I tripped and-" You hiccup as he's rubbing up and down your bare arms. "It was an accident, and then she... It was just an accident! Now my dress is ruined and, and-"

He turns his gaze to Livia who just looks pissed while you ramble on about having had a little too much to drink, that was all. He's sure that's not what happened, he knows his wife better than that, but this show was not for him. He looks her up and down, visibly disgusted by her choice of dress. It honestly looks better now.

"Coriolanus that's not-" She chuckles with the shock of the accusation, shaking her head as she pleads with him.

"It's time for you to go." He tells her, looking toward a member of security who's not busy with your father, quickly waving him over.

Livia looks at the approaching security man in shock. "I didn't do anything!"

"That dress and causing a scene over it is more than enough." He states, wrapping an arm around your waist and wiping your tears from your cheeks. "Let's get you some water, Darling. It's okay..."

"It's not!" You cry, gesturing to the few small drops of wine on the front of your dress. "It's ruined! She ruined everything!"

Just as she's about to be escorted out, you make eye contact with her, offering a smug smile. She scoffs, which earns her a grab on the arm and a more forceful expulsion from the reception.

"Y/N!" Tigris is rushing across the lawn toward you, careful not to stumble in her shoes and bridesmaids' dress. "What happened?" She asks, addressing her cousin now.

"She's okay, there was just an accident with a glass of wine. We're just going to take a few minutes. I'll help her change." He explains to her.

She nods, looking worriedly down at the small stains in your dress. "I should be able to get this out, alright?" She assures you, rubbing a clean spot of the fabric between her fingers to make sure.

"Okay, thank you." You sniff, leaning into your husband's side as he guides you back up to the house.

You get inside and upstairs to what has become your dressing room and secondary bedroom over the last year. As soon as he shuts the door behind you, you can't hold your laughter back anymore. You're practically doubled over with it, and immediately Coryo understands. He chuckles, shaking his head at you.

"What a show..." He grins fondly, pulling you into a hug which you happily return.

"Oh, you liked it?" You giggle, coming down from your laughing fit.

"It was wonderful." He agrees, kissing the top of your head. "For a moment I was worried about you."

"Aw, really?" You look up at him, jutting your lip out in a pout.

"Definitely." He hums, kissing you softly. "Now come on, let's get you changed, huh?"

"Please." You nod, kissing him again before pulling back to pull your next dress from the closet. "I was supposed to wear this underneath, but now I can't." You sigh, hanging the full dress on the door before pulling the wine-stained one over your head.

"Just that will do, I suppose." Coryo mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you toss the slip onto the ground.

"Oh, you suppose, do you?" You chuckle, reaching up to pull the new dress from its hanger.

"Mhm." He nods, planting a kiss in the crook of your neck. "Makes my job easier later."

You laugh, blush spreading over your cheeks and flushing your chest while you unzip the back. You carefully balance as you step into the opening in the fabric, pulling it up around your waist.

"Don't rush, Darling. It will probably take you a while to recover before we can return to the party." He says, watching you adjust the skirt before you plan on zipping it up.

"Good point." You agree, but make no effort to stop until Coryo places his hand over yours.

"What should we do with all this time we have to kill, hm?" He's already leaning down to kiss over the back of your neck.

"I feel like you have an idea..." You mumble, tilting your head to adjust to his presence.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" He asks as he gently pushes the fabric back down to drop in a pool around your ankles.

"You may have mentioned it..." You turn under his palms as they land on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "And I love you too. More than you could ever imagine, Coryo."

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey ,  @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

[fangirl-writes]

Small Spaces

JJ Maybank x Reader; John B. Routledge x Routledge!Reader

Warning(s): claustrophobia, anxiety attack, swearing

Request: jj maybank dating jb’s twin sister and her joining in on their adventures but she has severe anxiety so just him being super sweet and loving to her?

Notes: This is totally based on another fic I read that I can't find rn but it's my spin on it so I hope you like.

Fuck this, you thought. Seriously, fuck this.

You were squeezing yourself through a small hole in a mausoleum that had "Redfield" written across the top, just to see what was inside.

For John B., of course, because he was your brother, and he needed to find this clue almost as much as he needed to be breathing.

But god damn it, this was all you needed.

Between the near visit from child services, the hurricane, the dead guy's boat, the guy's gun, getting shot at, and surely more to come, you were due for a panic attack.

Your feet hit the ground with a loud smack and you winced at the noise.

"Still alive?" John B. asked.

"Oh my god, shut up,"

"Yep, she's alive."

You rolled your eyes and took the flashlight that Kie was offering you.

You shined the light around the space, bigger than you were expecting, but the fact that your exit was so small and that it would be a struggle getting back to it was making the anxiety stir in your stomach.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you replied. "What exactly am I looking for?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

"Real helpful, JB," you mumbled, shining the flashlight around and trying to focus on finding whatever it was rather than the darkness and the walls that felt like they were going to close in on you.

You gasp when a flash of white catches your eye.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked

"Oh my god," you whispered.

"Y/N?" JJ asked again. "I'm gonna need some word confirmation that you're okay."

"Yeah, I-I'm fine," you replied. "I think I found it."

"What? Really?" John B. said, peaking into the space you'd crawled into.

You pulled out a long white envelope from a small space in the crypt, the words "FedEx" and "Bird" written on it.

Thanks for including me, Dad, you thought before taking the envelope over to the space and handing it to John B.'s outstretched hand.

"That's not gold," Pope said, a little disappointed.

But John B. was looking at it like it was. "Holy shit."

"JJ, a little help?" you said, reaching a hand through the space.

"Yeah, yeah, I gotchu, babe," he replied, helping you out of the crypt.

"This is from our dad," John B. said, looking around at the group.

"Yeah," you said, trying to catch your breath. "To you."

"Code red. Code red." JJ warned, the smoke from his joint fluttering up into the air. "Square groupers! Square groupers!"

Your stomach drops as the five of you start moving, JJ's hands grabbing your arms rougher than he probably meant to.

"It's the guys who robbed your house," JJ said.

Fuck, you think. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You guys hide on the side of the mausoleum, turning off and tucking the lights under your shirts.

You can feel it start to bubble up, your breathing becoming unsteady.

"Hey, I see something!"

"Do you think it's them?" Kiara asked.

"Homie's got a gun," JJ said as he and John B. peaked around the corner.

"Screw this," Kie said, taking off. The others followed her, including you, who was on the verge of breaking down.

"Right here!" One of the men shouted.

JJ's hand was on your back the whole time, but it did nothing to calm you down.

You each scaled the fence with little trouble except for Pope, who got his pants stuck on the gate.

It was funny until you were in the van and that anxiety attack had caught up with you, the adrenaline fix going away.

Your hands shook. Your chest tightened. Tears began streaming down your cheeks.

You were starting to hyperventilate, and your head was spinning. Even though you knew you were safe in the Twinkie now, you couldn't help the dread that was washing over you, the fear for your life that coiled around you like a snake.

"Hey, hey, hey, Y/N," JJ said, quickly catching on to what was happening. "You're okay, you're okay."

He made you look at him and took a few deep breaths for you to copy, which you did over and over.

"Shit, get this joint out of here," JJ said, handing it off to Pope.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked.

"Throw it out the window or something, get it outta here. It only makes her worse."

You'd tried that anecdote before, and, as he said, it really did only make the panic attack worse. Through trial and error, JJ and John B. found the only things that helped you through a panic attack were calming words, help getting your breathing back to normal, and hugs.

So, JJ did just that. He held you close and whispered in your ear, rocking you back and forth slowly.

John B. checked your state in the rearview, feeling bad that he'd brought you along at all, even if you had insisted. Then he looked at the envelope sitting next to him and knew that, somehow, it would be worth it.

[yandere-kokeshi]

dad ghost and ucle soap doing something for me so what if their adopted (read :kidnapped) kid secretly a mermaid?

— Yandere Dad! Ghost and Uncle! Soap with a mermaid kiddo

Warnings: yandere behavior, fantasy AU, and all Platonic!

A/N: This was fun to write! Enjoy!

It’s hard to keep this secret, no? Being a whole different species and forced to hide your ‘real-self’ is a pain, and once these two find out, they’re flabbergasted; looking at each other with wide eyes. And once, in their lives, they have no idea what to do. A good ‘welp…’ coming out of Johnny as Dad! Ghost stands there, unsure what to do or how to properly respond to the situation. 

Despite their surprised state, they quickly adapt — equally getting fascinated, and wondering how the hell you’ve hidden this for so long, without anybody knowing. 

Within a span of a couple of days, they educate themselves on you and your sea life. Buying books, reading internet articles, and sharing their own questions with you. They even go in depth about what your diet is, how your body works, if there’s any more mermaids like you, or if you eat fish. Of course, Uncle! Soap asks if you’re a siren, there are a lot of common traits in both of them, and honestly asks if you can sing. 

Despite your obvious need for water for survival, they both understand the phrase, “clean water”, and they both work on getting an enormous pool built just for you. Even if the cabin of a house is built deep in the mountains, you have a large pathway to a lake that they own; a sum of water that’s clean, and deep enough to discover minerals and kelp. 

They enjoy watching you swim, smiling at your happy state, and whilst Dad! Ghost won’t join you in the water, rather watching from afar as he reads on files or such. But as for, Uncle! Soap, he will literally cannonball himself into the water. 

Opposed to your lovely uncle, he’s quite touchy and loves to touch your tail. Of course, he won’t touch it if he sees you annoyed, or if you say no. But, when he gets the chance, he likes to admire the different shapes, scales, colors, and weight of your fins. 

As for Dad! Ghost, he’s oddly attentive to you. Whilst you know your body better than anybody else, he still tries to care for you. He goes out of his way to buy you special cream to keep your tail moisturized, ensure you’re hydrated enough, and keeping your gills healthy; looking for any tears or wounds of any kind. 

Uncle! Soap can be a menace with his teasing, and when you’re being snarky or breaking a few rules, he’ll joke that he’ll make sushi outta your tail. Of course, Ghost hits him in the back of the head. But he wouldn’t do that… would he?

They both work together — very hardly — to ensure the government doesn’t find out about you. They know what it’s capable of, people kidnapping you and poking you with needles to find out more information; keeping you captive like a pet. And they’ve both promised, as your guardians, that nothing like that will ever happen whilst they’re breathing. 

And because of that, they will execute any type of threats possible. If they see your friends getting suspicious, one day they randomly ‘disappear’. Any type of adults asking specific questions, or why you like the water so much, are found dead on the news.  

They both understand how much water means to you, which at times, Uncle! Soap sometimes suggests moving, and building a house near the salty sea; a place where you’re visibly comfortable and feel like you belong. He might even recommend taking a few trips back to Scotland a few times a year, letting you swim in the large lakes.

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking. It helps me as a creator!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2024 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[ddejavvu]

pornstar steve harrington giving the reader the best sex of their life

this post is 18+, minors dni.

"I know, sweetheart." Steve's crooning is sweet, caring, and altogether far too sexy for you to be able to handle at the moment, "That feels good, huh?”

The best you can do is nod, because the words coming out of your mouth aren’t words at all, just rambled moans and lewd gasps.

Steve has a vibrator pressed to your clit, his own much-less-silicon dick pistoning slowly in and out of your gaping hole. There's not much resistance there, not since he's coaxed two orgasms out of your quivering core.

Steve's dick is huge. You've come to have a scale in your mind, an amalgamation of porn and real life experiences that tell you Steve is massive. You're sure you've never seen a dick quite this thick before, nor quite this long, and you're afraid you never will again; that dick is ruined for you now if it's not Steve's.

He knows it, too. He's jackhammering into your sopping cunt, grunting in rhythm with his thrusts, and every uptick in your heart rate that he can feel where his teeth nip at your pulse point makes a sick smirk curl over his face.

The camera doesn't catch his expression, he's far too deep in your neck for that, but he pulls away to trail the tip of his tongue up your chin, and straight into your mouth. That the camera sees, as well as the way he pries your thighs even further apart with only one hand, nearly ripping your muscles.

"You can do it," Steve speaks into your open mouth, your silent scream all you can manage while he tries kissing at your lips, "You're gonna squirt, angel. I can feel it, hnngh, you're squeezing me so tight, I- I know you're gonna cream all over my cock, huh?"

"Mhm," You squeeze your lips shut to whimper as your jaw clenches, no longer open wide. It means that Steve's mostly kissing the skin around your mouth while you bite your lips, but with a gentle hand on your cheek, he's prying your mouth open again and catching it in his own.

His tongue smooths over your own, licking eager and desperate over your mouth. You're sure he can taste the remnants of his seed on your tongue, and you feel a ghostly ache at your jaw as you remember how stuffed your mouth had been with his giant cock.

"Come on," Steve croons, flicking the vibrator's setting up a notch until you feel a scream bubbling in your throat, "Come on, angel. You can do it," He's practically fucking you into the mattress now, hips chasing his own release egged on by the far-away look in your eyes, "I know you can, do it with me. Okay? Do it with me, angel."

"That's it," He kisses at your top lip as your bottom one closes limply around his own, "Cum, baby, come on."

'Come on, come on," He can feel it starting, the spasming of your cunt around his twitching cock, "There you go, there you- Agh! There," He pants, mouth falling open and breath slicking your shoulder with dewy heat as he huffs into your skin.

"Oh, fuck," He groans, hips hitting your own at record speed as he chases down his own high, basking in the white hot pleasure that shoots through him. It's doing the same to you, traveling through your core as his leaking dick slams into your oversensitive cunt over and over and over again.

"Steve!" You wail, gripping his broad shoulders, relishing the way that his chest hair tickles your breasts, "Ah, Steve, more, more- I need-! Don't stop!"

He rides you through your orgasm just as well as he'd created it. By the time his hips slow to a stop you're a quivering mess, sweat at your hairline and tears on your cheeks.

"Good," He hums, leaning up to kiss the silvery drops away. His lips are stained with the salty water when he kisses you, this time soft and slow and sweet.

"Want me to stay?" Steve asks, vibrator set aside as he thumbs at the creases of your thighs.

"Yeah," You nod, the sound a pathetic whimper as you cling to him, "Yeah, just- don't move, Steve."

"Okay," He hums, keeping his hips flush to yours so that his cock stays pressed into your sex, "Alright, let's just relax."

He grabs for the camera as your eyes drift shut, and you send it a bleary wave. Steve's chuckle is deep and fond as he leans in to kiss you one last time, tucking your sweat-covered face into his neck for a rest.

"You'll be a fan favorite," He murmurs against your hairline, stroking the back of your neck with his thumb, keeping the camera rolling, "Maybe we can do a sequel, sweetheart. I'll be the pizza guy next time, extra sausage."

[bookuce]

Change My Mind

SUMMARY: Josh and Alina are great friends most days. Other days, they want to tear each other apart. Some days, they’re in love with each other, but neither of them will admit it. 

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OC. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, and Alina is Alina. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Jey Uso x Black OC

TROPE: Friends to Lovers

WARNINGS: Language

WORD COUNT: 4,185

PART SEVEN

(2/2) — (1/2)

The sound of heels could be heard angrily clicking against the winery floors. Alina’s eyes were burning with tears that wanted to be free, but she wouldn’t blink. She didn’t dare blink. She pushed the double doors open, moving down the brick steps. Once in the soft grass, she kicks her heels off and lifts her dress from the Earth. She glided—no, stomped across the field to that white house the groomsmen were in. She was a woman on a mission. 

Alina scaled the four steps, taking two at a time as she climbed onto the porch. The screened door would swing open, hitting the wall as she entered the house. The men all stopped talking, smiles vanishing at the sight of her. “Now, Lina—.” Mike starts. She and Theo locked eyes, and he immediately knew what she was there for. She pushes through everyone, lunging for him. The men all shout in response to her, Mike being the one who catches her. He pushes her back into the group of men, now pointing for the door. “Get her outta here, bruh, we not doing this shit today!” He says, as Shawn dragged her out of the house. Theo watched as Alina vanished through the door, bringing his glass to his lips. Mike turns to look at him, lifting his hands in disbelief. “You need to fix this before the wedding.” He says. “I don’t need Tasha finding out about this.” He says, walking to the kitchen.

“Get off of me!” Alina says, shoving Shawn back. “Tell him to bring his ass outside.” She demands. 

“Lina, you can’t do this right now. It’s your best friend’s wedding day.” Shawn says. Alina points at the window of the house.

“Did y’all tell him that too, or is this isolated to me?” Theo steps out from behind Shawn, his eyes on the enraged woman standing before him. He steps off the porch, his hand wrapping around Alina’s arm. He pulls the woman off towards an old garage to the side of the house. They said nothing to each other as they approached the withered door of the garage. He pushes it open, gesturing for her to go in. She yanks her arm from him, stepping into the dusty space.

Theo steps into the garage, closing the door behind them. “So I take it your little boyfriend told you what happened?” He asks.

“My little boyfriend? Theo, I need you to play somewhere safe when it comes to that man.” She warns him. Theo laughs softly at the threat, shaking his head. “I’m serious!” She exclaims.

“Why, because I gotta deal with you? I’ve dealt with that temper before, girl, that ain’t nothing.” He says, dismissing her threats. “I simply mentioned that we were engaged. That wasn’t a lie. Hell, I didn’t know it was a secret until today. That’s your fuck-up, not mine.” It was true. Theo was just moving accordingly. How Josh reacted to the news had nothing to do with him. Anything that happened after that, though? “Be honest. What did you think would happen when you brought him in there? Were you even thinking about that?” She wasn’t. All she was thinking about was the fact that she wanted Josh to make friends with the guys. 

Alina peers down at the floor, her arms crossing over her chest. “I didn’t tell him we were engaged because I erased that entire chapter of my life. The moment you did what you did, you meant nothing to me. You weren’t my fiancé, you weren’t my friend, you were just a man I unfortunately knew.” She finishes, looking up at him. “The word fiancé should have never left your goddamn mouth.”

“Lina, that’s not how that works!” He shouts.

“Says who? Were you the one hurt by this?” She asks. “You didn’t love me like I loved you. I was ready to commit to you, and you made me look stupid!”

“And I apologized, damnit!” He exclaims. Alina becomes quiet at the booming of his voice. “I will spend my entire life apologizing to you! I had a moment of weakness twelve years ago and had a child on you. It happened, and I apologized. I don’t regret my daughter, but I do regret what I did to you.” He finishes. Alina turns away from him, her eyes shifting to the ceiling. She was fighting tears again. “Was I hoping when I saw you today that I would be able to make things right with us? Yes, but you showed up, and I got to see you with someone else who isn’t me for the first time ever. I got jealous.”

Alina lifts her hand, shaking it. “You don’t get to be jealous, Theo.” She says, turning to face him again. “That man loves me, has loved me for two years, and patiently waited for me. He’s not going anywhere, and I don’t want him to. So, whatever you got going on, it needs to stop the moment we leave this garage.” She says. It was now his turn to be silent. He stares at Alina, his shoulder slumped in defeat. She takes a few steps to the side, moving around him for the door.

“My greatest achievement was having you love me.” She pauses at the door at his words. She slowly turns around to face him, her eyes finding his dark ones. “You telling me that’s all gone? Every bit of it?” She sighs softly.

“Theo, a part of me will always love you.”

“Then why can’t we…try again?” He asks, taking her hand into his. “What’s those few weeks compared to our four years?” He continues.

“Everything, Theo. They’re everything.” She says, pulling her hand from his grasp. “I don’t want to know you how I did anymore.” Before he could even say anything else, she slipped out the door. The sun forces her to squint, her hands carefully wiping at any tears that might’ve fallen. 

Josh paced the gravel of the winery parking lot. He was trying his hardest to remain calm but was failing miserably. “She told me to leave, Uce. She don’t want me here.” He says into the phone.

“Man, take your ass back inside that wedding. Lina don’t mean that shit.” Jon says, trying to assure his brother that the things the couple said to each other had no meaning. “As for her ex, he’s lucky I’m not there, we’d jump his ass.”

“Jon—!” Trin exclaims. “You aren’t helping!”

Jon smacks his lips at her. “Yes, the hell I am! I’ll get on a plane right now! Say I won’t.” He shouts back. There was a scuffle in the background and sounds of protest from his twin brother. “Move!” He exclaims. Josh stops pacing, his eyes shifting up to the trees above him. He was now shaking his head at the couple on the other side of the phone. There was a serious matter at hand, and they were playing around.

“Josh—Will you back up!” Trinity shouts into the phone at her husband. “Go find that girl and talk to her.”

“Can’t.” He says, glancing over at a few people who were passing him. “Wedding is about to start.” He says.

“Then you should stay and talk to her. Don’t leave that place mad at each other.” She tells him. He begins to nod his head. Trinity was right.

“Yeah,” He nods. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“I know I am! Now go make things right with my sister.” She says, making Josh smile. There was movement on the other side of the phone before Jon spoke again. 

“Say the words, and I’m on a plane, lil bro! Say the words—!” The call ends with three beeps. Josh slips his phone back into his jacket pocket with a sigh. Let’s get this shit over with, he thought, marching towards the back where the ceremony will be. 

Alina and the rest of the wedding party lined up in the main hall of the winery. Each bridesmaid had a groomsman. She, unfortunately, had Theo—Together, they were the maid of honor and the best man. The lost lovers stared ahead, a noticeable space between the pair. She didn’t want to have to touch him until she had to. “Alright, everyone,” The wedding planner spoke, walking to the front of the wedding line. “We got five minutes till the wedding starts. Remember, count to five before you step out to walk. Do not power walk down the aisle. The photographer needs to be able to get clear photos. Tasha and Mike are spending too much money to receive blurry images of you beautiful people.” 

Her eyes land on Alina and Theo, now noticing the gap between the two. She takes Alina’s arm, linking it with his. She then smiles proudly at the pair. “You two look great together.” She winks, moving down the line to check everyone else. Alina smiles at her to be polite before letting her smile drop when she leaves. 

“Lina, can we—.”

“Leave me alone, please, Theo. Thank you.” She snaps quietly. No one around them knew what had transpired that day, and she wanted to keep it that way. She could hear him suck in a deep breath and sigh. Music began to play from outside the building, a sign the ceremony was about to start. Mike and the Reverand are spotted making their way down the aisle from the windows of the doors. The sound of cheers and applause is heard over the music now. 

The wedding planner quickly walks back to the front of the line, peeking out the window. She squeals at the sight of Michael. “Tasha, Mike has made it to the end of the aisle!” She exclaims. Tasha was at the back of the line, a large bouquet in her hand. Her head was down as she swayed from side to side. She needed to say a quick prayer before she stepped out there. “Y’all ready?” She asks Alina and Theo. Ready to get this over, she answers in her head. Alina nods slightly, now taking a deep breath of her own. The coordinator pushes the door open, signaling for the pair to go. A smile will spread along Alina’s face as she and Theo stepped out into the opening. 

The pair walked at the desired pace of the wedding coordinator, their eyes darting around the crowd. There was only one person she was hoping she would spot among the attendees. When she caught sight of red curls, her smile softened to one of genuine happiness. He stayed. Josh turns just in time to see her walking down the aisle. They hold each other’s gaze until she passes him. Once at the end of the aisle, Theo and Alina break apart. Theo goes to stand behind his best friend while Alina stands alone for a few moments more. 

Instead of paying attention to the ceremony, Alina was too busy watching Josh. He hadn’t let up on his staring either. It was evident they both regretted everything that transpired between them today. 

As a couple, it was the first time they’d really argued, and quite frankly, they didn’t want to do it again. Josh didn’t like it when she was mad at him; he also didn’t like to be the cause of her tears. The break of her voice and the pain in her eyes at what he said was enough for him. He’d never do it again—that was his vow. “Do you, Michael, take Tasha to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you honor and cherish her; love, trust, and commit to her, through joy and pain, sickness, and health, until death do you part?” The reverend asks Mike.

“I do.” He says, nodding. 

“And Tasha, do you take Michael to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you honor and cherish him; love, trust, and commit, through joy and pain, sickness, and health, until death do you part?” Tasha smiles brightly up at her husband, nodding slowly at him.

“I do.” She whispers. The reverend calls for the rings, prompting Alina to look away from Josh and pass off Mike’s ring to Tasha. She’d give her best friend an assuring smile before glancing at her feet. The couple begins the exchange of their vows, putting their rings on each other’s fingers. Alina peers up at Josh again, finding his eyes still on her. He didn’t care about anything that was happening right now. He should probably pay attention, but he just couldn’t. 

“I love you.” She mouths to him, earning a wink in return. That prompts her to smile and return her attention to her two friends. 

“Tasha, Michael, it is with great honor that I stand before you, by the power vested in me by the Almighty God up above and the beautiful state of Georgia, I proudly pronounce you Husband and Wife! Michael, you may now kiss your bride.” The crowd erupts into cheers as Mike pulls Tasha in for a loving kiss. “I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Vasser, everyone!” The newlyweds turn to face the crowd before walking down the aisle hand in hand. The wedding party would follow after. The most stressful part of the day was now over. 

The reception went as planned, with introductions, first dances, and speeches. Everyone laughed, and a few people cried, but everyone was happy—well, not everyone. Josh had yet to talk to Alina. She was too busy socializing and catching up with old friends. He didn’t want to take her from that, considering she’s barely home these days. So Josh went and grabbed a drink from the bar and stepped outside. She’ll find him when she’s ready. 

Josh stood in silence, taking in the night sky. The Moon was full and dimly lit the area around him. He brings his beer bottle to his lips, taking a few swigs. Footsteps approached him, causing the twin to look over his left shoulder. He had hoped it was Alina but was greatly disappointed when it was Theo. He looks away, his top lip curling slightly in disgust. They stood side by side, their eyes fixated on the open. Josh wasn’t going to say anything. He had nothing to say to that man.

“I asked Alina to leave you.” He confesses. Josh’s hand around the bottle he held tightened. This man just doesn’t let up, he thought.

“What she say?” Josh asks, looking down at his shoes. 

“No.” He answers.

Josh scoffs, shaking his head slightly. “Checks out.” 

Theo looks over at him. “I asked her if she still loved me. She said she did.” He turns to face Josh. “I love her too—.”

“Man, you don’t love that woman,” Josh says, pivoting to face Theo. “If you did, you’d let her be happy. Instead, you out here pressing me.” Josh looks him up and down. “You already had your chance, and you blew it. Now it’s my turn, and I ain’t ever coming off that one.” He says, pointing inside the reception hall. “You out of your damn mind if you think I’mma let some fuck up from her past force his way back into her life.” Theo’s head drops at his words. He would bring his hand to his face and pull it down the front, sighing softly. 

“You thought she’d want to play house with your ass again? Hell no!” Josh was through being cordial with this man. He had received nothing but disrespect from him since he was made aware that he was her ex-fiancé. For Alina, he tried to be on his best behavior, but it was nearing the end of the night, and he wasn’t going to leave this venue without speaking his mind to Theo. He’s been asking for it. “Ay, and on the real, Uce, if she wants to be a Mother, all she gotta do is ask me.” 

And that was the final straw for Theo. He’d swing, his fist connecting with Josh’s left brow bone. The punch would cause Josh to stumble to the right, but he quickly regained balance, lunging for the man who threw the first punch. He slams him into the railing of the steps they stood on before wrapping his arms around him and tossing him down the steps.

Alina had just finished talking to Tasha’s grandma when she started looking for Josh. She’d move through the dancefloor, passing by chatty guests and dancers. “Hey, have you seen Josh?” She asks Cassie. Cassie shakes her head, but Shawn, her husband, looks around the room to see if he spotted him. His eyes would pause on the outside just as he saw Theo throw a punch. 

“Shit,” He says, getting up from the table. Alina and Cassie wore expressions of confusion until they saw the other groomsmen running for the door.

��Where are they going?” Cassie asked.

“I don’t know…” Alina responds. Cassie stands to her feet, now walking with Alina to find out.

Outside, the scuffle had gone out into the grass. Theo recovered from being thrown and knocked Josh to the ground. Currently, they were rolling around. Punches were thrown while Josh had him in a tight headlock. Thick legs wrapped tightly around his waist, the hold resembling Joe’s Guillotine. 

“Ay, Ay, Ay, Josh! Josh! Let him go!” The groomsmen approach the fight, prompting Josh to let go of Theo. They begin to separate the two, pulling them both up to their feet. Alina had just stepped outside when she saw them trying to pull Josh off of Theo. 

“Are you fucking—?” She mutters, now rushing down the steps to the fight. Four men restrained Josh, while Theo was by two. Shawn stood in the middle, his arms extended to keep them separated. Josh sported a bloody gash on his brow where Theo first hit him, painting the left side of his face red. Any bit of anger she had went out the window the moment she saw him. 

“The hell’s gotten into you today, man?” Shawn shouts at Theo. It seems to be the question of the day. “I’ve never seen someone be so determined to get his ass whooped by a professional fighter—Samoan at that!” 

Alina approached Josh, turning his head to assess the gash. “Lina—,” Theo calls for her.

“Theo, I will slap the shit out of you.” She threatens, turning to look at him.

“And if she breaks a nail, I’m beating your ass,” Josh shouts from behind her. 

“Joshua.” She snaps, looking at him. Dark eyes find hers when she calls his name to silence him. She looks at the men still holding her battered man. “Let him go, he ain’t gonna do anything.” She tells them. Hesitantly, they release him, and she snatches his arm up. She pushes through the crowd, dragging Josh around to the front of the winery. She was off to find a bathroom away from the party. 

Josh struggled to keep up, his hand going to the gash on his face. He hisses in pain. “Can you slow down?” He asks. She doesn’t say anything. He peers down at his hand, seeing the blood for the first time. That causes him to stop, halting her in her tracks as well. Alina turns in time to watch his face shift between anger and disbelief. He laughs softly, shaking his head. “I’ma kill him.” He says, nodding to himself.

“Pull your arm away from me and see what happens.” She warns him. They’d stare at each other in silence before Josh huffs, allowing her to resume dragging him inside the building. She pulls him up the stairs and into the bridal room, leading him into the bathroom. “I saw a first aid kit up here.” She says. She closes the door behind them, moving to the closet to grab the medkit. 

Josh jumps onto the counter, patiently waiting for her to tend to him. “I promise I wasn’t looking for a fight.” He says. Alina doesn’t respond to him right away, forcing the room into silence. “I was waiting for you so we could talk, and he came out there bothering me.” 

When she finds the box, she opens it, retrieving a band-aid, alcohol, and ointment. “I believe you.” She says, walking over to him. She examines his appearance, taking in the bloody sight he was. She’d sigh before unbuttoning his white shirt. “This is ruined.” She says.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, shrugging out of the shirt. She shakes her head in response, reaching over to grab one of the clean face towels on the counter. She’d turn on the sink, allowing the water to run over her hand until warm. “Can you say something?” He asks, watching as she chooses to remain silent. The water became warm quickly, prompting her to wet the white washcloth. “Baby.” He calls.

“Will you let me take care of you?” She asks, turning off the sink. She squeezes any excess water out of the cloth before bringing it up to clean his face. 

“I am,” He starts. “I just want to hear your voice.” And make sure you’re not mad at me, he thought. She glances down at his pleading gaze before leaning in to give him an assuring kiss. That kiss was all he needed to know that everything was alright with them. He smiles softly at her, his hands moving to her hips. “I love you too.” He whispers to her. “That’s from earlier.” He adds, making her grin. 

“Stop touching me before you ruin my dress.” She says, removing his hands. She reaches down to grab the alcohol wipe packet, ripping it open in the process.

“That means you’ll have to take it off, right?” He bites his lower lip as his hands return to her hips. She steps back.

“I am not fucking you at this wedding.” She says. 

“The car is in the parking lot, honey.” He offers, making her laugh. That was a new term of endearment for her. It was always Baby or Lina. Now it was honey. She licks her lips at him before stepping back between his legs. “Hell, You got me out here fighting exes and shit, I’m getting something.” Alina rolls her eyes.

“Shut up.” She tells him. She lifts the alcohol wipe to the cut, lightly dabbing it. He’d hissed slightly, flinching away from her. “I’m sorry.” She whispers. “I’m almost done.” She promises, reaching to grab the ointment packet. She was happy she didn’t have to drive him to a hospital for stitches. Josh’s hands start wandering again, moving around to her backside this time. She sucks in a shaky breath, pulling his hands from her body. She’d give him a warning glare. 

“It’s mine!” He exclaims at her.

“How much did you have to drink?” She asks. 

“I had a beer.” He answers.

“Just one?” Josh stares at her for a moment.

“Maybe two.” 

Alina grins, reaching down to grab the small bandaid from the counter. She opens it, pulls off the paper on the back, and carefully places it over the cut on his brow. “I should have told you about Theo.” She says.

Josh began shaking his head, not wanting to talk about it. “You had your reasons. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.” He says, trying to take accountability for what happened between them.

“Yeah, but it was warranted. I shouldn’t have sent you in how I did, though. That wasn’t fair to you,” Alina drapes her arms over his shoulders and leans into him. Their foreheads would touch. “and I’m sorry.” She whispers, pecking his lips twice. 

“As long as I can go home and love on my lady tonight, I’m okay.” Alina would nod slowly, leaning in for another kiss. Their lips would meet for a lengthier kiss filled with every bit of emotion they felt today. Her manicured fingers would travel along his bare skin, traveling up his neck to cup his jaw. Her thumbs gently caress his cheekbones; her fingers gently scratch his beard. It earns her a hum of satisfaction. They would stay like this for several moments before they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Lina pulls away from Josh, her attention now on the door. On the other hand, Josh was fixated on kissing and nibbling on her neck.

“J-Just a moment!” She exclaims, her eyes closing when he finds that sensitive spot below her jawline. Alina giggles, finding herself quickly falling into his trap. She pulled his head back, halting him from going any further. Her boyfriend’s eyes glazed over with lust as he watched her, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. That was a gaze that would send her knees immediately. God, he looked good. “We should go.” She says finally, moving to let him get off the counter. 

“I was waiting for you.” He says, taking her hand. He’d lead the pair out of the bathroom, earning looks of confusion from the wedding guests who were waiting for them to come out.

PART EIGHT

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A/N: This could've been a 3 part tbh LMAO. SO MUCH HAPPENED 😭😭😭😭 I just wanted to thank y'all for interacting with the first part of Part 7. That made me really happy to read y'alls comments. Do it again!!

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