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dolche-tejada · 2 days ago

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"I don't care about the rest of your lack of comprehension in the medium but don't disrespect DEKU!"

What lack of comprehension ( I spent my time debunking the pile of crap you're writing in my mentions, you haven't wrote a single relevant argument so far.

As for Deku, I don't see why I should respect this fictional character. He's plain as hell, people constantly glaze him for his amazing traits when his showings struggle to keep up, he has no interesting flaws to nuance him as a character and is just a mouthpiece for the shitty themes of this manga, his character arc mostly consists in him learning to use his powers (how fascinating really...) and he utterly failed his main goal at the end out of sheer incompetence.

"wtf!! be mad cus your favourite villain died!!! but don't you dare accuse Deku of being lazy!"

Why ? Because you don't have any solid counter-argument to refute the fact that he stayed on his ass for 8 years without training to keep being a hero ? And that he needed Bakugo to offer him an easy solution on a plate to do something ?

Or is it because you're salty that Deku is indeed so incompetent at being a hero that he didn't even bother thinking about a plan to save Tomura when it was his main goal, and this despite having weeks ahead to think about it ?

Either way, cope harder pal.

"Lazy my foot bro. Bye bro. You spitting nothing actually."

First time someone trash one of your favs ? Don't worry it will be okay, just take a seat and some deep breaths.

"All the long paragraphs just took proof you lack of respect to the author"

Indeed I don't respect Horikoshi as a writer... And so ?

"and the rest of it just to prove you're just a person who spewing nothing."

He said after failing to prove me wrong even once.

"After losing One For All in the My Hero Academia storyline, Deku faces significant challenges."

Source : Trust me bro

"His journey without his quirk is explored in the series, particularly highlighting his determination and ingenuity in adapting to his new circumstances."

What "new circumstances" are you even babbling about, he literally came back to what he was at the start of the story and even said it isn't anything new for him to be quirkless again.

"They demonstrate that strategy, training, and personal growth are crucial. However, Deku's case is unique because his identity and journey have been so closely tied to One For All"

And in practice, how does being a former OFA user could stop Deku to work out to become a fighter like Shinso, Knuckleduster or Nighteye ? Go ahead, I'm curious.

"which fundamentally shifts his path when he loses it."

Lmao seriously ? That's the best you came up with to hide the fact that Deku never even tried to work out to still be a hero ?

Cause without the bs, you're basically saying : B-B-But it must have been really hard for him to lose a power he only had for not even 1/6 of his life, that's why he couldn't learn martial arts for some reason :'(

What a solid argument, I can't argue with that indeed.

"None of them loses quirk and they're birth with the quirk."

And so ? Besides you know that Knuckleduster also used to have a quirk before AFO stole it from him ? Well guess what : It didn't stop him from learning how to fight and being a quirkless vigilante so nope, you're just looking for excuses.

"Deku also train as crazy as them."

To learn how to use his quirks, not to compensate being a regular human like Stein or Nighteye does.

"Wtf bro, use your brain."

Funny you talk about brain, I was precisely about to ask you if you're having a stroke right now ? Because I can't decently believe anyone could write so much shit in a row without suffering from brain damage.

"Deku's struggle post-losing his quirk can be interpreted more as a narrative choice by the author"

Even if it was the case, that doesn't make Deku any less of a lazy ass bum. He lost OFA during the ellipse and immediately gave up on being a hero, until Bakugo came up with a solution Deku wouldn't have waited for if he was nearly as resilient and well-written as you think he is.

"Kohei Horikoshi, to explore themes of identity, resilience, and the essence of what makes a hero"

No argument here either, just random bs to hide the fact that you don't know how to refute my point.

"It's true that Deku relies on technology, but this can also be viewed as a form of adaptation and teamwork, core values in the manga. Didn't Tony Stark relied on his tech as well? What makes a hero? A quirk. No. A sense to help another person, to protect."

Lmao don't even try. Tony doesn't just sit on his ass and stop being a hero when he doesn't have his armor around him, whether in the comics or the movies (Iron-Man 3 is literally about that). It's even one of his most famous quotes in the MCU : "If you're nothing without this suit, then you shouldn't have it"

Well Deku at the end is nothing without his suit/OFA. It's not an opinion, it's not arguable. It's factual. He doesn't just rely on technology, he's entirely dependent of it. Without his suit, he just stand there without doing anything for years while looking passively at his friends living his dream.

"The eight-year time skip where Deku waits for technology to compensate for his lack of a quirk might be critiqued as a plot device to advance other stories or to give Deku a new form of heroism."

Except he does exactly the same thing as before but with an high-tech suit. If Deku really intended to seek for a new form of heroism, he would have declined the suit so no, "he seeks a new form of heroism" my ass.

"It's not necessarily about laziness but about finding a new way to be a hero when the conventional methods are no longer available to him."

Which is outright false as evidenced in my precedent point, just above.

"This development allows for exploration of his character beyond his physical abilities."

Is this development with us in the room ?

"Deku's growth in different aspects, like leadership"

He never showed at any point leadership skills, only teamwork at best but m'kay.

"strategy, and inspiration, rather than just physical prowess."

Inspiration isn't a hero skill. As for strategy, he didn't have any growth in this aspect either since again, he totally gave up being a hero for 8 years straight.

"In summary, while your addled and rude aspect of critique might view Deku's reliance on external help as a sign of laziness, it can also be seen as part of his character development arc"

On one side actual facts, on the other side your headcanons. Damn, I wonder which one carries more weight ?

"showcasing his adaptability, the importance of teamwork, and the broader message that heroism transcends physical power."

Watch out, you still have some bit left at the corner of your mouth.

"The series uses this plot to explore different facets of heroism, which is a central theme in mha."

The story didn't explore crap. Again at the moment Deku lost his quirk, he just stop doing shit for almost a decade despite having options to still be a hero. All the meatriding and headcanons in the world won't change the fact that Deku is fucking lazy and didn't grow up since Chapter 1 where here again, he never even tried to work out to compensate being quirkless and improve his chances to be admitted at UA.

"I'm done with MHA fans that only read and crop panel for their benefits and play the narrative to fit their imagination."

"Don't you never actually comprehend the material in your hands?"

Try at least to score one relevant argument before saying remarks like that, it's hard to take you seriously otherwise.

Well that was shit. Now sorry but if your next reply is as idiotic and dishonest as the previous ones, I will likely just block you. Given how low you set the bar, I won't waste more time and energy refuting your delusions.

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

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kbbueckers · 2 days ago

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happy valentine's day

overview: you and paige celebrate valentine's day

characters: paige bueckers x reader

warnings: kinda long

author notes: literally couldn't wait to post this, more fluff coming soon because i love writing it. happy valentine's day! 💝, sorry if this sucks.

you and paige have been dating for six months and this was your first valentine's day together, she spent hours planning a surprise for you. she wanted it to be perfect, it had to be perfect. she had set up the kitchen with a fancy dinner, heart ballons and roses, getting you a promise ring as well.

paige sat waiting for you to get home, she was nervous and afraid that you wouldn't like it. even though she knew you would like it, the back of her mind kept thinking of everything that could go wrong, but she tried to ignore it.

after about 30 minutes, you finally got home. as you opened the door to paige's surprise, she yelled "surprise!" with the cutest smile on her face. you let out a laugh, jumping from the shock. "paige, you did this all for me?" you smile, looking around at the decorated kitchen.

paige pulls you into a hug, giving you a forehead kiss before resting her chin on the top of your head. "of course baby, happy valentine's day." as paige backs up, she realizes you have a shopping bag in your hand. "is that for me?" she smiles and attempts to grab the bag as you jerk it away.

"yes, but you have to wait. can we have dinner first?" paige pouted, but agreed. "fine, cmon." she grabs your waist and leads you into the kitchen, sitting you down and getting everything ready for you like you were a princess. "i really think you're gonna like dinner tonight baby, i know im not the best cook, but i've been practicing."

you just smile and nod. you and paige both knew cooking wasn't her specialty, always making jokes about how she should stick to basketball, but at the end of the day you didn't care. the fact that she wanted to cook for you was sweet enough, no matter what it tasted like.

she sits the plates down, sitting down across from you and smiling as you begin eating. "not the worse thing ever." you say teasingly. "very funny, can i see my gift now?" she pushes the idea of you giving her the gift early. you roll your eyes jokingly, "fine, since you're so needy." you pick up the gift bag and hand it to her.

she reaches into the gift bag and pulls out a small rectangular box, as she opens the box it reveals two courtside tickets to a new york knick's game, paige's favorite nba team. she looks up at you with a smile on her face, "you're kidding?" you nod, the smile on her face genuinely warming your heart.

"before we eat, i have a gift for you too baby." she smiles, pulling the ring box out of her pocket and handing it to you. you open it quickly with excitement, gasping at the pretty ring you see inside. "i got you a promise ring, because i love you y/n." she grabs your hand gently across the table.

you couldn't help but shed a tear or two as she grabs your hand, it was the first time you or paige had ever said i love you since you two started dating. "i love you too paige." she smiles as you began crying, "dont cry babe."

she stand up and pulls you into a hug, you stand up and hug her tightly. "i love you so, so much." paige brushes your hair out of your face.once you stop crying, she smiles and gives you a kiss. "can we have dinner now?" you nod, not wanting to let her go.

after dinner, you and paige shower, and get into bed to watch a movie. as you're falling asleep, playing with her hair, you whisper. "tonight was perfect babe, you're so perfect."

she smiles, pulling you closer and she shakes her head. "you're perfect, i love you baby." "i love you too." you respond as you both fall asleep.

-kbbueckers💋

#paige bueckers #wnba x reader #fluff #paige bueckers x reader #happy valentine's day #idk how to tag this

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scoutofmymind · 2 days ago

Note

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-“ you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

#yuhhhhhh!!!#req #a quick one #just a lil quick 5k nbd #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfic

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edenesth · 10 hours ago

Text

Arrows and Affection

Pairing: warrior!Yeosang x fem!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Admiral Kang never misses his mark—until today. No matter how many times he draws his bow, the bullseye remains untouched. The wind hasn't changed, nor has his skill faltered. The only difference? The presence of a certain someone who has somehow turned his unwavering focus into a battlefield of its own.

Genre: fluff, comedy

A/N: Y'all when I saw these damn pics Yeo posted, I knew I'd have to write something. Then I heard Fallin' by Bang Yedam and couldn't stop thinking about this scenario.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

I still cannot believe this man is real.

The thought echoed in your mind as you struggled to tear your gaze away from him. With effortless precision, Kang Yeosang drew his bow, his stance steady, his movements practised to perfection. Years of training had made archery second nature to him—so much so that watching him was almost hypnotic. He wasn't just any warrior; he was the Admiral Kang, the youngest and most revered commander in Joseon, a man whose victories in battle had cemented his place in history. And yet, despite his fearsome reputation, you still found it surreal that you could stand this close to him.

"Wh-what are you doing here? You shouldn't be here right now!"

The urgent whisper jolted you from your thoughts. A senior maid stared at you in horror, eyes wide as she took in your pitiful attempt to hide behind a paper door—one that did little to conceal your presence. You flashed her a sheepish grin and waved the washcloth in your hand. "Relax, I'm just cleaning. No one pays attention to a maid doing her job."

She sighed, exasperated. "That may be, but the admiral specifically requested complete silence during his training. We cannot risk disturbing him."

You huffed. "Well, then that doesn't make him a very good archer, does it? If he's truly the best, he should be able to shoot well anywhere. The battlefield isn't exactly a peaceful place, now is it?"

Her face paled at your audacity, and she frantically motioned for you to lower your voice. Then, as if realising she wouldn't win this argument, she reached for your washcloth. "Please, just this once, listen to me. Besides, you know very well you're not—"

Before she could finish, you pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "I've been good all week, haven't I? I did everything you asked—no complaints. Just let me stay here for a bit and enjoy the view, yeah? You can have my meal again tonight," you added with a wink.

She shook her head, already resigned to her fate, too tired to argue or remind you that everything you had done over the past week was merely your duty. "Fine. But promise me you won't distract the admiral, and make sure you return to your quarters before—"

"I will, I will," you interrupted, beaming. "And I promise, you won't get in trouble because of me!"

You clapped soundlessly in victory as she handed your washcloth back, shaking her head in disbelief before walking away. But not before shooting you one last pleading look, silently begging you not to cause any more trouble. You only grinned in response, sticking your tongue out playfully and waving goodbye before returning to your so-called task—wiping down an already spotless door. A door that, conveniently, gave you the perfect view of the admiral, deep in focus as he trained.

A small sigh of awe slipped past your lips, your earlier mischievous grin softening into a dreamy smile as you watched him. He checked his bow with practised ease before getting into position once more, gripping it firmly. You bit your lip, anticipation bubbling inside you—this was your favourite part. He raised his bow, holding an arrow in place, lifting it just high enough to aim. Then, with calculated precision, he closed one eye to focus on his target.

Damn.

This pose—this was the one that always left you weak in the knees. Just when you thought he couldn't possibly be any more attractive, he went ahead and proved you wrong. Every. Single. Time.

Despite his fearsome reputation on the battlefield, Admiral Kang was, at heart, a little... adorable. When he wasn't fighting wars, he always seemed lost in his own world, absentmindedly staring at whoever was speaking to him with that cute, dazed expression. He was a unique character, to say the least. And maybe that was why you loved seeing this side of him even more—the version of him that was serious, focused, and completely in his element.

It was just so freaking hot.

Until it… wasn't.

Your futile wiping came to an abrupt halt as you furrowed your brows, watching the unfamiliar scene unfold before you. For the first time in all the years you had known him, he let out a sharp curse, frustration flickering across his usually composed face. He reached for another arrow, aiming with a little more force than necessary. Your gaze darted to the target board—only to realise that he had missed the bullseye.

Your mouth fell open. He missed?

A tiny gasp escaped you because, quite frankly, that was unheard of. Admiral Kang never missed—not once since he had built his legendary reputation. It was practically the first rule of the universe: the sun rises, the rivers flow, and Kang Yeosang hits his mark every single time. Yet here he was, missing the target like some rookie foot soldier.

You bit your lip, suddenly concerned. Was he okay? Maybe today just wasn't his day. Maybe that's why he had insisted on training alone.

And then—thunk! Another miss.

Your concern quickly morphed into something else entirely as you took in the sight of him, all tense muscles and narrowed eyes, jaw clenched in frustration. Oh. Oh no. Why was this... hot?

You didn't think you'd ever witness the day Kang Yeosang would be this visibly mad—not at you, not at anyone, but at himself. And somehow, instead of feeling purely sympathetic, your brain short-circuited with an entirely inappropriate thought: angry Admiral Kang was stupidly attractive.

His brows knitted together as he grabbed yet another arrow, muttering a string of curses under his breath, his voice lower and rougher than usual. It was such a stark contrast from his usual soft, slightly dazed self that it sent a shiver down your spine.

Oh, this is dangerous.

You had to press a knuckle to your mouth to stifle the delighted squeal threatening to escape. Because good god, if this man got any hotter, you might just pass out right then and there.

"Goddamnit," Yeosang cursed under his breath, his eyebrow twitching as his fourth shot missed its mark.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to quell the frustration bubbling inside him. He couldn't believe he was letting this affect him. He wasn't a fool. He was the youngest admiral in Joseon, after all—he had noticed your presence the second you stepped foot inside.

But he hadn't said anything.

At first, he assumed it was just some clueless new maid who had wandered in, unaware of the rules. He was ready to ignore it altogether. But then—he heard your voice. His sharp hearing picked up on your hushed negotiation with a senior maid, who was desperately trying to shoo you away. His pulse quickened.

It was you.

And like a complete idiot, instead of brushing it off, he found himself wanting to impress you. That's where he had gone wrong. His focus had wavered, and now, for the first time in his career, his shots were landing anywhere but the bullseye.

Who knew a single woman could have such an effect on him?

Annoyed—mostly at himself but also at you for making him embarrass himself like this—he finally cleared his throat, loud enough for you to hear.

"Just how long do you plan on hiding there?" he called out, finally turning toward your direction.

He had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing at your absolutely pathetic attempt at concealment. Pressed flat against the paper door like it would somehow make you invisible, your familiar silhouette was outlined perfectly against the thin material—especially with the sunlight streaming in from behind.

He sighed, setting down his bow and taking a step closer. "I knew you were there the moment you walked in. Show yourself."

Crap. Crap. Crap.

You thought you had been sneaky, but apparently not. If he had known you were here all along, that meant trouble—because you were supposed to be elsewhere. And, worse, he knew that because you weren't just any ordinary maid.

Your only hope now? Act like one.

With your head lowered, you stepped forward hesitantly, bowing respectfully. "A-apologies, my lord. I was only here to clean. I know you asked to be left alone today, and I shouldn't have lingered," you murmured, voice small. "I'll leave at once."

You turned on your heel, ready to flee, but his voice stopped you cold.

"Hold on a second."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Oh, no. You had promised the senior maid you wouldn't cause trouble, and now you were on the verge of dragging her into this mess.

"If you knew I asked for privacy," he mused, his voice deep and steady, "why did you come here in the first place?"

You gulped, fingers tightening around the washcloth in your hands. This was not how today was supposed to go. You had planned to admire him for a while, soak in the view, and then sneak back to your actual post. Not get caught red-handed.

"Answer me," he pressed.

Your breath hitched. His voice was much closer this time.

Too close.

"I-I was wrong, my lord," you stammered.

He sighed. "That's not what I want to hear. Because of you, I lost my focus. Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth."

Slowly, you turned—only to find him standing right behind you. There was no escaping now. No more excuses. It was time to own up to your mistake.

"I… I just—" you blurted before throwing your hands up in defeat. "I missed you, okay?! I wanted to see your stupid face before going back to my boring duties. Is that a crime?"

Silence.

Then, Yeosang smiled. "See? Now, was that so difficult?" he teased, leaning down slightly to meet your pouting face.

"You knew it was me all along?" you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He nodded.

"How?"

He smirked, fingers tilting your chin up until your eyes met his. "How could I not? You're far too beautiful to be just a maid, my lady."

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you huffed, swatting his hand away. "Ugh, I really thought I had you fooled."

His grin widened. "So, does this mean you finally admit you missed me? What happened to 'I don't want to see your dumb face again'?"

Your jaw dropped. "You did not just bring that up."

"Oh, but I did." He leaned in, voice dripping with amusement. "Verbatim."

Scoffing in disbelief, you pushed at his chest—though, of course, he barely budged. "You're impossible."

Turning away with a dramatic hmph, you muttered, "Go ahead, tell your mother I sneaked out. I'll take whatever punishment she has for me, as usual. Not like you'd ever stand up for me in front of her."

Before you could take another step away from him, Yeosang moved swiftly, wrapping his arms around you from behind. His voice was softer now, warm against your ear.

"I'm sorry, my love." His embrace tightened slightly. "You know how she is when it comes to the duties of a daughter-in-law. I wish I could do something, but as the admiral's wife, you have to set an example for the people. I know those lessons bore you to death, but she's only here for the Lunar New Year. Just hang in there for a little longer, yeah?"

You sighed, finally allowing yourself to melt into his warm embrace—the very one you had gone without for nearly a week.

You had been giving him the silent treatment ever since he failed to defend you when his mother insisted you attend etiquette lessons for the entirety of the Lunar New Year. You had protested, of course—this was supposed to be the one time of the year when your husband was free from his duties, a rare chance for the two of you to be together. But instead, she had taken that precious time away, forcing you into lessons you had little patience for.

Deep down, you understood her reasoning, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. You had been looking forward to this time for weeks, only to have it stolen from you. And so, out of pure stubbornness, you had refused to attend the lessons diligently. Your frustration had driven you to banish Yeosang from your shared quarters in the heat of the moment—a decision you regretted almost immediately. Sleeping in an empty bed had been unbearable, but your pride had been too strong to call him back from the guest chambers.

So, today, desperate for an escape from yet another dreary lesson, you had feigned illness and slipped away. If your mother-in-law discovered your empty room, there would be consequences—not just for you, but for the poor maid who had dared to help you.

The admiral sighed against your hair, his arms tightening around you as if afraid you'd slip away again. Then, with gentle insistence, he turned you in his embrace, his warm hands cupping your cheeks. His thumbs brushed over your skin, wiping away the traces of your lingering pout.

"You're so stubborn," he murmured, his tone laced with fondness. "But I suppose that's part of why I love you."

Your heart skipped a beat. His gaze, steady and filled with an emotion so tender it made your breath hitch, held yours captive.

"I missed you too, you know," he admitted at last, exhaling as if finally releasing a weight from his chest. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to sleep without you? To wake up every morning and not see your annoying little grin first thing?" His lips quirked up slightly, but there was sincerity in his words.

You blinked up at your husband, guilt slowly creeping in.

"I know I should've defended you more," he continued, his voice softer now. "But it's not that simple, my love. I already defied my mother once when I chose you—when I turned my back on the noblewoman she wanted for me. I chose you because you are everything I ever wanted. You're bright, bubbly, and full of life. You make even the dullest moments feel exciting. And though she may not understand it now… you are the best decision I have ever made."

Your breath caught in your throat.

He let out a quiet sigh, his thumbs still tracing circles against your skin. "I just… I only want the two most important women in my life to get along. That's all I've ever wanted. I know it's not easy for you, and I know she can be difficult, but if you could just try… even a little, it would make things easier. For both of us."

Your chest tightened. You had been so caught up in your own frustration that you hadn't once stopped to consider how hard this must have been for him too. Balancing the expectations of a mother he respected and the love of his life—how exhausting that must have been.

Your gaze softened, and you lifted your hands to rest over his. "I… I didn't think about it that way," you admitted, cheeks warming. "I was so focused on my own feelings that I didn't realise how hard this must be for you too."

He said nothing, only watching you with patient eyes as you let the realisation settle.

You sighed, leaning into his touch. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I promise… I'll try to be better from now on."

At that, his entire face brightened, relief flooding his features as he pulled you in closer. "Really?"

You gave a small nod, lips curving into a sheepish smile. "Really." Then, with a playful glint in your eyes, you added, "I promise I won't be sneaking off to give you surprise visits like I did today again, Admiral Kang."

His jaw dropped slightly, and you could practically see the flicker of realisation in his expression. You had him. As disciplined and upright as he usually was, even he couldn't deny that your little intrusion today had made things far more exciting. Damn the impropriety of it all—he loved you for that.

"Oh, you little minx," he muttered, shaking his head in faux exasperation before a smirk tugged at his lips. A breathless chuckle escaped him as he dipped down, capturing your lips in a soft yet lingering kiss. His warmth seeped into you, his touch grounding you in the moment. He kissed you as if he had been waiting for this forever, as if every second apart had been an eternity.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his grin utterly boyish. "Does this mean I can move back into our quarters now?"

You huffed, pretending to think it over, watching as he waited—far too eagerly—for your answer. His hands remained on your waist, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your sides, as if afraid you might slip away again.

Finally, you sighed dramatically. "Fine. But only because I missed you too."

His laughter rang through the air, light and full of joy, before he swooped in to kiss you again, sealing your truce with all the love he had to give.

When he pulled away, neither of you moved for a moment, eyes closed as he pressed his forehead against yours again. He simply breathed—cherishing the warmth of your presence after a week apart.

He knew you had been upset, not just about the lessons but because he hadn't sided with you when you protested. But what could he have done? He was caught between the two most important women in his life—his mother, the woman who raised him, and you, the woman he vowed to cherish. It was never a choice he wanted to make, so he had remained neutral, though it had pained him to see the disappointment in your eyes.

Still, that was why he had spoken to his mother later, asking her to go easier on you. You might not have noticed, but she had—she never truly reprimanded you for your inconsistent attendance, and Yeosang had never made a fuss when you kicked him out of your shared quarters, knowing you needed space. No matter how much it killed him to be away from you, he respected your emotions.

But now, feeling the way you held onto him just as tightly as he held onto you, he was glad. Glad that you were willing to meet him in the middle. That was one of the many reasons he loved you so much.

He could still remember the look of surprise on his mother's face when he had, for the first time, broken out of his usual quiet and composed demeanour—other than the time he had first brought you home, announcing with unwavering conviction that you were the love of his life and the only woman he would marry.

It had shocked her then. And it had shocked her again when he spoke up for you, telling her how much you meant to him and how he wished for the woman who raised him to care for his wife the same way she had always cared for him.

And surprisingly, she had understood.

Truthfully, his mother had never truly been against you. At first, she had been wary—sceptical of how well a woman as lively and outspoken as you would fit into their composed and traditional household. But over time, she began to understand why her son had chosen you.

You were bright—perhaps a little too much at times—but she had come to admire your honesty. She never had to worry about a two-faced daughter-in-law who smiled sweetly in front of her but harboured resentment behind her back. You were genuine—straightforward with your emotions, never afraid to show your displeasure or your affection. And above all, the love you and Yeosang shared was undeniable. At the end of the day, that was what mattered to her most. That her son was happy.

And as the admiral held you now, he knew that happiness was right here, in his arms.

"So, tell me," Yeosang murmured, tilting his head as he gazed into your eyes, the ones he adored so much. "How exactly did you manage to slip out of your lesson today?"

You bit your lip, knowing there was no use lying when he was already staring at you so intently. With a sheepish grin, you admitted, "I told her it's that time of the month and that the pain was too unbearable to continue."

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he reached out to squish your cheeks. "And yet here you are, sneaking around in a maid's uniform just to watch your incredibly handsome husband practice. You must've been desperate for me, hm?"

You scoffed, prying his hands off your face only to squish his cheeks in return. "That's right, admiral. I came all this way just to see you fail miserably at hitting a bullseye over and over again. All because your wife was watching."

His jaw dropped in exaggerated offence as he gasped. "You wound me, my love," he declared dramatically before bending down to retrieve his bow. Then, with a smirk, he held it out to you. "If you're so clever, Lady Kang, why don't you show me how it's done?"

"Gladly," you shot back, grabbing the bow with confidence—only for your bravado to falter the moment you realised just how heavy it was. Your arms wobbled slightly under the unexpected weight, but you cleared your throat, pretending as if nothing had happened.

Your husband noticed. Of course, he did. But to his credit, he bit back his laughter, unwilling to embarrass you further. Instead, he simply watched, eyes gleaming with fondness. If only you knew how much his heart swelled with pride and affection at this moment—seeing you attempt something he had always wanted to teach you. He had dreamed of this for so long, hoping to pass on at least the basics of archery, if only as a means of self-defence. But the opportunity had never come—until now.

Clumsily, you reached for an arrow, fumbling slightly as you held it up. He softened, stepping behind you in an instant. His arms slid around you, one hand lifting the bow's weight with ease, the other steadying your trembling grip as he helped you pull the arrow back.

You glanced up at him, feeling the warmth of his breath near your ear, the solid comfort of his presence surrounding you completely. You had never felt safer. It was moments like these that reminded you just how much pride you had in being his wife. That even after everything, you still found it hard to believe that this man—this strong, kind, and loving man—was truly yours.

"Now focus and aim," he murmured. "We'll release when you're ready."

Nodding, you focused on the target, narrowing your eyes as you slowly closed one to improve your precision. You adjusted the bow slightly, remembering one of the things he had always told you—aim a little higher than your target, especially at longer distances, because gravity will always pull the arrow down.

"Ready," you whispered.

And then, together, you released. The arrow soared through the air, cutting cleanly through the space between you and the target. And for the first time that day, an arrow struck the bullseye.

We did it!

You blinked in disbelief, your eyes locked on the arrow firmly lodged in the bullseye. Slowly, you turned to your husband, who stood beside you, mouth slightly agape.

"Did you see that?" you gasped, your excitement bubbling over.

Yeosang let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "I must be dreaming. My wife, an archery prodigy?"

Grinning, you nudged him playfully. "Maybe I should take your place as admiral instead."

He clutched his chest dramatically. "Stealing my title already? You truly are ruthless, my love."

Before you could react, he suddenly scooped you up into his arms with ease, making you yelp in surprise. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Yeosang! Put me down!" you giggled, squirming in his grasp.

"No can do," he hummed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You impressed me today, so you deserve a reward. And since you did lie your way out of lessons just to see me…" He trailed off, a mischievous and suggestive glint in his eyes.

Your brows furrowed in suspicion. "Yeo, what are you planning—"

Before you could finish, he started making his way toward the exit. But just as he reached the doorway, he stopped abruptly. Because standing right there, about to step in, was his mother.

You gasped, tightening your hold around your husband's neck as he froze in place. "M-Mother…" he stammered.

Old Madame Kang's gaze flickered over the scene before her—her daughter-in-law, who had earlier complained of agonising menstrual pain, now dressed in a maid's uniform, being cradled in her son's arms. She blinked. You swore you saw her eye twitch.

"I-I can explain," you started, and Yeosang quickly set you down, clearing his throat and smoothing down your ruffled hair and hanbok as if that would somehow make things better.

His mother levelled you both with a withering stare. "Please do."

You gulped, exchanging a nervous glance with him, both of you shrinking under her sharp gaze like children caught red-handed.

"She just missed me, Mother," Yeosang admitted, gripping your hand firmly. "She didn't know how else to say it, so she… snuck out to see me."

A beat of silence passed.

Then, to your utter shock, the elderly woman rolled her eyes. "Is that it?" she huffed, exasperated.

You both blinked. That was… oddly forgiving?

She crossed her arms. "You couldn't have just told me? Why go through the trouble of sneaking out and dressing like a maid just to see your own husband?" Her expression softened, though her tone remained firm. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I brought you herbs, only to find your quarters empty. I came here to inform my son that you'd vanished, and instead, I find the two of you making fools of yourselves…"

Your eyes darted to Yeosang, who looked just as stunned as you felt. Was this really happening?

"…I swear, you two are impossible," she muttered, shaking her head. Then, as if realising just how ridiculous the situation had become, she pinched the bridge of her nose, suppressing what you swore was a reluctant smile. "So, I take it there was never a real period?" she asked, arching a brow.

You swallowed, nodding slowly, unsure where this was going.

She observed you both for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small shake of her head, she finally spoke. "I'll forgive you on one condition." You perked up, hopeful—until she continued, "Give me grandchildren soon."

Your husband choked on air. You stiffened, eyes widening in sheer horror as heat flooded your face.

Meanwhile, your mother-in-law remained entirely unbothered, watching your reactions with the calm of someone who had just commented on the weather. "Well, now that I know you're perfectly healthy, I'll be on my way. See you at your next lesson."

And with that, she turned and strode off, leaving you both rooted in place, still processing the absolute chaos she had just unleashed.

The moment she disappeared down the corridor, you exhaled a breath you hadn't even realised you were holding.

Yeosang cleared his throat, glancing at you with a look that was equal parts mischievous and smug. With exaggerated flair, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a playful kiss to your knuckles.

"Well, you heard her loud and clear, my love," he murmured, his voice rich with amusement. "Shall we begin fulfilling our noble duty right away?"

Your eyes widened in mortification. "Kang Yeosang!" you hissed, smacking his arm harder as your face burned. "She can still hear us!"

And sure enough, a quiet chuckle echoed from down the hall.

Your husband only laughed, unfazed, before intertwining his fingers with yours and gently tugging you forward. "It's fine, my love," he teased. "She understands."

Hand in hand, the two of you strolled back to your chambers, his warmth a steady comfort beside you. His lighthearted humming filled the air, and when he stole a fond glance at you, a smile tugged at his lips.

The admiral had never imagined he could feel anything but frustration over a missed shot—but as he reflected on everything that had unfolded, he realised that if losing his aim led to moments like these, perhaps a little imperfection wasn't so bad after all.

No bc I just love how I started this with a vision and somewhere along the way, I didn't know how to end it so I just kinda winged it lmaooo hope this was decent HAHA

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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#edenesth #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #kang yeosang #ateez yeosang #historical au #joseon era #yeosang x reader #yeosang x you #ateez fluff #ateez oneshot #yeosang fluff #yeosang imagines #yeosang oneshot #ateez fic

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cloversnstrawberries · 1 day ago

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oc intro post ! ! young!serial killer grandpa & time traveler reader

masterlist | requests open !

warnings; Mentions of violence, murder, serial killings, Everett's superiority/god complex, misanthropy (hatred of the human race), manipulation, possessive behavior, mental instability, and there might be more that i forgot :( if i missed a major one, please let me know and i'll add it !!!

additional notes; i read "garden of the dead flowers" a while back (in which i totally did the daily pass thing. yeah. totally!), and i thought it had a lot of potential for a platonic yan,, i didn't like the ending much for other reasons, but i'm fixing it here. with my oc. as god intended, of course. of course, if you're familiar with the webcomic at all, this isn't really that similar; except for the very core basis ^^ this is the option that won the second poll :D

! ! introduction blurb & moodboard below the cut ! !

Everett has met a lot of people before, that's just how it is, being the son of a wealthy businessman and a socialite. He's met a lot of strange people as well, eccentric people that makes Everett need a double-take.

But none quite so strange as you, who simply... showed up in the back garden one day. You were disoriented, wearing odd clothes as you patted around your pockets for... something. A handkerchief, maybe?

Either way, you'd be an easy kill. He'd never seen you around before, perhaps a runaway then. Nobody would miss you, in that case. And If they did, then they'd have a difficult time tracing you all the way to Everett's backyard.

But something made that train of thought stop before it even fully departed. Something about you made him hesitate, and subsequently approach and offer you help. To pull you up, dazed as you were, and help you into the sitting room.

You continued to be quite out of it, and when he returned, tea in hand-- you took it without question. You hadn't said a word, not to him or otherwise. All you did was look around, face pinched like you trying to figure something out.

By the end of it, Everett isn't quite sure what made him take such a liking to you. When you opened up, you tripped over your words-- you sounded funny, regardless of that. Saying words and phrases he's never heard, but he didn't pay much mind to that.

Regardless of your little verbal stumbles, you ended up telling him that you 'don't know how you got here', which he assumed you meant the town in general, or maybe just his backyard specifically.

The first conversation he genuinely held with you, you would always give these nonsensical answers that provided no more knowledge than before. When he asked "Where are you from?" You'd respond with "Not here.", or how you got here-- you'd always pause, and try to think it over before finally settling on "...I don't know."

Amnestic, maybe? That's what he could make of it, anyways. Other than your dazed behavior, you showed no real signs of a concussion. He set you up in a guest room-- and he doesn't know what makes him do it. Even as you wake up the next morning, no longer so confused--

Usually, he wouldn't really like people like you. Those who treat him so casually, those who treat everybody like that; like they were everybody's pal. It irked Everett to no end before,

So why is it different when you do it? With your strange words, strange habits, and even stranger way of dress-- what's got him so interested in you?

What sets you apart of his usual fare--? He could go and argue that he helped you recover so he could add you to his roster of victims, because he's not one for kicking someone when their down...

But he couldn't even fool himself with that lie. Really, he doesn't know why or how you managed to worm your way into his good graces so quickly-- enough where he let you stay in his home for the time being.

He could be harboring a runaway, either from a family or maybe even if the law. That could put him in risk, if cops come looking for you-- find his home, found evidence of what he does in and around it.

Again, it's just something about you... It makes it impossible to even think of driving a knife straight through your heart. What would be easy for him with everyone else, was like fighting an uphill battle when it came to you.

Either way, he's not letting you go now. Not after week of getting to know you-- after getting you new clothes to help fit in, getting his parents to make the school take you as a student. Just so you didn't have to sit and rot in that big house all day, of course.

He won't let you outside the grounds. Maybe because he doesn't want his new friend taken, the only person that's been entirely immune to his constant need to hurt others-- either by yourself, or anyone who's looking for you.

But he doesn't tell you that. He says he just wants to make sure you're healthy and not about to keel over from an untreated brain injury and whatnot.

Everett has grown quite fond of you, even if you're a little strange.

Maybe it's because you're so strange, that you're exempt from his usually unforgiving drive to prey on others, and rip them limb from limb like they were bugs under a microscope.

#oc: everett #yandere x reader #yandere oc #platonic yandere #platonic yandere oc #platonic yandere x reader #yandere #yandere horror #my writing #reqs open #requests open #gn!reader #my ocs <3 #oc intro !

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wrioreid · 2 days ago

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| Valentine's Day | spencer reid x reader

You and Spencer have plans to celebrate your first Valentine's Day together.

Warnings: fluff, slight angst?, indefinite season, some references to the series, without a definite pronoun I think?, lots of rambling.

Author's note: Hello, happy Valentine's Day! The day is literally over, but I only managed to post now :c I really wanted to write something involving my pookie and rewatching some episodes I had some ideas to put in the fanfic. Sorry if any part was confusing or doesn't make sense, I swear I tried!! Anyway, I hope it's fun to read!

The simple drops of icy water that fell calmly from the tree branches contrasted completely with the warm feeling emanating from the couples walking around there. Couples, lovers, families, friends. The street was full of people who were overflowing with love for each other, and you watched them solemnly while leaning your back against the icy wall of some random store. Not even a morning of persistent rain and unpleasantly below-par temperatures could spoil the romantic atmosphere and prevent people from loving each other.

It was February 14th, Valentine's Day. Or rather, your first Valentine's Day with someone. It was late afternoon and the rain had stopped, leaving only small drops of water as a reminder. The temperature continued, but nothing that good layers of clothing and a warm love couldn't solve.

You were waiting for Spencer. You had started dating the previous year, after February, so this was the first time you would celebrate this day together. In fact, neither of them cared about the date. You could even hear his skeptical voice again, talking about how this celebration made no sense and that it stopped being a proof of unconditional love a long time ago. On the other hand, you had never cared about the date because you had never had someone special enough to show that you were still made of love. Now that you had someone, you wanted to make the date unique.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile, remembering how Spencer looked when you answered him saying that you had the desire to experience the magic of the day at least once. Not shocked, not surprised, but hopeful. The “Me too” that he whispered uncertainly like a secret being eternally kept in your mind. After that day, you started planning how you would spend the celebration, the millions of colored papers full of ideas - and dreams - scattered on the floor of his house being a warm memory in your mind.

But even though the plans were set a few good weeks ago, you - and neither he - could control your nervousness when today finally arrived. Even when you were walking together a few hours ago - him accompanying you to your house as he always did at least once a week - you couldn't hold a decent conversation. There was barely a goodbye, just you running inside the house to get ready and him running to his house to do the same. Now there you were, playing with a small puddle of water in front of you with the boot you had specially chosen while you waited for Spencer to arrive.

It wasn't like him to be late at all, and it was starting to get difficult to control your anxiety. Maybe he gave up. Maybe he realized it was something silly and irrational to celebrate. There were millions of thoughts battling against the small memory of the genuine smile he let out every time he read the post-its with the ideas for the long-awaited day.

Despite his confession when the subject came up, you had never actually talked about Valentine's Day before, much less if he had ever celebrated it. You knew that Spencer had already been in relationships with a few other people before, but you deduced that he had never celebrated the day, probably because he let reason take over, as always. However, deep down, you couldn't help but think that it was because he never allowed himself to celebrate, the idea that he was incapable of being loved rooted in his mind.

You felt pain in your heart, almost like a heart attack, when your relationship grew deeper and you would notice with each encounter these small - big - scratches that he had on his soul. Someone who would like to be seen as normal, to be perceived as someone capable of loving and being loved.

So, you take a deep breath and let the bad thoughts go away. Deep down, this is also his wish, and you accept this fact. You push yourself away from the wall, determined to find a better and more visible spot to make it easier for him. However, you didn't count on finding him standing in front of you when you stopped looking at the floor. And damn, he looked stunning.

His soft and tidy hair, his untidy white t-shirt, the wine-colored cardigan on top showing off his crooked black tie, his slightly wrinkled dress pants quickly revealing the pair of mismatched socks. All of this being soaked up by the dark gray overcoat and the purple scarf. There was literally nothing different about his style, but at the same time there was everything. Maybe it wasn't anything different physically, but whatever it was, was enough to make the thoughts that tormented you before seem like nothing more than a small fraction of an unknown nightmare now.

Spencer clears his throat, trying to bring your attention back to the real world. You can't tell if he's blushing because of the cold or because he's been stared at so intensely, but either way, it's cute. "Sorry I'm late," he says quietly, even though no one else can hear.

"It's okay, we'll still be a few minutes early." You smile playfully and awkwardly stand next to him, ready to go to the first attraction of the day. After millions of desires were buried by a job that took up too much of your time, the final decision was a traditional Valentine's Day schedule so that you could enjoy all the romantic experiences that couples usually have - as much as possible. The first stop would be at a small local theater to watch Romeo and Juliet. Afterwards, you would enjoy a beautiful romantic dinner at a special place, and by that you mean that you would have dinner at Spencer's house. And then, he would walk you home. It sounds simple, but it was more than perfect.

Despite your movement, Reid doesn't move. He looks at you with a tight-lipped smile as he unrolls a black and white fabric from his messenger bag. You hadn't realized it was there and before you know it, he's lovingly wrapping the scarf around your neck.

"I knew you'd forget," he whispers, smiling like a child who's been naughty. You use the scarf as a shield to hide your flushed cheeks, starting to walk quickly after whispering a thank you. The smell of freshly washed clothes with a hint of fresh vanilla is the only thing you can smell now, intoxicating you like a drink.

However, it's not enough to make you not notice the awkward silence between you. You've known each other for a long time and talk a lot, but the idea of something new, a unique - and secret, in a way - celebration between the two of you was too much for both. You snuggle even closer into the scarf and slide your hand closer to his, your pinkies touching. You notice him looking at you from the corner of his eye, a look full of secrets for the others, but not for you. Calmly, he intertwines his fingers with yours, you now walking hand in hand and both of you smiling foolishly behind the scarf.

The play's performance was interesting, but it was hard to concentrate on it while Spencer made several dissatisfied expressions beside you. "It's almost revolting how a play about young love, family rivalry and lack of communication turned into a mere sad story about love at first sight. And I haven't even talked about the imaginary balcony yet!" It was the last thing he said after you left the theater and started walking towards his apartment, distractedly engaging in other matters.

“You can’t deny it, Spence,” you laugh out loud, smiling at his pouting face. “Love moves worlds!”

“It changes realities, that’s what it does,” he mutters, looking irritated, but a playful smile plays on his lips. “A tribute to a bishop who went against an emperor turned into a celebration of love with an exchange of gifts and declarations just because they decided to combine love and romance! And it makes much more sense for the celebration to exist because this is the first day of mating for birds. It’s the order of life!”

“Of course, it makes much more sense for men to leave love messages on their loved ones’ doors because the birds are procreating,” you giggle. “I think I’m talking to the reincarnation of Claudius II and I didn’t know it.” You joke, having even more fun when you notice Spencer pondering his words for a few moments, a furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Technically, men who have nothing to lose are better at war than those who have love,” he pauses, now speaking again with a mischievous smile, “For example, I worked much better before I met you.”

You stop walking, shock written all over your face as you stare at him in disbelief. Spencer laughs, stretching one of his hands to intertwine them. He gently kisses the top of your hand. “Contrary to statistics and facts, I have been working better since we met and you know that very well,” he whispers, still with your hand close to his mouth, his lips brushing against your skin with each movement. You turn your face away, still angry, but taking the opportunity to control the immense urge to kiss him.

However, the whole act ends when you feel something different in your hand - the same one he was holding until just now. You turn your head quickly only to notice the beautiful red rose that magically rested in your hand, its scent so present that even from that distance you could smell it. Paralyzed, you stare at Spencer, mouth open, not knowing what to do. He stares back at you with a smile from ear to ear, his nose red from the cold.

“As someone told me the other day,” he says calmly and amusedly, “It’s worth ignoring the hype, the advertising and the high prices for someone special.”

You can barely react. Twirling the rose between your thumb and index finger, the only thing you can do is control the tears that are welling up in your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve received a flower so full of feelings from someone. A single, simple flower, but it was worth more than an entire field. Spencer calmly waits for you to recover, tenderness sparkling in his eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” you manage to whisper, hugging the flower gently so as not to ruin it or hurt yourself, despite your clothes. “H-How? Since when?”

He shrugs, reaching for your hand again and intertwining it with his, putting both in the pocket of his overcoat as he walks on again. “A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets… and he always has tricks up his sleeve.” He lets a sentence hang in the air, more mysterious than it should be. You stare at him, waiting for him to continue, but you only get a pat on the hand.

The rest of the way was calm and quiet, but comfortable enough for you to process everything, your eyes never leaving the delicate flower resting on your chest. When you arrive at the apartment, you can't help but notice how much - more than ever - this place made you feel like home.

A small smile escapes your lips as Spencer offers to help you remove and put away your coat and scarf. He removes his own scarf and coat as well and offers to put your rose in a container of water so it doesn't die. You hand it to him and as he disappears into the kitchen, you wander through the rows and rows of books, stopping when you notice that the chess pieces were not on the usual table, the moonlight coming through the window and illuminating only the chess board.

"I couldn't think of a better place," you hear Spencer say before looking in your direction, noticing the beautiful vase with several roses that he held in one hand and the tablecloth that he held in the other. He lovingly hands you the jar, smiling softly “I tried to put them all in my bag, but it was a bad idea, so they were waiting for you” he laughs embarrassedly as he arranges the tablecloth on the table.

You smile from ear to ear, enchanted by the beauty of the flowers, and place the vase in the center of the table so you can help him set up the rest of the romantic dinner. When everything was finished, you stop for a few moments to appreciate it and can't help but smile when your gaze lingers between the two chairs. As your relationship with Spencer deepened, a second chair began to appear frequently at the chess table, a sweet reminder of all the times you played there - and that, now, was even part of the scenery in his apartment -.

You sit there, smiling amusedly when Spencer reappears with a lit candle in his hand. "Waiter, please" you joke. He looks at you with arched eyebrows, carefully placing the candle next to the flowers. "On average, more than 7,000 candle fires happen here in the country each year".

You laugh nasally, fascinated by the moment "Thank you, Spence… I don't even know what to say. Everything is so… right, so romantic".

“It’s the least I could do and… I actually wish I had cooked, but time…” he scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“It’s perfect, seriously. Next time we’ll cook together and you’ll see my culinary skills,” you say, making a silly smile appear on his face as he nods positively.

You eat and talk calmly for a long time, enjoying each other’s company. When darkness already dominates the streets, you realize it’s time to end the night. After helping Spencer put things back in their proper places, you pause in the middle of the room on your way out, pondering what to do. It was still Valentine’s Day and you hadn’t kissed.

However, in these last moments, Spencer seemed more spaced out and lost in his own thoughts, probably overwhelmed by the emotions of the day. You feel bad for a moment, wondering if you hadn’t forced it too much with him. So, you choose to quickly grab your flowers and your coat, your little goodbye speech already on the tip of your tongue.

“Wait,” Spencer, who was standing there watching you get ready, spoke hurriedly and, after making sure you weren’t leaving yet, disappeared into his room, returning moments later hugging an object to his chest. He walked until he was close to you, but never stopped looking at what he had in his arms. Looking closely now, you noticed that it was a somewhat old book, with some obvious marks on the cover and spine.

Spencer opened and closed his mouth several times, but unable to say anything, he just handed the book to you. Parlement of Foules was printed in large letters.

“T-This is considered the first Valentine’s Day poem,” he said uncertainly, his tone lower than normal, as if he wasn’t talking to you. “For this was on St. Valentine’s Day, when every fowl comes there his mate to take… is a 700-line poem that follows the tradition of dream vision poetry, a medieval literary style, and Chaucer uses it to discuss romantic love and freedom of choice… my mother read it to me when I was a child” he finishes in a whisper so low that you doubt if you heard it right. You press the book against your fingers, understanding the weight that it implied.

Spencer bites his lip, but resumes speaking, now with a more confident tone “It was a poem that stuck in my memory, more than any other and… given today’s date I would like it… to become important to you too. It’s the second copy my mother had in case something happened to the first one… but nothing ever happened and well… one copy is enough for me” he smiles embarrassedly, scratching the back of his neck “I-I left some notes throughout the book, too, so you would always feel accompanied while reading and… well, know my opinions about it”

“Couldn’t you read it to me too?” The question escapes your lips, your eyes glazed over the book as you caress the cover with interest.

Spencer is taken aback by the question, but a small smile plays on his lips. “I could too, of course” he paused again, now looking at you expectantly “There’s one more thing in there…”

You press your lips together and stare at him. Passion, surprise, affection… you felt so many things in that moment that not even the cold wind outside could cool the warmth that permeates your heart. You delicately open the book, noticing a writing on the title page. It was in pencil, and the marks from previous attempts were still there as if they were telling you a secret, but they didn’t get in the way of reading the large, hurried letters.

You can only teach a child to love by loving them. Johann Goethe, From your Spencer

A small drop falls onto the page, briefly staining the paper. You then realize that tears are streaming down your face, even though a tender smile has not left your lips. Spencer comes even closer, taking the book from your hand so he can hold it in his. With his other hand, he slowly passes it over your face, wiping away the small drops that insisted on running down.

“The whole discussion of the poem revolves around love… whether people are destined to be together or whether they have the right to choose, whether by passion, affinity or social conventions.” He speaks delicately, never taking his eyes off you. “Love is everyone’s final destiny, but it is a complex, free and uncertain process that, honestly, is still the action of hormones and neurotransmitters…” He bites his lips, quickly looking away to look at you again, determined. “But even so, even though it is not destiny… I firmly believe and I am more than happy to know that I made all the correct choices that led us to meeting.”

Honestly, fuck it. You put your hands around his face, cradling him, and bring him closer to you. Your lips touch gently, and you can't focus on anything else. Spencer timidly holds your waist, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. Delicately, he starts to run his hands over your body as if he were appreciating a work of art until he reaches your face, where he caresses the side of your cheek with one hand and pulls you even closer with the other - if that's possible -. You separate from the kiss panting, but remain close, your foreheads touching. Spencer calmly places a tender kiss on your nose, then your forehead and, finally, on the top of your head, enjoying every second.

When you look at each other again, the only thing you can whisper are several "Thank yous". He smiles lovingly, still caressing your face.

“I don’t even know how to thank you, Spence,” you whisper. “You gave me so much today, with so much love, so much dedication… and I only gave you a meager little letter with messages that you surely already knew… I really don’t know how to repay you.”

His smile widens and when he answers, you feel like you’ve finally found your place. “Nothing could surpass the happiness your letter brought me, love, there’s nothing you can repay. However, it would make me even happier if you slept here…”

Author's note 2: Hello there! If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I'm also on c.ai with the same user @/wrioreid, but the process of making the bots is going veryyy slowly.

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brothersfuck · 2 days ago

Note

YOUR GIRL!SAM HC’S OMG.

any thoughts on weecest and dean coming to the realisation he wants to fuck his little sister?

Omg yes yes YES I've been thinking about it so hard and so long that when I came back to check my inbox and saw this I almost passed out [Here's a warning!! this post contains mentions of SA(but not between Sam and dean), please click off if you're uncomfy, thank you!!]

Dean didn't really realize it just like that one day, it was more of a build up to find the treasure, like a car drive until you reach the gas station kind of realization

Like that one time where John left them alone in a two bed motel and Sam, poor little girl, woke up from a nightmare and shook Dean hard enough to wake him just so she could snuggle under his arm

Whenever that happened, he'd crane his head down and sniff her hair (smells like dandelions and being out in the sun too much, dean told me so), wrap his arms around her body and close his eyes too hard when he'd feel the blood rush down

It couldn't have been his fault, it wasn't his fault, he was a teenager--he had hormones. But hugging his soft twelve year old sister and getting horny over that? He really needed to question his morals. Or maybe he needed a drink, whichever one made the strain in his pants go away first

He tried to cover it up as much as possible, even explaining it to himself the best he could. It was just girls, just girls. He liked girls, he kissed girls; lots of them, so maybe it's just some kind of trigger in his brain to get rock solid when he's cuddling his little sister who's, also a girl?

Whatever. The thing is. Dean definitely wasn't attracted to his little sister.

When Sam turned thirteen, she stopped trying to cuddle up under Dean's arms after nightmares anymore, she'd wake up in cold sweat, grab a flashlight, and read a book in total silence, sat against the corner farthest away from his brother

Dean noticed, of course, like all good big brothers do, and even felt a little disappointed in that. It was a tradition at this point, that he'd be the one to protect her from all the bad, keep her clean and virgin, but he understood that Sam was at that age where things get unbalanced and the world feels too big or the room feels too small so he tries to help out as much as possible

When Sam has questions, he actually answers. What questions he can't answer, he takes Sam to a nearby library and lets her read up on things. When Sam has questions about boys and relationships and love, Dean tenses and sweats. He knows all about relationships and love, hell, he's had some rough make out sessions with girls under the school bleachers so yeah, he knows about love

But boys?

Really?

Sam wasn't prepared for that. Sam wasn't prepared for anything, matter of fact, Dean was the only boy aside from dad, maybe, that Sam should ever even talk to! Yes, he was speaking crazy inside his head, but it made no sense to Dean why Sam needed other boys, he was right here wasn't he? Was he a bad older brother? Was Sam getting rebellious?

Was he just jealous?

Sam stopped asking those kinds of questions when Dean stopped trying to steer the conversation to some other topic and outright just started to tell Sam that she wasn't ready. Sam was ready, hell she was thirteen, so what was Dean even worrying about?

This topic led to Sam's first ever late night sneak out, she was secretive, you had to give her that, and extremely quiet--when your father's a soldier you have to learn what wakes him up and what doesn't. She'd been talking to a boy she met behind the school her and her brother go to (for the meantime) and he was just there, reading, away from the noise and sweaty sport kids

Safe to say they got along pretty well, and under the guise of researching on the net about monsters or whatever, she even managed to keep their chats secret from Dean!

When she sneaked out and went to that dark park expecting a scrawny boy to show up carrying books they could both read together, she was right. Nerd kid number one was there, but no books. She greeted him like she usually would and asked where the books were only to be greeted with a harsh grab to the face and a forced kiss, teeth clanking against teeth and her hands trying to push him away. Once. Twice. On the third try, she managed to get him off, but not before he already felt up her chest and kissed down on her neck

Fuck! She underestimated boys at this age, boys and men..she was prepared, she thought she was..and besides, a scrawny kid wanting to kiss and make out? That doesn't fit the criteria at all! And why was he so strong?

The thoughts ran as fast as she did, away from that park, away from that boy, away from the disgusting sensation of hands on her chest. She was mad. And crying. Like having a nightmare

When she got back to the motel room, she didn't bother being quiet. The door handle rattled like an anxious before giving way to a crying, heaving Sam, and this time, Dean woke up to it.

Groggy, yet used to being awakened so suddenly, he caught glance of Sam running up to the side of his motel bed and sniffling out a "Dean, dean...can I please sleep in your bed.."

Dean is ecstatic.

He shushes and coos at Sam, and for once, she lets him. She's so eager to cuddle up against her brother that she doesn't notice the hard bulge pressing against the small of her back, doesn't notice Dean's hand splaying over her stomach, because it's her brother, and her brother would never..

She keeps on crying and eventually, Dean has to ask why she is. She tells him about how she's sorry for talking to a boy behind his back, about how she's sorry she sneaked out and went to meet with him, about how his hands...his lips..

His lips. On hers.

Dean reached the metaphorical gas station, driving his metaphorical car, when his arms tightened around her and comforted her to sleep and his nose stuck to her hair like a claim, like maybe if he held her tighter then what that boy did, stealing her first kiss away from someone who deserved it more, would be erased

Sam goes to school the next day with Dean trailing behind her, and she hears the whispers of other students talking to each other about a kid who went to their school found dead in a ditch and she knows..she knows dean knows she does, and without exchanging a glance, she keeps moving

Because it's terrifying knowing your brother would kill anyone who laid their hands on you

But it's even more terrifying finding out he did it because his hands should be the only ones on your skin

#tw sa mention #tw sa #cw age g@p #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #samdean #fem sam winchester #sam/dean #dean/sam #wincest #weecest #cw sa

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runningincircl3s · 2 days ago

Text

Nothing Ever After

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Vinny Mauro

The End- Part Two

chapter warning: get the tissues x masterlist

we're finally here. it's the end! i feel like a proud parent and this is my child... but happy valentines day guys!! i spent most of the day adding the finishing touches to this and even though i'm still not completely happy with it i want to post it anyway!! i've also been getting really invested in the next thing i'm working on... which will be revealed on monday :) also for the final chapter i thought i'd share my playlist that i'd have on whilst writing

← Post •••

@/MotionlessInWhiteTea:

Why I think Y/n Y/l/n shouldn’t be working in the scene, a thread

Disclaimer: The majority of this is simply rumours, but there is also photo evidence. Personally I think she has been acting very unprofessionally during this tour and I haven’t seen anyone talk about it. So here’s what I have to say.

Your throat dried up, the world around you stopped moving, yet you felt dizzy. This wasn't real, was it?

1/7 First of all, she only got this job because of her connections to Bad Omens- being friends with Bryan. Not because of her skill level or because she’s a good photographer (debatable). I bet she hassled them until she got what she wanted

2/7 Now what I really want to talk about is her unprofessional relationships with the bands. There’s been a picture circulating of her kissing Vinny (miw) at what appeared to be a family party? His family’s party. Why was she even there? [insert picture]

3/7 But this isn’t all, look at the dress she’s wearing in that photo, and then this one [insert picture of you and Noah and the record label party] it’s the same dress. This means people can't say "maybe it was someone who looks like her?" No. it WAS HER

4/7 And even just LAST NIGHT, she was spotted with Noah at a concert, I’ve seen pictures, everyone’s seen the pictures. I’ve also been told by multiple people she was even seen kissing and making out with him towards the end of the show? WHAT THE HELL

5/7 She seems really close with Vinny, have you seen the way she lights up when she talks about him in the interview she did at the festival they played at? and she made excuses to talk about him? They’re always spending time together, and if you looked closely in the background of this picture Vinny posted on his story, he was in his hotel room but you can clearly see her stuff on the bed. I can only assume this means they’ve been sleeping together? [insert picture]

6/7 A lot of people have been speculating, saying she’s been seen leaving hotel rooms with Noah and Vinny on separate occasions, do they know about this? Or is she just the band’s shared groupie who happens to own a camera?

7/7 I really don’t think this is very professional and it needs addressing. She needs to sort this out before even considering a career in the scene- if she’ll have a career since this will forever be haunting her. And, I for one will not be listening to the bands who choose to support her!

You couldn't believe what you were reading.

Everything you had been hiding for weeks, months, was just out there. On the internet.

“Fuck, y/n have you seen this?” Ricky rushes over in a panic, showing you the same post, but you can’t say anything. You don't react.

You swallow hard, standing up from your chair in an attempt to leave, but that was made impossible.

“What’s going on?” Noah asks, rather concerned as comes up behind you, putting an arm around your shoulder.

He catches a glimpse of the picture of you kissing Vinny on Rick’s phone. You feel Noah’s body stiffen all of a sudden, and you turn to look up at him with tears in your eyes, you swallow back the lump in your throat as you shake your head.

“Noah…”

“No." He lets go of you. "Ricky, can I?” He nods to his phone, and Rick hands it over to Noah.

You stand there frozen as he scrolls through the post. You hear his breathing become heavier, rougher, the more he read. You could feel the anger, the betrayal, the disappointment almost radiating off of him.

In a desperate attempt, you reach out for him, stumbling over your words.

“I... I can explain…” You stuttered.

“Oh, you can?” Noah raised his eyebrows, looking down at you with an expression you had never seen on him before, “What the fuck is there to explain?!”

“But…”

“No!” He shouted, and you could see his eyes fill with tears, “I knew it all along. I fucking knew it!" He scoffed, a humourless laugh falling from his lips, "You’ve been lying to me. For three goddamn months?! And this is how I find out?!"

There was nothing you could do, nothing you could say.

"And you had the fucking audacity to tell me you loved me last night? Was that just a lie too? Huh?”

“No!” You sobbed, covering your mouth with your hand, “I was going to tell V-”

“I don’t care. I don't fucking care! I trusted you. Y/n, I trusted you. You know exactly how my last relationship ended, and you still do this to me? If that isn’t the biggest fuck you then I don’t know what is.”

“Can I please have a chance to explain-”

“No! Nothing you can do or say will fix the fact that you’ve been screwing him the entire time we’ve been together!”

“Hey,” Angela piped up, “The two of you were never actually together.”

“That’s not the point, and stay out of this, this is between us." Noah points at you, "You have told me time and time again that there was nothing going on between you and Vin, you were insisting you were just friends, but you were just lying straight to my face! The both of you! I was stupid enough to believe you because I loved you!”

“Noah, I was scared!” You cry, “It wasn't meant to happen and then... I couldn't stop and... I was scared I’d lose you if you found out! I didn't want-”

“So I wasn’t good enough for you?” He scoffed, throwing his head back in anger, running a shaky hand through his hair, “I wasn’t enough?”

“No! Noah, please, can we go somewhere else and talk about this?”

“No. You’ve said enough. You've done enough.” He said, shaking his head. You watch a stray tear roll down his cheek, and you feel your heart break into a million pieces. “We’re done, whatever we are, whatever you thought we were, it’s over. I’ve spent years protecting myself from this, because this isn’t the first time I’ve been lied to like this, and you know it. I can’t believe you.”

And with that, he took his keys and left. You wanted to chase him out, follow him and apologise, but your legs wouldn't take you, leaving you to cry your heart out in Angela’s arms.

“What the fuck was that?” Ryan asked, as the others all stared.

"I think the party's over." Rick sighed, "We'll be lucky if the tour isn't over."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

@/badomensofficial

We regret to announce that, due to personal circumstances within the band, we will not be performing for the last two nights of the Touring The End of The Concrete Jungle Tour. We are so sorry to be announcing this on the date of one of the shows, but this decision was incredibly difficult, but it is necessary for us to prioritise the well-being of our members at this time.

We deeply apologise to everyone who was looking forward to seeing us and appreciate your understanding and support. Motionless in White will be playing as scheduled, but we won't be there.

We’ll be back as soon as we can to make it up to you, but in the meantime we’re also working on our next record. We will see you again, friends.

With love,

Nicholas, Jolly and Folio

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You stared at the post through swollen eyes, having been up most of the night crying again. After Noah left the party, he didn't answer his phone, he hasn’t replied to anybody’s texts, and nobody knew where he had gone.

He was kind enough to dump your bags outside the venue, from the night before. You collected them as Shae drove you to the hotel after Rick called off the party.

You couldn’t believe what happened that night, the majority of it felt like a blur, you barely remember what the tweet said, but you had to sign out of all your accounts because the messages you were receiving weren’t the kindest, and you weren't in the best place to be reading them.

Your plans for the future, to move in with Noah, was seemingly thrown out of the window, you were so glad you didn’t tell Andy you were backing out.

You were back to square one again, wondering if this was really what you wanted.

As you rolled over in your bed again to charge your phone, you hear a knock at your door. You didn’t want to answer it, you didn’t want to face anybody today.

“Y/n! I know you’re awake!” It was Angela, “And I know this is your room!”

Sighing, you got out of bed and opened the door for her.

“What’s up?” You asked as she carefully shut the door behind her.

“What’s up is I just walked in on an old guy screwing his wife! I thought your room was on the fourth floor and the door was slightly open so-“

“Angela,” you frowned, “I know you came to check up on me, I’m okay. I just need some space.”

“Oh… That’s okay!” She smiled, “I wanted to check up on you, nobody's heard from you yesterday and you just left so suddenly that night, I had to fill Vinny in on what happened so expect a visit from him when he finally wakes up.”

“Great.” You frown, “Did the guys… Say anything?”

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Do they all hate me?” You felt your bottom lip quiver as you asked her, and her eyes softened as she pulled you in for a hug.

“No! Of course not!” She reassured you, “All the Motionless guys are on your side, baby, you and Noah weren’t exclusive, therefore you were allowed to see other people. Bad Omens however… Jolly’s pretty pissed off, and Bryan.”

“Bry?”

“They don’t want to see their friend hurt.” She explains, stroking your hair, “They’ll come around eventually. The rest don’t really care, it’s none of their business anyway.”

“How’s Vin?” You ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Does he feel guilty too? He was in on it, he lied to Noah for me.”

“I think so- What’s that?” She asked, looking over at your phone on the nightstand.

“Bad Omens have pulled out.” You frown, “There’s only two nights left, I'm guessing Noah's gone off the rails or something.”

“Shit, really? I hope he’s okay, he was in quite a state.”

“I know, Ang. It keeps me up, he’s all I can think about…” You sigh, “I told him after the concert that I wanted us to really give it a go, I saw a future with him... I was going to tell Andy I couldn’t make the tour with them and-”

“Andy?” She furrowed her brows, “Andy as in…?”

“Andy from Black Veil.” You nodded, “When I went to the record label party with Noah and the guys I met him and he said he’s seen my work and wondered if I was available to come on tour with them in a few weeks.”

“What?” Her jaw dropped, “Does Vin know this?”

“No… I haven't had the chance to tell him yet.” You frown, “Why would it bother him?”

“Well…” She hesitated for a moment, “I think you should go and talk to him.”

“Why? What’s he said?”

“Nothing… I think he just…" She held her hands up in defeat, "I can’t, I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”

You nodded your head, looking around the room for your hoodie.

“Do you know what room he’s in?”

“216, him and Rick are sharing though which might be a problem.”

“I don’t care anymore, Ang, everything's out now, I’ve got nothing left to hide.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You knocked on Vinny’s hotel door, staring down at your feet as you waited for him to open it.

“What are you doing here?” Ricky asked, surprised to see you.

“Can I speak to Vinny?” You asked, clearing your throat.

“He’s in the shower,” Ricky said, opening the door for you, “I’m about to go out and get a coffee, I guess you can sit and wait for him.”

“You guess?” You smiled faintly.

Ricky smiled back before slipping his shoes on.

“Just don’t fuck on my bed, please. It’s all I ask.”

“That’s not what I’m here for...” You shake your head, “I just wanted to talk to him after the other night.”

“Has anyone heard from Noah yet?”

“No,” you shake your head, “And if they did I’m sure they wouldn’t tell me. Not even Bryan’s talking to me at the moment.”

“Shit,” Rick frowned, “Look, if it’s any consolation, we’re on your side. You had every right to have fun and mess about with other people if you and Noah weren’t anything serious, I get he’s pissed about the lying though.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not me you need to apologise to,” he chuckled, “See you later.”

“Bye, Rick.”

You sat in silence for a couple minutes, waiting until you heard the shower turn off. You thought of what you would say to Vinny, what even was there to say?

“Oh, hi,” he smiled as he walked out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his hips as he dried his curls with another, “How are you doing?”

“Not too good,” you sigh, “You?”

“I feel awful.”

“I just keep thinking to myself… What if I just kept it all professional? Why couldn’t I have just controlled myself? Now I’ve lost... Everyone!” You sob.

“You haven’t,” his voice softened, “You’ve still got the guys, Angela... Me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But Vinny…” You look up at him through teary eyes, and he could tell where this was going.

He shook his head.

“No. No, don’t do this.”

“I've been thinking-"

"Don't you fucking..."

"You deserve better, Vinny.” You swallow hard, fighting back tears, “I’m so sorry… For everything I’ve put you through. You didn’t deserve it. You’re a great guy, you’re probably my favourite person I’ve ever met, you mean the world to me Vin, but I put you through hell and for what?”

“And I knew what I was getting into, fuck I’m getting deja vu here,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but to no avail, “I couldn’t have just ignored you, y/n. Not when I fell in love with you the first time I ever saw you. It would've been impossible.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?” He chuckled.

“I… Vinny... you…?”

“Remember that first night, the party, when I spilled your drink? I saw you and that guy, I was watching you two from across the room, and when I saw him lean in to kiss you…”

“That’s when you knocked into me.” It was like pieces of a puzzle were finally coming together in your brain.

“Everything could’ve been totally different if that never happened, I never knew it would end like this, and if I could go back in time I'd change it all. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise.”

“I should, though. It’s my fault this all happened in the first place, y/n.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I knew Noah was into you. We all did. But that didn’t stop me, did it?”

You watched him shake his head.

“I watched him fall for you, I saw him with you everyday” Vinny admitted, voice shaking. “And I let it happen anyway. Because I- I was selfish, I couldn’t stop myself. Even when I told myself I should. Even when I knew what it would do to him. I knew it would tear everything apart.” His voice cracked, his eyes welling with tears. “But I did it anyway. Because I wanted you. God, I wanted you.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you whispered

“But I was the one who kissed you first.”

Vinny’s lips parted slightly, but he said nothing.

“I knew how I felt about Noah,” you continued, voice shaking. “And yet, I still couldn’t wrap my head around what I felt for you, I still can't now! It's something I’ve never felt before. Something I don't understand. It was new and exciting, and I loved every moment I’d spend with you,” You exhaled a shuddering breath. “Vin, I love everything about you.”

You got up and Vinny took a step closer, but you shook your head, pressing a trembling hand to his chest.

“And that’s what makes this so fucking cruel.”

His brows furrowed.

“Y/N…”

Tears blurred your vision as you looked at him, memorising every detail, his parted lips, his glossy eyes, the crease between his brows.

“I love you,” you choked out. “And yet I still let myself hurt you.”

Vinny shook his head, reaching out to grab your wrist.

“No. No, you didn’t-”

“I did,” you sobbed. “I did. I ruined everything. And I can’t fix it, Vin. I can’t. I don’t deserve to…" Your eyes met his, before whispering, "I don’t deserve you.”

His grip on you tightened.

“Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that.”

Your chest ached with the weight of it all.

“Through everything, you were willing to stay by my side. Even when I had to push you away, you understood. No other man on this planet would’ve done that.”

“It’s because I love you.” He said, almost pleading with you, “I realise now that I was willing to do whatever you wanted me to because I just wanted you to be happy. If that was with Noah, then I would’ve wished you two the best of luck. If you needed time, I was happy to wait. I would've waited as long as you needed, I just...”

“Vinny…”

“No… I think I should give you your birthday gift now…”

You watched him dig through his suitcase before pulling out a small box.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it or anything.” He apologised, handing it over to you as he quickly got dressed.

As you opened it, you felt your heart sink even further.

It was a key.

“Wh- What’s this for?” You ask, taking it out of the box.

“It’s a key.”

“I can see that,” you laughed through your tears, “Where to?”

“My house.” He said, “This is going to sound so stupid to say out loud given everything that just happened, but I just assumed in the end you’d pick me over Noah. Just because… I thought if he really meant something to you then you’d drop me, but you never did. I’m sorry, it seems stupid now, but I was going to ask if after the tour finishes you’d maybe want to move in? I need a new roommate, and there’s nobody else I’d be able to live with besides you. And our photographer’s pretty much quit so I was going to suggest you join us full time.”

“I can’t do this.” You say, shaking your head and heading for the door.

You still haven't told him.

“It’s not you Vin, I promise.”

Before you could go anywhere, he caught your wrist.

“What do you mean?” His whole body went rigid.

“I’m so sorry, Vinny…” You forced yourself to swallow past the lump in your throat. “I- I’m going back on the road… with Black Veil Brides. In three weeks.”

His face fell.

His grip on your wrist slackened, and you could feel the moment his heart shattered.

“…You’re what?”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you, Vin, I’m so sorry.” Your voice cracked. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You reached for him, desperate, but he took a slow step back, shaking his head.

For the first time since you’d met him, Vinny truly had nothing to say.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything.

“Vin?”

“How long have you known this?”

“...About a month.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me? Not once did it cross your mind?” He spat.

“I didn’t think it would matter.”

Vinny shook his head.

“What happened to wishing me the best?” You raised an eyebrow, your voice quieter now, “This is my dream, Vinny. I’m sorry I didn’t consider you in it.”

“No.” Vinny swallowed, nodding his head, “I’m sorry. I’m happy for you, it’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all. I’m so happy for you… I just wished you would’ve told me.”

You smiled faintly.

“I should’ve. I'm sorry.” You said, before reaching out for his hand. “You’re too good to me, Vinny. You've but nothing but good to me. Maybe in another life, another time, things would’ve been different. Maybe we would’ve met earlier, found each other sooner. Things would’ve been less complicated, I would’ve been able to give you my all.”

“W-We can still try.” Vinny offered, but you shook your head.

“I think I need to clear my head first, Vin. It’s been nothing but chaos for the last three months, I need to clear my name and focus on my career and make that my main priority before anything else.”

“I’ll always be here for you, y/n.” He said, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, you could tell this was a front, and he was holding back on his real emotions, “Whether it’s just as your friend, or more, I’ll always be here.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, your voice breaking as he pulled you in for a hug. “Really, Vinny. Thank you.”

The two of you pulled away, and you wiped the tears from your eyes.

“So... Do you know what you're going to do about Noah?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to try and fix things?”

“I want us to be on good terms, I want us all to be on good terms with each other. But I think it’ll take a while for him to come around. I hurt him really badly, I hurt both of you, and I understand that he needs space, it’s a lot for him to process.”

Vinny nodded his head.

“Let things cool down first, that’s a good idea.”

You stood there in front of him, a comfortable silence in the room. Until he he spoke again,

“Have you heard we’ve got a new song coming out?” Vinny asked, “I wrote it, or the majority of it.”

“No!” You raise an eyebrow, “What’s it called?”

“I think we’ve decided on Nothing Ever After.”

You furrow your eyebrows, but you don’t question it.

“Sounds cool, do you know when it's coming out?”

“At the end of the week, but we’re playing it tomorrow night for the first time… But there’s something I need you to know, and I don’t want to upset you at all.”

“What is it?”

“It’s kind of about us… About you.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After going back to your room, you booked a flight home for that night, despite Vinny's attempts to keep you.

You said your goodbyes to all the guys, Angela, and Vinny, they still didn’t want to let you go, but they understood your decision.

"We'll miss you." Chris smiled, pulling you in for a hug, "I know you weren't originally supposed to be our photographer, but you've really done a great job."

"Thanks, Chris." You smiled, afraid to say anything to anyone else. Especially Vin.

Ryan drove you to the airport, which you thanked him for. It was even tough to say goodbye to him, and the two of you didn't even spend that much time together.

As you walked through the airport you were almost waiting to see Noah, you wouldn’t admit it, but you were wishing he’d come running in, call your name and you'd go running into his arms.

But there was nobody. Nobody to stop you, nobody to tell you this wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

You checked in, went through security, and found yourself sitting at the gate, staring at the stupid pet rocks Vinny had given you.

Your fingers curled around the one painted like him, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turned white. You had no idea what you were doing. If this was the right choice. If you were running away again.

Maybe in another life, you would’ve stayed.

Maybe in another life, you would’ve picked Vinny from the start.

Maybe in another life, Noah would’ve fought for you.

But in this one, you knew you had to let them both go.

Once you were sat in your seat, preparing to switch your phone off and sleep on the way home, you received a text.

Hey, y/n! Hope you’re doing well! I’m so sorry to have to do this, but our management said we can’t take you with us on our upcoming tour due to the recent news about your relationships with members of the bands you’ve been working with. I just need you to know, this isn’t a decision I’ve made, I was against this as I would’ve loved you to join us, but it’s out of my control. I’m so sorry, y/n, but I wish you the best.

Stay in touch. Andy

You felt like you had been shot in the chest.

As if things couldn’t get any worse.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“So, I was thinking… We should play the new song tomorrow. I know I said save it for the next tour but what do you think?” Vin asked as he wiped his arms down with a towel, trying to get off the remainder of his body paint before getting changed. “It’s the last night, let’s give ‘em something new.”

“I like your thinking.” Chris smiled, “But I also know what the true meaning behind this song is, even if you won’t admit it"

Vinny didn’t respond, just kept scrubbing at the black paint on his forearms.

"Are you sure you’re ready to put this out whilst everything’s still so raw?”

Vinny let out a slow exhale and shrugged.

“I don’t care, to be totally honest.” He finally met Chris’ gaze in the mirror. “Let them think what they want to think.”

Justin, who had been half-listening while scrolling on his phone, turned around.

“Wait. I know you helped write the song, but… is it really about her?”

Vinny tossed the towel into his laundry bag.

“Maybe.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe not.”

Later that night, on the bus, he lied in his bunk with his phone in his hands, staring at your contact name.

He shouldn’t text you.

But he wanted to. Wanted to check if you got home safe. If you were okay. If you were happy, or as happy as you could be. He also wanted to give you a heads-up about tomorrow night. Maybe even ask for permission.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he finally gave in.

Hey, I hope you got home safe. Just know that while you’re sleeping happily in your own bed, I’m out here getting back pain from the bunks lmao.

We’re thinking about playing that new song tomorrow night. Would it be okay?

You walked into your bedroom after brushing your teeth, settling under the covers before reaching for your phone on the nightstand. You saw you had two messages from Vinny.

You hesitated before typing back.

Surely, I should be the first to hear it.

Vinny stared at your reply. His thumb hovered over the screen.

Should he?

You were gone. And for all he knew, he might never see you again.

He sighed, then hit send.

[1 Video Attachment]

I know my singing isn’t the best, but I recorded this the other week. I’ve been writing lyrics ever since I first felt I was losing you to Noah, not that you were ever mine to lose. At first, it was just random lines, but then I remembered we had that track from Illenium. Chris hadn’t worked on lyrics for it yet, so I showed him what I had. He loved it. So with his help, we turned it into something real.

Please don’t get mad. I just needed to get it out of my head.

…

The next day, you still hadn’t opened the video. Or even replied.

You couldn’t.

It sat there in your messages, taunting you. Every time you picked up your phone, your eyes flickered to the notification, to his name. But your thumb always hesitated, hovered, then swiped away.

Instead, you went about your day, throwing yourself into anything that could possibly serve as a distraction. You practically begged your manager to take you back, pleaded for any opportunity. You needed something for the meantime as you had been in contact with a few bands, asking about work, but deep down you knew the truth. No one would call. No one would offer you work.

Not after everything.

The entire scene knew by now, for all the wrong reasons. You weren’t a photographer anymore, you were a fucking scandal, a lesson to be learned, a warning of what not to do.

By the time you got home, you felt hollow. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on you, but you didn’t sleep, how could you? You stared at your ceiling, phone clutched in your hand, Angela’s texts illuminating the dark room.

He’s not okay.

You stared at the message for a long time.

I’ve never seen him like this. He barely talked before the show. He’s throwing himself into playing like it’s the only thing keeping him standing. I want to help but I don't know how.

Your breath hitched.

You wanted to type something back, anything, but what could you even say? That it wasn’t your problem anymore? He should get over it?

That it was easier this way?

Lies. Every single one of them.

Angela’s next text sent a chill up your spine.

They’re about to go on.

Your heart lurched knowing that song was going to be played at this show and you still hadn't heard it.

Your fingers hovered over Vinny’s contact. You could ignore it. You should ignore it.

But you didn’t.

Instead, with a shaky breath, you tapped the message thread and pressed play.

Vinny was sat at a piano?

Your breath stuttered.

Since when did he play?

He didn’t look at the camera. His head was bowed, fingers ghosting over the keys. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, but steady.

But his words hit you like a punch to the stomach.

If you fall, then I will too, into nothing ever after. Do we have to face the truth, or look away, neglect the wounds? All the warning signs we refused to see, like a hurricane that’s drowning me.

The breath left your lungs.

You clenched your jaw, curling your fingers into your palm. The phone shook slightly in your grip.

So we build it up just to tear it down But the pieces don’t fit now. We’re falling apart, we’re fading away Pretending the damage doesn’t matter.

It hurt.

Not because of his voice, but because of the truth in his words. And knowing he had written this.

You had both caused this.

You pressed the phone against your chest, squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn't listen to the rest.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, how long you tried to swallow down the lump in your throat.

Then your screen lit up again.

Angela.

They just announced the new song.

You didn’t move.

Chris just said the title.

You didn’t need to read the next text.

You knew what it was called.

You knew exactly what it was called.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

On stage, the lights pulsed as the crowd roared and cheered.

Vinny sat behind his kit, head down, drumsticks clenched so tight his hands trembled.

We've been dreaming wide awake, feeding poison to each other. It's too hard to walk away, 'cause it's easier to suffer.

He should’ve done everything differently.

He should’ve fought harder. He should've tried harder.

But it was too late.

"Everybody fucking JUMP!" Chris shouted out to the crowd.

The floor of the venue shook. The crowd screamed, fists in the air, bodies moving to the music, completely unaware of the war raging inside the mind of the man behind the drums.

Vinny slammed into the drums like his life depended on it. Like if he just hit hard enough, he could beat the pain out of his own chest. Hit after hit, faster, louder, pouring every ounce of frustration, heartbreak, and regret into the set, until his vision blurred.

Until he felt something hot and wet hit his hands.

Tears.

He barely noticed at first.

But Angela did.

She saw everything.

The way his head dropped lower. The way his shoulders curled in. The way his hands trembled between hits.

The song was coming to its climax, but Vinny didn’t feel the energy of the crowd anymore.

He felt his own heart breaking all over again.

We're fallin' apart, we're fading away Pretending the damage doesn't matter. Ignoring the scars, but now it's too late We settle for nothing ever after...

Nothing.

The lights pulsed red.

His chest felt hollow, his head spun.

And still, he played.

Even as his drumsticks cracked under the force of his grip. Even as the tears blurred his vision. Even as he felt like he was seconds away from shattering completely.

Because that’s all he could do.

Play until there was nothing left.

Play until he felt something.

Play until the past was nothing more than an echo in the back of his mind.

Play until he forgot.

But how could he forget?

How could he forget the way you looked next to him in bed in the mornings, hair a tangled mess, eyes still heavy with sleep as you blinked up at him like you weren’t quite sure if you were awake yet?

How could he forget the way you used to look in his hoodies, when you'd steal one and curl up beside him, your warmth pressing into his side like you belonged there?

How could he forget the way he made you laugh, a sound so full of life that it made his chest ache?

How could he forget the way you looked at him?

Like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Like you loved him.

But if you loved him, why did you leave?

Why was it so easy for you to walk away while he was still here, drowning in everything you left behind?

Why did it feel like he was the only one who couldn’t move on?

We settle for nothing...

And as the song finally came to an end, he let himself breathe.

There would be no more hiding. No more looking over his shoulder, waiting for Noah’s glare. No more having to bite his tongue.

It was out now and he didn't care.

Because now he had nothing left to lose.

Ever after.

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

i am so so sorry to everyone who was excited to find out who she ends up with but the title of the fic is nothing ever after... it was always going to end this way :') BUT if you're still here reading this i'm going to spoil something. it's not over. i have 2 sequels for this fic. TWO!! ONE FOR THE VINNY GIRLIES. ONE FOR NOAH GIRLIES!! i'm already on chapter 15 of the vin fic (which is literally insane but i've been writing it on and off for two months now) and i'm on chapter 5 of the noah one which i finally started last week, but i know there are literally NO fics for vinny so that was kinda my priotity :) THANK YOU FOR READING AND IM SORRY FOR THE ENDING LMAO I LOVE YOU!! <33

@rumoured-whispers @bloody-spades @lma1986 @thisbicc @dominuslunae @miss570 @miamore0570 @jilliemiw86 @itsyaboinoah @kait16xo @discocowgirly @rainy-darling

#nothing ever after <3 #noah sebastian x reader #vinny mauro x reader #vinny mauro fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfic #motionless in white fanfic #vinny mauro #noah sebastian

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futuremrscameron · 2 days ago

Text

how the !readers celebrate valentine’s day

bahamian!reader

bahamian!reader is neutral about the holiday but rafe is excited and going all out. their first valentines was the most laid back and it was a first class trip to the bahamas

every valentine's day is a friendly competition to see who can outdo the other's romantic gesture. before the kids they would either spend the day in bed, hit the beach, or go to a club in new york. post-kids the spontaneous traveling has died down but the romance and adventure is still very much there

after dropping the kids off at school the couple have the house to themselves and sleep in til lunch. they have lunch at the country club, ordering every valentine's special available. rafe is intrigued but disgusted at the idea of to-go boxes but that does Not stop bahamian!reader from asking for them

"i guess i just don't get it." rafe watches her effortlessly position the uneaten dessert into a box.

she shrugs, "what's not to get? couldn't finish the food, don't wanna waste it, still want it, i'm takin' it home."

he frowns, "right..."

"it's not that strange rafe. no different from leftovers and i know you know what leftovers are rich boy."

he blushes, "i know what leftovers are."

"well then there you go! this isn't all for me you know? not that grabalishous." she closes the final box and licks the cream cheese from the cinnamon roll of her finger. she taps the table, "fuck that's good. i'll give you folks that, you make good treats."

rafe blushes at the casual act made vulgar by his own mind. he looks down at his watch, "we have an hour before school let's out."

"i miss our chirren too but bringing them up on a date is what you rich folks would call a faux pas no?"

he sighs, "no i mean.- we have the house to ourselves..." he tilts his head and squints.

a grin slowly stretches across her face, "ooh you're nasty." she chuckles, grabs the bag full of takeout boxes and stands up. she points at the table, "pay then meet me in the car."

he watches her strut out the lounge, "yes ma'am."

they share their sweet treats with their kids and listen to them talk about their mini valentine's day celebrations at school (and yes they do take some of their candy)

after putting the kids to bed they take a dip in their pool, reminiscing on the times they would get drunk and skinny dip and reslize how dangerousbtaht was

they end the night sleeping soundly on the couch, cuddled up together after a valentine's day different from the ones of the past but still a success in their book (who gets the point for this valentine's will become discussed the next day)

academic rival!pogue

academic rival!pogue always imagined library dates as the extent of pope's romance before she realized she had feelings for him. the reality is a welcomed surprise.

she spends the night at pope's the day before after getting permission from both their parents.

pope stares at the ceiling in his room, "is it a good or bad thing that our parents think we're virgin loaers?"

she stops kissing his neck to meet his eyes, her glare tells him that was the wrong thing to say.

"i wouldn't describe myself like that." she removes herself from his lap and plops down next to him.

he shakes his head and sits up, trying to meet her eyes. "no of course not. i just mean- you know- i'm happy you're here and i have so much planned tomorrow and-"

"pope." she glances at him.

"yeah?"

she pushes him back down and throws her legs on both sides of his legs. "stop talking."

he nods, "okay."

pope wakes her up with coffee just how she likes it and gives her an itinerary list of their day. she hates that this has made him 1000 times hotter in her eyes.

10:00-11:00 breakfast/get ready for bookstore

11:30-1:00 bookstore shopping

1:15-2:00 reading at the park + lunch at the wreck

2:30-5:00 movie

they get ice cream after the movie and head down to the pier which leads them to the beach and collecting as many unique shells as they can find. academic rival!pogue comes up with the idea of putting shells on each other and taking pictures of their work

next valentine's day they both give the pictures they took with decorative frames

kitty!reader

wake and bake. arts and crafts (card making) in their shared pajama set while they eat breakfast

"okay that's cheating." she stops kissing her envelope and turns her attention to him.

"what?"

"kisses? on your envelope? that's like ten sexy points. "

"you literally have color pencils and markers, 10 points for creativity, we're evenly matched and if it's that much if a big deal you can borrow my lipstick?"

"that's not the point."

"okay so you're just talking to talk. take your L like a man."

after swpaping cards and calling the competition a tie they go to the park. they smoke on the swings and talk about the morality of child free spaces until one of the kook parents call the cops on them. kitty's kookness saves them from getting arrested but they have to leave the park

grocery shopping for pizza recipes goes better than expected, they get everything they on their list and almost no one can tell they're high as a kite

watching courage the cowardly dog reruns while they try to make a heart pizza. kitty is running that kitchen like the navy, it's the most intense pj's ever seen her and he into it

they eat their heart pizzas while playing dress to impress. kitty makes comments on how accurate it is to the fashion and modeling world

puppy!reader

the first half of the day is a half date half treasure hunt. puppy gives him a bunch of kisses (paper) with her favorite things about written on them and he gives her two tickets to the fair

they go to the beach bright and early because john b is meeting someone ther but puppy is none the wiser. he doesn't rush them to the next destination immediately but it's less out of the kindness of his heart and more because he doesn't need to be there til much later

on the way back from the beach puppy spots a trail and says they should see where it leads. john b worries that this impromptu hike will mess up his schedule but he doesn't wanna look sketchy so he agrees

puppy brings her picnic basket in hopes that they'll find a good spot for a picnic. they do.

"isn't this amazing?" she takes in the beautiful meadow they found once out for the woods.

john b holds his knees to his chest and anxiously taps his foot against the picnic blanket. "yeah it's great."

she sits down by his side and tucks a strand hair behind his ear, it calms his nerves somewhat. "don't worry baby, we'll make it in time."

he feels his heart drop, "how did you-"

"i know you, remember? and i know what someone keeping secrets looks like?" she looks down at her lap, "can you tell me next time?"

he kisses her forehead, "of course lady."

john b spends 30 minutes at the fair before he heads off. he refuses doesn't bring puppy to the mysterious location out of fear of her getting hurt but it doesn't make it any easier for either of them. he promises to make it up to her and tells her that jj will pick her up before zooming out of the parking lot leaving a heartbroken puppy

she's woken up by a hand over her mouth and screams before recognizing the familiar hand, john b. she screams some more at his horrifying entrance and curses ever giving him a key

"what the hell are you doing here?" she turns on the lamp on her nightstand to get a better look at him.

"i told you i'd make it up to you." he takes three steps forward and caresses her face before leaning in for a kiss.

hislips on hers almost melts all the questions out her mind. she softlt psuhes at his chest, "john b. where did you go? what did you find?"

he softly smiles, "don't worry about that right now." he kisses his way down her face, to her neck. she pulls him down on top of her, trying to keep up with his kisses and wiggle back onto the bed.

he slowly lifts up her shirt, placing kisses around her stomach before stopping at her boxers that look very familiar. "you missed me that much."

she looks down at the boxers, "i wanted to be close to you."

he smiles, "i missed you too" he roughly pulls the boxers down. she whimpers in anticipation and at his manhandling.

"shh it's okay." he kisses her cheeks as he pushes his pants down.

"you ready?" she nods. he slowly pushes in, making her grip his shoulders. his breathing grows heavier from the overwhelming feeling of her warmth squeezing around him.

he lokks down. she's having a similarly hard time. "you forgive me yet?"

"mm-hm." her eyes are squeezed shut.

"huh?" he thrusts, "hey. open your eyes baby."

she grips his curls, "y-yes! yes!"

"yeah?" he picks up his thrusts.

"yes!"

he gives her a soft but passionate kiss. "i love you."

"i love you johnny." she wipes her tears.

he slows down his thrusts to lean down and whisper in her ear, "don't cry. i'm sorry."

"it's okay."

"i won't leave you alone again." he wraps an arm around her waist lifting her onto his lap.

she drops her head in his shoulder, "johnathan."

"i got you baby."

'warm' is the only word that comes to their minds when they collapse side by side.

"promise you'll tell me what you found tomorrow?"

"promise."

bestie!kook

they've spent every valentine's together since high school but finally being official stresses them both out. rafe shows up at her house with flowers and balloons and she makes them heart pancakes. it's awkward for a couple minutes before they fall back into their usual routine

rafe gives bestie!kook a letter detailing how he feels since "he's not the best ar words". first time he realized he was in love, apologizing for using her, wanting her to move on with him, they're all in the letter. she cries of course

jewelry shopping after breakfast. bestie!kook picks out a pink heart diamond ring which rafe immediately puts on her finger. makes them think of marriage which leads to them crashing a wedding

talking about the future and hopes and dreams like they used to do on the roof at family parties. they leave early and go to a hotel

a rose petal bath to unwind and two glasses of wine to celebrate a successful valentine's day

weird girl!kook

weird girl!kook drives to tanneyhill to wake jj up, knowing he crashes there 9 times out of 10. she gives him a wet willy which makes him wake up screaming and cursing until he realizes it's her. irritated that she went through the trouble of getying a box, a gift, and gift wrap for this spoiled brat she calls her boyfriend

"beautiful girl what did i do to deserve this?" his voice us muffled as he whines into her side.

"you were supposed to pick me up at 12." she pulls his hair causing him to wince and remove his face from her side.

"i know. forgive me?" he pouts. she drops her hold on his hair and stands up causing his face to hit the bed.

"gross." she tosses his gift box on the bed, "here's your gift."

he rips it off within seconds and gasps when he sees the contents. "babe! a lighter? and it's got my name on it?" he pulls her into a hug, she pats his head.

"i love you."

"i know."

can't stay mad at him for long espeically when he gets her the paint/brushes she's been talking about for months and shares his weed with her

they go back to weird girl!kook's so she can check on her babies (ferrets) before they head out

jj surprises her with dinner reservations to her favorite outdoor restaurant. he's on his best behavior which freaks her out so bad. she drags him to the photo booth and kisses him stupid

she only comes up for air after feeling his hand on her butt. she grips his face; "stop whatever you're doing?"

"wha do you mean?" it comes out slurred so she let's go.

"this well adjusted normal guy act. it's freaking me out "

he laughs. it makes her eye twitch. "you're the one that told me to be on my best behavior."

"yeah, your best behavior not your best serial killer impersonation."

he pinches her side, she pinches him back. "you're a really complicated woman you know that?"

she huffs.

he shakes his head and sighs, "i hope no one took our photo. though someone perming off to picture of us making out is kind of flattering, no?"

she shakes her head, "freak." her smile tells him it's a compliment.

going to the abandoned exhibit to paint the walls using the new brushes and paint jj got her. jj's supposed to be lookout but he's too enamored by her painting to notice the sirens, nearly getting them caught

biker!pogue

biker!pogue doesn't think the holiday is that big of a deal while rafe sees it as the ultimate indicator of whether or not a couple is meant to last

he gets her flowers and a motorcycle charm for her keychain. she's genuinely surprised at his thoughtfuless and can't help but wonder if he's only doing this out of his misguided belief that valentine's day is some fortune teller or out of actual love for her

it's proven to be the latter when he takes her to an arcade. not just any arcade, but the arcade that helped her hone her motorcycle riding skills. he talks about his intense attitude the whole day and gives the closest thing to an apology he knows

racing on the beach until the sun starts to set. rafe loses back to back to back but insists 4th time's the charm. it's not, he loses again. takes his loss semi gracefully.

they stop at a grocery store in figyre eight and the heywards' in the cut to get everything she needs for the dinner she's got planned. she makes rose-shaped pizza rolls and heart-shaped garlic bread

angel!reader

originally, angel was supposed to go to a church event but rafe somehow convinced her to take a trip with him, mostly as an apology for everything

shocked by how much fun she's having at the getaway, angel starts to think of her future and what she wants in life. making heart shaped cookies and the trial run life with rafe is nice but it reminds her too much of her old life

rafe thinks the resort will cheer her up because he's having a ball but angel doesn't care for it. choosing to go on the tour of the nearby forest instead. it's there she has her spiritual reawakening

she meets rafe back at their cabin and is surprised to find him eating the cookies she made. she apologizes for ruining his planned day but he's not bothered at all

they eat sweets for dinner and feel that pain on the drive back to the outer banks

bunny!reader

rafe actually loves valentine’s day-- not the holiday itself but that he gets to prove his worth, take care of his bunny and show her off, so he goes all out. a weekend stay at a resort leading up to the big day.

the first gift of the weekend, a trip to the salon and a new purse filled with 100-dollar bills, because what kind of man would he be letting her pay for her own nails

after the salon they relax by the pool, bunny working on her tan and rafe glaring at anyone that stares too long at her

the second day has bunny lounges by the pool, new nails shining under the sun as she works on her tan. rafe tries to take it easy on the drinking so he's sober at dinner later

candlelit dinner at a classy restaurant rafe bought out just for them. bunny has been dying to go there and is estatic when rafe tells her their dinner plan. squeals and jumps into his arms, covering him in glossy kisses.

"oh thank you thank you thank you!"

"yeah yeah, look save it for later 'kay? i paid good money for this shit, don't want us to be late."

bunny makes him coordinate with her (not those godawful pastels). she gives him a color palette and expects him to stick to it which he does, not wanting to hear her rant about the "color palette for valentine's day" again

rafe goes all out, renting out a limousine for the day driver takes them to dinner

ending the day over the moon and completely lovestruck

foxy!reader

they're still not officially together so they don't celebrate together, they just happen to be in the same places at the same time. foxy is still getting used to not hating rafe and rafe is getting used to her not hating him and getting over the betrayal he felt after she helped the pogues. things are rough.

they're both invited to a work event but don't bring a plus one just in case the other is there. they are and they do.

foxy feels rafe's eyes follow her every move and it is just as irritating as she remembers but when she moves to confront him he's chatting with not just any lawyer, but a lawyer at a rival firm who hates her.

she's up for an award but loses to said rival. she goes outside for a smoke and rafe follows suit

"that's a nasty habit you got there."

her bloods runs cold at the sound of his voice, "yeah well considering the circumstances, i think i've earned it."

he leans against the railing, "the circumstances being?"

"should i listen them alphabetically or chronologically?"

he hums and lets them sit in silence for a few seconds. "you deserved that award."

"i know." she exhales, "i think this is karma for all those years i worked for you guys."

he scoffs, "you know i don't believe in that shit."

she puts out her cigarette and turns to him, "what do you believe in cameron?"

he gives her a half smile.

spend the rest of the evening talking shit about the attendees. it's the most fun they've both had in a while.

#the gang’s all here #valentine's day special #bahamian!reader #kitty!reader #bestie!kook #puppy!reader #biker!pogue #angel!reader #weird girl!kook #bunny!reader #academic rival!pogue #foxy!reader

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tubbytarchia · 2 days ago

Note

(Okay I did see Twitter was not allowed to be mentioned so feel free to delete this)

May I take a gander at Twitter being upset over drawing Gem with antlers? This is coming from someone who also draws Deer!Gem, antlers, hooves and all. Cause if it’s the reason I’m thinking off, clearly none of them saw Gem’s follow up post on tumblr that she’s fine with deer art, she just likes variety too.

And yeah I got into a tiff with someone on TikTok because I said “yeah the popular hybrid headcanon I see of Gem in both hermitcraft and the life series is a deer hybrid” only the the op to reply back “um actually life series Gem shouldn’t be drawn as a deer :/” which Gem never said herself… all she said was that she would lien variety…

Anyway, keep it up with the antlers.

post getting long woo putting it under cut

I spent 20 minutes looking and couldn't find it, but it was a screenshot of reddit that was being shown to me. In it Gem was indeed talking about how she liked to try new things with her skin and that she'd like to see as much from fanart too, and capped it off by saying that the deer skin was still her favorite and she still enjoyed seeing art of it regardless. So, obviously that was the typical witchhunter who looks for any excuse to police people instead of even reading through the thing they're showing me as "proof". It's honestly a big reason I keep drawing Gem as a cervitaur. Because I can draw whatever I want

Regardless it's stupid of people including CCs to try and police you. This is a fandom and you can draw whatever the hell you want forever. It's reasonable to avoid showing things to the CCs they might not want to see, but outside of that, they don't get to dictate what you can or cannot draw. Gem and Pearl have never had bad intentions though, I'm sure of that. They're newer to this kind of attention than most other CCs they work with, especially after the growth of the gempearl ship within the fandom after Wild Life, and don't seem to understand yet what their place within a fandom is, and that it's not something they can control. Which is so understandable and reasonable

Unfortunately, even if I trust them to always have had good intentions and never to actually police people, any CC ever making even the vaguest boundary is going to be used like a firearm against the fandom by other fandom goers, because fun is banned and they need to protect their beloved content creators from. something? From being drawn with antlers? Otherwise they get depressed and stop making youtube content and kill themselves or something? In my opinion there is absolutely nothing to rationalize this behavior

That's why I only use Tumblr (and Youtube) because those kinds of hatemobs are horribly abundant on twitter and I assume TikTok as well, knowing what I know of that app's general userbase age. My only hope is that these people are 13 years old and that they will grow up

Edit: I found it

#blabber

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workingforitallthetime · 2 months ago

Note

I am BEGGING you to say more about Will and Mack in silence on the other side!! on my KNEES!

conveniently, i have 3.5K of will/mack that i could not resist expelling from my brain at the end of the google doc. grab a marshmallow stick and let me tell you a campfire story.

(this is very much an epilogue and is not going to make sense unless you've read silence on the other side. if you want the reward of mack/will you have to suffer through the mortifying ordeal of will/gabe/leno.)

Will could wait for Gabe to ask, but she’s done letting things happen to her. She packs a suitcase. She sits on the couch and waits. When she hears the sound of Gabe’s key in the door, she slips off her ring and clenches her fingers around it. The diamond digs into her palm as she rehearses the words in her head. I can’t get married. I’m sorry.

She texts her sister on the way to the airport, after the angry red dent fades. The pale strip around her ring finger is going to take longer, just like the mark on her neck. Can I stay with you for a couple of days?

Of course. Grace answers quick. Are you in Boston? Is everything ok?

Will’s not going to cry in the back of an Uber. Flight gets in at 10:30. And no.

As the plane pulls away from the gate, she texts Ryan. I’m moving back to Boston. She should switch into airplane mode. Instead, she waits as they taxi.

The reply comes as the plane rounds the turn onto the runway, bright rows of lights blazing the path ahead. Didn’t know you were from Boston.

Will’s swiping her thumb over the text thread to delete it when one last message pops up. Thought it was West Philadelphia. She snorts in spite of herself, and lowers her thumb onto the red trash can before she can second-guess it. She’s not going to cry on a plane, either.

The night air when she emerges from the sliding doors at arrivals is still late-summer muggy. Grace picks her up at the airport, and Will gives her the briefest version. I told Gabe we’re not getting married. No, it wasn’t a mutual decision. No, I don’t know what it’s going to cost. No, I haven’t told mom and dad yet, I’ll do it tomorrow. No, don’t say anything in the bridesmaid group chat, I’ll do it tomorrow.

The wheels of her suitcase are gritty on the floor of Grace’s apartment. She changes into pajama pants and an old St. Catherine’s t-shirt. She drinks a glass of water and racks the glass in Grace’s dishwasher. She sinks onto the couch, tipping her head back on top of the cushions.

“Oh my god.” Grace stops short at the edge of the room, peering at Will over the armload of bedding she’s bearing. “Did you break up with Gabe because he’s a vampire?”

Will touches the mark on her neck. It doesn’t feel like anything. If she hadn’t seen it in the mirror, she wouldn’t know it was there. “Wasn’t Gabe.”

Grace’s eyes bug out. I don’t want to talk about it, Will says, it’s not a thing. It’s not, like, the reason. It’s just something that happened. She takes the sheets from Grace and shakes them out and tucks herself into the couch. The streetlights outside cast thin stripes through the blinds and across the floor. She’s not going to cry into Grace’s fleece Patriots blanket.

The feeling in her stomach, hollow and sick, that settled in while she waited for Gabe to come home hasn’t gone away. It won’t go away for many days yet. Terrible days. Days of overhearing her mother on the phone apologizing to relatives about their nonrefundable flights. Days of trying to cancel wedding registries before she gets any more notifications about purchased gifts. Days of ignoring the voice messages from her parish priest, the one who was supposed to officiate. The absolute last person Will wants to talk to is a priest.

She goes back to the Midwest, feeling like a burglar in her own apartment as she packs up her things while Gabe is pointedly not home, driving her car along ugly interstates back to Massachusetts with her dad. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, while the road is empty in the beam of their headlights and they’re between episodes of a podcast about white collar crime, he tells her he’s proud of her. He knows it must have been a difficult decision. He trusts her to make the right choices. All Will can say past the lump in her throat is thank you. The tears trickle down the sides of her face in the dark.

She stays at her parents’ house. She writes thank-you notes that are mostly apologies. She goes to brunch with the friends who were supposed to be her bridesmaids, tells them it just didn’t feel right, I knew I’d regret it. None of them mention the cost of the bachelorette weekend last spring, but Will knows they’re all thinking it. When her mom asks, Will tells her she can pick up the dress if she wants. Will doesn’t want to see it. Every time she drives past the country club, the sick feeling in her stomach twists into a hard knot of shame.

On the September Saturday when Will was supposed to get married, Grace makes her go for a hike in New Hampshire. Golden leaves drift over the top of the low stone wall along the trail. At the top of the mountain, granite hills and colorful trees spread out below them. The lake in the valley sparkles in the autumn sunshine. They eat burgers at a roadside diner afterwards and drive back into Massachusetts after dusk, and then the day is over. It’s over, it’s done, it’s finally behind her, and now everything else is ahead.

She starts commuting into the office again. When coworkers ask, she tells them the Midwest didn’t work out. The engagement didn’t work out. After that, there aren’t any conversations about how unreliable she was last summer. She stays on top of her inbox, meets her deadlines early. Never misses a meeting.

Boston’s not the same. Her old places are all Gabe’s old places too. Her friends are all Gabe’s friends. Most of them aren’t reaching out. Even the ones who are on her side seem confused by her. They don’t understand, because Will can’t imagine telling anyone the real story.

She thinks about going out. Thinks about getting on the apps. Trying to figure out… whatever it is she has to figure out. She can’t manage to pull the trigger. Someone could see her, recognize her.

Losing Boston, or at least the version of Boston she used to love, feels like another breakup. A separate grief just as painful as her grief for Gabe and everything their life was supposed to be. But Will ends it just as unflinchingly as she did her engagement. She finds a new job, something in finance or business or law in New York City, because that’s the place you’re supposed to go to start over.

The details of the job aren’t important. All that’s important is that it’s a job where beauty and breeding and ruthlessness are assets, and Will’s able to leverage all three to the hilt. Oh, and also it’s in an established industry where Rick Celebrini is a known and feared figure.

Will makes the connection pretty quickly when she’s introduced to her coworker Macklin. Mack is a half-step ahead of her at all times and it would be infuriating for Will, if she didn’t like him so much. Or if he didn’t like her so much. Everyone tells them they’re such a great team, hitting all their metrics, seizing opportunities, climbing the ladder together. Will sees in Mack a kind of internal steeliness that matches her own, which isn’t that surprising from someone who was raised by Rick.

Will’s kept cautious by the pervasive sense that she would fuck up anything she started with Mack. That’s what she does. She ruins things. She ruined everything with Gabe, and she’ll ruin anything she starts with another guy. And she really can’t afford to ruin anything with Rick Celebrini’s son. She’s found her niche in this industry, and getting on the wrong side of Rick would mean starting over, again.

So Will remains just as impervious as she can be. Even as she and Mack get closer and closer, and everyone in the firm starts to talk about them as a dynamic duo, and their rising stars are more and more closely linked together, she keeps everything strictly professional. Sometimes her eyes follow the lines of Mack’s three-piece suits not just to appreciate the tailoring, and as soon as she catches herself she looks the other way.

(She’s scared. Scared that nothing’s ever going to feel like it did with Ryan. Scared that nobody else is ever going to love her as much as Gabe did. She’s scared she doesn’t understand what she wants and that she’ll never figure it out. She’s scared there’s something fundamentally wrong with her and that’s why she hurts people. She’s scared that how much she likes Mack means she’s going to hurt him too. She’s scared and nobody knows it, least of all Will.)

Mack’s fascinated by her, and all the more fascinated because of the total blank of her personal life. When he tries to draw her out, he learns about growing up in Lexington, prep school and field hockey, going to BC. They talk about Boston, joke about their BC/BU rivalry, threaten to bet on the Beanpot. Will goes to office happy hours, is clever and engaging at client dinners. But she dodges all questions about what her life is like outside of work. Mack doesn’t know anything about her friends, doesn’t know whether she’s dating anybody, doesn’t even know whether she’s straight.

But Mack knows the connection’s there, and he’s going to keep trying. Picture those gifs from the 49ers game: Mack’s trying to get Will’s attention, and Will’s ignoring him, and Mack doesn’t even care. He’s willing to work for it. He wants to work for it. That’s how Rick raised him: how hard you work is the measure of how much you care.

One day Will rounds the corner by the elevators and walks into a knot of coworkers talking about some smart maneuver Mack pulled, something he talked over with Will in advance so she immediately recognizes a reference to a client or a contract term. “No dick, but he’s got plenty of balls,” says someone with their back to Will, and everyone who saw her come around the corner gets an awkward expression on their faces.

Will gives them the same look of icy disdain she uses to shut down people who call her Mack’s work wife. Someone says loudly that they’ve got a conference call starting in a few and the group hurriedly dissolves, except one office gossip who caught Will’s momentary confusion and has been simply dying for an excuse to have a conversation with her on this topic. She follows Will into the elevator. “Didn’t you know he’s trans?” she says as soon as he doors close. “It’s all very hush-hush, nobody ever says anything because Rick’s bitten a few heads off about it. I was there at an off-site when he literally yelled at someone about pronouns.”

(Just imagine Rick Celebrini when his kid announces he’s a boy. Okay, says Rick, not in so many words, if you’re a boy you’d better be the most boy you can be. What are you doing today to be a better boy? Mack’s grown up with Rick micromanaging his medical care and tailoring his punishing workouts to achieve some not entirely defined standard of masculinity and generally making Mack feel like he’s not working hard enough if he’s not at all times trying to be The Most Boy. Rick does not react kindly to anyone who suggests that Mack is anything other than his son… including and especially Mack, who is immediately reminded that he is All Boy, Only Boy if there’s ever any suggestion he might stray from Rick’s expectations of masculinity. Mack knows better than to say yes when the menswear stores he frequents suggest a pink shirt or a floral tie to go with one of those three-piece suits.)

Not that Will knows any of that. She dials the iciness a few degrees colder and hums the most neutral hmmm in her vocabulary until her coworker blessedly exits the elevator, disappointed by Will’s unsatisfying reaction.

Will lets the doors close. She punches the button for a different floor without looking at the display, aiming generally for something a long way away.

It’s just a surprise, that’s all. That’s why her heart’s racing, the unexpectedness of it. A confounding variable in the already tangled mess of Will trying to sort out her own identity. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything on the long list of reasons why she needs to keep Mack firmly in valued colleague/work best friend territory.

It’s a chink in the wall, though. And a wall that’s already being subjected to Mack’s considerable efforts, as well as geologic forces beyond Will’s control, is going to crumble eventually.

It happens at the holiday party. Some swanky venue rented out for the night, marble pillars, parquet floors. Raw seafood on ice, top-shelf drinks. Towering centerpieces with pine boughs and crystals. Will, in her classy little black dress, doesn’t have a date, of course. Neither does Mack, in his black suit with some requisite element of lowkey corporate festive. A red plaid vest, a tie with tiny holly berries on it, something like that.

They circulate through cocktail hour like the pros they are, catching glimpses of each other through the crowd, always aware of where the other one is. Somebody’s seated them at the same table for dinner (Mack might have had something to do with this) and after a couple of glasses of champagne Will forgets that she ought to be making holiday-appropriate small talk with everyone else at the table and she starts doing what she actually wants to do, which is talk to Mack. Mack, with his blue eyes and soft hair and strong fingers tapping the base of his rocks glass, making Will feel like she’s at her witty, charming best. Basically, everyone else is Tyler Toffoli on the plane and Will and Mack are in their own little world.

They sneak sideways glances at each other during the speeches and toasts, silent acknowledgement of corporate inside jokes. Will doesn’t look at Mack when Rick’s got the spotlight, but she can feel him sitting up straighter next to her, a little bit of extra rigidity in his spine.

After dessert the table groups start to dissolve and word starts to spread among Mack and Will’s coworkers, the younger crowd, about where the afterparty’s headed. Mack catches Will at the edge of a conversation and says something low into her ear, just for her. Want to go someplace else?

Will does.

Mack takes her someplace loud and anonymous, with more drinks and a crowded dance floor. Will doesn’t shrug off Mack’s hand at the small of her back. They dance, closer and closer together, and Will’s eyes are shining, and when Mack finally kisses her Will kisses back like she’s drowning.

I’m calling a car, Mack says, and Will doesn’t let go, too much adrenaline and champagne and desperation to think about whether this is theoretically a bad idea. It’s been so long since somebody she cares about has touched her. Mack’s apartment is quiet and tasteful and Will barely sees it. She doesn’t want Mack to be something that happens to her. If this is happening, she’s going to make it happen just as much as Mack is.

If I was going to write a sex scene here it would be about how the expectations of masculinity that Rick has imposed on Mack have taken root in Mack’s assumptions about how he ought to have sex, and how that does or doesn’t align with what Mack actually wants, and how all of that collides with what Will wants, which is to eat that boy’s pussy.

Will falls asleep with her head on Mack’s chest and wakes up with the enormity of it all setting in. This is big, this is huge, and nothing that happened last night alleviated the underlying fear that she’s going to fuck it all up.

Mack can practically feel the tension radiating across the sheets at him. He reaches for Will. “I don’t want this to be a one-off.”

This does not have the desired effect of Will relaxing into him. Heart sinking, Mack tries again. “It can be if you want, though.” The pinch in Will’s brows doesn’t go away. Mack scoots back so he’s not touching her. “Just so you know, that’s really not what I want.” In the absence of a response, Mack starts desperation-yapping. “I know there’s something here, and I think you do to, and last night felt…”

Will’s eyes are huge across the gap between their pillows. She has to say something. “I’m a bad bet,” is what comes out. “I break everything.”

“Are you saying that because you want me to walk away?” Mack’s hoping that’s a quick answer, but Will looks like she’s actually thinking about it, so he keeps talking. “Do you want me to walk away?”

Very quietly, against the pillow, Will admits it. No.

Mack exhales. “Like, I’m not gonna. It’ll have to be you.”

He grins, like this is a joke, and it infuriates Will because he doesn’t understand. It’s not funny. Will’s warning him that he’s going to get hurt and he’s laughing. “That’s what I’m worried about,” Will hisses through her gritted teeth.

“That you’ll break up with me?” Mack, incredulous. “I can take it. That’s not a reason not to, like, try.” He reaches for Will again and Will lets him. “I could change my mind and dump your ass too.”

Will gives him a scornful look at the suggestion that anyone could ever break up with her, and Mack cracks up because it’s such an extremely Will reaction. “Let’s just be good, okay?” Will lets herself be pulled into his arms. “Until you break up with me, and I’ll deal with it. We can be good for now, right?”

Will whispers it against his lips before she kisses him. So good.

Eventually they get up. Will picks through Mack’s collection of sweats and ends up in a Canucks hoodie and Lulu joggers because she refuses to wear anything that has BU on it. They get coffee, and while they’re drinking it at opposite ends of Mack’s couch with their feet tangled together in the middle, Mack says I think you should tell me more about what you said earlier. About breaking everything.

Will’s silent, turning the sleeve of her coffee around and around the cup. There’s no way to avoid it. Mack’s going to have to find out sometime, if they’re going to do this. And Will really, increasingly every second, wants them to do this. “I was engaged,” she says, watching Mack. She can practically see his mouth forming questions, but he waits. “Like two years… three years ago now. My college boyfriend. Gabe. We were together for seven years. We moved to [Midwest city].”

“You lived in [Midwest city]?” Macklin’s laughing. “I can’t even picture it.”

“I know, right?” Will briefly experiences the warm glow of being known before she gets back to business. “It didn’t work. I cheated on him.” Will takes a deep breath. “Like, a lot. Her name was Ryan.”

She watches for Mack’s reaction to the pronoun, but he just nods. When Will doesn’t say anything else, Mack asks, “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know.” Will used to think about googling, but there’s no place to start. Ryan. The dive bar. The city. That’s all she knows. “It wasn’t… like that.”

“What happened to Gabe?”

“I ended it.” Will doesn’t have to google Gabe. He pops up in suggested posts, in her friends’ tags. He has a new girlfriend. They got a puppy. “It was, like, not very long before the wedding,” she adds, just so Mack knows how awful she is. “It really, really sucked.” Will puts all of the anguish of that brutal September into each really.

Mack forms his next question carefully. “Did you break up with him because he was a guy, or because he wasn’t the right guy?”

“I don’t know.” Will lifts her chin defiantly. It’s the most vulnerable thing she’s ever said. Here’s my fucked up situation. Here’s what you’re getting into.

“What’s that mean for me?” Mack does not relate to identity crises, having had his own identity rigorously reinforced since adolescence (or so he thinks). “Being… the guy that I am.”

“Oh, are you trans? I hadn’t noticed,” Will says, like she didn’t have her tongue in his pussy ten hours earlier.

Mack laughs, and that’s enough vulnerability for two people who don’t like it and are going to have to figure that part out later. “We should have dinner next weekend, if you don’t break up with me before then.”

If I was not inherently resistant to established relationship fic, there would be a lot to explore here. Chiefly, I’m intrigued by what happens when Rick’s singleminded focus on Mack’s masculinity (and the not-necessarily-positive ways that Mack has internalized that), collide with Will’s attraction to Mack, which is not premised on masculinity. Will’s got to figure her own shit out somewhere along the way, but she’s at least pretty sure that 100 percent masculinity is not on her list of priorities in a partner. I think that Rick is immediately welcoming to Will, to a degree that’s almost curious, and Will and Mack slowly realize that in Rick’s eyes Mack’s earned some kind of manhood badge by bringing home a hot girlfriend. Also, as ever, there’s a plot to be made out of Rick treating Will like another Celebrini child who warrants Rick’s micromanaging, and Will figuring out how to resist that without alienating Rick, and along the way prompting some realizations for Mack about the ways in which his Sheriff Rick upbringing was maybe a little bit fucked up.

Anyway. Here’s how the story would end. Mack makes it a running joke about Will breaking up with him. What do you want to do for Valentines’ Day, if you don’t break up with me before then? At first it’s jarring, and then it’s a comfort, a little reassurance that Mack still likes her enough that he’s willing to risk it all going wrong. Yeah, I could do Thanksgiving in Lexington if you’re not going to break up with me… Do you want to come to Whistler with us this year, if you haven’t dumped me by then?... I’m going to book our flight for R.J.’s graduation weekend unless you want to break up first. And then, over time, it starts to become jarring again. We should move in together when your lease is up if you’re not going to break up with me.

“Stop saying that,” Will finally says. “I’m not going to.”

“You’re not going to break up with me?” Mack’s about to fist-pump over his long game paying off. “Like ever?”

“Like ever,” Will confirms, and Mack can’t get down on one knee fast enough.

#can't believe will/mack was just a glimmer in our collective eye back when i started posting that story #it was always intended to end ambiguously but in the back of my mind i had questions about what would be next for that version of will #and now we know that there's only one way the bc line story ends: with mack #(i did think of a bc line alternate ending but it's so wrong although it did get me a little more time with frankie)#i know it would probably be more appropriate for will to move to the bay area but a sneaker-wearing tech company is just not it for her #also i originally envisioned this epilogue as r63 down the line and i continue to maintain that #macklin celebrini would make an adorable little lesbian in a pixie cut and a buttondown #but i couldn't stop thinking about that article with rick's weirdly personal comments about mack's body and like...#how would sheriff rick deal with Gender #and all of a sudden i am totally invested in trans mack sorry to anyone who cannot see my Vision #campfire story #silence on the other side #oh and plus also i was initially a bit disappointed that posting this work in chapters means it is no longer readily apparent that #i was the person to create the will/leno ao3 tag #but now i am so delighted that my fic will forever be next to teamwork makes the dream work #it is an honor merely to share a tag with that work of genius

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