#I like it the way it is but I think it’s not impossible that’s a direction they were going

[23victoria]

promise ring

ꨄ༊*·˚ pairings: 𝐟𝟏 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 𝟏.𝟒𝐤

ꨄ༊*·˚ synopsis: 𝐟𝟏 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫

authors note: 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐬, 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭! 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!! 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, & 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!!

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭?! CLICK HERE!

ꨄ༊*·˚ F1 MASTERLIST

Lewis

When you see the box in Lewis's hands, your heart skips. It's not the first time he’s given you a piece of jewelry, but there’s something special about his expression today, as if he’s slightly nervous.

The ring itself is a slender band in rose gold with a small gem in the middle—your birthstone, of course. His fingers are steady as he slides it onto your finger, his gaze never leaving your face.

“A ring?” You tease with a smirk, trying to hide just how thrilled you feel. “You know the next level is when the ring goes on the other hand.”

Lewis chuckles, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, “I had to do it, babe. Can’t have you out here without something to show for it. It's a reminder that you’re my girl, no one else’s.”

You laugh, and he pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “Get used to it, alright? I like the way it looks on you. One day… well, I hope you’ll want to wear something like this on your left hand too.”

The sincerity in his tone has you speechless for a moment, but he fills the silence with a soft kiss that promises, someday, he’ll be slipping a different ring on a different finger.

Charles

Charles is an expert at making your heart race, but today, he’s managed to surprise you in the best way. With a shy, slightly bashful grin, he holds up a tiny box that you’d noticed earlier but didn’t think much of.

Opening it reveals a dainty silver band set with a small sapphire. The sight makes you gasp softly—it’s elegant, just like him, but also endearingly thoughtful.

“You know a ring usually comes with the next relationship level,” you say, giving him a playful nudge.

His cheeks tint a soft red, but he grins, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, mon amour, I wanted to give you something to get used to. I know I might be getting ahead of myself, but…I already feel like I’m yours forever.”

His thumb brushes over the ring on your hand as he continues, “Plus, this way, people will know you’re not available. You’re mine, and I’m yours. I need everyone else to know that, too.”

With a grin, he pulls you in close, sealing his heartfelt words with a lingering kiss that leaves you breathless.

Carlos

Carlos has been jittery all day, and now you understand why. In his hand, he holds a velvet box, his eyes lighting up with that mischievous glint you know so well.

When you open it, you’re greeted with a simple, classic band with your birthstone embedded in the center. It's perfect, something you could imagine wearing every day without a second thought.

You chuckle, giving him a teasing look. “So, a ring now, huh? You do know that it usually comes with a proposal, right?”

Carlos smirks, his hands settling on your waist. “Mi cariño, I had to do something. Can’t let you think you’re on the market. This may not be a wedding ring, but consider it practice.”

He slides the ring onto your finger, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’re going to be wearing one on this hand eventually. Might as well start getting used to it now.”

He’s so charming and sure of himself that it’s impossible not to melt right into his arms. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, the kind that holds every ounce of his feelings for you.

Lando

Lando fumbles a bit as he holds up a tiny box, his cheeks red as he tries to play it cool. But the look on his face betrays him—he’s nervous, and it’s adorable.

The ring inside is small, subtle, and totally fitting for the two of you. A simple band with a single birthstone, it’s exactly the kind of piece you could wear every day, just like he wanted.

When he slips it on your finger, you raise an eyebrow. “A ring, huh? You wanna marry me.” You say teasing him.

Lando laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s true, but… I couldn’t wait. Had to make sure you had something from me. Everyone needs to know I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

He pauses, squeezing your hand. “Plus, I want you to get used to the idea. One day, it’ll be a bigger ring. But until then, just… keep this one safe.”

He’s blushing furiously, but you give him a kiss to let him know he doesn’t have to be nervous. As he hugs you, you feel his relief, and he mumbles against your hair, “I’ve got to keep you forever, you know that?”

Oscar

Oscar has a quiet confidence about him as he takes your hand, showing you the little velvet box he’s been carrying all day. Inside is a beautiful ring with your birthstone, small and delicate.

You smile, touched, but you can’t resist teasing him. “Are you proposing, or…?”

He laughs softly, his thumb running over the ring he just placed on your finger. “Not yet. But I couldn’t wait any longer to make it clear—you're my girl. I don’t want you going anywhere.”

You can’t help but smile at how sure he sounds. “Oscar, you know I’m not going anywhere.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes sincere. “Good. I wanted you to know that I’m not either. I wanted you to have something that shows you’ll always be mine.”

With a warm smile, he leans in, kissing you sweetly. “One day, I’ll make it official. But for now, just promise you’ll keep wearing this.”

You nod, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wants to let go.

Max

When Max hands you the small box, he’s uncharacteristically quiet, his usual confidence slightly softened by a hint of nerves. Inside, the ring is as no-nonsense as he is—a simple band with a small stone.

As he slides it on your finger, you raise an eyebrow and smirk. “You know, Max, this usually comes at the next level in a relationship.”

He chuckles, pulling you into his arms. “I know. But you’re stuck with me. I wanted everyone else to know that too.”

Max’s thumb runs over the ring, a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “Consider it practice for the future. You’ll get used to wearing a ring for me.”

Your heart melts a little at the serious look in his eyes, and you tease, “Practice, huh?”

He grins, kissing you deeply, making sure you feel every ounce of his commitment. “Yeah. Get used to it, because I’m yours forever and you’re mine.”

Sebastian

Sebastian’s fingers shake just slightly as he hands you the little box, his shy smile making your heart swell. The ring inside is perfect—dainty and understated, a small stone set in silver.

When he slips it onto your finger, you grin. “Sebastian. Asking me to marry you already, hmm?”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling in that warm, familiar way. “I will, one day in the future, but I couldn’t wait that long. I wanted to give you something now, something to remind you that you’re my person.”

He cups your face, his gaze soft. “I hope you’ll get used to wearing something on that finger, because one day, I plan to put a different ring there.”

He’s so earnest, so genuinely sweet that it takes your breath away. He leans down and kisses you gently, his hands holding you close, as if he never wants to let you go.

Jenson

Jenson's easygoing smile falters just slightly as he hands you a tiny box, but his eyes twinkle with mischief as you open it. The ring is classy, elegant, with a touch of vintage style that feels so you.

He slips it onto your finger, his gaze meeting yours. “You know, Jenson, this normally comes with a wedding proposal.”

He laughs, pulling you close with a grin. “You know me—I’m always ahead of the curve. I couldn’t wait to let everyone know you’re mine.”

With a wink, he adds, “It’s just a little placeholder. I want you to get used to it because, one day, it’ll be a wedding ring. But until then, I want you to know that you’re the only one I want to be with.”

His words are so casual, but there’s depth in his gaze, a promise that one day, he’ll make good on those hints. He pulls you in for a kiss, one that leaves you lightheaded and smiling.

ꨄ༊*·˚ taglist! @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @Blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @yoncesgroove @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel @xoscar03 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @danieldaviddarren33 @flowerpetalk @jimcarreyfann42 @oliviah-25 @bbwzrld @goldenroutledge @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @acesbakery @armystay89 @poppyflower-22 @hrts4havertz

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[hedgehog-moss]

I was thinking earlier that I find autumn gardening a lot more soothing than spring or summer gardening. Fewer things happen, there's no urgency, you're no longer pressed by strict tomato schedules. In the spring I plant vegetables (daily maintenance, many opportunities for mistakes), in autumn I get rid of broom (there's no wrong way to kill broom) and plant trees (a finite task.) Trees have independent spirits, you plant them and do your best to put them in good conditions and then you're free; but carrots have needs. Vegetables need sisyphean amounts of weeding and watering—not too much but not too little—, I’ve got to check leaf colour to see if I'm doing something wrong (with tomatoes the answer is yes), they get mildewy, they get attacked by insects, they need protection from chickens (it's easier to protect a tree from deer than a courgette plant from hens) and frequent tiny haircuts and sponge baths like royal wives. Things can go wrong with baby trees too but they don't expect you to worry about them every day, they're doing their thing, you're doing your thing.

Also planting trees & the large-scale weeding I do in autumn can be done cleanly if I'm careful, but even with gloves I find it impossible to plant & weed a vegetable garden without getting my hands dirty. At some point or other you just have to touch dirt. When you choose to live a rural life everyone assumes you must enjoy touching dirt with your hands but I do not. It's not a texture thing or a germ thing, it’s just that having dirty hands places an obstacle between me and my books. I didn’t like to make sandcastles on the beach as a kid for this reason, I’ve always been reluctant to touch things that might cling to my skin, like soil or wet sand, because now there’s a wall of glass called rinse your hands between me and the book I carry on my person. This creates a nagging psychological discomfort.

I read a book by a woman gardener last spring in which she says she wouldn't even mind getting no harvest because she feels soothed by the very act of gardening, and I felt bad for gardening in a utilitarian, result-oriented way and not having attained her higher stage of soul development, but in autumn I get it. It's nice to clear an area of brambles and plant a tree and then sit down to read for a bit next to this quiet and friendly entity you planted that doesn't need anything from you in the immediate future. I could do this with no expectations. I have a very different relationship with my spring carrots but that's okay, I've decided I'm an autumn gardener and now that I'm in a category I feel secure.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Taunting

|| Sevika x fem!reader

|| Warnings; rough smut, praise kink, size kink, brat & brat tamer dynamic, swearing, fingering, choking, use of 'pet' nickname, reader receiving, slapping, hair pulling, orgasm

|| Summary; when Sevika gets home, she reminds reader who's in charge.

Requests closed!

Started; November 12th

Finished; November 12th

Anon Request; brat tamer Sevika

~~~

When your girlfriend got home, it didn't take her long to have you on the bed. You easily complied, because your defiance would come later. And she knew that just as much as you did, so Sevika took the opportunity to tease you. A wolfish grin formed on her lips as she looked down at you. You who was between her legs as she hovered over your hips, her thighs squeezing against you to keep you put. Sevika knew you were a squirmer, so she kept you still.

"What? Not gonna run, pet?" The words fell from her lips like a spit. As if Sevika were taunting you. Taunting you into being a brat for her to tame. You grinned up at her, an almost sheepish smile. You made your first act of defiance. Escaping her thighs. Your legs moved so fast, it caught Sevika off guard for a moment. You scrambled away, only making it to the edge of the bed before her strong arms wrapped around your waist. Pulling you flush against her," no, you don't." She muttered, placing you back in the spot you'd been before. Only this time she sat right on your hips. Letting all of her weight hold your much smaller frame under her. While her hands pinned yours to the bed.

Sevika's hands were so much bigger than yours, that her palm could practically fit around your entire hand. Your cheeks turned bright red as you looked at her hand against yours. God, you just wanted Sevika's finger already. But you had to play with her a little more. Wanting her to just dominate you.

You tried to squirm and Sevika simply laughed, keeping you under her with ease as she leaned down. Her lips brushing against your ear," I got you. You're not strong enough to fight me," She murmured. The feeling of her breath sending vibrations through you. A small whimper left your lips when you nodded. Showing her that you would submit, but only long enough for her to let go of you and loosen herself up a bit. The moment Sevika did, you took advantage and got behind her. Shoving her down onto the bed with as much force as you could; little did you know she let you. Finding the whole thing incredibly amusing. She laughed. Adjusting herself under you so her back was to the bed. Her hands rested on your hips. Holding you in place again, only this time on top of her.

"Now what're you gonna do?" Sevika said with a grunt. Your hands came up to her throat and she looked a little surprised when you applied pressure.

"Taking back control," You smirked and she laughed. A full shoulder shaking laugh. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, easily getting you off her neck. Biting the inside of your palm in a way that made you whimper.

"That's cute, you think you can control me?" The words practically came out as a purr when she spoke and you shrugged. Grinning from ear to ear. "C'mere." She muttered, yanking you till you were flush against her again. A gasp left your lips when she pulled you. And your defiance melted when her lips latched onto yours. A kiss so searing you were sure your lips would be swollen. If not bruised. As Sevika kissed you, her prosthetic hand came down and slapped your ass. Making your whole body flinch and shudder. Your whimper being swallowed by her. Sevika broke the kiss before you could get your tongue in, biting your lip. Her eyes looked into yours. "You gonna be a good girl? Or do I have to slap you again?"

"I dunn-" It barely left your lips before she slapped your ass again. You whined and gripped her clothes until your knuckles turned white.

"What was that?" She muttered, you nodded. Trying to tell her that you'd listen this time. Only Sevika's hand gripped your chin, bringing you impossibly closer," words, pet."

"Y-yes-" You fumbled and she smirked. Seemingly satisfied enough with your response. She tossed you back down on the bed. Hands working to get all your clothes off. It didn't take her long, she practically ripped through them, murmuring some promise about getting you new clothes later. You just melted under her, letting her take full control. Besides, even you couldn't take the teasing anymore. Your pussy may as well have been dripping. And you could still feel the stings and tingles on your ass from where Sevika's hand met. You were sure there would be marks.

"P-please..." You begged, wanting to feel her fingers inside you. Your insides clenching around nothing. You gave her the most desperate look you could muster. Sevika smirked, more than enjoying the sight of you. Begging and pleading for her..

"Now you remember your manners, huh?" Sevika muttered, laying herself down on you. Her lips brushed your cheek this time when she whispered," I think I'll leave you to squirm a little longer. You know, punishment for earlier." You could feel her smirk against your skin. You couldn't help but whine in protest, reaching out to grab her clothes again and pull her against you. Kissing her in a desperate attempt to convince her. Convince her to let you have your way. Have her fingers. She let you kiss her, starting to give in to what you wanted. After all, Sevika wanted it too.

You kissed her and her fingers suddenly thrusted into you. Starting right off the bat with two fingers that she slipped into your wet folds. With surprising ease. She started slow, but that didn't last long. The moment Sevika hooked her fingers to reach your g spot, she pumped relentlessly. Never giving you a moment. This was part of your punishment for your earlier behaviour. She broke the kiss, hand coming down to grip your throat with her prosthetic. The cold metal sending shivers down your spine. Letting out series of moans that synced with her pumps. Every time Sevika hit your g spot, your moans got louder. More breathy. More whimpers.

"God, god- fuck-" You grunted, desperate pleas leaving your lips. Needing more. Which was exactly what she gave you. Sevika watched the way your body moved, how she practically had you bouncing from how hard her fingers went into you. The way your mouth was fixed open.. unable to anything but beg and plea for more through your moans. Sevika fucking loved it. Every single minute.

"Such a good pet, aren't you?" Sevika praised, her hand moving from your throat to your hair. Brushing it aside before she gripped it tight. Careful not to get it caught between the gears of her prosthetic. Your mouth hung open while you nodded. Desperate to please her. A total contrast from your earlier behaviour. In no time at all, you were cumming against her fingers. A scream leaving your mouth as the sensation flooded your body.

"Sevika-!" You screamed her name and her expression couldn't have been any more satisfied. Sevika's fingers slid out of you when you finished, panting for breath. Your eyes locked onto hers. She brought you into a gentle kiss, cold prosthetic fingers brushing your neck softly. Over the marks she had left there earlier.

"You did so good for me," Sevika muttered and you nodded. Completely spent. God, she really knew how to tire you out.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　CAR CRASH

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where an amazing date night leads to a devastating car accident, leaving Y/N severely injured and Matt hospitalized and feeling extremely guilt.

WARNING: Car crash, blood, gore (nothing too extreme), mentions of surgery and death.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by an anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The night had been perfect. The kind of night that made Matt wish he could bottle up every second and live it over and over again. As they cruised down the road, Y/N’s laughter filled the car, bubbling up with a joy that made his heart swell. He stole a quick glance at her, unable to resist the smile tugging at his lips as he watched her eyes crinkle at the corners.

It was all almost too serene. The road was deserted, stretching ahead like a long, winding ribbon through the dense forest. Trees lined both sides, their dark silhouettes swaying gently in the cool breeze. The glow from the dashboard lights bathed Matt’s face in a soft blue hue, highlighting the way his jaw clenched whenever he concentrated on the road.

Matt’s hand rested gently on Y/N’s thigh, fingers intertwined with hers. The music in the background was just soft enough to allow their conversation to drift through the air. Their fingers were laced together like they had been for years, her thumb softly brushing over the back of his hand in a way that always sent a thrill through him.

"You know." Y/N started, turning to look at him with that familiar, teasing sparkle in her eyes. "I still can’t believe you almost choked on that dessert tonight."

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Hey, those strawberries were huge, okay? It’s not my fault they didn’t fit in my mouth." Matt chuckled, his voice low and slightly raspy as he lifted her hand to press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"Sure, that’s what she said." She quipped, sending a playful wink towards the brunette.

His laughter echoed through the car, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Hey, babe, we should-"

But before he could finish his sentence, Y/N's heart jumped to her throat as she noticed something.

"Matt!" Y/N’s scream pierced the air like needles.

Matt’s heart seized, his veins flooded with pure adrenaline. The world seemed to slow down, the seconds stretching into infinity as he turned his eyes from Y/N to the approaching car. It was swerving uncontrollably, zigzagging across the two-lane road, headlights blinding and erratic.

Panic gripped him like a vice. His instincts kicked in, hands flying to the steering wheel as he yanked it to the right with all his strength, desperate to avoid a head-on collision. The tires screamed in protest, the smell of burning rubber filling the car as the vehicle veered off the asphalt, gravel spraying against the undercarriage like bullets.

The seatbelt bit into his chest, and Matt let out a guttural grunt as the force of the swerve tried to rip him sideways.

"Hold on!" He shouted, the words raw and choked with fear.

But there was no time to process, no time to think. In the chaos, Matt’s vision narrowed to a tunnel. He could barely make out the blur of trees and darkness as the car skidded off the road. The other car blazed past them, its horn blaring like a scream of rage, disappearing into the night as if it had never been there.

Matt’s heart hammered in his chest, every beat like a drum of dread. He tried to correct the car’s course, but it seemed to be impossible with the velocity of it, and the steering wheel slipped under his frantic grip. The headlights illuminated nothing but shadows and thick trees ahead, and before he could even register what was happening, the world exploded into chaos.

The impact was instant. The front of the car crumpled like a tin can as it collided with the tree, the force of the crash sending them both jolting forward. Y/N’s scream was cut short as her side of the car bore the brunt of the crash, the airbags exploding around them in a cloud of powder.

Everything went black.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A few seconds - or maybe minutes, Matt couldn’t tell - passed before he came to. The first thing he noticed was the sharp, metallic taste of blood in his mouth, his head throbbing like it was being split open. His vision was blurred, darkness and flashing colors swirling together as he tried to blink them away.

"Y/N..." He croaked, his voice barely a whisper. Panic seized his chest like a vice grip as he turned his head, trying to see her through the haze. "Y/N!"

She was slumped against her seat, her head tilted unnaturally to the side, blood smeared across her forehead where she’d hit the window.

"No, no, no, no!" Matt’s voice came out in a broken sob as he reached for her, his hands trembling violently. Pain shot through his ribs with every movement, but he ignored it, his vision blurred with tears. "Y/N! Wake up, please, wake up!"

But she didn’t move.

"C'mon, please. Please- fucking shit!"

He could barely breathe, his chest tightening as though an invisible hand was crushing his lungs. Warm blood trickled down his temple, but he barely noticed it. All he could focus on was Y/N, slumped lifelessly beside him.

"What do I do? What do I do?" His bloody hands flew to his head, smearing it all around his skin. "An ambulance, I need-need to call an ambulance."

His trembling fingers fumbled with his phone, hands slick with blood and sweat, and his vision blurred with tears. He couldn’t think straight; everything was a whirlpool of noise, pain, and terror. As he finally managed to dial 911, he searched for Y/N hand, squeezing the cold, unmoving member, his other hand shaking so hard it almost dropped the phone.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Matt could hardly get the words out, his throat so tight it felt like he was being strangled.

"We-we've been in an accident! Oh god, please- please help us! I... I don’t know what to do!"

His voice was a broken sob, the words tumbling out in a chaotic rush, barely coherent. He was gasping for breath, panic clawing at him with icy fingers. He kept glancing at Y/N, hoping, praying that she would suddenly move or blink or give any sign that she was okay. But she was too still, her face shining with blood, eyes closed, and her chest...

He couldn't even tell if it was moving.

"Okay, sir, I need you to try to stay calm. Where are you? Can you give me your location?"

Matt’s mind was spinning, the world around him a dark blur. He tried to remember where they were, but it was like every thought was slipping through his fingers.

"Uh- I, I don’t know! Somewhere near... near Elm and... I think we’re by a park or something. There’s glass everywhere, and- she's not... she’s not waking up!"

As he spoke, Matt’s voice cracked again, his words coming out in choked sobs. His free hand kept shaking Y/N’s shoulder, trying to rouse her, to pull her back to him.

"Alright, I’ve got your location. Help is on the way. Sir, I need you to focus for a moment. Is anyone else in the car with you?"

Matt’s voice broke into a desperate wail.

"Yes, yes, it’s my girlfriend. She-she’s not moving! I tried to wake her, but... but she’s just lying there, and she’s bleeding. Oh god, there’s so much blood!"

He couldn’t stop his crying, his entire body shaking as if he were freezing. Maybe he was.

"Okay, I understand. Help is on its way, I promise. But I need you to check if she’s breathing. Can you see if she’s taking any breaths?"

Matt let out a strangled noise, almost animalistic, as he leaned back to try to see. His hands were unsteady and he wiped furiously at his eyes to clear his vision. He leaned closer to her, straining to see if her chest was rising, but everything was too dark and chaotic.

"I-I can’t tell! I’m trying, but she’s not moving! Please, just help her!" His voice rose to a scream at the end, cracking under the weight of his despair.

"We're doing everything we can, sir. You’re doing great, okay? Just stay with me. Take a deep breath. I need you to look at her chest. Is it rising and falling, even a little?"

Matt tried. He really tried. But all he could see was blood. Blood on her eyes, her lips, her collarbone. He could barely make out her features through the darkness and the horror of what was happening.

"I don’t know, I don’t know!" He cried, his voice breaking into another sob. "It’s too dark, and her hair- there’s so much blood on her face. I’m scared to move her, I don’t want to hurt her more! Y/N, baby, come on. Please, don’t leave me." He begged, his voice raw with desperation.

He reached for his own seatbelt, fingers fumbling as he tried to undo the latch, but it was jammed. Tears blurred his vision constantly, frustration and fear boiling over as he yanked at it, the metal digging into his palms.

When the seatbelt finally gave way, he turned his attention back to her face.

"I’m here, I’m here." He whispered, pressing frantic kisses to her forehead, ignoring the cold of her skin and the taste of blood hitting his tongue. "I’m not leaving you, okay? Just stay with me."

"You’re doing the right thing by staying with her, sir." Their voice made him remember that he was still with the call on-going. "Just keep talking to her, alright? I know it’s hard, but you need to stay calm for her. What’s her name?"

Her name. God, her name was everything. It was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing on his mind before he fell asleep. He let out a shuddering breath.

"Y/N... Her name’s Y/N." He whispered, his voice raw. He cradled her face with his free hand, gently brushing the blood-streaked strands of hair away. "She’s so cold. Why is she so cold?"

"Y/N is going to be okay, sir. We’re sending an ambulance to you right now. I need you to tell me: are you hurt? Are you bleeding anywhere?"

Matt’s mind was short-circuiting, the edges of his vision tinged with black spots. But he couldn’t focus on himself. He couldn’t care less if he was bleeding or broken.

"N-No, I’m fine. It’s just her. She-she hit her head so hard." His voice broke into a whisper at the end, as if saying it too loudly would make it more real.

"I understand. But you might not realize you’re hurt because of the adrenaline. Can you check if you’re bleeding or if you feel any pain?"

Matt’s eyes darted frantically between his phone and Y/N. He couldn’t think about himself, couldn’t even process what they were asking.

"I told you, I’m fine!" He screamed into the phone, his voice cracking with a desperate fury. "I’m fine! It’s Y/N! Just... please save her! She’s... she’s everything. I can’t-" His words broke off into a series of harsh, broken sobs.

"I hear you, and I promise we're doing everything we can. Help is almost there, okay?"

Matt nodded frantically, even though they couldn’t see him. He clung to Y/N’s hand like a lifeline, pressing it to his lips, whispering her name over and over.

"Please, baby, stay with me... Please. You’re so strong. You can get through this. Just keep breathing for me, okay? Please..."

Outside, the wailing sirens grew louder, the red and blue lights flashing through the shattered windows of the car.

"Please... don’t leave me." He whispered one last time, the sound of his door being ripped open sounding muffled before the darkness around him finally swallowed him whole.

The last thing he felt was Y/N’s cold hand slipping from his grasp as the world went dark.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A slow, rhythmic beeping was the first thing Matt became aware of as he drifted back into consciousness. His eyelids were heavy, as if weighed down by invisible anchors, and when he finally managed to pry them open, his vision was blurred, everything around him a hazy mix of white and blue. The smell of antiseptic stung his nostrils, making his head spin, and the low hum of machinery filled the air.

Matt blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The room was dim, a soft light glowing from a corner lamp, casting long shadows across the pale walls.

There was an IV taped to his arm, the clear tube connected to a bag hanging from a metal pole beside the bed. His body felt like it had been crushed, every breath sending a dull throb through his ribs.

It hurt to move, but he turned his head slowly, trying to get his bearings. That’s when he noticed the figure slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position on a small armchair near the bed.

Chris.

His brother was fast asleep, his face drawn with exhaustion, dark circles etched beneath his eyes. The armchair seemed to have been pushed so close to the bed that it almost touched it, like Chris had wanted to stay as close to him as possible.

Matt’s mind was sluggish, like wading through thick mud. He couldn't remember how he’d ended up here. Why was he in a hospital? What had happened?

As he lay there, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory, a flash of vivid color cut through the fog like a lightning bolt; Y/N’s face, pale and covered in blood, slumped in the seat next to him.

The memory hit him like a truck, and suddenly everything came rushing back at once: the crash, the panic, the desperate phone call. Y/N’s lifeless body beside him.

"Y/N!" The name ripped out of his throat, raw and broken.

Adrenaline flooded his veins, pushing away the pain as panic seized him. He tried to sit up, ignoring the sharp agony that shot through his side and the dizziness that made his head sway. The only thought in his mind was finding her, making sure she was okay. He had to see her. He had to know if she was still-

His hands scrambled at the IV taped to his arm, trying to yank it free.

"No, no, no... C'mon, I need to find her!" He gasped, his voice frantic and uneven. His vision blurred with tears, anxiety closing in like a vice around his chest.

Chris woke with a sudden start, his eyes snapping open. For a split second, he was disoriented, but then he saw Matt struggling on the bed, clawing at the IV line.

"Matt! Hey, stop. Stop!" Chris practically leaped from the couch, crossing the short distance to his brother in a heartbeat.

Matt barely registered Chris’s presence.

"Let go of me! I need to find her!" His voice was wild, a desperate, guttural scream. He shoved at Chris with what little strength he had, the effort sending another stab of pain through his ribs, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was Y/N. She was out there somewhere, alone, hurt. He had to get to her.

Chris’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of his brother in such a state. He grabbed Matt’s hands, trying to stop him from tearing the IV out.

"Matt, listen to me! You need to calm down!" His voice was steady, but there was an edge of panic in it, fear for both Matt’s physical and mental state.

He pushed the call button for the doctor frantically, knowing they needed help, now.

Matt was beyond reason. He was sobbing, his voice breaking as he shouted like crazy.

"Get off me, Chris! Please, I have to find her! Y/N- where is she? Where’s Y/N?!" He thrashed against Chris’s grip, raw terror coursing through him. His mind was a whirlwind of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

Chris used every ounce of strength he had to pin Matt’s hands down against the bed, his fingers digging into Matt’s wrists. He leaned in close, his face inches from Matt’s, forcing him to make eye contact.

"Matt, you need to stop!" He shouted, his voice cracking. "Listen to me, please! Nick is with her, and they’re taking care of her! You have to stay here and let them help you, okay? You’re hurt, too!"

But it was like Matt couldn’t even hear him.

"No, no, no! She’s not okay, she wasn’t moving! I need to see her, Chris! Let me go!" His screams were hoarse, filled with a raw, primal agony that tore at Chris’s heart.

Before Chris could say anything else, the door burst open, and a doctor, along with two nurses, rushed in, their expressions tense and focused.

"What’s going on?" The doctor demanded as she approached the bed, her gaze flicking between the brothers.

"He’s trying to rip the IV out." Chris said breathlessly, his voice shaking. "Please, he won’t calm down!"

The doctor nodded sharply, gesturing to one of the nurses.

"We need to sedate him before he injures himself further."

"No!" Matt screamed, thrashing even harder against Chris’s grip. "Don’t you dare! I need to find Y/N!" His voice was broken, desperate, his eyes wide and filled with terror.

Chris's hands tightened around Matt’s, holding him down as the nurse prepared a syringe. Tears streamed down Matt’s face, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

He was looking at Chris with an expression so lost, so utterly heartbroken, it nearly broke Chris, too.

"Matt, listen to me." Chris pleaded, his own voice breaking. "She’s going to be okay. But you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop. I promise, I promise I’ll take you to her as soon as they say it’s okay. But you have to calm down, okay? Please, Matt..."

Matt’s eyes were wild, searching Chris’s for any sign of a lie, any hint that he was just trying to placate him. But Chris’s face was so full of anguish, so full of love and sincerity, that Matt’s resolve wavered for a moment.

The nurse took advantage of that brief second of hesitation, quickly inserting the needle into Matt’s IV line. Within seconds, the sedative began to take effect. Matt’s thrashing slowed, his screams dying down to broken sobs as the world around him began to blur again.

"No... Chris, please... It was my fault... Y/N..." Matt’s voice was barely a whisper now, his eyelids drooping as the drug pulled him under. The last thing he saw was Chris’s tear-streaked face, mouthing something he couldn’t quite hear before the darkness swallowed him whole.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The darkness that had pulled Matt under before slowly began to recede, but this time, it was different. Darkness enveloped him in a terrifying nightmare, pulling him under like the tide dragging him out to sea.

He was back in the car. The smell of gasoline and blood was suffocating, the crunch of broken glass grinding beneath his legs as he struggled to move. Y/N was next to him, her face ghostly pale, her eyes closed, blood streaming down her forehead and pooling beneath her. Her body lay limp, lifeless against the car seat, and no matter how many times he screamed her name, she didn't stir.

"... Y/N, please! Wake up!" Matt’s voice was raw, his throat burning with the force of his screams. He shook her shoulder frantically, his fingers slick with blood. "No, no, no... please, Y/N, don’t do this to me!" But she remained still, her head slumped to the side, blood trickling down her delicate features.

The world around him was spinning, the sound of sirens in the distance growing louder, yet somehow they never seemed to get closer. His breaths were short, and frantic gasps as he clutched at Y/N, his tears falling onto her lifeless body.

"God, no! Please!" He was breaking, unraveling, his heart tearing apart as he held her close, praying for a miracle that wouldn’t come.

"Matt!"

The voice was distant at first, barely cutting through the thick haze of his panic. But it grew louder, more urgent, like a beacon trying to pierce through the storm in his mind.

"Matt! Come on, wake up!"

But Matt couldn’t make sense of it. His eyes were still glued to Y/N’s lifeless form, his hands desperately trying to stop the flow of blood, his heart shattering with each second that passed. The voice was there again, louder this time, sounding so familiar, so achingly real.

"Matt, it’s okay. You're safe. Matt, listen to me!"

The scene in front of him wavered, flickering like a glitch in a broken film reel. The wrecked car, the blood, Y/N’s unmoving body; all of it seemed to blur, like someone was tearing the nightmare apart at its seams. Matt blinked, his vision shifting between the nightmare and something else. A figure - blurred, indistinct - hovered above him. He could hear that voice again, so much clearer now, so desperate and familiar.

"Y/N?" Matt’s voice was a hoarse whisper, his eyes darting around frantically. But his mind was still caught between the nightmare and reality. He could feel Y/N’s cold body beneath his fingers, could see her blood staining his hands. "No, please! Don’t let her die! God, please, don’t take her from me!" His voice broke into anguished sobs, raw and heart-wrenching, as he pleaded into the darkness.

The figure above him froze, and then, in an instant, arms wrapped around him. Matt was pulled into a tight embrace, warmth pressing against his trembling body.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here. Matt, it’s me. You’re safe." Chris’s voice was thick with emotion, his own tears spilling as he held Matt close.

The youngest dropped to his knees beside the hospital bed, leaning over Matt’s shaking form, one arm cradling the back of his head as he tried to bring him back from the brink.

"Shhh, it’s okay, Matt. Y/N is okay. I promise you, she’s alive. It was just a nightmare." Chris whispered desperately into Matt’s ear, his grip tightening when he felt his brother’s body shake with gut-wrenching sobs. He rocked them both slightly, his own chest heaving as he tried to keep it together for Matt’s sake. "I’ve got you, alright? I’m right here. She’s okay. I swear."

But Matt couldn’t process the words. His mind was still stuck in that twisted nightmare, where Y/N was cold and still beneath his hands, where he’d failed to protect her.

"No, no... I have to get to her." He choked out, struggling weakly in Chris’s arms. "I can’t lose her... I can’t..."

"Matt." Chris said more firmly, his voice breaking. He pulled back just enough to look Matt in the eyes, his hands cupping Matt’s face, thumbs brushing away the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Listen to me. You’re not in the car anymore. You’re in the hospital. Y/N is okay. She’s being taken care of. She’s safe."

Chris’s words were slowly, agonizingly, starting to sink in. Matt’s sobs grew softer, his breaths still ragged and uneven, but the desperate thrashing stopped. He could feel the warmth of Chris’s body, the steady pressure of his hands holding him down, grounding him in the present. The nightmare was slipping away, reality clawing its way back into his consciousness.

Matt’s fingers, which had been gripping Chris’s shirt with bruising force, gradually loosened. He blinked, his vision clearing enough to see the hospital room around him. The blinding lights, the beeping machines, the sterile scent, all of it slowly registered, pulling him further away from the nightmare’s grip.

"Chris...?" Matt’s voice was small, broken, like a lost child. His wide, tear-filled eyes searched Chris’s, looking for confirmation that this wasn’t another twisted dream.

"Yes, it’s me." Chris whispered, his forehead pressing against Matt’s. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Matt collapsed into Chris’s arms, his body going limp with exhaustion. The adrenaline that had kept him going drained away, leaving him weak and trembling. He buried his face in Chris’s shoulder, his hands clutching at his brother’s back like a lifeline.

"I thought... I thought I lost her..." He sobbed, his voice muffled and choked. "I couldn’t... I can’t lose her, Chris..."

"I know, I know." Chris murmured, tears streaming down his own face as he held his brother tighter, laying his cheek above his head. "But she’s alive. She’s okay. And you’re okay. We’re all here, Matt. You’re safe."

Slowly, so slowly, Matt’s sobs began to quiet. His breathing evened out, but that only brought the pain to control. Each breath sent a jolt through his bruised ribs. His head throbbed, the pain pulsing behind his eyes, and his skin was clammy with cold sweat. He shivered, his body exhausted and aching, but he let himself lean into Chris’s embrace, the warmth of his brother’s presence keeping him grounded.

Chris continued to murmur soothing words, his hands rubbing circles on Matt’s shoulder, trying to calm the tremors that still wracked his brother’s body.

"You’re okay, Matt. You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Matt let out a shaky breath, his body finally beginning to relax, the nightmare fading further into the recesses of his mind, the steady rhythm of Chris’s heartbeat against his ear helping to calm the storm inside him.

For the first time since waking, Matt felt like he could breathe again. He was still in pain, his body battered and broken, but Chris’s comforting presence kept him anchored, keeping him from slipping back into that dark abyss.

"Can... can you call me the doctor?" Matt whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible.

"Are you feeling pain?" Chris asked worriedly, receiving a small nod as an answer. "Okay."

Chris brushed back the damp hair on Matt's forehead while pressing his free hand against the red button.

"Chris." Matt croaked out again. "Y/N... how is she?"

His younger brother's face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath. He looked away for a moment, trying to collect himself before turning back to Matt.

"She... she was in surgery." He said quietly, every word seeming to cost him. "Nick told me... she had internal bleeding, and they had to go in to stop it. She hit her head super hard, too. But... the surgery went well. She’s stable now and probably still asleep."

Matt’s heart shattered at those words, a cold, sick feeling twisting in his stomach. Internal bleeding. Surgery. Y/N had gone through so much, and it was all because he couldn’t control his own damn car. If he had just been paying attention... He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to hold back the tears.

"Can I... can I maybe see her?" He asked, his voice so small, so broken, it almost didn’t sound like his own.

Chris stared at him for long seconds, his eyes searching Matt’s face, like he was trying to read the thoughts swirling in his mind. And maybe he could see it. Maybe he could sense the guilt that was eating Matt alive. But Chris didn’t press him. Instead, he sighed heavily, searching for his hands and stopping him from hurting himself further.

"The doctor is the one who has to let you." He whispered, biting his bottom lip hard. "You know... I was really scared, Matt. I thought... I thought I was going to lose you forever."

Matt watched the pain swimming inside Chris's blue eyes.

"I’m sorry, Chris." He muttered, his voice cracking. "I’m really sorry for scaring you. You and Nick."

Chris looked down at him, his eyes shining with tears, and shook his head.

"No, Matt... no, it’s not your fault." He said, his voice fierce despite the tears. "I just... I’m just so glad you’re here. That you’re alive."

Matt swallowed hard, his throat tight. He didn’t deserve Chris’s relief, not when Y/N was still out there, hurt because of him.

Before he could say anything else, the sound of the door creaking open echoed, and a doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. Behind her were two nurses, ready to assist with whatever was needed.

Dr. Patel, a middle-aged woman with gentle eyes, gave Matt a small, reassuring smile as she approached his bedside.

"Good to see you awake and calmer, Mr. Sturniolo. How are you feeling?" She asked, her tone soft yet businesslike.

Matt swallowed, his throat dry and raw from the crying.

"I... I’m in pain." He admitted hoarsely, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Everywhere."

Chris squeezed his hand reassuringly before turning to the doctor.

"Is there something more you can give him for the pain?" Chris asked, his voice thick with concern.

Dr. Patel nodded, her expression turning more serious as she flipped through the pages on her clipboard.

"We’ve been managing his pain with a mild dosage to avoid any complications, but given that he's more conscious now, we can adjust his medication." She gestured to one of the nurses, who immediately set about preparing a new injection.

Matt’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he tried to focus on breathing through the pain. Each inhale felt like it was slicing through his ribs, the weight of his guilt and worry making it even harder to catch his breath.

"Doctor, can... can I see her? Y/N, I mean... please." He pleaded, reopening his eyes before looking at her.

Dr. Patel paused, her gaze softening as she looked at him.

"Let’s take care of your pain first, Matt." She said kindly, her voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "I promise, as soon as you are stable enough, we’ll let you see her."

The nurse approached with the syringe, and Matt turned his head away, too drained to watch as she injected the painkiller into his IV. Moments later, a cooling sensation spread through his veins, slowly dulling the sharp edges of his agony, but it did nothing to ease the turmoil inside him.

As the medication began to work, Matt’s eyelids grew heavier, but he fought against the sleep that threatened to pull him under.

"I'm fine now... please." He begged, his voice wavering. "I'm fine, I need to see her. I... I have to make sure that she’s okay." His breath came in shallow, slow gasps, and his eyes darted to Chris, silently pleading for help.

Chris stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Matt’s shoulder.

"Hey, hey." He whispered, trying to soothe his brother. "Let the doctor decide if you're stable enough, okay? I promise you’ll see her soon."

Matt shook his head stubbornly, the panic still clawing at his chest.

"I promise that I'm feeling okay now, m-my pain is gone." His words sounded slurred, his eyes blinking slowly while trying to keep himself awake, looking at the doctor with determination.

Dr. Patel’s face softened as she listened to Matt’s broken pleas. The room was quiet for a minute, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. She glanced at Chris, who was holding his brother’s shoulder tightly, as if trying to anchor him to the present moment.

"Please... I have to see her." He whispered again, the words more of a gasp now. "I just... I need to know she’s really okay."

The doctor sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She understood his desperation, his need to see Y/N with his own eyes. It was a common reaction, patients often believed that seeing their loved ones would somehow confirm their survival would make it more real. And judging by the fear and panic still etched into Matt’s face, this was something he desperately needed.

Dr. Patel turned to the nurse beside her, exchanging a brief, silent conversation before she turned back to the brothers.

"Alright." She said finally, her tone gentle but firm. "We can take you to her room, Matt... but only if you’re in a wheelchair. You’re still recovering yourself, and moving around too much could set back your progress."

Chris’s head whipped toward the doctor, a glimmer of hope lighting up his tired eyes.

"Wait... you mean... he can see her?"

"Yes, but only for a few minutes." Dr. Patel clarified. "And he must stay seated. We’ll have to monitor him closely."

Matt’s entire body seemed to sag in relief at her words. He would have agreed to any condition at that moment if it meant seeing Y/N, even if it was just for a second.

"Yes... yes, please. I’ll stay in the wheelchair. I promise." He breathed, the frantic edge to his voice slowly easing into something softer, more hopeful.

Chris nodded gratefully at the doctor, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice thick. He turned to Matt, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. "Okay, Matt... just breathe, alright? We’re gonna see her."

The nurse quickly wheeled in a padded, adjustable wheelchair. Chris helped Matt shift carefully from the hospital bed into the seat, wincing with every grimace of pain that crossed Matt’s face. Matt tried to hide it, but his stiff movements and shallow breaths were enough to betray just how much he was still hurting. Once seated, Matt clutched the arms of the chair with white knuckles, willing his trembling legs to steady.

Chris crouched in front of him, locking eyes with Matt.

"Are you sure you’re good to go?" Chris asked softly, his voice laced with concern. "If you start to feel worse, we can turn back, okay?"

"No." Matt said quickly, shaking his head even though the motion made him dizzy. "I need to see her, Chris. I won’t... I can’t rest until I know she’s a-alive." His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper now, but it carried a weight that cut Chris to his core.

The small entourage - Matt, Chris, the doctor, and a nurse - began their slow journey down the fluorescent-lit corridor. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and the occasional sound of distant monitors and hushed conversations drifted from other rooms. Chris stayed beside the wheelchair, his hand on Matt’s shoulder the whole time, a steadying presence as they moved.

Matt’s heart was a wild drum in his chest, each turn of the hallway only ratcheting up his anxiety. He felt like he was caught in a nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from, the fear that he might find Y/N still and lifeless on a hospital bed eating away at him.

Finally, they stopped outside a door marked with Y/N’s name on a small placard. Dr. Patel turned to Matt, giving him one last assessing look.

"Remember, just a few minutes." She reminded him gently. "She’s stable but still heavily sedated. It might be a while before she wakes up."

Matt nodded, barely hearing her as his eyes locked on the door. Chris leaned down to give his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before opening it. The soft creak of the door seemed to echo through Matt’s mind, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet hallway.

As they wheeled him inside, Matt’s breath hitched. There she was, his Y/N, lying so still in the bed, surrounded by machines that beeped and hummed softly, tubes and wires connected to her fragile form. Her face was pale, bandaged in places, and her chest rose and fell in the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. But she was breathing. She was alive.

Before his eyes could drink in every detail of her condition, his attention was pulled to another figure in the room.

Nick.

Nick’s head shot up at the sound of the door, his eyes widening in surprise. Relief washed over his face, softening the lines of exhaustion and worry that had been etched there. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair disheveled, eyes red-rimmed.

"Matt." Nick breathed, his voice trembling with emotion.

He quickly crossed the room in a few long strides, his eyes scanning his brother’s face like he couldn’t quite believe he was awake and here in front of him. Without a word, he dropped to his knees beside the wheelchair, wrapping his arms around Matt in a tight, desperate hug.

"Oh God, Matt." Nick’s voice cracked as he held on tight, as though letting go would make this moment disappear. "I thought we lost you... I thought..."

Matt weakly lifted one arm, patting his brother’s back as best as he could manage.

"I’m okay." He whispered hoarsely, though the pain in his body begged to differ. "I’m here, Nick... I’m here."

Nick pulled back, his eyes shining with tears, but he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand.

"You have no idea how scared we were, Matt... but God, I’m so glad you’re awake."

Chris, standing close by, put a comforting hand on Nick’s shoulder, giving him a small, reassuring squeeze.

"He’s okay, Nick. We’re okay." Chris murmured, nodding assuredly.

The doctor and nurse patiently waited for the brothers to have their moment before gently nudging the wheelchair forward.

"Let’s get you closer to her, Matt." Dr. Patel said softly.

As they wheeled Matt to Y/N’s bedside, all the noise of the hospital seemed to fade away. All he could hear was the soft, steady beep of the machines monitoring her vitals.

Matt’s eyes welled up with tears as he took in her pale face, the bruises peeking out from under the bandages on her forehead and the soft rise and fall of her chest.

He reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against hers. Her skin was cool to the touch, and a sob tore through him. Without hesitation, he leaned forward, bringing her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles softly, over and over again, his lips lingering on every bruise and scrape he could see.

"I’m so sorry." He whispered, his voice raw with anguish. "I’m so, so sorry, my love. Please... please forgive me. I love you so much, Y/N. I need you. You have to wake up soon. Please."

He kept pressing gentle kisses to her hand, his tears slipping down and wetting her skin. His heart ached in ways he never thought possible, the guilt eating him alive. This was his fault. If only he had been more careful...

Nick watched silently, his own eyes filled with tears, and Chris had to turn away for a moment, pressing a fist to his mouth to stifle a sob. The sight of their brother - usually so composed - completely broken over the woman he loved was almost too much to bear.

Finally, Matt’s strength gave out. His body, already weakened and worn from the medication, was quickly reaching its limit. He slowly leaned forward, resting his head gently on the edge of Y/N’s bed, his cheek pressed close to her hip. He stayed there, clinging to her like she was his lifeline, his breaths coming in soft gasps as he struggled to stay conscious.

"I’m here, Y/N... I’m right here." He whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "I won’t leave you... I promise."

The pain was slowly fading, his body seeming to finally allow the medication to work its way through his system. Matt’s eyes grew heavier, his body sagging with exhaustion. But he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to stay with her, to watch over her, to be there when she finally opened her eyes.

Dr. Patel watched him with a soft, sympathetic gaze. She could see how much this was costing him, but she also understood that this was what he needed.

"We’ll let him stay for a little longer." She said quietly to Chris and Nick, who both nodded gratefully. "But you must agree that, if anything changes, if he starts showing signs of distress, you call for me immediately.”

"We will." Chris promised, his voice low and earnest. Nick nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving Matt.

With that, the doctor and nurse quietly exited the room, leaving the three brothers alone with Y/N. The room was dim and quiet. The only sound was the soft beeping of the monitors and the occasional muffled sniffle from Nick or Chris.

Matt finally let the exhaustion pull him under, his breathing evening out as he drifted into a fitful sleep. His fingers were still wrapped loosely around Y/N’s hand, and his head rested against her side as if he could protect her even in his sleep.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Several hours passed in quiet vigil. Chris and Nick stayed sat on the small couch by the wall, watching over Matt and Y/N like silent guardians, their hearts heavy with worry but relieved that, for now, their family was still holding on.

As the soft light of dawn began to creep through the tiny window in Y/N’s room, there was a faint stirring.

The world around her was a hazy blur, everything out of focus and spinning, like she was caught in a dream she couldn’t quite wake up from. There were distant beeps and muffled voices, but they all seemed so far away, like she was listening from underwater.

A faint, familiar smell flooded her nose. Matt. Or is it Nick? It was something like strawberries or maybe coconut. She couldn’t tell, but it was comforting enough. She tried to move, to lift her heavy eyelids, but her entire body felt like it was weighed down by an invisible force.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N finally managed to blink her eyes open, the harsh bright lights above her making her squint. The ceiling was white and sterile, and as her vision adjusted, she could make out the faint sounds of machines beeping rhythmically around her. Her mind was foggy, like a thick cloud had settled over her thoughts, and it took her a moment to realize where she was.

A hospital. She could feel something tight around her ribs, a dull, throbbing pain in her head, and an odd numbness throughout her limbs that made it difficult to move. Her throat was dry, like sandpaper, and when she tried to swallow, it sent a sharp ache down to her chest.

Panic started to bubble up in her chest, her heart rate quickening as fragmented memories began to resurface - the blaring headlights, the screech of tires, and the sudden, jarring impact that had stolen her breath away. She let out a small, pained whine, her chest tightening as she tried to remember more, but it was all so blurry, so confusing.

A voice cut through the haze, it sounded quiet but rough, like it had been scraped raw.

"Y/N? Hey, it’s okay... you’re okay."

She turned her head slowly, every movement feeling like she was wading through thick mud. The face that came into focus was familiar, a face that brought her the feeling of home amidst the confusion.

Nick.

Y/N’s eyes blinked slowly, struggling to focus on the two faces in front of her. She was still groggy, the world around her hazy, but the concerned expressions of Chris and Nick gradually came into focus. Her brows furrowed slightly, confusion clouding her tired gaze.

"N-Nick...? Chris...?" She mumbled, her voice rough and barely audible. Her throat was parched, every word scraping against the dryness.

Nick let out a shaky laugh, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Oh my god, I was so... I'm so glad you're back." He whispered, his voice breaking with a mixture of relief and emotion. He stepped closer, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face.

Chris nodded, his face lighting up with the first real smile in what felt like an eternity.

"We’ve been really worried about you, Y/N." He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re a fighter, you know that?"

Y/N tried to smile, but even that felt like lifting a mountain.

"What... what happened?" She asked, her voice weak, her words slurred from the medication and anesthesia coursing through her veins. "I... I remember the crash. I remember..." She trailed off as she recalled the moment of impact, the way everything had gone black in an instant. "It all happened so fast."

Nick’s eyes filled with tears, and he traveled his hand from her hair to her shoulder, squeezing the covered skin tightly.

"It was... it was really bad. But you are here now, okay? You made it through the surgery. You’re safe."

"Surgery?" The word sent a chill down her spine. She tried to remember, but everything after the crash was a blur. "What... what happened to me?" She asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Nick took a shaky breath, his grip on her tightening as if he needed the contact to ground himself before connecting his eyes with Chris's, begging for him to answer her.

"You had internal bleeding caused by some broken ribs." Chris explained gently, cleaning his throat to disguise the emotion in his voice. "You’ve been out for at least 15 hours after a four-hour surgery. And... and you hit your head really hard. But the doctors said the surgery was a success, and your concussion is mild. You’re going to be okay."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, the reality of it all crashing down on her. Surgery. Internal bleeding. The thought of how close she’d come to... She couldn’t finish the thought, the fear overwhelming her.

"Where... where’s Matt? Is he okay? Oh god, he was driving-"

Chris’s eyes softened, and he exchanged a glance with Nick.

"He’s right here, Y/N." Chris reassured her gently, pointing towards Matt's figure with his head.

Y/N’s gaze flickered downward, and her breath hitched when she finally registered for the first time Matt slumped over on the edge of her hospital bed, his head resting beside her hip. His brown hair was disheveled, and his face looked paler than she had ever seen, decorated with a variety of bruises and cuts, but he was breathing, his chest rising and falling steadily.

It was then that she noticed the weight of his fingers against hers, holding her hand firmly as if she could disappear at any moment.

"He’s been by your side from the minute he woke up..."

The sound of the boy's voice, combined with the familiar touch of his girlfriend, pulled Matt from the depths of his medication-induced sleep. His eyelids fluttered, a groggy groan escaping his lips as he slowly stirred awake. For a moment, he looked confused, his eyes unfocused as he blinked against the harsh lights.

But then, as his gaze settled on Y/N’s face, now wide awake and staring back at him with teary eyes, everything clicked into place. His heart leaped in his chest, and any remaining fog of sleep vanished instantly.

"Y/N?" He croaked, his voice raw with disbelief. His eyes widened as he looked at her, truly seeing her awake for the first time. "Oh my god... you’re... you're awake."

Y/N managed a weak smile, tears gathering in her eyes as well.

"Hey, baby. I'm here." She whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You look like you’ve been through hell."

Matt let out a choked laugh, a mix of relief and joy bubbling up inside him. He quickly pulled himself closer to her, his hands shaking as he reached for her face, brushing his thumb tenderly over her bruised cheek.

"I thought... I thought I had lost you." He confessed, his voice breaking. "God, Y/N, I was so scared. I... I couldn’t-" His words were cut off by a sob he couldn’t contain, and he buried his face in her neck, pressing desperate kisses to her exposed skin, his curls tickling her chin in a grounding way.

Y/N’s heart ached at the sight and feeling of him so broken. With what little strength she had, she squeezed his fingers, trying to comfort him.

"I’m here, Matt." She whispered. "We’re okay. You don’t have to worry anymore."

Matt shook his head, his tears soaking her neck.

"I’m so, so sorry." He choked out between sobs. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve protected you... I couldn't even-"

Y/N’s brows knitted together in confusion as she tried to process his words. She lifted a trembling hand to stroke his messy hair, trying to calm him down.

"Matt, baby, hey... where's this coming from?" She asked, her voice soft and full of concern as her eyes traveled momentarily to Chris and Nick, searching for an answer in them that they didn’t seem to have.

Matt just kept shaking his head, his sobs growing louder, muffled by her skin.

"It’s my fault... it’s all my fault." He whispered, his voice breaking. "I should’ve seen the car... I should’ve done something... God, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. I'm really, really sorry..."

Y/N’s confusion turned to anger as she realized what he was saying.

"Matt, look at me." She demanded, her voice suddenly stronger despite her weakened state.

He slowly lifted his tear-streaked face from her shoulder to meet her gaze momentarily, his eyes red and puffy.

"How can you blame yourself?" She asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "You... Matt, there was nothing you could’ve done. A crazy driver was coming to our direction. You didn’t cause this."

"But... but I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve done more." Matt insisted, his voice cracking terribly. He couldn’t meet her eyes for more than a second, ashamed of the guilt that had consumed him. "You got hurt because of me... I should be the one lying in there, not you."

"Don't you dare say something like that, Matthew." Y/N said firmly, her fingers gripping his hand as tightly as she could manage. "Listen to me. It was not your fault. There was nothing you could have done to stop it." She let out a shaky breath, her eyes softening as her free hand traveled to his face, softly brushing away the tears from his cheeks. "I’m okay, Matt... because of you. You were there. You kept me safe until help came."

Her words only made Matt’s tears flow harder, dripping directly where her fingers met his skin, his sobs causing his body to tremble and his ribs to ache, but there was a shift in his eyes, a flicker of something like relief. He didn’t fully believe her, but hearing her say it, seeing the sincerity in her expression, it was like a balm to his raw, bleeding heart.

"You did everything you could, baby. You saved my life. If it wasn’t for you..." Y/N couldn’t even finish the sentence; the thought was too painful to bear. To lose a life with the love of her existence.

Matt sniffled, pressing the side of his face against her palm and wiping the other side of it with the back of his hand, still holding on to Y/N like she was the only thing keeping him afloat.

Nick and Chris watched the whole scene unfold in silence, their hearts heavy with the raw emotions in the room. Chris discreetly wiped away a tear while Nick stood there, his arms crossed over his chest as if trying to hold himself together.

"I love you so much." Matt whispered, nuzzling against her hand. "I can't even picture a life without you."

"I love you too, Matt." Y/N murmured back, her fingers weakly squeezing his. "But you don’t have to picture anything. I’m right here."

Matt let out a shaky breath, nodding.

"Now, why don't the both of you rest a little bit more?" Nick's voice seemed to remind them of the brother's presence. "It will do good for your healing process." Y/N's eyes lifted to the oldest momentarily before nodding slowly.

As the room settled into a comfortable silence, Matt gently laid his head back down on the bed, still holding Y/N’s hand as if it was his lifeline. Y/N stroked his hair softly, her heart aching with love and relief.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they could finally breathe. They were together, alive, and that was all that mattered.

[nipuni]

Alright, time to share my opinions about Veilguard!! I have both criticism and praise so bear with me as I jump from one extreme to the other 😆 spoilers ahead of course!

The game has a very rough start with the dialogue being formulaic and rushed and the characters overexposing. It feels like a heavy handed attempt at summarizing all of previous games' lore for newcomers or in case you forgot but it's so overdone it feels coddling and trivializes a lot of previous events. Luckily this gets better once all of the introductions are out of the way, though the excessive hints and clarifications continue until the end sadly.

The locations are absolutely incredible and very diverse!! This is a highlight of the game for me. There is so much detail and care in every map and there are so many of them. My pc is struggling to reach medium settings and yet everything looks stunning. The verticality of the maps is so imposing and the graphics have a very dreamy quality that I love. I also enjoy the maze-like structure to the maps, it's more linear but makes everything look a bit more intentional. The color and light direction was amazing, all the visual development really!! it has to be one of the prettiest games I've ever played.

When I started I have to admit it did not feel like I was in Thedas and it all felt a bit theme-parky, if that makes sense. A lot of previously important and established world elements that made Thedas what it is were overlooked or made irrelevant. But the more I played the more it started to feel a bit more similar to Inquisition, for better or worse depending on what you feel about Inquisition. But!! this also feels like a selectively sanitized version of Thedas compared to previous games. In it's attempt to stay safe and uncontroversial in some aspects it loses a lot of substance and it changes the tone. The surface level politics, ignoring previously established major societal issues and a tell-don't-show approach makes the world seem more simple and shallow with no grey areas to explore. ( the humor also falls flat and out of place often too, and WHY is everyone always smirking, enough!! godlike beings are destroying the planet please this is not the time for Marvel banter aaaa )

The pacing at the start is a bit of a mess. It is so fast it felt like jumping from one world shattering discovery to the next with no time to process. The characters also seem to underreact to important information and major developments. It felt like the game was rushing me through all this to get to the part of the story it wanted to tell me while I was still wrapped in my shock blanket trying to catch my breath lmao. I really like all the key story points they touched upon, I just wish they dwelled more on them to give them more narrative weight. ( though blaming every bad thing to ever happen on the Elves was certainly..a choice )

I think the writing could have used more subtlety in the first half and more boldness in the second 😆 but I loved the thematic parallels between Rook and Solas and how every quest informs the main storyline. I do wish Rook was given more impossible choices and put in more difficult situations that forced them to lie or betray their own to better drive the point home though ( listen I just love a Trolley problem!! we need more of those, I'm the Trolley problem's number one fan!! ) I feel like they missed the chance to put Rook in Solas' role and be as vilified and hated for it as Solas was despite their best intentions which would make Rook's regrets stronger and in turn make their escape from the fade all the more impressive and give them a better understanding of Solas to either use against him or earn his respect. The line 'they called me the Dread Wolf, what will they call you when this is over' from the trailers was so good I was waiting for this!! But everyone just loves Rook no matter what!!

But I feel like I stated too many negative aspects in a row so moving on to some things I enjoyed!

The characters were very lovable to me. The romances weren't as long or impactful as I would have liked but I enjoyed all the companion quests. Emmrich is a delight and his quest is so wild and fun. I loved learning about Nevarra and I was awestruck by the Grand Necropolis. The mourn watch was so interesting, it showed a whole new side of Thedas' lore I knew nothing about! and I loved Manfred! Davrin is so charming, he became a favorite. I loved his quest too and learning more bits and pieces about the Dalish was great, I wish we got more. Seeing the Wardens through his quest also made me enjoy them a lot. Assan was very cute too and I'm glad he was treated as an animal and not turned into a goofy Disney sidekick too much lmao 😭 Lucanis is hilarious. The fantasy Spain/Italy was a bit silly and off at times but he is very sweet! and I love the Spite possession, that was so fun I'm glad they kept him that way! Bellara is adorable, her first backstory quest made me cry and I just love a nerd! I wish the second part of her story was written better however, and she sort of devolves into 'it's hard, I wish it was easy but it's hard' dialogues too often sadly. Anaris and the Forgotten Ones' portrayal was underwhelming and anticlimactic which was disappointing. Harding is also very cute and her Titan plotline was the most interesting to me, I bawled my eyes out in her quest!! I love the dwarven lore of this universe I'm so happy we got more of it!! ( she also fucking died in my playthrough?! I was devastated what the hell 😭 'whatever it takes' WEUEUGHHHG I'M SO SORRY) Neve was a slow burn for me because of my choices in game slowing that relationship down ( saving Treviso I mean, perdón amor 🙏 ) but I love detective novels and she is such a badass I ended up loving her. Taash was unexpected, I didn't think they would be so young. The coming of age story was sweet, though I found myself cringing a lot too at the handling of it I have to admit ( and the Lords of Fortune in general, and the Antaam...and que Qun..listen- kajshfgf ) but I also enjoyed learning more about the first expedition and the Qunari in general despite the messy writing and choices. I also loved Antoine and Evka! and Strife! And I haven't even read any of the novels they are in 😆 also Mila!!!! and her dad oh my god and Felassan haunting the narrative!! speaking of haunting, I would have loved for Cole to be in the lighthouse too I think it would have worked well 🤔 especially with the whole 'reading Solas' secret diary' thing the game had going on lmao

Everyone seems to get along except for a bit of friction that is quickly resolved at the start, which is hmm missed potential? I would have preferred more tension personally. I enjoy the drama! gives me more to work with and gives you a better grasp on everyone's personality by contrasting values. I think they wanted to speed run a found family trope for the new hero to establish some emotional stakes early on but it ended up making everyone seem like a group therapy session instead. The group meetings also have everyone either state the obvious or repeat the same opinion or conclusion to each other, I would have loved these meetings to have more bickering, have people get mad and storm out and also get to listen to different takes on a situation. Make Rook struggle more to take the reins and keep the team functional, learning how to be a leader.

Speaking of Rook! ( who in my case has a northern British accent that I loved so much 🥺) They seem to have a very established personality. I was expecting more of a blank slate but I'm lucky that the personality they went for kind of matches what I would normally choose in a first playthrough. Though the lack of range in the choices is irritating and takes away some replayability and role playing potential. Rook is very supportive and selfless, I wasn't expecting this tbh! But it all made my Rook turn into the team's weird supportive necromancer mom so it worked out in the end I guess lmao. I can't wait to draw her!!

I was so overwhelmed by the amount of information we got about Solas and his past!! I was expecting answers but not these many and not for them to be such an integral part of the plot!! The game feels like it's about him more than anything else. His arc is the best written out of all. He is mentioned in every conversation, he's the main advisor and the narrative foil, you get to talk to him often, you work for him and with him and go into his memories it all feels so surreal to me lmao I love him so I'm delighted ngl! but also making the other Evanuris so cartoonishly evil makes Solas into such an obvious choice of an ally, god of trickery or not, that it sort of takes the decision out of your hands and makes some dialogue options and companions' opinions seem almost nonsensical. I have no idea how this game would feel to someone who absolutely hates Solas' guts honestly. I suppose I will find out soon enough 😆

About Solas' story, I loved it! I somehow also feel that I knew it already, all the speculation and theories that Solavellan fans were crafting for years were so accurate that it was all very validating. Even the wildest ones! Solas as the Maker, the elves spirit origin, Mythal giving him a body, the war with the Titans, the origin of the Blight, Solas being on your side as advisor, I can go on, we knew!! Also I have to mention this I'm sorry but they made him look so hot!! unbelievable. And the bloodied teary eyed pathetic look in the end ouurghhh I'm cheering and clapping!!

The romance conclusion was so lovely 😭 the Loki and Sigyn ending we deserved to such a mythological epic!! and open ended enough for all of us to cook!! and we got to see him fight and transform into the Dread Wolf!! and whimper and cry!! and bleed and love!! that's all I ever wanted, incredible we were really spoiled what the hell I still can't believe it 😭 GDL acting was brilliant as usual! the visuals were also incredible and exactly what I had in mind when I imagined where the story may go, the eclipse, the giant wolf, the glowing eyes, the Elvhenan ruins, the statues, even the hair lmao it all aligned exactly to what I've been painting all these years but better I was thrilled 😭

Solas backstory with Mythal also offers players that didn't romance him a chance to see him act out of love and show a side they wouldn't be able to reach otherwise and I think it was smart! also very tragic and sheds more light into all of his choices and words and his relationship with Lavellan too and the parallels and reversals and uughh thoroughly enjoying the emotional distress 👌

Pleasing both the Solas lovers and haters at the same time was always going to be hard with him being such a polarizing character by design and the world states being so different but I think they did a good job! at least from my side of things.

I think my favorite part besides the Solas related stuff was the Blight. I loved how horrific and gross and threatening it was! I've always loved the concept of the Blights and I'm glad it was such a huge part of the story in this game. I also loved Treviso!! has to be the most beautiful city in Thedas ahhh and the Necropolis!! the gardens!! Vorgoth!!! Kal-Sharok!!! I can't believe we got to see it!! and a Titan!!! the giant floating face of Ghilan'nain in the clouds??? and the huge archdemons and dragons!! oh and that warden dragon trap in the shape of a griffon?? and the giant blight tendrils!! the siege at Weisshaupt was outstanding!! and the floating panopticon castle situation in Minrathous uughh there is so much I loved.

OH I also enjoyed the Varric arc even though I saw it coming since the trailer it was still played well and it was touching 🥺

The ending felt a bit jarring to me in tone though, a bit too cheerful considering...the horrors. Over half the continent destroyed and most of the problems Thedas had before the game are still there. Veil in place and all 😆

But I had fun!! I'm nitpicking really, the conclusion to Solas' story feels very satisfying to me which was my main worry so I'm happy. It is a good game!! with a sort of soft reboot feel to it and aimed at a younger audience which is probably what they were going for? You can sort of feel the struggle the team went through during production in the way the target audience seems unclear sadly. I also can't help feeling like this is an ending, so much was revealed and resolved!! but maybe I feel that way because that is what I felt after Shadowbringers / Endwalker in FFXIV once my favorite part of the story was wrapped? They can always pivot to a new continent and expand on the world and cultures we know almost nothing about, but that is always harder to sell so I have no clue where they will go from here 😵‍💫

Anyway I'm still processing a lot of stuff that I will probably talk (and draw) about later, this is already long enough!! for now I'll look up how to get the artbook because the art direction of this game is fantastic!! I would love to hear your thoughts too really, I'm curious about the experiences of players who made different choices and with different tastes to mine!!

[eu-nicola]

Topper's sister

summary: since you were a child you had been in love with Rafe even though he never saw you, he always saw you as his best friend's little sister and nothing else, until one night everything changed.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 4487

author's note: english is not my first language

Since you were a child, you had always been Topper's "little sister." You grew up surrounded by him and his friends, watching from the shadows as they lived their days with a carefree attitude that you, in your innocence, envied. Among them all, Rafe Cameron had been your beacon. A platonic love that had begun when you were barely ten years old and he was already an arrogant and charming teenager.

It was impossible not to notice Rafe. With his easy laugh, his hair messy from the wind, and that confidence that radiated as if the world belonged to him. Every time he came to your house, he would greet you with a quick knock on the door before entering without waiting for an answer, and he always gave you the same gesture: a distracted flutter in his hair, as if you were a pet he found cute.

"Hey, little one." That was his standard greeting. A casual smile, without stopping to look at you for more than a second.

It made you burn inside. Not with hate, but with frustration. To him, you had always been the girl Topper shared DNA with, nothing more.

But time had passed. You were sixteen now, and you were no longer that shy girl who watched from the stairs as the boys joked and drank in the living room. You had changed. Your eyes, once filled with naivety, now knew how to see beyond the surface. Your hair fell in neat waves, and your style had become refined. You knew that many of Topper’s friends looked at you differently. The pool boy last week, Kelce at the last party, even some who were more distant were starting to seek your attention.

Except Rafe.

He was still the only exception.

One summer afternoon was an especially hot day, and as usual, Topper had invited his friends over to spend the day at the pool. You were in the kitchen, looking for something cold to drink, when you heard the familiar voices from the patio. Rafe’s laughter was loud, and as an automatic reflex, you looked out the window. There he was, with his cocky grin, throwing a ball back and forth with Topper and Kelce.

You decided to join in. You were no longer the girl who hid; now you knew how to move in his world. You came out with a glass of lemonade in your hand and headed toward the group.

“Maintaining the pool again?” you commented with a hint of mockery.

Topper rolled his eyes, but it was Kelce who answered first, smiling in a way you had seen before.

“There’s always room for you.”

Rafe didn’t even bother to look at you. He kept his eyes on the ball, as if your presence wasn’t worthy of his attention. That indifference stung, but you refused to let him notice.

“Sure, Kelce. Because you’re always such a gentleman,” you replied with a wink, playing along with his flirtation.

You sat down in one of the nearby chairs, letting the sun warm your skin as you feigned disinterest. You knew the others were looking at you, but your eyes were focused only on Rafe. Despite everything, he was still the one who held your attention.

After a while, the dynamic changed. Topper and Kelce decided to get into the water, leaving Rafe alone by the table. Without thinking much, you stood up and walked over.

“Are you going to stand there like a guard or are you going to have fun?” you asked, taking a seat next to him.

Finally, Rafe looked at you. His blue eyes met yours for a brief moment, and for the first time in a long time, he seemed to notice something different. But his usual smile quickly returned.

“Someone has to keep order. I don’t trust those two.” He pointed at Topper and Kelce, who were fighting over a float.

You rolled your eyes, leaning a little closer to him.

“Always so responsible, Rafe? You surprise me.”

“And you’re always so curious, huh?”

There was a mocking tone in his voice, but also something else. Something that made you wonder if, after all these years, Rafe was starting to see you as more than just Topper’s little sister. But you shouldn’t get your hopes up; you knew Rafe Cameron and his world of dangerous games all too well.

The afternoon passed without any major problems. The boys joked around and competed in absurd games, like who could stay on the float the longest or who could do the best dive from the edge of the pool. You joined them at times, letting the laughter flow freely. You felt the gazes of Kelce and the other boys on you, but as always, you didn't care enough.

Even so, there was something different in the air. A subtle tension. At one point, as you were toweling off after a dip, Kelce approached with a playful grin.

“So… you’re going to the party tonight, right?” he asked, leaning slightly towards you.

“Sure,” you replied without hesitation.

“Perfect.” Kelce winked at you and walked away, but not before Rafe pushed him away with a light punch on the shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Rafe said with a dry laugh.

“Just being friendly,” Kelce replied with a crooked grin, knowing full well what he was doing.

You watched the interaction, trying to figure out if there was something more behind Rafe’s reaction, but he didn’t say anything else. He simply turned away and refocused on the game. Although his apparent indifference was still present, you couldn’t ignore the small spark you’d seen in his eyes.

As the sun began to set, everyone started packing up their things. The boys went home to get ready for the party, while you stayed a little longer by the pool. You enjoyed the moment of calm, letting the warm breeze caress your skin before heading inside.

In your room, you opened your closet, searching for the perfect outfit for the night. You knew the party was going to be big; the entire Outer Banks was talking about it. You wanted to stand out, not only because you knew a lot of eyes would be on you, but also because you wanted to provoke a specific reaction. You wanted him to see you.

You chose a tight, deep blue dress, which highlighted your eyes and hugged your figure in all the right places. You carefully applied your makeup, opting for a style that combined naturalness with a hint of boldness. Looking in the mirror, you knew you were ready.

You walked down the stairs just as the first guests began to arrive. The house was already filled with music and laughter. Topper, as always, was in his element, greeting everyone and making sure drinks were never in short supply.

Hours later the atmosphere was electric. The house was filled with young people dancing, drinking and chatting in every corner. You walked through the living room confidently, greeting a few acquaintances before heading out to the patio where most of them were congregating. There, under the dim lights hanging over the pool, you saw Rafe.

He was leaning against the railing, a glass in his hand and that carefree smile that seemed permanent on his face. He was talking to a group of guys, but even from a distance, you could notice how some girls tried to catch his attention. He, however, ignored them with an ease that you found frustrating and fascinating in equal parts.

You decided not to approach him right away. Instead, you moved through the party, letting others come to you. Kelce appeared almost instantly, offering you a drink and throwing out flattering comments that you accepted with a smile.

However, every time you turned your head, your eyes went back to find Rafe. You watched him move around, talking to Topper or just watching the crowd, but never coming close to you.

After a while, you felt somewhat suffocated by the crowd and decided to step out onto the back balcony for a moment. The music was muffled, and the fresh air was a relief. You leaned on the railing, enjoying the brief respite.

You hadn’t been there more than a few minutes when you heard footsteps behind you. You turned your head and, to your surprise, it was Rafe.

“Escaping the party?” he asked with that smile he seemed to have been practicing for years.

“Just taking a break.” You shrugged, trying to remain calm.

He walked over and leaned on the railing beside you. For the first time in a long time, you were alone with him, without the distraction of others.

“Kelce seems to be quite interested in you,” he commented casually, though there was something in his tone that made you raise an eyebrow.

“And that bothers you?” “You asked, challenging him with your gaze.

Rafe let out a low laugh, turning his head to you.

“Should I?”

You didn’t answer right away. There was a tension in the air, an energy that seemed to envelop the two of you. Finally, you decided that, this time, you weren’t going to be the first to give in.

“I guess not,” you said with a hint of sarcasm, before looking away towards the horizon.

The silence that followed was brief, but loaded with meaning.

“Maybe.” His reply was almost a whisper.

The tension on the balcony was almost unbearable, but you refused to be the one to give in. Without giving him time to respond or analyze his words further, you stepped away from the railing and left him there, with his thoughts. You weren’t going to let that little moment consume you, not when there was an entire party waiting for you.

You went back inside the house, and as soon as you walked through the door, someone handed you a glass. You accepted it without thinking much, feeling the alcohol begin to warm your veins. The music was louder, the lights dimmer, and the energy of the party enveloped you again.

Soon you found yourself in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by bodies moving to the beat of the music. It wasn't long before one of Topper's friends approached, a boy who had always tried to catch your attention. You knew that tonight he had his goal clear too, and it didn't bother you at all.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked you with a cheeky smile, already a few drinks in.

"Why not?" you answered, letting yourself be carried away by the music and the atmosphere.

He positioned himself close to you, his hands resting on your waist as you both followed the rhythm of the music. There wasn't a considerable space between you, and the closeness was enough to make other eyes fall on you, although you didn't care. At least, not until you felt a different presence at your side.

Suddenly, a strong hand rested on your arm, gently but firmly pulling you away from the boy you were dancing with. When you looked up, you met Rafe's eyes. His face was serious, and though his balance wasn’t perfect due to the alcohol, his gaze burned with an intensity you hadn’t seen before.

“Come on,” he said in a deep voice, almost inaudible over the music.

“What are you doing, Rafe?” you asked, surprised and confused, as he led you through the crowd.

“You shouldn’t be with him,” he replied, not even looking back.

You, your head clouded by the drinks you had consumed, could barely process what was happening. Before you knew it, you were in one of the rooms upstairs, away from the noise of the party.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, breaking free from his grip.

Rafe closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment. There was something different in his gaze, something beyond the alcohol.

“I don’t know…” he murmured.

The silence between you was heavy, but not uncomfortable. You moved closer, your heart pounding in your chest. There were so many emotions mixed together: frustration, desire, confusion. Rafe looked at you, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t seem to have all the answers.

So, without thinking about it any further, you took a step closer and kissed him. It was an impulsive kiss, filled with years of repressed emotions. At first, Rafe seemed surprised, but he quickly reciprocated.

The kiss intensified, and soon everything else faded away. There was no one else, no past or future, just that moment.

What happened next was a mix of desire and confusion. You were both drunk, and even though your thoughts tried to stay clear, your actions betrayed you. That night was the first time you were with a man, and it was with him, with Rafe, the person you had idealized for so long.

You didn't say anything about it, and you didn't afterward either. Rafe didn't ask you, nor did he seem to care. To him, it was just another night, a mistake caused by alcohol and closeness.

When it was all over, you stayed silent, staring at the ceiling as he quickly got dressed. Rafe wasn't the type to stick around, and you knew that even before he opened his mouth.

“This isn’t going to happen again,” he said, his voice hoarse and tired. “We were just drunk, that’s all.”

It hurt, but you didn’t show it. Instead, you shrugged, pretending you didn’t care.

“I know.”

He gave you one last look, like he was searching for something in your expression, but when he found nothing, he simply left, closing the door behind him.

You stood there for a few minutes, letting reality hit you. You had known something like this could happen, that once you were around Rafe, your feelings would complicate everything again. But you also knew you weren’t going to let it define you.

You stood up, fixed your dress, and walked out of the room, ready to face the rest of the night. Rafe might want to pretend nothing had happened, but you weren’t going to get caught up in that. If he wanted to forget about it, you would too.

You returned to the party, head held high and a confident smile. There were more drinks, more laughter, more glances. Kelce found you again, and this time, you didn't hesitate to accept his attention.

The days following the party were a whirlwind of emotions for you. Every time you saw Rafe, a knot formed in your stomach. However, he didn't seem affected at all. He acted as if that night had never happened, as if it had all been an unimportant blur.

You expected it, but it didn't hurt any less. You had spent years dreaming of a moment like this, imagining what it would be like if Rafe finally saw you as more than "Topper's little sister." And even though it had happened, the reality was very different from your fantasies.

Rafe was back to his old self: distant, cocky, focused on his own world. His interactions with you were sporadic and cordial, if anything. There wasn’t a single sign that he remembered what happened, let alone cared.

You, for your part, tried to stay strong. You knew you couldn’t let a single moment define your life, but that was easier said than done. Despite everything, you were still in love with him. Every time he walked into a room, your attention was automatically drawn to him, even if you tried hard to look away.

You spent more time with Topper’s friends, especially Kelce, who seemed determined to win your attention. Kelce was friendly and knew how to make you laugh, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never make you completely forget about Rafe.

At night, you found yourself replaying the moments from that night over and over in your mind. You remembered his hands on you, the warmth of his body, the intensity of his gaze. But every time those memories came up, you forced yourself to push them away. Rafe had been clear: it wasn’t going to happen again.

Everything was moving on, and it was impossible to avoid Rafe entirely. You often saw him around the house, chatting with Topper or relaxing by the pool. When you were around him, you tried to act natural, but each interaction was harder than you wanted to admit.

One day, while you were in the kitchen preparing something to eat, Rafe came in, reaching for a beer in the fridge. For a moment, you were alone, silence filling the space between you.

“Everything okay?” he asked casually, not looking at you as he opened the bottle.

“Yeah, everything okay,” you replied in a neutral tone, trying to sound nonchalant.

Rafe nodded and leaned against the counter, taking a sip of his drink. There were no more words between you, and after a few minutes, he simply walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone once again.

Those kinds of encounters became commonplace. Rafe was always polite, but it never went beyond a “hello” or an occasional question. It seemed like for him, nothing out of the ordinary had really happened.

You decided you couldn’t stay stuck in that cycle anymore. If Rafe could ignore what happened, then you could try too. You pushed yourself to focus on other things: hanging out with your friends, focusing on your own interests, even considering the idea of ​​starting something with someone new.

Yet every little bit of progress fell apart the moment you saw Rafe. There was something about him that always drew you back, as if your heart refused to accept what your mind already knew.

One afternoon, as you sat on the patio, watching the waves in the distance, you heard footsteps behind you. You turned your head and saw Rafe, walking with that nonchalance that always seemed to accompany him. He sat down on one of the nearby chairs, not saying anything at first.

“Thinking about something deep?” he finally asked, with a slight smile.

You didn’t answer right away. You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure.

“Maybe,” you finally said, without looking at him.

Rafe didn’t press. He stayed silent, sipping from his glass as you both stared at the horizon. For a moment, you almost seemed like friends, like there was nothing strange between you. But you knew it was just a passing illusion.

That was the problem with Rafe. He always managed to sneak into your life, into your thoughts, even when you tried to keep him out.

Days after trying to ignore him, there was another party but this time not at your house but at Rafe’s house. The music was pumping loudly, filling every corner of the house. The lights flickered to the beat of the bass, while the air was charged with the energy of bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. You stood in the center of the dance floor, lost in the music, letting a boy lead you confidently. He was attractive, and his smile had a mischievous touch that kept your thoughts away from Rafe, at least for a while.

“You’re a great dancer,” the boy told you, leaning close to your ear so you could hear him over the music.

You smiled, grateful for the compliment, although it didn’t affect you too much. All you wanted was to enjoy the night without complications, without thinking about what had happened days ago. But just when you thought you could finally relax, you felt a strong hand on your arm.

“That’s enough,” you heard Rafe’s voice, sharp and determined, as he pulled you away from the boy.

You turned quickly, coming face to face with him. His eyes, despite the slight glint of alcohol, were filled with an intensity you hadn’t seen in a long time. The boy you were dancing with raised his hands, taking a few steps back, clearly not wanting to confront Rafe.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, pulling away from his hold, furious at the interruption.

“What am I doing?” Rafe repeated, as if the answer was obvious. “What do you think you’re doing, dancing with him like that?”

You stared at him incredulously, your emotions swinging between surprise and anger.

“Excuse me? Since when do you care who I dance with?”

Rafe looked at you with his lips pressed together, his jaw tensing.

“I don’t care, but you don’t have to behave like that in front of everyone.”

“Behave like that?” you laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell me what to do, Rafe. You’re nobody to butt into my life.”

His face showed a hint of something, maybe surprise, maybe frustration. But he quickly hid it, taking a step back.

“You’re right,” he finally said, his tone cold and distant. “I’m nobody.”

With that, Rafe turned around and walked away, leaving you there, your heart pounding and a mix of emotions you couldn't control.

You stood in the center of the dance floor, watching him walk away. The music continued, people continued dancing, but to you everything seemed to have paused. His words echoed in your mind: I'm nobody.

You tried to regain your composure. You went back to where your friends were, but your mood was no longer the same. Although you pretended everything was fine, inside you the anger and confusion continued to grow.

Rafe had made his point clear: he didn't want anything serious, but he didn't seem to want you to be with someone else either. What right did he have to make a scene out of jealousy if you meant nothing to him?

You took a long drink from the drink someone offered you, determined to erase that moment from your mind.

The next morning the sun shone high in the sky as the group enjoyed the afternoon by Topper's pool. You were lying on a lounge chair, your sunglasses covering half your face, letting the heat tan your skin. You could hear the sound of the waves in the distance and the laughter of the boys drinking beers near the pool.

Rafe was there, of course, sitting next to Topper and Kelce. You tried not to look at him, concentrating on the book in your hands, even though you hadn’t read a single word since you sat down. Your tranquility was interrupted, however, when one of Topper’s friends, a boy named Mason, decided to approach.

“Enjoying the sun?” he asked with a smile, leaning in slightly so you could hear him.

You looked up over your sunglasses and smiled lightly at him.

“Yeah, it’s a nice day,” you replied in a relaxed tone.

Mason sat on the edge of your lounge chair, his presence much closer than you expected.

“I was thinking maybe we could take advantage of this nice day and go out on the jet ski later. What do you say?” he suggested, clearly interested in spending more time with you.

Before you could answer, you felt a shadow approaching. Rafe was now standing next to your lounge chair, his gaze fixed on Mason.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Mason?” Rafe asked with a tight smile, though his tone made it clear it wasn’t a friendly suggestion.

Mason looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t move immediately.

“I was just talking to her, man. Relax.”

“Well, talk from over there,” Rafe replied, pointing towards the group of guys by the pool.

You sat up, furious, and pushed your sunglasses aside to face him.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe?” you snapped, your voice filled with anger.

Rafe didn’t respond immediately, simply keeping his gaze fixed on Mason until he finally stood up and walked back to the group. Then, he turned his attention back to you.

“Can we talk?” he said in a tone that tried to be softer.

“No, we can’t.” You stood up from the lounge chair and grabbed your towel. Without waiting for an answer, you headed into the house, leaving Rafe standing by the pool.

You went up to your room, closed the door behind you, and dropped onto the bed, trying to calm yourself down. But it wasn’t more than a few minutes before the door slammed open. Rafe had walked in without even knocking, his face a mix of frustration and determination.

“What do you want now?” you asked, standing up to face him.

“I want to know what the hell you’re doing,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“What am I doing?” you repeated in disbelief. “I’m the one who should be asking you that! You were clear, Rafe. Our thing was just one night. I accepted it, remember? So why do you keep showing up every time someone else is paying attention to me?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice lower.

That only made you angrier.

“Well, I do know that. You have no right to butt into my life, Rafe. No right to make me jealous when you yourself said it meant nothing.”

Rafe stayed silent, his eyes locked on yours. He knew you were right, but he couldn’t seem to find the words to respond. Instead, he took a step towards you, and before you could react, his lips were on yours.

You resisted at first, pushing him away slightly, still angry. But Rafe didn’t pull away, and after a second, the tension between you exploded. You gave in, kissing him back with the same intensity. His hands slid down your back, pulling you closer, as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. Rafe looked at you, his eyes darker now, filled with desire.

“We have to stop here,” he said quietly, though his hands were still firmly gripped by your hips. “If we don’t, I won’t be able to stop later.”

You stared at him, not pulling away.

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, with a determination that surprised even yourself.

That was all it took. Rafe kissed you again, more urgently this time, as he led you toward the bed. You both knew you were crossing a line, but at that moment, neither of you seemed to care.

[p0orbaby]

She’ll Know Me Crazy, Soothe Me Daily

summary: you go into labour (leah’s version)

warnings: mentions of pregnancy and labour, who’d have guessed

a/n: i got a request for this and dropped everything at work to write it so if i get fired it’s your fault !

word count: 1.8k

-

It’s three a.m., and you’re lying in bed in that half-dream, half-wake state, thinking about nothing and everything at once—plans, names, logistics, the strange feeling in your back, how Leah’s snoring sounds almost like a broken radiator. You’d drifted off earlier with the usual suspects on your mind—last-minute nursery tweaks, what it’d be like to actually meet this new person, how you’re supposed to keep them alive once they’re here.

Then suddenly you’re very awake. And aware. The kind of aware that has you blinking up at the ceiling, trying to gauge if you’re imagining this, if maybe it’s all just part of the anxious last-few-weeks-of-pregnancy weirdness. But no, no. It’s real. The sensation you’d ignored all night is now gripping you in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

Your waters have broken.

You’re in labour.

In the midst of grappling with this sudden, primal realisation that your body is not only capable of this but actively doing it, your first instinct is to look to Leah. After all, this is the same Leah who can keep her head in the midst of a stadium of screaming fans, who’s always told you, right up until yesterday, that she’s “got this, babe.” The same Leah who’s been planning this night in her head like a military operation—bags packed, snacks labelled, an entire eight-page birth plan on the kitchen counter with sections highlighted in three colours. She’s got this.

You roll over and give her a shake. “Leah,” you hiss, breath short and tight, like you’re hoping the urgency will slip through the layers of her sleep.

She doesn’t stir. Instead, she mumbles something incoherent and continues snoring, entirely oblivious to the fact that you are, in real time, about to bring a whole new human into the world.

“Leah,” you say, louder now, and with a sharper jab to her shoulder. “Leah, wake up. My waters just broke”

This gets her. She bolts upright, eyes bleary and unfocused, looking around with all the awareness of someone woken up by a fire alarm. She has one sock on and her hair is falling out of her bun in every direction, sticking to her forehead in curls that make her look, for lack of a better description, entirely unhinged. What?” she blurts, looking at you like you’ve just told her the moon’s fallen out of orbit.

“I said, my waters just broke. I’m in labour”

She stares at you blankly, and then at the clock. “Now? Like…now, now?”

“Yes, now, Leah. That’s how it works”

“Oh… oh my god. Okay. Right.” She throws herself out of bed, hands flailing a bit in what could generously be called an attempt to find her balance, looking every bit like she’s just woken up in the middle of a burning building. She blinks, rubs her face, and then stares around the room with all the sharp focus of someone who’s lost all concept of time, place, and purpose.

She begins moving around the room, grabbing objects seemingly at random—a pair of your slippers, a half-empty water bottle, the book she’s been reading that she still hasn’t finished because every time she gets to a chapter break she’s distracted by some tangent or half-thought that spirals out of control. You watch as she picks up her phone, only to immediately drop it in a panic.

You try not to laugh. You fail, slightly, but she’s too distracted to notice.

“Hospital bag,” you remind her. “By the door”

“Right, yes. The hospital bag.” She says it with the blankness of someone who’s just been reminded of the existence of the universe itself. She nods emphatically, almost comically, and rushes out of the room, one sock on, one sock off, muttering, “Hospital bag. Yes. By the door. Got it”

For a few blissful seconds, she’s out of the room, and you can breathe, collecting yourself in the strange solitude. You can’t help but feel a strange, surreal amusement in the whole thing—after months of birthing classes, of Leah listening intently to the instructor, nodding along like she was studying for the final exam, of stacks of books and bookmarked articles and quiet reassurances that she’d be ready…she’s now charging through the house like a headless chicken, her panic almost louder than the quiet early-morning calm.

She’s back in less than a minute, looking absolutely horrified. “It’s… it’s not there”

“What do you mean, it’s not there?”

“I mean it’s not—by the door. I don’t see it. Did we…did we put it somewhere else?” She’s visibly panicking now, eyes wide and darting around as if the bag might materialise if she looks in enough absurdly irrelevant places, like the windowsill or behind the potted plant.

“It’s by the door,” you repeat, managing to keep your tone steady and encouraging, despite the fact that you’re, oh right, currently in labour.

“Right,” she says again, nodding in a way that looks almost mechanical. “Right, yes. By the door. Of course”

She’s off, scrambling out of the room with one sock half-off, muttering the word “bag” to herself like it’s some kind of holy incantation. The momentary peace of her absence gives you a moment to focus on your breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling in slow, measured counts, trying to recall the absurd number of hours you spent watching labour tutorials and wondering if any of that information will come back to you now, in the thick of it.

Moments later, she returns, this time clutching the bag triumphantly in one hand. Her face is a strange mix of pride and exasperation, like she’s just conquered Everest but is deeply unimpressed with the mountain.

“Got it,” she announces, as if the sheer act of retrieving it from the entryway deserves some sort of medal. She sets the bag down on the bed with an air of absolute finality, as though the weight of the world has been lifted from her shoulders.

You smile at her, keeping your voice calm. “Alright, love. Let’s get dressed and head out”

“Dressed,” she echoes, her face going blank again as if the concept of clothes is suddenly beyond her comprehension.

“Yes, Leah. Clothes. You might want to put some on”

For a long moment, she stares at the wardrobe as though it’s some kind of cryptic puzzle. Then, with an almost bewildered shake of her head, she pulls it open and begins pulling out clothes at random—a pair of jeans, a jumper she only wears when it’s freezing, and, inexplicably, a thick wool scarf.

“Leah, it’s June”

She freezes mid-scarf-wrap, blinks, and slowly unwinds it. “Right, yeah. June. Good. Warm.” She tosses the scarf aside, looking faintly sheepish.

“Hang on… should I call someone? I feel like we should call someone. Do we… call 999? Or is that just for emergencies?”

“Leah,” you manage between breaths, “this is an emergency. It’s literally… labour. It’s happening right now”

“Right! Emergency.” She nods rapidly, like a bobblehead on overdrive, and jabs at her phone screen with so much intensity that it nearly flies out of her hand. She stops mid-dial, eyes wide with panic. “Wait. No, no…maybe we just drive there? Or do they… do they send someone?”

You look at her, trying not to let your exasperation show through the mounting pain. “Leah, we’re just going to drive. We’ve been through this.”

“Right. Yes. Driving. Of course. I knew that.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to physically dislodge the panic, muttering, “I’m just—okay. Drive. Right. Okay.” She finally lets go of her phone and starts making her way toward the door, muttering things like, “Got it. We’ve got this,” in a way that sounds more like she’s trying to reassure herself than you.

But then she stops. Turns. Looks back at you, blinking in realisation. “Are you…are you alright?”

“I’m in labour,” you say with a thin smile, “so no. Not really. But let’s keep going”

“Right, yeah. That makes sense.” She nods like you’ve just imparted some deep wisdom, like the words in labour contain ancient knowledge previously unknown to her.

By now, another contraction has hit, and you’re clutching the edge of the bed, breathing through it with every bit of focus you can muster. Leah watches, horrified, looking like she might faint just from witnessing the sheer audacity of labour itself.

“Should I… is there something I can… I don’t know, can I do something?” She’s hovering now, looking at you helplessly like she’s waiting for you to hand her a to-do list.

You grit your teeth, squeezing out a reply. “Just… breathe. With me. Okay? In… and out”

She takes a shaky breath, her hand rising and falling in time with yours as if synchronising her breathing might somehow keep you both tethered to reality. For a moment, it’s almost peaceful, the two of you breathing in unison, a strange little pocket of calm amid the chaos.

And then, just as quickly, the panic is back.

“Wait. Snacks. We’re going to need snacks”

“Snacks?” you manage, halfway between a groan and a laugh.

“Yes. For energy. They said snacks are crucial.” She’s already halfway to the kitchen before you can protest, practically flinging open cupboards and rummaging through drawers with the frantic energy of someone who’s just realised they’re on an episode of MasterChef and has thirty seconds left on the clock. She emerges with an armful of items that make absolutely no sense together—a banana, a bag of crisps, two protein bars, and, inexplicably, a tin of chickpeas.

You stare at the tin in her hands. “Leah, we’re not bringing chickpeas”

“They’re protein,” she says, with a ridiculous level of conviction.

You watch, trying desperately not to laugh as she rummages through drawers, muttering about water bottles and phone chargers and—god help you both—“emergency blankets.” She’s wearing one shoe, and her sock has somehow ended up on her hand, and she’s pacing so frenetically that she nearly trips over her own feet at least twice.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to corral her towards the door, where she stops suddenly, wide-eyed and visibly distressed.

“Wait!” she exclaims, her hand shooting out to grip your arm in sheer, abject horror. “The… the speaker for the birthing playlist!”

You stare at her blankly for a moment before realising that, yes, she’s referring to the hours-long playlist she’d meticulously curated in the months leading up to this moment—a mix of calming piano tracks, soothing instrumentals, and, inexplicably, a handful of 80s power ballads that she swore would “keep the energy up.”

“We… we don’t have time for the speaker, Leah”

She looks at you like you’ve just suggested abandoning a child. “But you… we planned it. I spent hours on Spotify—”

“We don’t need the speaker,” you tell her, trying to keep your voice gentle but firm. You’re at the door, shoes on, bag in hand, and if she doesn’t start moving soon, you’re fairly certain you’ll be having this baby right here in the hallway.

She stares at you, visibly torn, before finally nodding, reluctantly. “Right. No speaker. We can…we’ll improvise”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “We’ll improvise”

And finally—finally—she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and steps out the door, hand in yours, still muttering under her breath about the playlist, about snacks, about breathing techniques and birthing balls and god knows what else.

[wandasdollie]

  ꒰  𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀bisou, bisou!  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀ ⠀𝜗𝜚  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀18+! men and minors dni.

 .   ̣̣̣︶ ྀ pairing ˚ ۪ ݁ balletinstructor!wanda x ballerina!reader

꒰  tags ꒱ 𓈒  mommy!wanda ,  taboo - ish relationship , smut , fingering , r!receiving , wanda speaking french! ( lapine is bunny, and poupée is doll~!! )

 ꔫ  ࣪ ˖ a / n ⑅♡ ྀ˖ this is my first time writing for wanda , i do hope you enjoy!! based on my previous post!! i... have not proofread this... i am very sorry if it is a mess!!   ໒ ྀི>֯ . <ྀི֯ ̥ ︣ა

 ⁺ ⑅  ꫂ ၴႅၴ tag list ֯݁ต  @emiliaisdead ( pls comment if you'd like to be added~! )

“Bonne après-midi, ma lapine!”

You lift your nose from its position at your knee, lifting up and toward the position of the honey-coated voice. It comes as no surprise to you that your instructor stands at the door, her hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, her outfit consisting of several layers that she’s sure to ditch over the next few hours. She looks impossibly cozy, and though her nose is pink and her hair is a bit frizzy from a hat that she’s recently shed, she is the essence of winter comfort. She is shivering, as are you. You can think of nothing more than sitting in front of a fire with her, under a blanket with warm tea and cookies, spending your time only focused on your shared nearness. This time of year always floods your mind with these images, it can’t be helped. Alas, you stand in a room with only a few small space heaters to create warmth for your poor, frozen joints.

“Hello!” You smile in return. Ms. Maximoff has a penchant towards speaking in French in your presence, as if it is her little secret, one that she will never let you in on. You haven’t learned yet what her little teasing nicknames mean, but you have the context clues to know when she’s greeting you, which is just enough. You don’t really want to know what she’s calling you, it only adds to the tension of your already over-amorous relationship.

You have had an entirely debilitating crush on this woman for far too long, and it is not as though she is necessarily helping you shake it. She is incredibly affectionate towards you, and while it may seem to others in the room that you are nothing more than her favorite student— which you certainly are— Ms. Maximoff harbors those very same feelings for you. She just does not show it as easily as you do. Where you become a blushing, babbling mess, she is stoic, firm, though sometimes she cannot help the dimpled smile when she watches you dance. She has forced her own resolve around you so much that it is starting to crumble, her urges towards you harder to contain. She cannot conceal adoring looks nor wandering hands much longer.  

You slide into your next stretch, attempting a split, which you aren’t nearly warm enough for, and the exasperated sigh that leaves your lips turns a frown on Wanda’s gentle features. You’re not sure how she could have possibly heard it, but she definitely has, and makes her way to stand beside you, pulling gloves off of perfectly manicured hands.

“What’s wrong, poupée?” She speaks softly as she kneels to your side, a gentle hand caressing your thigh. She chews on her lower lip, and you each feel the ripple of nerves shoot through the tense muscle when she places her hand there. There’s simply no helping the buzz of butterflies in your tummy when you look up to meet her gaze in the mirror, the way she so intently watches you, how her thumb caresses you even though you’re wearing awfully thick sweatpants.

“I’m too cold,” you whine, voice a bit pathetic as you flop onto the floor, body naturally magnetized towards your instructor, subconsciously seeking her body’s warmth, her touch. You lower your gaze from the mirror and turn to face Wanda now, looking up to her as if by some magic she could instantly warm you, begging without words for her to wrap her arms around you and hold you close. You want nothing more than to slip your fingers under her large sweater and warm your freezing fingers, and that is just the same thing that Wanda seeks now. But she is in the position of a professional, of a teacher, that she must keep her head about her. That’s what she’s always had to remind herself, since the very first day you enrolled in her course.

 Needless to say, she’s found this very difficult.

Most difficult, that is, when you look up to her, eyes wide and pleading, fingers playing anxiously with the cotton of your own sweatshirt, legs spread so that Wanda sits perfectly between them. She juts out her lower lip a little, looking to you with the pity that you so deserve, and raises her own hand so that she may press the palm against your cheek. You lean into the touch so desperately, not minding that it is likely messing up your makeup— the makeup you always spend at least an hour perfecting before class, all so that she might compliment you like she is so apt to doing.

And it’s that very complimenting that Wanda is so desperate to do now, but she just must force herself not to. She will only look you over, soak in the image of the girl that so clearly longs to be loved, but will not allow herself anymore.

“Let me help,” she hums, voice impossibly smooth, dropped an octave from when she had first greeted you. Her thumb lightly washes over your skin before her hand drops, leaving a warm imprint on otherwise freezing flesh. Wanda backs up a little so that you may spread your legs even wider, a strained hundred-and-eighty-degree angle, though you press your palms into the floor, hovering a little as to ease some of the pain in your hips.

Wanda sidles herself behind you, enjoys all too much the way you chew on your lip, the way the veins in your neck ripple from the physical exertion. She won’t admit it to herself, but as much as she loves to see the smile on your bunny-pink lips, she adores to see you in the least bit of pain. A twinge sadistic, yes, but it’s a natural instinct that cannot be ignored. It is because she so yearns to be the one to ease your pain. She does not ever want to hurt you, will never hurt you, only wants to be the one to kiss you back to health when you’re sick, to put ice on swollen ankles.

She can’t help the craving hands that find themselves to your hips, their pressure firm, fingers threatening below the waistband of your sweatpants. You shiver when they do just that, finding their way onto the lowest part of your hip where your leotard meets tights, pressing you downwards ever so gently until you hit the floor. The stretch is entirely painful, though it’s a pain that’s all too close to being pleasurable. The extension of your muscles, paired with Wanda’s soothing touch, and her hot breath at the back of your neck, is all creating a swimming warmth within you far better than any heater could. The warmth has certainly concentrated right where your instructor’s hands lie now, the very inside of your thighs, the place that should hurt the absolute most, but with Wanda’s hands subtly massaging there, there isn’t a lot of pain at all.

“Good girl,” Wanda hums softly, releasing your thighs, sliding her hands up your side until they land against your back, lightly tracing the brocade velvet lacing of your backless leotard. She smiles to herself, counting the few freckles of your skin, knowing they won’t be gaining any new friends in the next cold months. “So pretty…” She whispers to herself, sure you can’t hear her for the way you count quietly to yourself. She adores it, the way your lips track numbers all throughout class, a very random quirk that you’ve never been aware of, yet it is one of Wanda’s favorite things about you.

You finally quit, swinging your legs forward, nearly falling back into Wanda in the process. In fact, your lack of balance has prompted her hand back to your hip, holding you firmly as you sit up, posture never faltering for the good ballerina that you are. Just as you are about to turn to thank Ms. Maximoff, whose leg has outstretched to mirror your own, to elongate your touch as much as she can, you hear a few chattering voices come down the hall. Wanda sighs softly, always a little too angry when other students dare interrupt your more intimate moments, but stands anyway. This is not before she gives your hip a small squeeze, and when she stands, she gently leaves her hand on top of your hair, gazes at you through the mirror. She could easily stare at you like this for the rest of time, and you her, but you both must move on, must find places at the barre, must move on with your lives. When the few students finally make their way into the classroom, Wanda winks at you before abandoning you in the middle of the floor, leaving so that she can fix her hair and check over her notes for today’s class.

The class is similar to every other that you’ve ever had, though not at all tedious. You do your warm-up as usual, practice for an upcoming recital, try some new things that Wanda has planned. She, as usual, uses you as an example, the teacher’s good little pet who always knows just what she’s talking about, can always maneuver through a combination with ease with only verbal instructions. You constantly worry this will make your fellow peers dislike you, but it is not their approval which you seek. And the way that Wanda always smiles and claps her hands when you’ve finished is more than enough. You have become a girl only living for Ms. Maximoff’s praise, always seeking it, always doing all you can to get it.

Today, you stand at the very far end of the barre, your back to wall instead of any other students, and Wanda certainly takes advantage of this. She lingers near you for far too long, gently pinching the flesh at your hip to make you giggle far too loudly, taking your sweatpants from you when you grow too warm, whispering dirty little phrases to you which make you blush deeper than a tomato. At least, you think they’re dirty. She speaks French, so you’re not entirely sure what it is she teases you with, but of course you blush and hide your face anyway. And, while they are often quite naughty, Wanda often finds herself whispering utter nonsense, be it a lyric to a song stuck in her head or the name of a French pastry she’s craving, just to see the way your knees lose balance. She has never once in her life been a tease, but for some reason, she just cannot help it. She loves to watch you squirm.

The class is over far too quickly for your liking. It always is. Though you spend nearly half of your week’s hours in this studio with Ms. Maximoff, it never ever feels like enough time. You always return home to an empty apartment, prepare yourself a meal that you’re sure Wanda would prepare far better, and do nothing but sulk until you can return to her side. You pull on your sweatpants and thickest wool socks, intentionally taking a very long time so that the other students will leave you and Wanda alone, so that you may have even a minute longer to spend together, to talk about whatever it is she wants to talk about.

“Is that all you have to wear?” Calls that sweet voice, head tilting to the side, sheer worry present on her features. “No wonder you’ve been so cold! You poor thing…” Wanda comes to your side, eyebrows knitted as she tugs lightly on your sweatshirt, looking around the floor, but no winter coat to be seen.

“Oh, I’ll be alright… The bus ride home is short!” You smile sweetly, eyes scrunching a little to convey how happy you are that she’s worrying over you. She evidently cares so much for you, and the fact that she does makes your heart swell oh so much. It’s not often that someone looks after your needs, until Wanda began doing all of the worrying for you.

Wanda is clearly displeased, her hands drifting from only grabbing the fabric of your sweatshirt to holding the body that it conceals, squeezing gently at your hips as she is so regularly prone to. She adores the way you feel in her grasp, so malleable yet firm with muscle, her own little doll. That is, after all, what she so frequently calls you without your knowing.

“This won’t do…” She mumbles softly to herself, shaking her head a little, her discomfort over your own cold growing so great that she cannot focus. She does, eventually, shake it, once you’ve ensued her several times that you have a pair of gloves in your bag that you fully intend on wearing.

“I worry for you, my darling.” Wanda sighs gently, lifting one hand to push a hair out of your face that’s finally fallen from sweat penetrating hair gel. Her hand lingers for perhaps too long, the pads of her fingers stuck to your skin as though by glue. It could be minutes, hours, that you stand like this, the only sound a clock ticking in the distance, the entire building emptied for the evening. Though your mind is empty, barely able to focus, eyes only barely glancing at Wanda’s so perfectly sculpted features with all the amorousness in the world, she is busy considering. She is thinking of all the ways that doing what it is she wants to do will hurt you, will get you both in trouble, will ruin what is already such a wonderful thing you share.

Eventually, her heart wins the battle, and she gently tugs against your cheek, reaching so that your lips connect. Though the heaters in the room have turned off, she is so impossibly warm. Her lips, the matte pink becoming messy from the fervor of her kisses, are hot against your own, which have already begun their winter chapping, but Wanda does not notice. Even if she did, she would not care. She kisses you with so much passion you would believe it has been building up for years.

You lift your hands as well, and they settle on her hips, tugging gently at her leggings, which are so tight and accentuate her curves so well that you find yourself at her for far too long. Her body is such a source of distraction for you, that you often seem spaced-out in the middle of class when, in reality, you are simply entranced by the subtle swing of your instructor’s hips as she walks. You grip her waist now, though your fingers have grown cold again so much so that they barely find the grasp that they so desperately want. You have spent far too long wanting this very touch, wanting to feel the weight of Wanda’s chest against you so desperately, the warmth of her tongue forcing apart your lips. You have spent so long wanting this, that its final arrival has overwhelmed you all too much.

Wanda pushes you backwards until your back hits the wall, a bit uncomfortable for the way that the barre forces a curve in your spine, but Wanda’s hands coax you into comfort. Her hands stray beneath your sweater, looking for any flesh beneath the skin-tight leotard and tights that you wear, incredibly frustrated at the lack of touch. She wants nothing more than to strip you of your clothes, to replace them with her hands, but is not quite sure that you are entirely alone, so instead snakes her hand under material the best she can, kneading the flesh that she is able to, pressing her warmth there.

You are practically helpless under her dominating hold, her weight over you, combined with her desperate kisses, nearly suffocating, but you do not mind one bit. You are hers to grope as she pleases, high from her vanilla perfume, your own hands seeking her own skin beneath her layers of athletic clothing.

You whine gently when she pulls her mouth from your own, her lips shining from your lip gloss, though you cannot admire them for long before she attaches them to your neck, gently licking you there while your head throws back, gently hits the wall beside you. Wanda has positioned herself so that her hips align perfectly with yours, though she stands between your legs, one of which has lifted to wrap around her, pulling her ever closer. Your hips have begun to buck as if on instinct, which only makes Wanda laugh softly, has her hands grabbing at you, assisting in your desperate rocking for pleasure.

“Does that feel good, princess?” She whispers roughly against your ear, though her voice still carries her signature sweetness, only a bit lower, darker.

You nod quickly, words not forming in your throat, hands flying up to tangle in her hair, and though you’re barely thinking clearly, you force the hair tie out, allow her strawberry curls to fall over her shoulders, so that you may cling onto her hair. Wanda adores the small whimpers that fly from you, but she forces her hand up to cover your mouth, to muffle your perverted little moans that echo in the room.

“The door is still open, lapine,” she whispers again, her breath bated and shallow. “Don’t want anyone to catch us.” Wanda lifts her head, looks into your eyes until you nod your understanding, and she drops her hand. “Good girl.”

When her hand drops from your mouth, it drops back to the waistband of your sweatpants, which she slides beneath, finds the spot in your panties that has grown so wet that it has soaked through your leotard. This makes her grin against the skin of your collarbone which she has begun attacking with her kisses, her teeth grazing against what is sure to become a dark bruise come morning. She presses gently against your clothed cunt, fingers slipping beneath the leotard yet still barriered by tights and panties. She is angered by this, yes, but the way you begin to moan from even her smallest presses to your clit makes Wanda dizzy from need. After a moment of finicking she is able to rip a small hole in your tights, the material so thin that it does not take much effort. She makes a mental note to buy you another pair.

Wanda finally pushes away your underwear, once again smiling into your skin when she finds that it is so very lacy, not at all what she would expect for a two-hour long ballet class. She does not know that she is the very reason you’ve chosen this pair, that for some sick reason you always dress from head to toe the way you’d want her to see you, including underwear and lacy bra, no matter how unlikely it is for her to see it.

The feeling of your warmth elicits such a deep moan from Wanda that it forces one of your own, which you end abruptly for the way that your breath hitches when she slides one finger inside of you. She whispers something once again, again speaking in the language that makes your knees incredibly weak, but that does not matter for the way that Wanda holds you so tight. Her finger pumps into you so gently, as though you are made of porcelain and might break if she does any more. And though her kisses are so fervent and her grip on you is so strong, she holds you delicately, like you are just a sweet little thing for her to take care of, not only the subject of her lust.

“Can you take another?” She muses, voice salaciously kind, so protective and dominating as she presses a few gentle kisses to your jawline. You can only nod in answer to her question, your hands falling once again to grab at her ass, to pull your bodies closer both by your hand and the leg that has hooked around her waist.

Wanda does as she’s promised, though her pace is still slow, still coaxing the small, high-pitched moans from your lips as she desires. Your muscles are incredibly tense, and though you’ve spent the past hours warming and moving them, you feel so shell-shocked with pleasure that your body is hardly able to move, other than the instinctual rocking of your hips.

“Look in the mirror, princess.” Wanda whispers into your own lips before placing a kiss to them. “I want you to see how good Mommy is making you feel.”

The nickname that she’s claimed for herself has sent another shock of pleasure through you, the butterflies in your stomach only heightening in their flapping. You flutter your eyes open as instructed, always the most obedient for Ms. Maximoff, and though your eyes are blurry, you find yourselves in the mirror.

The image, Wanda enveloping you, her focus so intense on fucking you, her hair messy down her back, the sleeve of her sweater all bunched up around her elbow, makes you tense up. You’ve never felt anything quite like it, and as Wanda’s thumb gently caresses your clit, you feel all of your muscles tense, your squeezing of her ass sure to leave some sort of bruise of its own. Wanda gently kisses you a few more times, her lips grown swollen from the dedication of her kisses. Her fingers continue to glide into you, as she allows you to ride her until your body grows overtired from it and falls limp against the wall.

“Good girl,” Wanda repeats, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek before she backs up only a little, looks over you, sees how flushed your skin has become, how heavy your eyelids are. She adores the little mess of a girl she’s made of you, and as she removes her hand from your pants, licks it clean, she cannot help but feel proud of herself.

By the time you open your eyes, Wanda has returned to her typical worrying self, though she looks so impossibly relaxed. Her skin is pink from your shared warmth, her lipstick so very messy, it makes you giggle a little.

“Please, let me drive you home?” She practically begs, but you take no convincing. You assess your appearance for only a moment before racing to her side, looping your arm around hers and grabbing your bag. You shyly press a kiss to her cheek as you step out into the winter, the air bitingly cold, yet you don’t feel it, for your entire body is still radiating from Wanda’s heat.

[pasukiyo]

THE UNDOING OF DARKNESS

anakin skywalker/darth vader x f!reader word count: 6k warnings: darth vader, a depiction of murder, angst, smut, p in x sex (unprotected), inappropriate usage of the force, did i mention angst, anakin is also unburnt for the sake of this fic synopsis: sometimes she believes anakin skywalker still exists. darth vader will say that he is no more but she does not truly believe he is gone. after all, anakin once told her that even in death, he would claw his way out of the very earth to find her.

read on ao3

 Every breath feels like the rarest air in Fortress Vader. Not only is it stuffy, and the simplest of movements makes you break out into a sweat, but it has always felt more like a prison than a home. She’s tried to think of it as one, as it is the place where she spends most, if not all, of her days. It is hard, however, when all she can see is gray, orange, and red for as far as the eye can see. It is hard when she knows there is always the possibility that he is there, watching, scrutinizing, waiting. 

 He, the man she once held in such high regard, the man she never thought she would have, the man that always seemed so impossible and out of reach, the man she never thought would have given her a chance. Maybe he wouldn’t have, she thinks when she has nothing to do but sit by the sliver in the wall of the throne room that serves as a window, looking out into the fiery oceans of Mustafar, if he hadn't changed. 

 She knew the man who he once was. She knew the man before the days of apparatus, before the days of the Empire, before the days of darkness. She thinks she must be the only one left who knew Lord Vader as well as she. Yes, she knew the man Lord Vader had been, before the days of dictatorship, before the fear of existing, because existing, in these days, was fear in itself. 

 She thinks she must be one of the only ones left who knew of Anakin Skywalker. Sometimes, when she sees Lord Vader in the way she and only she sees him, she thinks she can see Anakin again, slipping through the cracks. Sometimes, she believes Anakin must still be here, somewhere, if even a fragment of him. Sometimes she will look into his eyes— the fiery pools they were now— and swear she will see a glimmer, a mirage of that cerulean ocean she once knew, slipping through the cracks of his inferno. 

 If Anakin Skywalker did still exist, however, Lord Vader made sure he never came to be. If Anakin Skywalker still existed, then he was simply locked away deep inside the cage that had been built around the new Lord Vader’s heart. She isn’t sure if it is possible to break through the iron bars— and frankly, she’s become too frightened to even want to continue trying. She feels guilty, like she has some sense of responsibility, of duty to the lost Anakin Skywalker, as she is the only one that Lord Vader allows so close, the only one who may see him in a state as vulnerable as he will allow her to see him. 

 She wonders sometimes if Anakin Skywalker cries out for her, much like the way she did when she was taken, plucked like a rose from her village in the outskirts of Galidraan. When she closes her eyes, she can still remember that day, the harsh cold on her skin, the painful inferno inside her chest, the binds used to restrain her hands behind her back. 

 “No!” She can still feel her scream ripping from her throat, the acidic, rumbling feeling in her chest as she watches the red plasmic blade of the dark figure slice clean through her uncle’s neck, and can still see the shape of his head tumble into the white snow through her watery vision. Although she knows she is merely looking into the past, the pain feels too real, like she is reliving her worst day again. 

 She lunges forward, like she intends to avenge her uncle, a foolish spur of the moment instinct, as she is bound by the wrists and with a blaster to the back of her head. The stormtrooper behind her knocks the butt of his blaster into the back of her skull and her head rings while her cheek finds the snow. She hears her cousins and her people cry behind her and when she pries a single eyelid open, she can make out their trembling silhouettes, on their knees, shoulder to shoulder, a wall of stormtroopers behind them. 

 The ringing begins to dull and she hears footsteps somewhere behind her. She cannot bring herself to move, as she is stunned with the realization that today would be their final day. All these people she’s grown up with, her family she swore she would protect— they would meet their ends today. She would never see her off-planet friends again— she would never see Anakin Skywalker again. That promise he made her that he would see her again feels empty now. She almost wonders if she was a fool to put so much faith in him and his Jedi friends to begin with, if she was a fool to think he’d want her, someone as simple and as plain as her. 

 But all the same, he said they would come should trouble find her beloved planet— so where was he now? She believes he cannot be dead, purged along with many of the other of his kind. She knows he is out there, somewhere. Everyday, she thinks he will come poking his head out from the snowy horizon. Everyday, she waits for that moment to come. She feels the bitter cold seeping into her bones now and thinks how foolish she’s been for believing in such a thing. 

 “The prisoner dares the thought of standing against me,” she hears a voice, deep and undoubtedly male behind her and feels a quivering somewhere inside her chest. The bile that’s been resting at the base of her throat threatens to rise when two stormtroopers step forward, likely from this dark figure’s command, and wraps their hands under her armpits, hoisting her from the ground. She presses her lips together to quell her sick as the world spins and all she can see is black and white. 

 The figure is tall and broad, much more so now that she was so close to him. She has to look up at him and she tries to blink away the blurriness from her vision, and when it does, she can make out the face of his mask. She glowers into the two black circles of his eyes, trying to keep her gaze locked on him rather than on the limp body of her uncle. 

 “You cannot do this,” she says, her voice shaky with uncertainty but feigning determination all the same. “You cannot take us. You cannot kill us. Ana…” she pauses and somewhere in her delirious mind she thinks perhaps she shouldn’t say his name, shouldn’t put yet another target on his back. But her brain tells her these will be her final moments and all she can really think of now is Anakin and of his promise she still tried to cling onto, even now when it was quite literally impossible for it to be fulfilled now. “Anakin will come for us. You cannot kill us.”

 A silence ensues and the masked man’s shoulders rise and she thinks she must have caught him by surprise. Perhaps he already knows of Anakin Skywalker, perhaps he merely wonders why a girl as plain and unimportant as she knows of a Jedi Knight when they’ve all been purged, seemingly from his hand, or at least, his command. 

 His black capes flows in the snowy wind and she trembles, more from knowing his stare behind that mask is devouring her rather than the cold. 

 “You speak in tongues,” he says at last, stepping forward, closer until all she sees is black, an endless void with two circles and a triangle for a face. “I can and I will take whatever I want, foolish girl. I will do what I please.”

 He straightens and with a black, gloved hand, points towards her people, her family. “Kill them,” he says simply and panic blinds her, taking control of her limbs. 

 “No. No!” She screeches into the howling wind, thrashing against the hold of the two stormtroopers behind her as she hears blaster shot after blaster shot and the sound of bodies falling into the snow. “Anakin! Anakin, please! Help me! Help us!” She screams again, sounding more like a fool than she ever has but she’s desperate as she tries to lift herself from the ground, kicking out towards the dark, wicked man before her. 

 All five fingers of the same hand the man used to damn her family to their deaths outstretches and it is like her body, her limbs are no longer her own. They freeze in place and no matter how hard she tries to will them to move, to will her arms to thrash about against their restraints and her legs to kick, they will not. Her heart pounds against her chest and it rises and falls with her shaky breaths as she is forced to stare at the man who has taken her entire world away in a matter of seconds. He steps forward again, looms like a dark cloud with the promise of downpour over her and she has no choice but to stare back, her brows knit together, the promise of tears stinging her eyes. 

 “The man you speak of ceased to exist long ago,” he speaks and she doesn’t quite want to believe him. Although, for a reason she cannot quite define now, she thinks he must be telling the truth, or at least, some version of the truth. “It’d do you well to rid your mind of these foolish beliefs. You shall not be saved. Your life rests in the palms of my hands, and I will do with it what I please.”

 Still, she cannot move, all she can do is silently cry, waiting for this man, this awful, wicked, yet somewhat familiar man to damn her to whatever fate he had in store for her. 

 “You will come with me. You will live in my fortress. You will be what I want you to be. This is a mercy, but do not consider yourself saved. Your life will still be mine to own, and it will be mine to end, should I desire it.”

 She opens her eyes and finds herself back in Mustafar again, staring out at the same fiery ocean she sees every other day. The pain and the memory of that day is still fresh, but she still cannot shake what she feels of Anakin— or rather, Lord Vader— even knowing what he is, what he is capable of. She hates herself for being so easy, for still wanting to believe that her Anakin is still there and that what she has with the new Lord Vader is love, a twisted, altered version of what her life might have been like with Anakin, should circumstances be different. 

 There are footsteps thrumming through the hall beyond the door of the throne room and time seems to still, her heart thudding against her chest as she waits for the door to slide open. When it does, he walks in, rolling like a dark fog into the room and despite the intense heat of Mustafar, she shivers, an icy chill seeping into the marrow of her bones. 

 She simply sits and stares as he stops in the middle of the throne room, her fingers wrapped around the fabric of her gown, chest heaving up and down, waiting for him to address her. She hates this— living in constant fear whilst simultaneously wanting him, wanting the man he used to be, Anakin, back. 

 Another few seconds of silence. 

 And then. 

 “Come here,” he finally speaks and his voice sounds not his own, a different man entirely. She blinks, swinging her legs over the ledge of her seat at the window, complying without a question. Sometimes she hated how easy she gave in to him, but even if she didn’t act of her own free will, she knew she wouldn’t have much of a choice anyways. Still, she hates how quickly she draws nearer, only stopping when she stands before him, looking up into his mask. 

 She purses her lips. She hates this mask. It reminds her of that day. It is the mask of a killer, rather than the face of a man. 

 She inhales, feeling air draw into her chest. Then, “will you let me see you?”

 Another moment of silence, save, of course, for the sound of his breathing through the apparatus. His shoulders rise and fall with his breath and she thinks it must have been a bad day. She internally shudders— tonight could go only one of two ways. 

 She feels a sense of relief, however, when his hands rise to the sides of his helmet, air hissing when he presses his fingers down on either side of the durasteel. Time stops altogether when he inches the helmet away from his head. Full, pink lips unveil behind the mask, a few ridged, faintly red scars like the jagged edges of broken earth spread across his cheeks, up to his strong nose and sharp, red eyes. Dark blonde curls spill over his face and her breath hitches because this is Anakin, but also not and she hates that she still feels something when she sees him, still wants him, and although it pains her to admit it— she still loves him. 

 She blinks up at him, unable to look away and he stares back, lips pressed together, fiery gaze devouring. Yes, it must have been a bad day, because although his gaze is usually unyielding, it is more intense than usual today. It pierces through her, as if he is sifting through her mind, and knowing what he is capable of, he may very well be. 

 It’s reminiscent of the way he used to look at her, back when he was still Anakin. Her Anakin. Her blue-eyed, kind, resilient Anakin. 

 He looked different then, no scars, save for the one on his eye, on his face. His eyes didn’t feel like drowning in a sea of flames, rather, they were oceans of warm cerulean, drawing her in with their kind gaze. She can still feel the rush of secret rendezvous in dark corners of rooms, where no one was watching, away from prying eyes and hushed whispers. 

 She can feel his hands— one warm, one deliciously cool to the touch— resting on either of her cheeks, her own hands wrapped around his elbows. She can still feel his lips against hers then, warm and slow but firm, dominant but soft, gentle. Anakin kissed her like she was a remedy, delicate and precious. Sometimes he still kissed her like this— warm, slow, firm, dominant, gentle. Sometimes it was almost enough to make her feel how she did then— delicate, precious, a remedy. 

 But nothing could amount to the way Anakin looked at her then, with vast blue eyes so inviting, so kind, and so him that she thought she would die if he ceased to look at her like that. This, of course, was not true. Yet, everyday she spent looking into the fiery depths that replaced his warm ocean, she thinks she feels pieces of herself, her old self, rotting. 

 Anakin pulled away from her lips and even though it was all those days ago, she still remembered how tenderly he brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it back behind her ear. She still remembers the pad of his thumb, the one with flesh instead of metal, smoothing circles into her cheekbones. She watches as his lips move to form words and she is simply mesmerized, so enraptured by this man she can hardly breathe. 

 “I will be going away soon,” he told her then, his breath like the warmth of a fire against her face. Her eyelashes flutter as she looks from his lips back to his eyes, wading further into his ocean, as if she could convince him with a stare to stay, to anchor himself here, to her. 

 “But…” she shakes her head, tongue swiping between her lips and her hands slide from his elbows to his wrists. “…but you cannot…” she sighs frustratingly, unable to find her words. “…it is not safe for us. You cannot leave…”

 “Hey,” he whispers in only the way he can, in that way that has her resolve slipping, her knees trembling, her heart stuttering. The wind whips at their hair and their clothes and snow falls behind him but he is so warm, a warm glow in the midst of the storm. She grows warm, warmer in his hands and Anakin’s gaze drops to her quivering lips, the skin of his thumb soothing over her lower one. “You are fully capable of surviving without me,” he assures in a murmur that rolls like thunder in her chest. 

 She shakes her head. “But we are weak!” she protests. “We are not strong enough to handle this on our own. My uncle he…” she closes her eyes, sucks in a breath, tries to ease the unsteady beating of her heart. “…he is only getting older. He isn’t well. The storm is only getting stronger, and if they come… we—“

 “No,” Anakin shakes his head, steps closer, cradles either of her cheeks in the palms of his hands. “Don’t say you can’t.”

 She tilts her head in his palms, unsure of his meaning. “But Anakin, if they—“

 “They will not touch you,” he says and he speaks with a sense of finality, and she knows there would be no question, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She knows that what he says is true. His hands tighten around her face and his gaze is strong, unyielding, piercing where it meets hers. He almost doesn’t seem himself, like there is some other version of him present. She isn’t sure what to think of it, but what she knows for sure is that she knows she must be safe, because Anakin says it is true. “I will not let anyone hurt you, do you understand?”

 He searches her gaze, awaiting her answer. She stares back, wondering how someone like him could be speaking to her like this, touching her like this, caring for her like this. To be loved by Anakin Skywalker was like being a snowflake, falling from the heavens, making its descent to the ground— every one was unique, but its uniqueness may only be discovered by those who look close enough. Not many cared to take the time out of their day to see her, but Anakin did. Anakin saw her and held her in a way he and only he could. To be loved by Anakin Skywalker was to be seen like nobody else had seen her. To be loved by Anakin Skywalker was a rarity of its own. 

 She nods against his palms, her lashes fluttering as her gaze drops to his chin, to his lips. 

 “What is it?” He asks, lowering his head, catching her gaze in his again. She sniffs, wringing a hand around his wrist. 

 “What if I do not see you again?” She asks. “How long will I have to wait to have you like this again?”

 It is a selfish thought, she thinks. They are in the middle of a war for Maker’s sake, and Anakin is one of the most important assets of it. It is selfish of her to want to keep him all to herself, to want to stay hidden in a permanent rendezvous, away from eyes, away from pain, away from war. The galaxy needed him, that, she knew. But she needed him too. She doesn’t know what she will do with herself, biding the time until she sees him again. 

 “But you will see me again,” he assures in a quiet murmur, his hands dropping from her cheeks to cup either of her hands between his. He presses his lips to one of her knuckles, then to another, and then another until they’ve all been graced by his kiss. Her knees feel like jelly and she is glad he is there to support her, because she feels like she can melt into a gooey puddle of magma at their feet despite the snow. “No matter how far, no matter the time, I will always find you. There is no place in the entire galaxy where you can be where I will not find you. We are bound to one another, you and I are. Even in death, I would claw myself out of the very earth to find you.”

 She feels the bitter sting of tears pooling in her eyes, because she knows they are running out of time, and soon, he would have to take leave. She will only have these words and the memory of his touch to satiate her, until of course he keeps his word and finds her once again. 

 Anakin’s eyes fall back down to her lips before he collects them with his in a searing kiss, the kindling of a promise left in his mouth’s wake when he pulls away. 

 “We will see one another again,” he murmurs and she believes him. She knows he will keep his word. “And perhaps, we will meet even sooner than you think.”

 Blue swarms and begins to morph into an angry, fiery red and she is once again back in Mustafar, staring at Anakin but not Anakin again. Sometimes when she thinks her Anakin Skywalker is truly lost, she need only remember those tender words he had said to her, the last time she saw him as he once was. She will then look at Darth Vader and tell herself that all hope is not lost. Darth Vader will say that Anakin Skywalker is dead, but she knows it is not true. 

 Because Anakin Skywalker once told her that even in death, he would claw his way out of the very earth to find her. 

 “Something troubles you,” she whispers and Darth Vader does not move but his eyes do. His blazing gaze falls to her lips, down her arms, all the way to her hands. She follows their trail and knows what it is he must crave. Sometimes when she thinks she must be afraid of him, she reminds herself that this is only a boy who is lost, misguided. She wonders, she hopes, if in time, he can be guided back onto the right path again. 

 Her hands move to find one of his, his left, where she knows she will still find flesh underneath. She glances back up at him to find he is staring at their connected hands, lips pursed, waiting for her to continue. She sucks in a breath and pinches the tip of his glove at the middle finger, slowly, cautiously pulling it away from his hand. Her palm circles to cradle the back of his hand and while he does not shiver, the locking of his jaw does not go unnoticed. 

 Even after all this time, he still craves for touch, her touch, and her skin on his. It makes her wonder if he still thinks about it too, all their secret rendezvous, their nights of passion, bodies tangled together with only the moons as their witness. She wonders if he still remembers the words he used to always say to her, the tender, sweet little nothings he’d whisper in her ear, the promises for a better future he made woven in the tendrils of her hair. If he still thinks back to that day she last saw him as Anakin Skywalker, if he still remembers the words he told her. 

 She thinks he must, because he still fulfilled his promise: he came back, no matter what. Only not the same, but perhaps more of the same than she initially thought. She sees the locking of his jaw, his craving for her touch he dare not speak aloud and thinks maybe it could be true. 

 “Let me help you,” she says, because she knows he has no desire to speak. Darth Vader lifts his gaze to find she is already staring back as she brings his hand up to her face, cupping her cheek. The pad of his thumb subconsciously soothes over her bottom lip and she shivers, the tenderness of his touch a stark contrast to his demeanor. She knows what she is offering is only a temporary fix, but it is a start, and it is an understanding she didn’t quite have before. 

 He still craves for her, he still wants her. She doesn’t know if she can call what they have love, not anymore, but there is still a want. She thinks that maybe this is her Anakin slipping through the cracks. She decides to hold onto this sliver all that she can. 

 She presses her lips gently against his thumb, maintaining eye contact all the while, unwilling to break it. The blazing amber in his eyes intensifies and in an instant, his lips are on hers, replacing his thumb. She releases a mixture of a yelp and a moan into his mouth, letting his tongue scour her, devouring her. He seeks to conquer her but he still kisses her with desperation, almost insecurely, but not like he’s unsure. It’s more like he’s waiting for her to push him away, to curse and spit at him like he believes (and perhaps, does) deserve. 

 But she doesn’t. How could she? It’s hard to differentiate Darth Vader from Anakin Skywalker when they are one in the same, even while being entirely different. He still feels like her Anakin, he still shares the same shell as her Anakin. He kisses her with a mixture of Darth Vader and just the tiniest fraction of Anakin Skywalker but he is there, he is still there. 

 So she presses herself further into him. His right hand finds the small of her back and presses her further into him, his kiss more determined, his touch more certain. She pants against his mouth as he uses his left hand to unclip his cape, the heavy material falling in a heap on the floor behind him. She feels the shoulders of her dress slipping down her arms but does not feel his hands there and knows he is using the Force on her. It alights a new sort of blaze she’s never felt before between her legs and as his left hand grips her chin and his kisses trail down to her jaw, she burns brighter than ever before. 

 Her eyes are screwed shut as he sucks angry marks to the line of her jaw, her fingers holding on tightly to his sleeves. She thinks she hears the door slide open behind them but the invisible hand working at her clothes unties the knot at the small of her back and Darth’s teeth sink into her collarbone so she does not care. Her head tilts back and she hears the faint sound of footsteps retreating, the door sliding back closed, once again leaving them alone. 

 “An… Ana…” she hears herself begin to pant but knows it is a mistake as soon as he pulls away from her altogether, her body, now nude, feeling cold with the lack of his against it. She peels open her lids and shudders where she stands as his gaze pierces through her as if it intended to melt her to the very ground she stood on. She thinks she very well can but she knows there is no use of running so she stays, awaiting her fate. 

 “The name you call is not mine,” Darth speaks and he reaches out with a hand, his left, and her body is not her own anymore and her mind flashes back to the day where he found her, when he used this very power on her to strip her of her own will. She presses her lips together as the Force brings her down to her knees, the ground biting into her bare skin. She does not cry, does not even struggle. She simply waits— she’s already offered herself to him and she knows that he will not hurt her. He cannot afford to. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself without her. Because Anakin is still there. There is still someone inside of him that loves her. “It’d serve you well to forget that man, because he is gone. Dead. I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear you scream it until hell fears me.”

 She hates the effect he has on her. She can feel herself pulse between her legs and she inhales, fluttering her eyes closed at how pathetic she must seem. Still wanting this dangerous, nefarious man. The man who murdered her uncle. The man who murdered her entire family. But yet, still the man who said he would cheat death to keep her safe. 

 Darth’s gaze intensifies and she feels a prodding in her mind, encouraging her, no, commanding her to comply. She gulps, and then, “Darth.”

 The invisible finger toying with the outside of her mind crawls away and her body once again feels like it is her own but still, she stays in her place on her knees on the floor. Darth Vader’s footsteps echo the room as he steps forward until he towers above her. She peers up at him through her lashes, watches as he crouches, pinching her chin between the thumb and forefinger of his gloved hand. 

 “Obedient girl,” he remarks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “You will not defy me, lest you wish for it to be the last thing you do.”

 Her head nods before can even begin to think. She knows she would’ve complied regardless. The ache between her legs wouldn’t allow her to act otherwise. It was disgusting, lusting after this man who swears he will be her demise. But he has a way of making her insatiable, unlike herself.

 “Good,” he says before he pulls away and she watches as he circles the center of the room, setting himself down into the throne in the middle, legs spread, waiting. “Undress me.”

 She gulps down another moan, the words alone making her stomach somersault. She wastes no time to pick herself off of the floor, painfully aware of how naked she is as she makes her way over to where he sits. Even sitting on his throne, he is still bigger, still stronger than her. She feels meek, small against him as she begins with the shoulders of his armor, finding his eyes as she removes it, piece by piece. He taps his fingers against the arms of his seat as she unbuttons his tunic and before she can move to slide it down his arms, he waves a finger and her hands find his belt without their own accord. 

 She doesn’t move for a movement, only stares at him as he gazes back. He cocks an eyebrow, the one pierced with a scar, expectantly and she inhales sharply, her gaze sliding from his face down to his exposed, toned chest as she begins working at his belt. She tosses it away along with the heap of clothes on the floor and unbuttons his trousers, feeling her center throb at just how close she is to seeing what it desires. Her tongue swipes between her lips as she frees his cock from his pants, her breath hitching as she blinks at the angry pink tip peeking from his waistband. 

 “You test the limits of my patience,” Darth Vader says in an annoyed, clipped tone. “My cock will be your throne, but only if you make haste.”

 She blinks again and she feels a ball of acid at the base of her throat as she tugs his pants all the way down to his knees, finally allowing his cock to spring free. She can’t help but gawk, even if she’s already seen it more times than she can count. It’s large to say the very least and it is hard, ready, eager for her. She recalls just how large it is whenever she’s had it in her mouth, how each and every vein of it feels when it is buried so deeply inside of her. Sometimes, she can’t believe that it is all hers to have. Sometimes, she doesn’t feel worthy of it. 

 She realizes she is testing his patience again, only when she feels that invisible hand wrap around her throat, her own subconsciously reaching for them, although they are not there. Breath is stolen from her and she knits her brows together, mumbling a tight apology. 

 “You are merely fortunate that I am not in the mood for games today,” he says and the Force brings her forwards, her knees hitting his. He leans towards her until their faces are mere inches away, his breath rolling like smoke over her cheeks. “So do not push my mercy any further. Sit on my cock.”

 She feels every syllable of his last sentence in her core and the invisible hand remains on her throat as she manages to bring herself closer, her knees on either side of his thighs. He does not touch her, merely watches as she struggles to align his head with her center. When she finally does, he uses this invisible grip on her throat to push her down before releasing her altogether and she gasps for breath, eyes rolling back into her head, her head tipping towards the ceiling as a moan rips from her throat. 

 She can feel every pulsing vein of his cock against her walls, can feel her delicate cervix being bullied by his angry tip. Her hands search for his shoulders and when they do, her nails dig into the sleeves of his tunic, the bitter sting of tears escaping the edges of her eyes. 

 Darth hisses through his teeth and his left hand finds her hip, his skin warm against hers where it kneads. A curse tumbles past his lips and his other hand, still gloved, weaves through her hair, forces her forehead down onto his. She opens her eyes and sees his glaring gaze piercing through to her own. 

 “I don’t know how you do this to me,” he snarls. “I don’t know how only you have this effect on me. Only you can make me feel like this. Only you can make me…” Darth is unable to control himself so he snaps his hips up into her and she cries, more tears streaming down her cheeks. “…fuck!” He howls, tossing his head back against his throne. “You are destroying me. It’s not fair. How are you doing this to me?”

 He says this last thing with a hint of a vulnerability she’s never heard from him before. It’s almost desperate, like she really, truly is destroying him, paining him. It’s hard for her to try and understand what this means when he is fucking her into a state of mind-numbingness, but there is only one thing, one word, one name that she can even think of. 

 “Darth!” She screeches but it is not the name she thinks of. She thinks of Anakin, how perhaps this, she is the key to freeing Anakin Skywalker from the mask of Darth Vader. Because this, this Darth Vader is but a mere facade— they both know it to be true. It is not who he truly is. He can try and deny it all he wants. But there is nowhere in the entire galaxy where he can hide that she won’t find him. Because he is and will always be Anakin Skywalker. 

 She knows that Darth Vader will try and fight it. He will tear down the entire galaxy before he admits it. He will destroy planets and will bring down entire monarchies before he admits it. He will kill and he will burn and he will destroy before he admits it. But not even that will be enough to hide from it, to run from it. Because she is Darth Vader’s destiny. She is Anakin Skywalker’s destiny. She will be Darth Vader’s destruction. And she will be Anakin Skywalker’s redemption. 

 She is the key to bringing Anakin Skywalker home. 

a/n: another long one for anakin 🤭 i absolutely love writing for him, he's so complex and so fun to explore and create headcanons of my own for. i hope i was able to do him at least a little bit of justice here. sorry if this seemed a little too slow burn and if there wasn't enough smut to suffice 😭 i went in like "oh yeah this is gonna be absolutely filthy" but oh well! i find i write a little easier when i go in without much of a plan lol since i get carried away easily and usually just let my thumbs do whatever the hell they want anyways 😭 anywho! thank you so much for reading! it always warms my heart to know my writing is being seen by others! 🥹🫶

psst, i also want to thank each and every single one of you who read a place in the sea of stars. i was not expecting the feedback that fic received and i am still so overwhelmed by all the love all this time later. thank you thank you thank you a million times over from the bottom of my heart. 🥹🫶

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@johnbassplayercutie

@arisksywlkr

@sydkneez

@sunnytotheend

[hanniebaeee]

Welcome Home

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing!

Genre: Flufff

Summary: Your boyfriend Hyunjin is so excited to take you home for the very first time. The catch? He's the King of the Underworld, and his home is well...the Underworld.

You stood in the middle of your bedroom, staring down at the pile of clothes you were desperately trying to pack. You had a suitcase open in front of you, but you're not really sure what to pack, really. Because someone wasn't being really helpful with this whole packing thing.

You throw a glance at Hyunjin, who stood leaning against your doorway, arms crossed, watching you.

Hyunjin. The King of the Underworld. Your very own boyfriend, who was bouncing off the walls completely excited for your trip to the Underworld for the very first time.

You'd be spending six months with him in his world, which was an agreement you two came to, to make this thing work. Especially since him being a God restricted his prolonged periods of absence from the underworld. 

"Are you almost done?" Hyunjin asked, his voice dripping with impatience as he came over and hovered over you like a shadow. 

“You could help me, you know,” You said dryly. “Do I need sweaters? Is your dungeon cold?”

“Excuse you, I don't live in a dungeon.” Hyunjin  scoffed dramatically, a hand on his hip. "You don't need a sweater. Actually you don't need half of what you're packing, trust me."

"Oh, I won’t? Then tell me what I should bring, Your Majesty," you said, raising an eyebrow as he discarded a sweater from your suitcase. "You won’t be cold because it's eternally warm where I live."

You threw up your hands in exasperation.

"Ok, fine, fine. What else?"

"Now, get rid of the rest. You won’t need anything." Hyunjin said as he plopped onto your bed, looking far too smug for someone who lived in a literal hellhole.

“Baby, can you please just-” You began, but Hyunjin groaned, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.

"You won’t need any of these clothes anyway," he mumbled, dismissing a pair of jeans you had just picked out. “It’s just us down there. You’ll be fine in your skin."

"Excuse me?" You shot him an incredulous look. "What do you mean, I won't need any clothes?!"

Hyunjin giggled, his hands wandering to your waist, pulling you closer.

"Well, if you really want to wear them..." He grinned, but then his smile softened. “But I think you’ll look better without them.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and tried not to smile. You were trying to resist, but the way he gazed at you made it impossible. Hyunjin knew exactly how to tame you.

“You're crazy,” You laugh, as he left soft kisses along the side of your neck.

“Darling, I’m the King of the Underworld. I’m prepared to have my Queen home. You really don't have to worry about anything.” He leaned down to kiss your cheek, just barely grazing your skin. "Trust me. It’s just us and Cerberus. Oh, and a few souls here and there…"

“Hyunjin, I'm genuinely worried now.” You managed, prying yourself off his grip. 

“Don't be!! Cerberus will be there to protect you. He's the best dog in the world.” Hyunjin’s face lit up as he spoke of his beloved pet. “You’ll love him.”

“Sure I will.” You said, narrowing your eyes at Hyunjin as he discreetly pushed a stack of clothes away from your suitcase. “YAH! STOP IT!”

“Ok, I'm done,” you finally announced, slamming the lid of your suitcase shut. You turned to face Hyunjin and found him lying on your bed with his arms tucked behind his head.

You barely had a moment to lift your suitcase before Hyunjin was by your side. And the transition from your bedroom to the underworld was...well…unexpected, to say the least. You were surrounded by an eerie, otherworldly glow - and then, everything was bathed in shadows and lit by flickering torches.

As soon as your feet touched the black stone floor of Hyunjin’s home, he held you close and murmured, “Welcome home, my queen,”

You rolled your eyes, even though your heart fluttered. Before you could respond, a deep growl cut through the air.

You froze, whipping your head to the side. There, standing just a few feet away, was Cerberus, Hyunjin’s very own baby - with his three heads, and the most terrifying growl you’d ever heard. Hyunjin grinned as he stepped forward and hugged the massive dog. 

“Cerby! There’s my boy! Look, it’s mummy!” Hyunjin called out excitedly. “Now, be a good boy and don’t scare her. We’re on a tight schedule here.”

And just like that, the beast started wagging its tail, all three heads giving you the most intense side-eye, but no longer growling.

“Come on, babe, don't be rude!” Hyunjin said, holding out his hand to you.

You could see how excited he is and you knew that he'd never put you in danger, so you take his hand, letting him pull you closer. 

Cerberus let out a low whine and nudged one of his massive heads against you. You froze for a moment, and then reached out to pet him. Surprisingly, his fur was soft under your fingers, and his eyes literally glowed with joy as you scratched behind one of his ears.

Hyunjin’s smirk returned as he watched you interact with his son.

“See? Told you he’s the goodest boy.” He said, kissing your cheek. “And, he’s got your back, babe. He’ll protect you from anything.”

“Protect me from what exactly?” you asked, still petting Cerberus.

“From me, of course,” Hyunjin said with a teasing wink, his hold on you tightening. “You know…so that I don't get carried away.”

You laughed, and said, “This is called digging your own grave, Hyunjin.”

Cerberus huffed and gave an exaggerated snarl, the middle head baring its teeth at Hyunjin’s proximity to you.

“He’s just protective. He’s never seen me like this before, you know.” he said, completely unbothered. 

You giggled, rubbing Cerberus's ear affectionately.

Hyunjin’s hands slid down your back and he pressed his lips against your neck.

“I’m so happy you're finally here, baby,” he said, his lips trailing down your throat, his hands now sliding over your waist, trying to pull you into him completely. His fingers caressed your jawline as he leaned down, his lips so close to yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jinnie,” You whispered, and Hyunjin leaned in to capture your lips in a soft kiss. He hummed as your fingers ran through his hair, and just then Cerberus let out a deep, low growl.

Hyunjin (clearly frustrated now) shot him a look and said, “I’ve got this under control, Cerby.” 

You bit your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing as Hyunjin’s hands slid lower, stopping right on your butt, just as Cerberus gave a gentle nudge to your side.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and said, “I swear, you're such a cockblock.”

“He’s just trying to make sure I survive my first night here with you.” you said and Hyunjin laughed darkly, his eyes burning with mischief and desire.

“Oh, don’t worry, my queen.” He murmured, and kissed you again, slow and deep. “And believe me…you’re going to love it here with me.

As you walked through Hyunjin’s obsidian-tiled palace of shadow and flame, you couldn't help but admire the place. The tiles beneath your feet were lit by the golden glow of molten rivers that twisted like veins under the black floors.

Even as he led you to his bedroom, his hands moved down your back, and Cerberus let out a softer growl - almost like a sigh - as if he had given up on trying to stop Hyunjin.

“So what do you think?” He asked, stopping in front of a beautiful room. 

You gave an appreciating nod, and said, “I love it.”

“Yeah? You do? Are you happy?”

“What's not to love? I've got the sweetest dog and a completely unhinged god here to protect me. This is perfect.”

Hyunjin looked down at you with that wicked grin of his.

“Babe, you have no idea just how good this is going to be,” he said. 

And you couldn't help but agree

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Welcome Home, Tough Guy

Pairing: Simon “Ghost Riley X Reader

Warnings: fluff, reader acting silly and get to see some humanity in Simon instead of just the soldier we know he is

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i needed to see Simon as more of a human, so… here’s the baby boy

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The past few weeks had been long and lonely without Simon. The countdown to his return felt endless, and in the days leading up to his homecoming, you’d channeled your anticipation into planning a celebration. It was silly, maybe even a little over-the-top, but you wanted to welcome him back in a way that showed him he was loved and that he could let his guard down here.

So, after a lot of last-minute tweaks and second-guessing, you finally set up your surprise: a big “WELCOME HOME, TOUGH GUY” sign, balloons you’d blown up by hand, a lopsided banner, and a snack table packed with all his favorite treats. You knew it might be too much for Simon, who always tried to slip back home as quietly as he could, but you couldn’t resist. After all, he deserved something a little special.

When you finally heard the familiar rumble of his truck pulling up outside, your heart skipped a beat, and you practically sprinted to the door, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Through the window, you caught sight of him as he stepped out, his tall, broad frame cutting an imposing figure in the fading light. Despite his usual guarded posture, there was something softer in his eyes as he looked up at the house.

As he made his way to the door, he froze, taking in the decorations with a raised eyebrow. His gaze lingered on the crooked banner, the balloons, and finally, the giant welcome sign on the door. His mouth twitched, the hint of a smile breaking through his usually stoic expression.

“Really?” he muttered, his tone deadpan. “A sign?”

“Oh, come on!” you teased, barely able to contain your excitement as he came up the steps. “After all this time away, you think I wouldn’t celebrate?”

He shook his head, clearly fighting back a laugh. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘welcome home party’ type.”

“Well, I’m making an exception for you,” you replied, hands on your hips. “You deserve it.”

He paused, glancing at you with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Deserve a good meal and a quiet night, maybe. Not… all this.” He gestured to the decor, and you could see he was a bit overwhelmed.

“Oh, please.” You gave him a playful nudge as you guided him inside. “There’s even snacks.”

“Snacks?” His eyebrow lifted again as he took in the spread of chips, sandwiches, and a few neatly arranged drinks on the table. “Didn’t know I’d be gettin’ the five-star treatment.”

“Only the best for you, big guy,” you teased, and motioned to the couch where you’d piled up every blanket and pillow you could find. “Now, sit back and let me pamper you.”

Simon sighed but didn’t argue, sinking into the mountain of blankets with a look of amused exasperation. “I feel like I’m at some kind of spa,” he muttered.

“Exactly!” You handed him a cup of iced tea with a tiny, bright pink umbrella sticking out. “A full tropical experience, just for you.”

He stared at the drink, glancing at you with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. “An umbrella?”

“Obviously,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “Welcome to paradise.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if he couldn’t quite believe any of this was real. Then, with a faint shake of his head, he took a careful sip, holding the tiny umbrella off to the side. You could tell he was trying to keep his usual stoic composure, but the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth was impossible to hide.

“Happy now?” he asked, glancing over at you with a smirk.

“Very,” you replied, settling in beside him with a grin. “Now, relax. Let me spoil you a bit.”

Simon gave a resigned sigh, leaning back against the cushions. But as he looked around at the makeshift decorations, you noticed a softness in his expression, a rare ease that he reserved just for moments like these.

“Missed you,” he murmured, his voice low, and reached out to take your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. The simple confession hit you like a wave, filling your heart with warmth.

“Missed you too,” you replied, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You know, you really need to take more breaks. You deserve some softness now and then.”

He let out a short chuckle, looking down at you with that rare, affectionate gaze. “Spoilin’ me with pink umbrellas and throw pillows, yeah?”

“Exactly,” you said, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “Think of it as a taste of what life could be like if you ever let yourself actually relax.”

He shook his head, but you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Didn’t think I’d ever be the kinda man to need all this,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost too soft to hear. “Didn’t know I needed it ‘til I met you.”

The admission made your heart ache with a fierce tenderness, and you reached up to brush a hand across his cheek. “Everyone needs a little comfort, Simon. Even you.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze deep and searching, as though he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, with a rare gentleness, he shifted, slipping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. You nestled into his side, feeling the steady, reassuring warmth of his presence.

In that silence, he started running his fingers through your hair, the slow, soothing rhythm lulling you into a comfortable haze. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the closeness, the softness of him in this moment. It was a side of Simon few ever got to see—the man beneath the mask, the one who craved peace just as much as you did.

After a while, you stirred, looking up at him with a playful grin. “So… what’s next? Movie? Board game? Or maybe I’ll make us some popcorn?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re just lookin’ for an excuse to beat me at somethin’, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you teased, poking his side. “Or maybe I just want an excuse to spend more time like this. With you.”

His gaze softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t need an excuse, love. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As he held you, you felt the weight of his words settle into your heart, filling you with a deep, quiet happiness. For tonight, there were no missions, no walls between you, and no expectations—just Simon, your Simon, wrapped up in blankets and silly decorations, basking in a rare moment of pure, unguarded peace.

Here, in this cozy little bubble you’d created together, he wasn’t Ghost. He was simply Simon—the man who loved you, who let you see every part of him, even the sides he tried to hide. And for you, that was the greatest gift of all.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[stupidcanofpeaches]

this is actually making me think so many things about their relationship. like this is probably what it was like in calmer times. jimmy's manipulative and extremely dependent on curly, almost obsessed with him, both hating and idolizing him as this sort of perfect figure, almost christ-like in just how kind and good of a man he is - in jimmy's mind, curly readily offers himself as a villain just so that jimmy can be a hero (also more of a side-comment but i find it really neat how jimmy's perspective poisons all character interpretations - his conflicted yet adoring view of curly is most likely the main reason why some of the fandom also view curly in this sort of white or black morality system, where a lot of people also make him out to be this mister perfect guy who did everything he could and fell victim to jimmy's scheme, when curly is definitely not innocent and played a huge part in what happened on tulpar - they view him as entirely good, just like jimmy, instead of a flawed, average man with his own issues. anyway.)

it's established that they are good friends - best friends, even, going off of curly's behaviour, have been for years. which means that jimmy had years to normalize his behaviour to curly - to foster and nurture this sort of acceptance and depedence. like with many abusive relationships, it probably started small and then just grew over time - and curly's far too kind, far too accepting, and was all too receptive to jimmy's many issues and abrasive nature. so it probably went from those small things that curly felt he owed jimmy for and then escalated until the connection was established and was impossible to sever.

it's a similar sort of dynamic to emotionally slash mentally abusive relationships where the partner suffers but is so used to it it's easier to close their eyes because this is normal - oh he's just tired, he didn't really mean that, he just has some anger issues, it's not that bad. curly is an enabler - that much is true. curly is not a good man. he's not a paragon of virtue. he allowed this to happen. but i would also argue that he became an enabler because jimmy lovingly molded him into one over the years.

i think that at some point it also became a sunk cost fallacy issue - curly genuinely believes in jimmy, that he can help him, that he can fix him, because they've been good friends for so long and curly cannot give up on him after all this time. there were also probably times when jimmy did do something good and nice for him in return - like that thing with the cake that jimmy made for him, along with curly's other friends, so the relationship did not feel as one-sided as it probably was. anyway i think that jimmy is manipulative and abusive to curly as well, just on a scale that was smaller and more constant, persistent, to the point where both of them normalized it with jimmy's nudging into the direction he wanted it to go. their flaws fit together perfectly and it was bad and normal until it was too late.

hell, not to be a jimmy apologist (derogatory), but it's entirely possible that jimmy wasn't even doing that consciously and purposefully - while he is manipulative and self-centered to a horrendous degree, he's also not exactly an impeccable master manipulator or a complete narcissist the way he's sometimes painted as. the only one out of the crew he's really able to fool, besides curly who was exposed to him for years, is daisuke - who's young and naive and of course he trusts the authority figure that's higher in rank when jimmy pushes the right lever. jimmy's pathetic and self-serving and he feels small and curly is just way too nice and is conviniently always right next to him - and seems willing to take whatever jimmy hurls at him, all because they're friends.

additionally, look at how curly basically ignores jimmy's remark about how annoyed it makes him feel when people keep saying how great curly is - makes me think it's far from the first time jimmy made a disparaging comment like that. one could even interpret the way curly bonelessly accepts the things jimmy does, without ever really pushing back hard - only ever attempting to defend himself at the birthday party after jimmy's outburst - as curly being at the very least apprehensive or fearful of what an angry jimmy might do. because curly knows that jimmy is unstable - so maybe him never really doing anything even after learning the magnitude of what happened to anya isn't just him trying to keep up appearances and placing jimmy above anya or protecting jimmy because jimmy is his friend. i think that it's entirely possible that curly's passivity is him attempting to appease jimmy, as is typical for someone on the recieving end of an abusive relationship.

just to reiterate, this does not excuse curly. he's not this great, perfect nice guy or a perfect victim. he did not deserve to suffer the way he did but he is the one who ultimately caused the tragedy by his inaction. he failed anya, most of all, and the rest of the crew miserably. but i do think that an abusive dynamic between him and jimmy would explain a lot about his passivity.

Uhh what funny do I write here like haha

[rindreamery]

itoshi rin has never been good at being romantic. but, you think that's part of his charm.

featuring. itoshi rin x reader, fluff, he's ooc but idc !

word count. 573

“wow,” you're in awe at the view before you, and it’s hard to stop the gasp from leaving your lips.

rin’s hands are gentle as he slips his hand into yours, fingers intertwining with yours as he silently leads you down the field of glimmering flowers. around you, the white petals shine brightly against the soft light of the full moon, gently swaying as they billow from the slight breeze that runs across the plain. the sight is surreal; it feels like a scene stolen straight out of a movie.

it's a sight you never want to forget. (you know you won't.)

it's sweet, and it's so uncharacteristically rin. you fail to bite back the giggle you’ve been holding in as he turns around to face you, and he quirks a brow at you in response. a look of slight offense flashes across his eyes as he asks, “what's so funny?”

“rin,” you say with a light and airy lilt to your voice, as you wrap your arms over his shoulders. “i didn't think you would remember what i said on our first date.”

the look of offense vanishes almost immediately. he can feel a slight heat crawl up his neck at your words.

so he chooses to look away as the heat creeps onto his cheeks, slightly embarrassed at the idea of seeming like a sap. but, his eyes visibly soften at your words, a quiet understanding settling over his expression.

he thinks of how to respond— he thinks about what he wants to say to you, how he wants to say it to you.

so he doesn’t say anything at first, choosing to wordlessly wrap his arms around your waist to pull you into him. you smile at this, tightening your arms around his neck as he rests his head against yours, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“how could i forget?” he finally whispers against your ear after a beat of silence, a hint of shyness lacing his voice. (his breath feels warm against you, and it makes you shiver, a contrast to the chilly wind that surrounds the two of you.) i cling onto every word you say, he wants to tell you. but he can't bring himself to.

because his heart is racing at, what feels like, a thousand miles per hour.

“you told me you would break up with me if we didn't do this at least once." he chooses to say instead.

you laugh, a soft, breathless sound that sounds like music to his ears. (rin thinks he fell in love with you, all over again.) “you’re terrible,” you say between giggles, your hands sneaking up to run your fingers through his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “way to ruin the moment, dummy.”

“yeah,” he agrees, his lips brushing your neck as he cuddles closer to you, “but you still love me.”

you roll your eyes at him, but you don’t pull away. instead, savoring the warmth of his embrace as the world around you feels like it’s fading into the background. in this moment, it's just you and him, and your rapid hearts beating in sync against one another.

"yeah," you sigh, "i do."

...

“rin?” you call out to him, tugging on his hand to stop him as you both make your way out of the field. he turns to look at you, confusion written all over his face.

"will you marry me?”

note. i headcanon that rin's s/o would be the one to propose to him, and that would make him SOO mad (he isn't mad, he just wanted to be the one to propose)

© rindreamery, 2024

[papayadays]

🎻 74 + alex or oscar (whoever you think fits best!)

a/n: oh i loved writing this ☺️ soft domestic oscar my beloved (i was torn between alex and oscar, but ultimately choose oscar. can you tell i have a mclaren bias? 😵‍💫)

74 - this is what forever feels like by jvke & nick jonas

“love?” you glanced up upon hearing oscar’s voice, seeing him walk towards you, rubbing his eyes. it was darker than usual since you hadn’t bothered turning the lights on, opting to light some candles instead. “what are you doing?” it was one in the morning, and you had decided to head to the kitchen after you woke up, not wanting to bother oscar and not tired enough to go back to sleep.

“sorry to wake you up,” you apologized. “i just couldn’t fall back asleep. don’t worry about me, you can go back to sleep.” you turned your attention back to the hot chocolate you were making, but oscar didn’t budge. “osc?”

“i’ll just wait here with you,” he said groggily. “can’t really sleep without you.” you chuckled, a fond smile on your face.

“well, it’s a good thing i made extra,” you said quietly. as you added marshmallows, you could feel oscar’s gaze on you from here he was leaning against the island.

you handed oscar a mug, who gave you a soft, “thank you.” instinctively, you two lifted up your mugs for a silent toast.

“your hot chocolate is always so good,” oscar murmured, taking a long sip.

“it’s just normal hot chocolate,” you laughed, leaning against his shoulder. oscar’s arm reached out, wrapping around your waist and pulling you to his side.

when you two finished and set your mugs down, you took oscar’s hands. “dance with me,” you suggested, though oscar wasn’t convinced.

“why? it’s one in the morning, sweetheart,” he protested, though you both knew he would cave eventually. “and there’s no music.” you grabbed your phone, the light casting a soft glow on your face.

“that can be easily solved,” you said, opening your spotify playlist and hitting shuffle. a slow, relaxed song came on - you were pretty sure it was by jvke and a jonas brother - and again, you reached for oscar’s hands.

until we’re seventy, dancing with me

this time, however, he let you lead him to an open area in the entryway between the kitchen and dining room. the lyrics of the song wove into the moment, as the flickering candlelight made oscar look perfect. you wrapped your arms around his neck, feel his told tighten around your waist as you two swayed to the song.

just passing the time, with you right by my side

you felt oscar rest his chin on your shoulder as he pulled you impossibly closer. “this is a pretty good way to waste our time,” he mumbled, the vibrations from his chest reaching you.

just stay with me, promise you’ll never leave

“is it a waste of time?” you countered with a sleepy smile. “because i rather like this, us dancing for no reason.”

oscar nodded into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss. “you’re right, it’s totally productive work,” he deadpanned, making you snort.

“exactly,” you agreed, running with his joke as oscar twirled you around. despite the odd hour, you were happy to just be here with oscar, even if it meant less sleep.

i wanna love you for the rest of my life, until we’re seventy

joyce's birthday bash! 😽

[vrystalius]

Not saying “I love you” to the hashira

How would the hashira react to you not saying “I love you” back to them?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyu x gn!reader

Sanemi Shinazugawa

♡—Him not saying “I love you” back…

Sanemi not saying “I love you” back is extremely rare. It’s usually the case that the wind hashira is too distracted by something and instead of reincorporating your affection, he might mumble “Yeah, yeah” or a simple “Me too” under his breath, thinking he did say those three magic words properly, only noticing that he didn’t when he noticed that you were being pouty once he did manage to find time to solely focus on you.

Sometimes, when you two lay in bed together, you mumble a quiet “love you”. As you close your eyes and think that your husband is already deeply asleep, you hear Sanemi sleepily respond instinctively to your affirmation.

“Don’t let the rice eat you.”

At least he’s being concerned for your safety even in his dreams.

⁎⁺˳✧༚

♡—You not saying “I love you” back…

It would actually make him really sad. Sanemi strongly believes that he probably did something to upset you, what other reason could be there for you not to reincorporate his words?

He’d silently glance at you every now and then throughout the whole day, trying to analyse your body language to find out if you’re upset at him. Sanemi would hover near you, almost like a kicked-puppy, still waiting on you to give him love, despite the situation of you not reincorporating those words was early in the morning and with that several hours ago. He needs you to reassure him, or else no missions will be finished that day.

“Hey, you forgot something.” He’d try to remind you, but you not knowing what he meant you just cock your head in slight confusion. Sanemi ran his fingers through his hair and sighed quietly. “Nevermind. Whatever.”

Kyojuro Rengoku

♡—Him not saying “I love you” back…

Impossible! Either you didn’t hear him over his mouth being stuffed with sweet potato fries, or he overthought the perfect moment on when to say his favourite three words to the point where he forgets to say them at all. After missing the perfect moment and not saying “I love you, Kyojuro’ll just give you a simple compliment or a wonky yet bright smile, trying to convey his love for you in that way.

If he sees you get confused or even sad about how he is not reincorporating your love, he’ll quickly almost yell the words out, not wanting to upset you.

“I love you! I promise I do!”

⁎⁺˳✧༚

♡—You not saying “I love you” back…

Kyojuro’s first instinct would be to think that you are just too busy or preoccupied to reply to him, especially with you having to run so many errands today. After a couple hours pass where you spend your time elsewhere, he’d briefly worry if there is something that is bothering you, but that thought quickly faded away since your husband is sure that you’ll share whatever troubles you when the time is right and you feel comfortable enough.

So, once he sees you again, Kyojuro’ll continue to give you affection and reassurance, trying to make you feel loved without words by giving you light pecks on your cheek, holding your hand while you two walked or taking you out on a small, unplanned date. He’ll tell you that he loves you again, watching you expectantly with big eyes until you finally utter the words that make his heart melt every time.

“I love you, my firefly!” He had a big grin on his face while those words left his mouth, now awaiting for your reaction. Chuckling quietly, you responded with a small kiss on his cheek. Kyojuro’s face briefly turned into a pout, wanting to hear you say it back. It was just too adorable to tease him like this…

Gyomei Himejima

♡—Him not saying “I love you” back…

The reason Gyomei barely says “I love you” is that he feels that actions speak louder, and besides, you already know that he loves you more than any words can ever express. Although, if you tell him that you love him, he will of course respond by reassuring you with a soft smile and leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

⁎⁺˳✧༚

♡—You not saying “I love you” back

If you don’t reincorporate his affirmation, Gyomei wouldn’t mind at all. Just like he does, you express your love for him in other ways: touching him in any way, kisses, small gifts or your presence alone is reassuring him of your love. Yet, it is nice to hear it every once in a while. If you ignore his “I love you” in order to tease him or whatever other reason, he grows very quiet and thoughtful. He wonders if you have any troubles or if he hurt you in any way, sitting down in a quiet area to reflect on all his actions and behaviours over the past weeks, praying quietly.

Your husband also will ask you outright if you are upset at him after pondering for a while. If you tell him no, Gyomei will grow even more worried. Perhaps you were using sarcasm? Surely something must’ve moved you to not respond to his affections, right?

“I love you, my light.” Your husband calls out to you, pulling your attention away from whatever you were doing, responding with a simple “Okay.” You watched as his whole face morphed into one of worry, him slowly retreating back into the gardens to continue to self-reflect and pray.

Giyu Tomioka

♡—Him not saying “I love you” back…

It happens on accident sometimes, Giyu either forgets or is too nervous to say it back. He’s not quite used to the idea of being loved and cherished by someone he loves so much, so his brain temporarily halts when you tell him that you love him. Sometimes, he gives you a nasty look on accident as a response, as if silently judging you for choosing someone like him to date and spend your time with. He hasn’t quite processed everything yet, so please forgive him when he either doesn’t respond or mumbled a very quiet “love you too”

⁎⁺˳✧༚

♡—You not saying “I love you” back…

His heart is shattered, thoughts about you loosing interest in him or not loving him anymore now running in circles over and over in his mind. Those three simple words can do so much with a person’s mind, can’t they? Giyu grows immediately extremely quiet, pulling away from you and heading off to any available mission right now or going to train, trying to give you space. He tries to concentrate on training or the missions but he keeps thinking about you not saying that you love him back. Giyu feels so nervous and nauseous about coming back home, thinking you are not there to greet him and gone forever, or suggesting to break up. He may be overreacting, but he just can’t help it!

Once the water hashira walks through the front door of your shared estate, carefully looking around for your presence, he spotted you in the bedroom. Giyu brought all the courage he had together for this: “I love you.” You lifted your gaze and glanced at him, giving your lover a small smile. “Love you too.”

Oh! His shoulders visibly sagged, tension leaving his body. He gave you an awkward nod before leaving. So his overthinking was all for nothing.

💠

This was inspired by this post (from the Genshin fandom) and I wanted to write my own kny version of it, even if it’s not as long or detailed as the original XD

Anyways, I somehow got sick again and wrote this during the periods I did not feel nauseous but I hope you all enjoyed this anyway <3

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

"I understand," replied Violet as casually as she could, well aware that she had no parents he could call in this timeline. Would there even be any information about her "parents" in her file? It all depended on the Horned One, and how generous He was feeling, she supposed.

But she knew it didn't matter, because she doubted Agent Davidson would actually try to call her parents. Something about the way he had said those words, 'it might take a while', or the fact that he had winked at Theo and not her. If he had no moral qualms about sending a teenager to the ward even though he was innocent, he wouldn't have any about leaving her here either.

Violet could only hope that, when night would come, the Horned One would send her back to her timeline. She didn't have anything left to do here, after all. Whatever He had planned when sending her to this place, surely she had done it... right? Theo was leaving the ward and the monster was dead.

So, she turned to Theo with a smile, happy that he seemed so happy. "I guess we did it, yes," she confirmed warmly, "we'll get to work together and fight monsters, just like we said." It was bittersweet. Violet would have liked it, fighting monsters with Theo. But it was impossible. She didn't belong here, and she really wanted to come home. Would he be disappointed, when she'd never join Delta Green with him? Or was he going to forget her? That made her very sad, but maybe it was for the best.

"I think I'll hug my dad," she replied sincerely, her eyes welling up, "I miss him a lot. What about you?"

Theo looked between them as the Inspector asked his questions, his own head spinning with what he had just done, while he had been smiling it did fade as the conditions of the deal sank in. He could never step out of line or he would be put back in the ward? He supposed that made sense, right? He just had to follow the rules is all, it couldn't be that hard.

His smile returned when Mauve revealed that she wanted to work for the organisation too, believing they would be leaving and working together from then on, like they had planned. At least they would be in it all together and despite the conditions around his own deal, which he noticed were not being repeated for Mauve but he wondered if it had just meant the same applied to her too, he trusted her to have his back.

"Very good," the Inspector said, still not offering her his hand, he was still unsure of her and who she was. "We'll have to contact your parents to come and pick you up from Texas, you understand that might take a while." He pointed out casually and then stood up. "I have to go and make a call and get your parents here too," he looked to Theo, winked and then walked out. Of course there were still only landlines around at the time so his call was going to be made outside of the ward.

Theo turned to Mauve. "I guess we did it then," he smiled but it was faltering, he didn't understand why he had to be in the ward if the officer arresting him knew about the monsters. "We're getting out of here, to go and fight monsters together. You can build your traps and everything." Maybe he shouldn't talk about that? Something didn't feel right but the idea of getting out was enough of a comfort to him. "What's the first thing you're going to do when you're out?"