#I’m probably never talking about him again but

[gallavichsreddie1128]

I’m Sorry (Rafe Cameron)

Description: Rafe didn’t tell the Pogues that Y/N (his wife and their ex best friend) (and JJ’s ex) would be on this trip to get the crown with them.

Word Count: 2,558

Rafe didn’t tell the pogues that his wife, their ex best friend, would be on the boat. JJ and her dated for a while but things didn’t work out and she ended up in the arms of Rafe Cameron.

The pogues disowned her after they found out that she was dating him. She was heartbroken and Rafe put her heart back together. She was with him while he stirred the boat. The others outside the door talking about them.

She knew that they didn’t trust Rafe and they probably didn't trust her. She didn’t blame them but she had hoped that this would make them see that they could trust them, mostly her. “Rafe, Y/N.” John B said the couple’s names.

They both turned to look at the group that was by the door. “Hey guys.” Y/N said but her voice was quiet. She hadn’t talked to them in so long and to hear her name fall from his lips was crazy. “We just want peace.” That would have been simple until JJ decided to punch him.

Y/N felt rage through her body at him doing that. Almost like JJ had always wanted to do that, probably has. “REALLY?” Y/N yelled at him. “I don’t trust him, none of us do. Not sure if we even trust you.” He said. That had hurt her a lot.

She wasn’t the reason their relationship ended, it was him. Rafe fixed her and sure he wasn’t the best guy but it was enough for her. “I’m not the one who fucked you over JJ, you fucked over me.” Y/N said. 

Y/N waited for Rafe to wake up. It was a battle but she convinced them not to tie him up. She had food and pain killers waiting for him. He woke a few hours after the incident and looked around, “Hey babe. I brought you some food and painkillers.” Y/N told him.

He was pissed and wanted them off the boat after that but again Y/N had to convince him not too. “He punched me. Let’s not pretend that this is just about me not being trustworthy.” Rafe said to her as they ate. Y/N raised her eyebrows.

He was probably right. “Yeah well that was 3 years ago, Rafe.” She was over it and was even ready to forgive him but JJ didn’t feel the same. Maybe JJ was still in love with her after all. 

The boat started to rock like crazy causing them to get up and see what was going on. It was a disaster waiting to happen. The boat was crashing into the water and flooding. “Guys what’s going on?” She asked. “The storm.” Kie said. Y/N managed to make her way to where John B was.

JJ and Sarah are also there. It was bad, so bad to the point that Y/N ended up in the water. “Y/N.” JJ yelled and grabbed a raft and threw it in the water. “I’m coming.” He yelled and jumped in the water after her.

Rafe got there just in time to see them get covered by a big wave. He screamed his wife’s name and Sarah managed to hold him back so they didn’t lose more people. 

Rafe was crying and freaking out. The others had hope that they would turn up but Rafe had lost too much. They all felt bad and guilty that they treated them like that and realized that they aren’t bad people. Y/N never was and she might be dead. Sarah couldn’t help but cry.

Maybe it was the guilt or the sadness but she was crying so hard. Rafe was thinking about it so much. His wife was most likely dead and JJ jumped in after her. If they were alive he couldn’t even be mad about it. What if JJ had saved her life but what if she realized that she still loved him?

Rafe was deep in thought that he didn’t realize John B looking out in the distance at two people. “Guys.” Everyone looked over at the two people walking towards them. Rafe jumped up and ran to them. As he got closer he saw his wife and he laughed in relief.

She saw him and ran to him as well until they collapsed on the ground in a hug. Both of them were crying and saying that they love one another. JJ watched as the couple kissed and laughed in relief. He saved her life and though she was thankful, she was not going to leave rafe for him. 

“I saved her life.” JJ tells the others as they all sit around the fire. “And I am thankful for that JJ.” She said to him. He couldn’t meet her eyes, why was it that he thought she would love him all over again now? “Thanks for saving her.” Rafe said to him.

Everyone was shocked by that but also it made sense. Y/N was his wife after all.  Rafe wanted to be mad and yell at him but he couldn’t. She might not be alive if it wasn’t for him. But the thought of JJ and her together sickened him. Rafe wasn’t an idiot and saw right through JJ.

He knew that JJ was hoping for her to love him again and that’s what scared him. What broke him out of his thoughts was her yawning in his arms. “Well, I’m tired. Goodnight guys.” She said. Rafe followed her to where she was sleeping and laid down next to her. He pulled her body right up against his and he felt her snuggle up against him.   

Hearing that Sarah was pregnant actually made Y/N happy. She knew that John B and Sarah would be good parents and she was very excited for them. Rafe and her wanted kids but Rafe was scared. He never wanted to treat his kids the way he was treated.

Sure he loved his dad but it wasn’t a hidden fact that he wasn’t the greatest dad. But Rafe had no reaction to hearing that Sarah was pregnant. Y/N wanted to ask him about it but they really had no time. When Rafe almost got arrested for something the others did, it slipped her mind.

And Rafe had a lot of questions for her when they were walking around. “Did he try anything after saving you?” He asked after buying them clothes. “No. We barely talked.” Which was true. She thanked him and even hugged him but besides that they didn’t talk. “Did he tell you that he was still in love with you?” She looked at him like he had three heads. She shook her head, “No because he isn’t.” Rafe wanted to argue that factor but instead asked another question.

“Do you feel anything for him after that?” “Rafe, what?” She asked. “He saved your life and did something I couldn’t.” She rolled her eyes and huffed. Whether he was going to admit it or not she knew that was his worst fear. “Rafe, I can assure you I don’t love him. I love you.” She tells him.

Before he could respond he notices someone and pulls Y/N with him up against the wall. The people were talking about Groff. They listened and figured that he was close by. 

Rafe didn’t wanna leave her alone so he bought her a four wheeler and told her once he has Groff to speed off with them. She nods and waits for her man as he kicks some ass and gets Groff. Before Groff could say anything to her they drove off. She followed Rafe to wherever it was that he was headed.

She got off the four wheeler and Rafe immediately started to question Groff. Groff didn’t even get to say anything to Y/N with how Rafe was questioning him. Groff didn’t have the money anymore but he had the map to the treasure. Y/N gasped when they started fighting and Rafe took those things from him.

The Pendant was beautiful. Y/N couldn’t wait to wear it but that slipped her mind as Rafe pushed him in the well. “HAHA CHECKMATE BITCH.” Y/N bit her lip, finding that hot but knew it wasn’t the right time. He handed her the pendant and she put it on. “It looks beautiful on you.” He winks at her. She smiled at him and he looked at the map. They had a long way to go. 

“You know it was really hot when you pushed Groff into that well.” She said to him. He looked over at her and smirked, “My wife is a freak.” She laughed at him and shook her head, “Anything you do I find hot, Rafe.” He looked back at the map as they walked.

“Yeah well I would love to fuck you right now after hearing that but we gotta get our money first.” She sighed. It was truly unfortunate that they couldn’t. “Give me the pendant.” He says and she takes it off and hands it to him.

He tries to read the map with it but gets frustrated. “Here.” She said and took the necklace from him. She used to do this treasure hunting stuff with the pogues all the time. He smiled as he watched her figure it out. 

Rafe, who had the map in his hand, held up his hands as they were held at gunpoint. Y/N also held up her hands and looked at her husband, nervously. “Let her go she has nothing to do with this.” Rafe tries but they don’t care. “Drop the map.” Rafe nods and announces that he’s doing it slowly.

Y/N couldn’t look anywhere but her husband, missing her old friends ready to shoot the guys holding them hostage. It was in a flash of a second that Sarah shot at them and Rafe took Y/N’s hand and they ran. The pogues followed them. Rafe picked Y/N up and ran faster. She told him to wait as she saw the pogues but he didn’t listen until they barged through the door. “Next time we’ll let you get shot.” Kie tells him but Y/N thanks her. He sets Y/N down but still has the map. “Groff didn’t have the money.” She says to the others.

“Hand over the map.” Y/N looks at Rafe knowing he wouldn’t go down without a fight. “Rafe, baby give them it. They know what they are doing.” He looks at her, “You also know.” While that was true this was their fight now. “Dad would want us to work together.” Rafe was about to break. He believed that Sarah killed him. Y/N didn’t. “Rafe, they are willing to work together.” Y/N tries but he yells at Sarah saying that he couldn’t trust her because of Ward. “Dad died saving me. I was gonna die.” Y/N felt tears in her own eyes. “You’re so quick to blame me for everything.” That was true. “You’re gonna leave me just like everyone else in my life has besides Y/N. She’s the only one keeping me going. You’ll ruin that. He’s trying to ruin that.” Rafe pointed at JJ.

JJ stayed silent as Sarah talked to him, “I’m all you have.” “Baby look at me. She’s telling the truth. I know them baby, they aren’t bad people. Nothing will ever come between us.” Her heart broke at the sight of him crying. “We’ll still get our cut?” Rafe asked Sarah. “Yes.” He goes to hand her the map but she pushes it away and she hugs him. Y/n smiled at the sight and rubbed his back as he tried to hold back tears. 

“Hun, I’m going down there to stop them.” “No.” “Rafe, they are killers.” Kie said to him. He looks at the two of them. “I’m a killer too.” He says and if he said that at any other point, she would have been so turned on but right now they were on a mission. Kie and Y/N couldn’t really see JJ but kept telling him to hurry up. He was trying but he was going to find it no matter what.

Y/N kept looking behind her hoping to see Rafe but she couldn’t. She couldn’t lose him and this was making her think she would. “JJ we have to go.” Kie yelled at him. He was reaching into the eye of the sand statue and it looked like he pulled something out but she couldn’t be so sure.

The sand was everywhere. She heard yelling and cheering from him and smiled to herself. He got the crown. A few minutes later he showed them the crown and they all hugged. It was a nice feeling, one that she missed. They ran down to get the others and Y/N’s mind was on her husband. She had to make sure he was okay.

She yelled his name as she looked for him but gasped as she saw Groff. She hid so he couldn’t see her and he grabbed Kie. Y/N had to cover her mouth. She was hoping that he wouldn’t hurt her but of course he was willing to trade her for the crown. They were so close.

Y/N watched as the trade was made and sighed in relief. She was glad her friends were okay. Sure she wanted the money back but their lives were and always will be more important. She turned to go find Rafe but heard Kie gasping. Y/N turned around and her eyes widened, her heart dropped and her soul left her body. Groff had stabbed JJ.

She didn’t care anymore and ran over to him as Groff ran off. She thought about chasing him but didn’t want to get killed. “JJ.” She cried and he looked at her. For once since they reunited he looked at her and he didn’t look mad. Kie and her helped him to the ground.

“You’re gonna be okay. We will get you out of here.” Kie said. JJ gave them a smile, “It’s okay.” “JJ we can get you help.” Y/N tells him. He looks over at her, “Y/N I’m sorry that I messed up with you and never gave you what you deserved.” “JJ I don’t care about that stuff.” He could barely get out words but he had to tell her, “Kie I never told you my wish.” Kie was crying.

“JJ it’s okay…” “I have everything I could ever wish for right now.” He holds both of their hands. “My best friend.” He looks at Kie. “And the woman I’ll always love.” He looks at Y/N. Y/N starts crying harder. “I love you both.”  He said and his grip on their hands weakened. He was dead.

The others started showing up and everyone was crying. Rafe showed up and saw Y/N put JJ’s hand in his lap. He couldn’t even feel relief about this, nothing about it was. He wasn’t jealous or mad cuz for once he knew that she was his and that no matter what they were together.

He got on the ground with her. “Hey.” He said and she collapsed in his lap crying for her friend. “It’s okay baby. I understand and I promise you we will avenge him.” He whispered to her. One thing she learned about being married to Rafe Cameron was that he kept his word. Especially on Revenge. 

[mistresscitrusslice]

??? I watched Ambessa’s music video obsessively when it came out. Nowhere did I see the protective circle you’re referring to. Maybe give me a time stamp for when it happens?

Also, I thought the baby she was pregnant with was Kino. She and Mel talk about him like he’s older than Mel, probably the firstborn. The video doesn’t imply she has any children yet other than the one she’s carrying. The child she sees holding the lamb, probably Kino again, is likely the one she’s still carrying and hasn’t given birth to yet. It’s the next generation of innocence. After all, that crystal statue room appears to be showing her future.

Saw an argument that the fetus is probably Mel because there a glint of gold when it’s shown, but idk. They really don’t imply Ambessa has any other kids yet, so I’m a bit torn. For now I’ll stick with it being Kino unless new information arises. We’ve never seen him; mayyyybe has as decked out in gold as Mel is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, please send the time stamp of the part of the music video where there’s a protective circle (and how do we know it was her baby?). I’ve heard before that the Wolf was protecting her from death since allegedly some visual effect it did looks like a move that Kindred has in the game.

I’d be upset to be proven wrong if she does have magic, but I’d also be so glad that she has something she can defend herself with. Babygirl has been completely defenseless for all of Act 1! She didn’t even get a piece of scrap metal she could pick up and swing at the enemy 😭

Mel's protection should have saved Viktor too, and she's trying to figure out why it didn't

S2 ep1 shows a circle of protected stone where Mel and Jayce were during the explosion. My theory is that Mel's magic armor activated and saved them both. It seems like it casts a sphere of protection around wherever Mel is.

The center of this circle is not Mel's seat - it's Jayce's. She ran to Jayce to save him.

No other Councilors were in range of Mel's protection, so they all got hurt or killed.

But Viktor was, Jayce's words, "right next to" him. He was easily within Mel's circle of protection.

1) Viktor tried to run and mistakenly left the circle of protection. But are we meant to believe that Viktor, close to dying already and using a crutch, would have outrun Mel?

2) Viktor's augmented body clashes with Mel's

Why does Mel try to touch Viktor in episode 1? It seems like a throwaway moment, but not even Jayce touches him in this scene. So why Mel?

She's curious. And possibly, feeling responsible. She's wondering why her protection didn't work.

Is this Hexcore brand of the Arcane trying to reach out to Mel? Or trying to defend itself from her?

Mel was trying to protect both Jayce and Viktor, which is reflected in how she holds Jayce as well as Viktor's cane when she promises to protect Hextech:

But if, for example, Mel's magic is Solari in origin, and Viktor's is from the Void - or the Arcane equivalent of similar opposing forces - then it's possible that their magic rejects or hurts one another. So Mel's circle of protection either rejected Viktor, or was what hurt Viktor, and not the explosion.

[ankoluvly]

“Want me to teach you?”

𐙚Summary: You’re hogwarts good girl and Mattheo sees you at a party, leading to him teaching you how to give somebody(him) a blowjob.

𐙚Content warning: partying, hints at Mattheo having a crush on reader for awhile, blowjob, overall kind of vanilla, possible dubcon(Both Mattheo and reader are drunk.), Soft Mattheo, again, very vanilla!, 18+ ONLY, MDNI

You stumbled your way into the empty classroom, the other man kicking the door closed with his foot as the two of you’s tongues fought for dominance. Your heart beating unimaginably fast in your chest. You feel his soft grasp on your waist as you two pulled back for air.

A grin formed on his face as he looked at your flush face and already kiss swollen lips. “You have no idea how long i wanted this.” He said before kissing you again, not giving you a chance to respond.

Maybe it was a good thing you came to this party instead of studying tonight..,

You take a deep breath as you walked into the crowded party. Already feeling the blisters forming on your feet from the heels you were wearing, The loud music blaring, you recognized the song as ‘Talk dirty’ by Jason Derulo. You rolled your eyes at the obscene words of the song as you squeezed your way past the groups of dancing students from various houses. Exams were coming up which means you typically wouldn’t be skipping your nightly studying, however tonight was a special exception. After the upcoming exams next week, it’s graduation. These are your final two weeks that you’ll ever be spending here at hogwarts. The thought put a deep, never ending pit into your stomach. Over the years hogwarts has became your home, the thought of not eating breakfast in the great hall while talking with your friends felt like a bizarre, ‘never happening’ thought. You couldn’t imagine not hearing Draco and Harry getting into their daily arguments and scuffles during classes. And most of all, you’ve grown used to these people, especially one certain boy.

You made your way over to the drinks. The thoughts of graduating made your stomach do flips that you desperately wanted to drink away. You combined a bit of each drink, making the drink look a brownish colour. You swished it around in the cup as you stood there. Your eyes sweeping over all the students you could manage to see.

You didn’t see him, the one guy you wanted to see the most. You knew you shouldn’t be too worried about it. He never missed a party, but what if he suddenly wanted to focus on his studies instead? or maybe he saw you and he left? maybe he actually couldn’t stand you?

Before you managed to get too caught up in your thoughts you saw your friend Angelina Johnson coming over, she was wearing a low cut black dress with a deep v neck, her toned, thin body on display. The sweat that formed on her body and the lights from the party together made her skin glow with a variety of colours. You suddenly felt overdressed as you looked down at your own light baby blue silk dress that covered your thighs and stomach.

“Girl! you came, i knew you wouldn’t miss this.” She said as she stumbled over to you, drink in hand.

“Yeah. Just felt weird to stay in my dorm studying all night when i might not even see any of these people again.” You said with a chuckle as you took a sip of your drink. It sent a tingling sensation down your throat and into your body. You haven’t drank in a while, probably since last year’s Christmas party.

“I get it.” Angelina agreed as she topped up her own drink. “I’m glad you came.” She added genuinely with a smile before grabbing your wrist with a grin, “But you are NOT staying here all night.” She added, already pulling you with her, ignoring the other bodies in her way as you muttered apologies when you guys bumped into people. Accidentally knocking some peoples drinks onto the floor, causing you and Angelina to giggle as the two of you rushed further away in the direction of your friends.

You finally reached all your other friends who were further off towards the left of the room. You said hello to your friends before taking another sip of your drink, the overall atmosphere getting to you as you started to enjoy yourself more.

As time went on you started loosening up, drinking more, dancing with your friends. The loud music having a variety of different songs that matched the atmosphere. Other students slowly started leaving to the dorms or washrooms to hook up. Draco was making out with Astoria against the wall like a duo of horny dogs. And that’s where you spotted him.

Mattheo Riddle. The infamous ‘prince’ of Slytherin, son of the dark lord. a bit of a tit, or ‘manwhore’ as your friends call him. Constantly attending parties instead of studying. Constantly having new ‘girlfriends’. A complete asshole to others.

Well atleast that’s how others describe him. they weren’t exactly wrong, but you personally never had any bad experiences with him. He could be tit, yes, but he was never necessarily rude. He was kind of nice in a way. In a charming way. The perfect amount of Goofy, nice, and cold. Not Fred and George Weasley level of goofy. Not Neville Longbottom level of nice. Not Theodore Nott level of cold. The way his hair was always perfectly curled. His perfect white teeth that lit up the room when he smiled. Or maybe it’s just because you’ve had a big, fat, tv school girl type crush on him since second year.

He was leaning against the side of the fire place, Next to Astoria and Draco. He was alone though, no girl practically dry humping his leg this time. From where you stood you had the perfect view of his side profile as he lit up a cigarette, struggling slightly to get the lighter to work properly. His red solo cup resting on the top of the fireplace next to him. It was like everyone else in the room was nonexistent as you admired the man just a mere couple feet away from you. You didn’t realize your staring until you were forced out of your daze with a rough nudge to your shoulder.

“Seriously? daydreaming about the dark lords son?” Angelina joked light-heartedly as she glanced over in Mattheos direction. You blushed as you looked at her and back to Mattheo.

“Uh- No… just noticed him, that’s all.” You brush off. Rubbing your arm uncomfortably with the humid temperature of the party. You couldn’t help but sneak another glance at Mattheo as you swore you saw him look at you out of the corner of your eye.

“Good. You could do so much better than the local slytherin manwhore.” Angelina joked, before standing up from her spot on the little bench, pulling you up with her. “Come on girls! let’s dance instead of sit around like a bunch of bums, last party ‘till graduation.”

And then the night went on. You danced for what felt like forever with your friends. completely forgetting about the fact you’re all going to need to grow up in a couple weeks. That some of you were moving to completely different countries soon after graduation. You all just enjoyed each other’s company, talking to some of the other students that you guys were friends with but not tight nit. Gradually different girls in your friend group dispersed, going off with random guys or their boyfriends to hook up. until eventually it was just you, Angelina, and now Fred.

Fred and Angelina were grinding against each other as you took a quick break from dancing, downing another drink. Your body was feeling lighter now. Angelina was drunk as fuck, Fred almost just as drunk. You stumbled slightly as you made your way back over to the two drunks. Angelina reached out and pulled you closer, “Dance with uss,” She slurred out. You chuckled as you entertained her idea, dancing with them.

You were enjoying yourself before you felt hands firmly plant themselves onto your hips and your back come into contact with a the taller mans upper body. Causing you to freeze slightly. You blushed as you felt them grind themselves against you in sync with your previous dancing. You never did anything like this before so you internally panicked, looking at Angelina for help. But she only grinned, giving you a reassuring nod. you knew what she was saying: ‘Just go with it!’. So you listened, hesitantly moving your hips again. You took it as a good sign to continue when the grip the stranger had on your hips tightened ever so slightly.

You attempted to copy Angelinas movements as you started to feel yourself. That was until you heard a voice, the stranger leaning down to whisper in your ear with an amused tone: “Never knew the ‘hogwarts good girl’ could dance like this.”

Your eyes widened and heart beat picked up as you registered the voice. You knew that voice. “M-Mattheo..?” You stuttered out as you looked up at him wide eyed. Face flushing. His breath smelled heavily of Alcohol and cigarettes. You could faintly smell his go to ‘Dior sauvage’ cologne that you were forced to smell every day in the morning for three years.

“The one and only sweetheart.” He flirted, turning you around so that you face him. You feel his hard-on through his pants. You couldn’t muster a word as you stared in admiration and nervousness. This is your first time being so close to him. “What? cat got your tongue?” He teased with a smirk.

You blinked at his words before shaking your head, “No- no.. just surprised.” You attempted to say more casually, though it instead came out shy and timid. You finally looked down from his face, glancing at the silver chain locket around his neck with the Slytherin snake symbol decorating it, the black t-shirt he was wearing underneath a thin black button up jacket. You flinched lightly as you felt his hands start to run up and down your waist.

He chuckled at your response before asking; “Wanna head off somewhere else?” with a smirk. You knew what he was suggesting. It felt like everything was a dream. But at the same time you didn’t want him to expect too much from you. so you blurted out;

“I never did anything like this before.”

And that leads to your current situation. In a random, empty classroom in a heated make out session with Mattheo. You clench your thighs together in excitement. Your stomach doing little cartwheels as you pulled away again for air. You chuckled nervously as Mattheo started littering kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. You grinned softly, biting your lip as you got your breath back, hand resting on his shoulder as you glanced down at his bundle of curls. You were nervous. You heard stories about what it’s like to do things with him. That he’s rough, sadistic, and so on. All the things you didn’t want for trying anything remotely sexual for the first time, but now you couldn’t care less. perhaps it was just the alcohol in your system messing with your thinking. Either way you couldn’t help the giddy feeling you had while Mattheos’ kisses trailed along your collarbone until it stopped right in the middle. He pulled back and admired your dress, finger tracing along the ruffles at the very bottom of the dress.

“Cute dress,” He mumbled, standing up properly again, making you have to arch your head up to see his face. Your face flushed more -if it was even possible- as you stumbled over your words but eventually got out a small ‘Thank you’.

He grinned as his fingers gently ran across the outline of your face. This wasn’t the Mattheo that you heard others described, and you couldn’t help but notice the softness in his eyes as he admired your appearance. You quickly pushed the thought away the possibility of him liking you, you ‘were just another one of the girls he was gonna hook up with’ you thought. Perhaps the look in his eyes was just from the alcohol in his system. Or maybe he could tell how drunk you were. You only got knocked out of your thoughts when he asked you a question:

“Have you never even given a blowjob before?” Mattheo asks, his hand falling from your face and instead resting on your hips as his other hand rested on the desk next to you.

You glanced down, embarrassed as you bit the inside of your cheek. You felt ridiculous, you were nine-teen fucking years old and you’ve never even sucked a guy off yet, the most basic of stuff. You tried telling yourself that it wasn’t that big of a deal, but you couldn’t deny the pang of embarrassment that you felt when you had sleepovers with your friends and couldn’t relate with anything they said while talking about boys. Mattheo seemed to read your body language though as he chuckled and responded despite your lack of an answer.

“No?” he asked amused, tilting your head up to look at him again. “Want me to teach you?” he asked, grin plastered on his damned, handsome face. You swallowed in anticipation and nerves while nodding.

He wasted no time in picking you up off the table and turning the both of you around, switching the two of you’s places. “Get down on your knees sweetheart,” He told you as he pushed you down gently, his hand on your shoulders. You did as you were told, pushing the skirt of your dress up slightly so that you weren’t pulling it down by your knees.

Mattheo smirked down at you as he took his jacket off, going at a teasingly slow pace as he placed it behind him. With the jacket off you could see the shirt he had underneath. The sleeves stopping just at his elbows, showing off his muscular forearms. Fuck was he hot. You weren’t sure what to do next as he leaned against the desks, hands resting behind him which held him up. He chuckled with an amused grin before saying; “You can undo the belt princess,”

You nodded, reaching up as you attempted to undo his belt. Feeling nervous to touch him, attempting to take the belt off while acting like you’re walking on eggshells. Mattheo struggled to hold back a laugh as he moved his hand to help you take the stupid belt off, slapping your hands away as he undid the belt himself. “You can pull a zipper down at least, right?” He asked with a smirk.

You smiled at his words, rolling your eyes as you mumbled out a yeah. taking the zipper into your fingers as you unzipped his black jeans. looking up at him as he simply nodded. You pulled his pants down slightly, leaving them at the middle of his thighs. You looked up nervously, and feeling slightly awkward as he watched you. Considering the fact you never did this before you were scared to progress. Holding the waistband of his boxers hesitantly. You couldn’t help but bite your lip to hold back a laugh as Mattheos own laugh resounded throughout the empty classroom. His hand gently playing with your hair as he spoke: “You don’t have to be so nervous, just pull the boxers down.” He said amused, causing yourself to let out a laugh, his attitude doing a surprisingly good job at making you feel more comfortable.

You shuffled his boxers down, his cock jumping free from its restraints and up against his clothed stomach. You gulped slightly at his size, about… 7 inches, But… how was that supposed to fit into your mouth?? “Uh… i don’t need to like… take the whole thing?” You asked for reassurance. getting more embarrassed as the absurd question escaped your lips.

You could tell Mattheo was enjoying every minute of this as you looked up at his charming smile as he let out another bark of laughter at your words. “Nah, you don’t gotta worry about that princess,” He said, easily holding eye contact as he played with a strand of hair. “I’ll train you for that another time,” He added. his words laced with arrogant confidence that he would do so. You rolled your eyes at his choice of words and tone, wanting to say something back but biting it back as Mattheo spoke again.

“It’s better if you start off with a little handjob.” Mattheo started, tone calm and patient. “Use your spit as a type of lube and it’ll feel 10 times better for any guy.” He instructed with a grin. You nodded, going to follow his instructions but you couldn’t help the awkward chuckle that escaped you, glancing up at Mattheo as you gripped him in your hand. You could feel how hard he was, his cock twitching slightly at the feeling of your colder hand wrapping firmly around the base. Mattheo too, chuckled. “What? i’m not gonna judge you,” He teased playfully. pulling your hair that out from the front of your face and onto your back.

You just awkwardly grinned before spitting the built up saliva from your mouth onto your hand, wrapping it around Mattheos cock. With an experimental flick of your wrist you spread the spread the spit around the base of his cock. You figured what you were doing was good when he let out a slight grunt and you saw his hand tighten around the desk. You gradually brought your hand up, blushing slightly as his cock twitched in your hand. You continued your movements, replicating what you’ve read from inappropriate books of girls in similar situations, spreading some of the spit around the swollen tip of his cock with your thumb. You could tell you were doing good by the way his breath hitched in his throat, his breathing picking up as his hips bucked into your touch, and the praise falling from his lips.

“Shit- you’re doing good. keep doing that but go a little faster.” Mattheo says, his grip on your hair tightening slightly. You listened, going faster as you cringed slightly at the feeling of the spit being spread around on your hand. You couldn’t help but reach your hand inbetween your thighs to help relieve some of the painful arousal, palming yourself through your soaked panties. You relished at the occasional moan or grunt that left his mouth and his laboured breathing.

Usually, at this point in the perverted books you’ve read, the girl would start to use her mouth. You weren’t sure if you should just go for it or wait. Trusting your gut you placed an experimental kitten lick along the side of his shaft, making him let out a breathy moan, his hand going to place itself gently on your hair, fingers entangling themselves with your hair.

You did the same thing along his entire shaft up to his tip. His fingers tightening around your locks of hair. “Try taking it into your mouth now,” He said, looking down at you. You bit your lip slightly as you let out a quick snort of laughter at his words, not being able to take this too seriously as the alcohol in your system was making everything ten times funnier.

“C’mon don’t be scared.” He teased, grinning at your laughter. His hand pushing your head slightly to edge you on. You just grinned slightly, glancing up at him.

His face flushed slightly as he bit his cheek, looking down at you. chest slowly going up and down. You watched as his arms flexed as you took him into your mouth, gagging as you quickly felt him go farther into your mouth than you’ve ever felt before. Stopping at just half his length before you were attempting to pull back. His hand held your head in place for a couple seconds before letting up, his hand falling back to his side. A ‘pop’ sounded in the room as you pulled back, coughing and wiping the bit of spit that seeped out from the corners of your mouth. You could feel the slight stretch of your mouth at the edge of , it was an uncomfortable feeling.

He smiled down at you recovered yourself. “Was that ok?” He asked, his tone patient. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable and that everything was going at an ok pace for you.

You smiled up at him as you nodded. “I can continue,” You said eagerly. Waiting for him to agree as you grasped him in your hand again. slowly going up and down with your hand.

He nodded down at you, “Yeah. Try using your tongue a bit more while going…. uh.. up and down, yeah?” He asked, not sure exactly how to explain it. You smiled in response, taking him into your mouth again. It was easier to do this time though you could still only take about half of him. You let your tongue slide against the bottom of his shaft along a vein as you (attempted) to bop your head. the unfamiliar movement feeling awkward to do as you placed your hand on his thighs for support.

“Yeah shit- like that.” He said, his hand again finding solace on your head again. his hips gently thrusting into your mouth. Making you gag slightly. “Use your hand on the bit you can’t fit into your mouth-“ He said through moans, his voice sounding more desperate now. You followed what he said, your hand gripping the bit of his cock that you couldn’t fit into your mouth as you jerked him off slightly.

You took his increasing moans and tightened grip on your hair as a sign that you’re doing good as you continued your movements. Gagging slightly as you struggled to breathe through your nose, eventually needing to pull away as you coughed slightly. You decided to replace the absence of your mouth with your hand as you caught your breath.

“You’re doing good for your first time,” Mattheo commented with a smirk, his face flushed. His hand moving down to wipe the spit from your face. “You sure you’re not lying to me?” He asked. Looking at you with slight, playful skepticism.

You bit your lip slightly in embarrassment as you admitted without fully thinking: “I read books… and watched a couple videos.”

Your face flushed in embarrassment at your sudden admission, taking in Mattheo’s reaction as his eyes widened slightly before quickly being replaced with amusement. “I knew you were a little too good of a student.” He teased with a smirk, hand going back to your hair as he pulled slightly, “Now c’mon. You’re supposed to be giving a blowjob. Not a handjob.”

You then continued. Attempting to get used to the full feeling in your mouth along with needing to breathe through your nose. Your jaw slowly starting to ache. Mattheo started pushing your head further down his cock, making you gag around him which seemed to only turn him on more. “Fuck… can’t wait to train your throat another time.” He said through a mix of a moan and groan. His words didn’t fully process through your lust and alcohol clouded brain. “You mind if i help you a little bit? hm?” He asked, hand twirling your hair into more of a makeshift ponytail. You just nodded as much as you could in response to his words. looking at him with lust-over, wide eyes.

He grinned as he bit his lip as you looked up at him, chuckling slightly. “Fuck yeah.., knew you’d agree.” He mumbled as he gripped your hair into a more firm grip as he started moving your head back and forth by your hair. With Mattheo controlling your movements you could focus more on trying to add to the pleasure with your tongue. swirling it around his cock as you placed small ‘kitten lick’ like flicks on the tip when he pulled you back.

You could only take it as he face-fucked you eagerly. And god was his sounds divine. His American accent making his random mumbles of curses or praise hotter, “Shit.. taking this like a champ, surprisingly.”

Or the occasional, every once in a while, quick whimpers that’d escape up his throat and out of his mouth. You just felt dizzy with excitement not only at what you’re doing- but the sudden revelation that he may like you too, or even that he chose you to hook up with of all girls. Your hands rested on his thighs as they started to flex more and more often, as well as his moans increase in pitch slightly.

Mattheo pulls you off his cock as he came. Not sure of your boundaries yet so he didn’t want to do anything too…. kinky?

You quickly started trying to fill your lungs with oxygen as you coughed softly, not as bad as the last two times though. You watched as Mattheo came, jacking himself off through it as his cum spurted out onto his shirt and hand.

You flinched as you felt something land on your face, blinking as you reached your hand up to touch at the sticky liquid on your face. Mattheo too noticed as his eyes widened slightly, quickly moving his hand to your face, wiping the cum off with his thumb. “Shit- sorry..” He said.

What you did next you weren’t sure if it was because you were genuinely curious, or too drunk to think properly. You held his wrist in place as you licked the cum off his thumb, grin plastered on your face as you took in his reaction. His cum tasted kind of salty and bitter, though not the worst thing you’ve tasted. Mattheo watched in shock combined with amusement as he grinned. “Well? how did it taste?” He asked, looking down at you as he shoved himself back into the confines of his pants. Amused at your actions. clearly he underestimated how much of a freak you really were.

You just grinned up at him as you let go of his wrist. “I’d take that over cottage cheese,” You said with a soft giggle as you were pulled up back to your feet by Mattheo. wobbling slightly as you got used to needing to stand on your feet.

Mattheo kept his hand in yours as he smiled at you, wiping the spit and small bits of his cum still on your face off. “Should i keep that in mind for our date?” He said, tone half confident and questioning. Though before you could hear anything you heard an all to familiar voice from the hallway,

“This Classroom, Now.” The voice that you both recognized as Severus Snape said, voice inching closer to the door of the room you two were in. You and Mattheo shared a glance before you both quickly went and hid behind a pile of random class stuff. Perfectly hiding the two of you when you sat.

You two glanced at each other as you both grinned before jumping slightly as the door to the class slammed open and then closed. “Sit.” Severus Snape demanded as he walked dangerously close to the two of you. “The amount of times i have caught you two doing some type of obscenity in public is As.tro.nom.i.cal.” Snape spoke, putting pointed emphasis on ‘astronomical’.

“We’re teenagers being teenagers, what else would you expect?” The voice of a student said. You and Mattheo both shared a glance as you both stifled back chuckles, recognizing the voice. Fred Weasley, which most likely meant the other student was Angelina. You could practically hear the grin on Freds face.

“Teenager or not i expect you to have some decency.” Snape spat out, strictness and annoyance in his tone. “Especially since you’re only here for two and a half more weeks.” Snape added, putting emphasis as he spoke ‘two and a half.’ You covered your mouth as you giggled quietly, scooting closer to Mattheo as he moved his arm to make room for you. You two practically cuddling against eachother as you two listened to Fred and Angelina get lectured by Professor Snape.

Mattheo glanced down at you before smiling, genuinely. Whispering down to you: “As i was saying, date tomorrow morning at Hogsmeade? Three Broomsticks?” He asked. Silently hoping in his head that you’ll say yes.

You shared his genuine smile as you nodded excitedly, “Of course.” You tried to whisper back casually, though your tone exposed the excitement coursing through you as you rested your head on his shoulder and smiled like an idiot.

“Though you should probably clean the cum off your shirt.”

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . Written by ankoluvly, 2024 on tumblr! please do NOT repost on anything.

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . OML this is longer than i expected it to be, and my first, full length fic EVER. Who would’ve thought it’d be Mattheo, one of the fanon characters that never stood out to me before lmfao.

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . This is incredibly vanilla because that’s how i envisioned it, sorry if it’s not your cup of tea 😭😭

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . I already brained up other scenarios based off this lil universe between reader and Mattheo

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . Spent awhile on this ngl 🥹 But it was fun to do even if i’m not to proud of it noww

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . FEEDBACK IS *VERY* APPRECIATED, thank you :)

[soleilapproves]

Boxer!Sukuna loves to show off his moves to his crush aka his best friend (feat. Boxer!Toji)

Notes: sukuna is a jealous little hoe, Toji finds reader attractive, Pre-relationship, fem!reader (she/her), depictions of fighting so read at your own discretion. Uraume is a nonchalant baddie. Not proofread, I’m sorry for torturing you all.

Thump!

A gloved fist lands against Sukuna’s tattooed cheek as he stumbles back into the boxing ring’s roped borders.

He quickly flicks off the sweat dripping down from his nose to his upper lips and gets back into fighting stance. His opponent / friend, Toji Fushiguro, smirks at him as he bounces in his spot, bracing for what’s to come.

“You’re boring me here, Ryomen!” The raven haired man barked from the opposite end of the ring. “Quit fightin’ like a pissy little boy and hit me like a man!” He further taunted his opponent.

Sukuna leaped from his spot and swung his arm only for Toji to dodge him with a duck and attack his legs.

“Fuck!” Sukuna yelled out as he fell down. His body bounced against the ground, force acting against him.

“Time out!” Coach Yaga yelled out. Toji removed his gloves and took off his helmet, lending out a helping hand to Sukuna.

Sukuna stared at Toji’s calloused hands and back at him. His glare deepened with every heavy breath he took.

He could not stop thinking about the conversation he had with Toji in the gym locker room a few days ago.

“She your girl?” Toji asked as he applied another heat patch to his sore shoulder.

“Who?” Sukuna asked while he packed his gym bag.

“The girl you came in with today. You know, the one who wouldn’t stop talking.” Toji chuckled as he said that. Sukuna’s eyes momentarily flickered away from Toji has he remembered how you were going off on a tangent about your favorite show.

“Nah, why do you wanna know?”

“I wanna take her out.” Sukuna’s hand froze after hearing Toji’s answer.

It never occurred to Sukuna that other men wanted to talk to you. He always thought that he was the only man in your life even if there wasn’t anything romantic between you two.

But then again, Sukuna had made it his mission to drive away any man that even showed a shred of romantic attention towards you. It was easy for him since he was a well known boxer that could probably smash concrete with one punch if he tried.

It was his favorite thing about being so strong.

However, it wasn’t going to work in this case. Not when his opponent was on par with him.

“You don’t get it, man. She’s not that kinda girl. She’s the relationship type and you hate all that commitment stuff.”

“I wouldn’t ask to date your friend if I wanted to leave her high and dry. I’m ready to do all that redemption shit now. I wanna get serious.”

Sukuna’s blood boiled at the thought of Toji even looking in your direction. What made him think that you would even say yes? You had hardly ever said three sentences to the man (the sentences being “hi, Toji,” “bye, Toji,” and “where’s sukuna?”)

But he also knew what Toji was like in the ring. A relentless fighter that was always ready to improve where he lacked. And he also knew what you were like.

All he could do was hope that you’d reject Toji.

“Do whatever you want. Fuck do I care about?” Sukuna shoved in his shower gel in his bag and stomped out of the room.

He pushed Toji’s hand away and walked out the ring to hydrate himself. Toji mumbled a quick “asshole” before heading out towards his water bottle right outside the fight room.

“You were exceptionally bad today. I believe there must be something emotionally affecting you.” His manager (more like henchman), Uraume said as they handed him a bottle of sugar free Gatorade.

“Fuck off.” Sukuna tiredly said as his leaned back into the leather couch facing the ring. The spotlights above him burned his retinas but his mind kept him distracted with thoughts about you.

The way you laughed at his banter with Uraume, the way you’d comfort him after lost matches, the way you’d stare at him with your arms crossed when he’d forget to text you.

Like you were doing now.

“Some nerve of you to leave me on read last night.” You huffed out in anger. Sukuna immediately sat up, rubbing his eyes. You were definitely real and standing in front of him.

You looked positively adorable with a pout on your face and your foot tapping angrily on the ground. If Sukuna didn’t have any self control, his lips would’ve been planted on yours right now.

“You said you’d bring me to the gym to watch your practice match and then forgot to tell me when your match was!”

You were lucky to have Uraume’s number and contacted them to get to the gym yourself.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up-“

“Hey, nice to see you.” Toji sauntered around you, interrupting Sukuna. “This creep giving you any trouble?” Toji sneered with his hands on his hips.

“Yes, in fact, he promised that I could watch today’s match but didn’t even bother picking me up.” You complained to Toji, who was towering above you.

Sukuna could practically see Toji’s blood rush to his ears. The man was smitten and it irritated him to see that.

“Toji, get the fuck out of here. We’re having a private conversation.”

“She literally aired your dirty laundry in front of me, man. There was no privacy to begin with.” You let out a small laugh at Toji’s response and he proudly beamed in your direction.

Sukuna was going to further defend himself, stating that it was a conversation between best friends but Coach Yaga was quick to swoop in with smacks to both the boxers’ heads to resume their match.

The men went towards the ring, ducking under the ropes as they entered. Sukuna needed your eyes on him no matter what. So he did what he thought was best- take his compression tank off.

His chest gleamed with sweat as he threw the piece of clothing out the ring. The tank accidentally landed on Uraume’s face and their body began to shudder in anger. You grimaced at the sight as you used your pointer finger and thumb to pluck off the sweaty garment from their head.

Sukuna’s face turned red out of embarrassment

“Sorry, dude.” Great, he was supposed to look sexy but he ended up making a fool of himself.

“You know what? keep fighting like a little kid. I wanna make sure I win in front of the pretty lady before I ask her out.” Toji whispered in Sukuna’s ear before he wore his mouth guard.

The tattooed man was seething. There were so many emotions affecting him at the same time- anger, jealousy, sadness, and insecurity.

But then all of that was erased when he saw you intently looking at him while you stood next to an irritated Uraume. Not to mention, you were still holding his sweaty compression tank like it wasn’t something that would disgust any other person.

Sukuna wasn’t feeling as defeated as anymore. In fact, there was a new surge of energy in him when he saw you standing outside the ring with hopeful eyes.

He had an advantage over Toji because right now, the one you were rooting for was him. Not his green eyed opponent.

You were here to see him win. You were here to see your man- okay, best friend who’s a man, win.

And he wasn’t going to disappoint you.

Coach Yaga blew his whistle and both men began walking in circles, eyes staring into one another’s to predict their opponent’s next move.

Sukuna remembered to always wait for the opponent to make the first blow so he could dodge them. This way, he’d be able to expend their energy and use their one second of being distracted to his advantage.

Toji did exactly as he predicted and he countered his punch with a hit to his chin. You gasped and Sukuna could see you smile in his peripheral view (maybe he was imagining it but whatever. To him, you were smiling while he punched Toji).

Toji growled as his body moved backwards but he got back into position quickly and charged at Sukuna with a punch but Sukuna crossed his arms to dodge the blow. He wanted to hit but needed an in somehow. He began to think long and hard as he dodged Toji’s incoming punches.

His eyes momentarily landed on you and he couldn’t help but think about Toji kissing you after your date, his non-tattooed, muscular arms wrapped around your waist. Your breasts pushed against his chest as you gasped for air.

He imagined Toji taking you home, sleeping in the same bed as you. Patting your head as you fall asleep.

Sukuna could not let that happen. As selfish as he was, he could not let his sparring mate take away the one thing that mattered most in his life- you.

He landed punch after punch to Toji’s ribs and you excitedly clapped at the sight. The sound of your hands only further fueled Sukuna’s fury as he continued to batter Toji.

The fight went on for a quite a while, neither fighter giving in to losing. But by now, Toji had been punched the most and was beginning to lose his balance.

Coach Yaga’s shrill whistle squeaked and the match stopped before Toji could be rendered immobile. You wanted to feel bad for the man when you saw all the bruises on his face and body but you could help but smile when you looked at Sukuna. He wasn’t smiling but the look on his face showed he was satisfied.

Sukuna turned to find you smiling and he mirrored your expression.

Yeah, there was no way he was going to let you go. He was going to win every fight against Toji whether if it was in ring or for your heart.

-•-

I’m just adding lore to Sukuna and Toji’s rivalry in both boxing and pursuing the reader.

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (9) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist

note: sorry this update took forever !!! enj <3

//

there are words can describe how incredibly awkward you feel when you wake up.

last night—after you and yoongi crossed that unspoken line and messed around—you two ended up tangled together.

it’s strange because in between soft touches and sleepy murmurs—you actually got to know him in ways you never expected.

you recall it all.

his quiet voice filling the spaces between the darkness and your hushed breathing so you could hear every tone, every word, and every breath of his crystal clear. 

yoongi told you stories and confessions that slipped out between shallow breaths. childish yet meaningful things he probably didn’t even realize he was saying.

you remember him murmuring about the way his mom used to hold his hand when he couldn’t fall asleep as a kid, or how he swore he’d never own a fish again because when he was 11 years old... he had 14 goldfishes and they all died one by one 2 weeks later.

he swears it wasn't his fault.

you tell him you believe him.

(you really do.)

he also talks about his quiet love for early mornings, how at peace he feels when he’s the only one awake in a still-sleeping world. in that half-dazed vulnerability, yoongi let you in. 

just enough for you to see a side of him you hadn’t expected, a part that was softer, quieter, more open.

then, you two talked about baby injeolmi.

how you two don't really care about the gender and just want a healthy baby. so much so that you both agreed to not know the gender and to just be surprised on the day of. oh, and how you do want a baby shower and think hye mi is already plotting that...

then, you two talked about the moving in thing again.

that's when you pretended to go to sleep and actually fell asleep. yoongi only laughed at you, fully knowing that you're just nervous. you're moving in one way or another.

he knows it.

you know it...

but aside from the way the talk ended; it went well.

no, the talk wasn’t everything…

but it was something. 

now, with the morning light filtering through the blinds, reality started to seep back in.

the familiar awkwardness of two people who shared more than they’d planned. you can feel his warmth beside you, his hand still loosely draped over your waist, and a twinge of nervousness fluttered in your stomach.

you glance at him, expecting him to be asleep. but then, his eyes blinked open, groggy but sharp enough to catch the slight flush in your cheeks. 

still half-asleep, his voice rough as he mumbles, “hi…”

for a second, neither of you move, as if lingering in that quiet, unguarded space between sleep and reality. suddenly aware of the intimacy, he clears his throat, his gaze softening but pulling back just a bit.

you offer him a shy smile, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“a-about last night…”

he chuckles softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “yeah… last night…”

then, he pauses to gather his words.

“wait, are you talking about me yapping or me sucking your tits?”

none. you’re talking about pretending to fall asleep regardless, your shy smile breaks as you burst into laughter. he joins your laughter and sighs. 

“i mean, are we gonna talk about any of it or is acknowledging it good enough for now? i don’t know if i’m awake enough for the conversation but i will be if you want to—”

“all good,” you assure him. “i don’t know where i was going with any of it. i guess i just wanted… to know if you—”

“i liked it,” he tells you, not digging any deeper. “you getting to know me, me sucking your tits—all of it.”

as promised, yoongi takes you to the baby store. 

your eyes light up the minute you step foot in it. it’s then that yoongi remembers exactly who he’s having this baby with. 

you and your fucking babyfever. 

the baby store is a mix of pastel colors, tiny clothes, and gentle lullabies playing over the speakers. yoongi trails behind you as you wander through the aisles. one hand resting on the cart as he pushes it along, his eyes constantly flicking to you with a quiet, thoughtful focus.

though you two are pretty good at communicating—the whole physical affection part? that’s still a little wonky. for instance, every time you pause to examine something, yoongi is right there, his hand slipping gently around your waist to guide you to the next aisle or just to linger beside you. it’s so subtle that, at first, you think it’s an accident, a reflex. 

but then it keeps happening.

at first, it throws you off��his casual closeness.

the way he stays so near, like a shadow. you’re not used to this kind of attention from him.. this quiet and steady affection. but strangely enough, you find that you don’t mind it. in fact, there’s something comforting about the way he stays close, attentive to your every move.

when you stop to touch a soft little onesie covered in tiny clouds, yoongi doesn’t even hesitate. he reaches over, gently taking it from your hands and adding it to the cart without a word. 

you shoot him a questioning look, but he only shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips as if to say, whatever you want.

“yoongi, you know you don’t have to buy everything i touch, right?” you remind him, glancing at the growing pile in the cart.

yoongi just chuckles, unbothered, and places his hand on your waist again as you reach the aisle full of toys. his touch is warm and grounding, making it hard to argue with him.

“you’re not carrying any of it home, so relax,” he says with a smile that’s both charming and final. “i like this shit too. they’re cute or whatever—”

then, your fingertips brush as you both reach for a soft, star-patterned onesie. he lets go first, letting you hold onto the onesie.

“this one’s cute,” you say softly, running your thumb along the fabric. then, you bite back a small smile when you realizes yoongi hasn’t moved his hand from your waist.

“yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. his voice is softer than usual, but before you can read into it, he takes the onesie and tosses it into the cart. then he grabs a few more items without asking you, each time ignoring your attempts to peek at the price tags.

“yoongi..."

"what?"

"are you serious?"

he looks at you blankly. "don't we need these things?"

you nod but give him a stern look. "yeah, but we can't buy out the whole store."

"why not?"

"first of all, that's insane... and second of all—a-are you just—"

you reach for a soft, stuffed rabbit, just curious to feel it, and—predictably—he plucks it right out of your hands, tossing it into the cart.

"you are."

"i'm what?"

"seriously?" you huff, barely holding back a grin. “you’re not even letting me decide if i want it. you're tossing it in just because i touched it.”

he remains unbothered by your protests. 

“what if i just think you have good taste?” he says, glancing at you with a hint of mischief. 

and with that, he gives you a gentle nudge, guiding you further down the aisle with that warm hand still resting at your side.

“are you saying that just to flatter yourself?”

“what do i have to do with this?”

“well, you’re my type and my babydaddy—”

“i’m your type?” yoongi tilts his head at you. "good to know..."

you blush, eyes wide from embarrassment. before you can make up some excuse to save face, he leans in and playfully pinches your waist.

“you're my type too, mama.”

you clear your throat and redirect the conversation.

"s-should we pick a crib?"

yoongi gestures his hand for you to lead the way.

as you begin to walk, you turn your head and send him a glare.

"... and be serious about this part, okay? this is the crib we're picking out. read the packaging and make your judgement. i'm gonna end up choosing the prettiest one that might not function as well as the ugly one... so, can i trust your taste on this?"

yoongi nods, pushing the cart with a steady, unhurried pace, his hand resting casually on the handle.

“you can trust me,” he says, his voice low and sincere.

... and so, you do.

you trust him.

when you reach the checkout, you step forward to pay but—

yoongi slips right past you.

casually handing over his card to the cashier before you even get a chance. you cross your arms and narrow your eyes at him, watching as he signs the receipt, completely unbothered.

the total is easily above $3,000. 

he meets your gaze with a look that’s almost playful, his expression all wide-eyed innocence, as if he hadn’t just ignored your efforts.

"yoongi," you begin, voice firm. “we’re both injeolmi's parents, and it’s not fair for you to pay for everything. at least let me pay half—”

he doesn’t respond right away, just nods patiently, his attention focused on gathering the bags the cashier hands him. his face is calm, listening but clearly not swayed. he loads a big box containing the crib into the cart, then places the bags filled with tiny clothes, blankets, and toys right beside it, adjusting them carefully.

you press on, leaning slightly forward, hoping to get through to him.

“we’re both responsible here... i know i'm not a nurse practitioner like you, but it's not like i can’t contribute, you know—"

“i know.”

yoongi glances over his shoulder at you, his mouth quirking in the faintest smile as he stacks the last bag. he seems unbothered by your scolding, more amused than anything.

“this is my baby too and i feel uncomfortable letting you do this much—”

finally, he turns to you, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair back from your cheek in a gesture so casual it nearly makes you forget your own irritation. 

“do what? provide?”

you're tongue tied.

“all done? feel better, mama?” he asks, his tone light, but his eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief. “if not, go ahead. say what you want. say what you need to say. i’m listening.”

you let out a small huff, crossing your arms more tightly, trying to stay serious.

“you’re not paying for everything, yoongi.”

he raises one eyebrow, his expression softening but still unwavering. 

“i am. i did.” he shrugs, nonchalantly. it feels like he’s teasing you even though he isn’t. “___, i’m all done with this topic now. are you?”

“no, actually, i—” you start, feeling your frustration build.

“great,” he interrupts, his smile spreading into a grin that makes your heart skip. 

he reaches down, taking your hand in his, his grip gentle yet firm, and begins to guide you toward the exit, leaving you no room to protest. 

his thumb rubs lightly over your knuckles as he holds your hand, a grounding gesture that calms you, even as he completely ignores your point. 

“let’s go home,” he says softly, his voice warm, as though it’s the simplest decision in the world.

home.

following yoongi inside his condo, the familiar sight of his place tugging at something inside you. 

it’s been a while since you’ve been here. the memories of that night still linger like a quiet hum in the back of your mind, but you push them aside. 

focus on the present. 

focus on the baby.

he leads you through the hallways, and you try to ignore the way your pulse quickens as you walk past his bedroom. you know it’s silly—nothing’s changed here. but still, the weight of the space feels different, heavier now. maybe it’s because this time, you’re here for something else. 

this time, it’s about the baby.

and the fact that you’ll be moving in soon… fuck, your mind begins to spin.

then, yoongi stops in front of a door, his hand resting lightly on the handle. he opens it slowly, stepping aside to let you in. 

“this is the guest room,” he says, but you can tell he’s hesitating, like he’s waiting for your reaction. “soon to be baby injeolmi’s room…”

you step inside, your gaze instantly drawn to the empty space. it’s clean, quiet, the pale walls untouched by time or use. the sunlight pours in from the window, making the room feel warmer, but it’s still just a room. 

there’s nothing personal about it. 

nothing that belongs to anyone yet.

but you can already picture it—nursery furniture, soft colors, the quiet hum of a baby’s lullaby filling the air. you glance back at him, noting the careful expression on his face. he’s watching you, waiting for your approval. waiting for your thoughts, even if you’re not sure what to say. you wonder if he’s nervous too, if this feels as strange to him as it does to you.

for a moment, your mind drifts to that night—the night everything changed. 

the night you slept together. 

the night you felt something more than just friendship between you two. the way his touch felt, the way his lips lingered on yours, and how quickly it all faded into the awkward silence the next morning.

"i also made space for your things in my room. i'm not finished clearing out my all shit but i will be by next week. does that sound okay?"

"huh?" you blink. "n-next week?"

yoongi nods.

"i think i gave you enough time to think things over... and don't act like this is a surprise. i brought it up last night. you pretended to sleep."

your eyes widen.

"i—"

"move in with me next week," yoongi says. "... you can pretend to sleep mid conversation in my bed from now on."

by an hour and half in, you and yoongi have filled the space with scattered remnants of baby gear—boxes, parts of cribs, and the disassembled pieces of a changing table. they all lay haphazardly across the floor. 

it’s oddly comforting.

the clutter somehow feels like a soft reminder of the chaos and excitement that’s about to come.

yoongi is kneeling on the floor, tools in hand, as he begins to assemble the crib, the sound of metal and wood clicking together filling the otherwise quiet room.

you lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching him work with a careful, focused precision. his brow is furrowed, his jaw clenched as he concentrates on each piece. his sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms that make it hard to focus on anything else. you swallow, not bothering to hide the way your eyes drift to the muscle in his arms as he works.

and then, almost instinctively, he looks up at you, his gaze meeting yours as if he can feel your eyes on him.

“baby injeolmi’s clothes need to be washed,” he says, his voice low but firm, his hands already reaching for another tool. “you want to do this 50/50? fine. but i don’t want you getting hurt.”

you push off the doorframe, rolling your eyes as you walk toward him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

you’re not used to him treating you like you’re made of glass, but you get where he’s coming from. still, it doesn’t sit well with you.

“i’m pregnant but i’m not fragile,” you argue. “i can help you with the crib—“

he doesn’t budge, his jaw tightening as he focuses on the task at hand. 

“humor me then,” he says, his tone patient, but there’s an underlying edge of stubbornness that makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.

you’re about to argue further, but the way he’s working—so effortlessly, so damn focused—has you momentarily silent. the way his arms flex as he screws the pieces together, the tension in his shoulders, the occasional glance up to check in on you—it all just feels so... domestic, and so right in this moment.

you step back a little, your breath catching as you take in the scene. yoongi, with his sleeves pushed up, lost in his work, looks so different from the guy you met—still him, but somehow more.

more... grounded. more steady.

your gaze lingers, unable to pull away.

your cheeks heat, a strange flutter in your chest as you realize you’ve been staring too long. When Yoongi catches your eye, his expression unreadable for a split second, you scramble to regain your composure.

“i’ll, uh…” you quickly clear your throat, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “i’ll get started on baby’s laundry. do you have clothes that need to be washed too? i can do a load—i mean… fuck—y-you know what? how about i make us some lunch first? yeah. i’ll do that.” you say, quickly backing away before your feelings get the best of you.

your steps are hurried as you leave the room, but you can still feel the heat in your face, the warmth of his gaze following you as you retreat.

yet, the image of him—focused, strong, and all yours—lingers, and you can’t help but smile to yourself as you step into the kitchen.

in the kitchen, you decide to keep it simple yet comforting. 

something easy to share, nothing too fancy. you settle on making caprese chicken sandwiches with a side of fresh fruit and chips. 

you finish grilling the chicken and layer it on the toasted ciabatta. you add slices of fresh mozzarella, letting it melt slightly, then pile on thick tomato slices and fresh basil leaves. a drizzle of balsamic glaze finishes it off before you top it with the other half of the bread, pressing it together gently when yoongi walks in. 

without a word, he leans against the counter beside you, his presence as familiar as the scent of the meal. he doesn’t wait for you to finish; instead, he picks up a melon slice and takes a bite.

“can’t you wait two seconds?” you laugh, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

yoongi just grins, completely unbothered. he takes another bite.

“fruit always taste better when moms cut them,” he says, his voice teasing but laced with that quiet sincerity of his. “oh, should i say milf? or is that jungkook’s line?”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

the way he stands there, so effortlessly himself, makes your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect. he’s always been like this—comfortable, confident, and somehow, when he’s this close, it feels like everything else fades away.

as he pulls away, you notice a small smudge of melon juice on the corner of his lips. without thinking, you reach up to wipe it away, your thumb brushing softly against his skin. the movement feels natural, almost automatic, but something about the intimacy of it makes your heart flutter. you don’t hesitate, bringing your thumb to your mouth to clean it off.

“mhmm,” you moan. “tastes sweet.”

then, the moment freezes.

yoongi stares at you, eyes wide, as if he’s seeing you for the first time, like the simple action has somehow shifted everything. the air between you thickens, and suddenly, it feels like there’s more than just the space in the kitchen separating you.

you stand still, unsure of what to do next. 

your eyes lock, and in that second, something unspoken passes between you. it’s not just the closeness or the warmth of the kitchen—it’s a pull, an undeniable magnetism that makes your chest tighten and your breath catch.

yoongi’s gaze drops to your lips, and you can feel the tension, the quiet yearning between you both. his hand twitches slightly at his side, like he wants to reach for you, but he’s holding back, waiting for you to make the first move.

and just as you’re about to lean in, your belly gives a sudden flutter.

you gasp, your eyes widening in surprise, and instinctively, you reach for his hand, pressing it gently to your belly. 

“oh my god.”

“what?”

“yoongi… i think… here—”

you hold your breath, waiting, and then—

there it is again. 

a small, unmistakable kick.

yoongi’s eyes light up with awe, his fingers curling slightly around your hand as he feels it, a slow smile spreading across his face. he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his eyes fixed on your stomach, filled with wonder and something deeper that you can’t quite place.

you squeeze his hand, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you both.

“did you feel that?” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips. 

yoongi looks up at you, his eyes softer now, holding something deeper than the simple wonder of the moment. 

the air around you two has shifted into something more intimate. then, his gaze flickers to your face, his heart fluttering in his chest as he steps a little closer, his thumb gently brushing over your hand.

… and as he looks into your eyes, his pulse quickens. 

it’s not just the baby’s kick he feels—it’s this quiet, undeniable pull between you two. his chest tightens with the weight of it, and for a moment; this is everything to him. 

everything.

he gulps as he soaks in your presence and sinks into the idea feeling of love beginning. then, slowly and then all at once; he accepts it. 

“yeah,” yoongi says, tone warm and ever so sure. “i feel it.”

as you look up to meet his eyes, yoongi’s lips tug into a smile. dipping his head low, he kisses you.

[icallhimjoey]

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: it's monday! and fake joe's here for you! he's... not exactly the best, for which i apologise, but, he's all for you, so please, enjoy him fictionally and respect him privately (too much to ask? i hope not?) ok great talk everyone, love you <33 xo

Wordcount: 6.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Four days of silence.

Four days of not looking each other in the eye. Of no physical touch. Of not saying a single fucking word.

You moved around each other in a shared space until you had the thought that you were probably better off avoiding each other completely for a little while.

Joe was convinced he had every right to wait for an apology before he’d speak to you again. You, however, obviously heavily disagreed.

You had just been honest.

Joe had asked for you to be honest and so, you had been, but apparently, you’d done it wrong.

It started with an evening of not speaking after an outburst. A silent night routine where you completely avoided one another. Acted like the other person wasn’t even there. You’d thought then that you’d speak in the morning. That you’d talk things out after getting some sleep, because maybe that was the problem.

You slept with your backs facing each other and dreamed of better moods in the morning.

But then the next morning, Joe had gotten up and only made one coffee.

One singular cup of coffee.

He drank it at the kitchen table, looked at you all bitterly like a disappointed parent would look at their child who was ruining their potential, and then left the empty cup there for you to grow even more annoyed at. More than you already were.

That one evening of silence had slowly turned into four days.

You bit your tongue, though. Kept quiet, because Joe did too. Stored the annoyance away. Swept it under the rug, and even though this metaphoric rug was starting to look really lumpy, you pretended you could walk over it fine still.

You then also ignored that this is precisely what the fight had been about. About you shutting up about all the little things that annoyed you. All the small things that didn’t feel worth the effort to say anything about in the moment, because you didn’t want to be a nag.

Things built with you.

Being bothersome was your worst nightmare, so you wouldn’t say anything for ages until then suddenly, on a random afternoon, a teeny tiny drop made the bucket overflow and you’d fall apart at something so stupidly insignificant which would take everyone by surprise.

Would take Joe by surprise.

And it made sense that Joe’s first reaction to your fire would be to light his own. You’d snap and shout, so Joe’d snap and shout right back.

“Babe, you never fucking communicate! It’s always– I’m always guessing with you! Just tell me when something upsets you!”

“I am!”

“Yea now you are! But you’re telling me about shit I said three months ago! What do you want me to change about something I did three months ago?!”

“I don’t want you to change anything– my God! You asked me what’s wrong, so I’m telling you what’s wrong!”

It was always the same fight. And usually, you’d end up saying something so stupid to your own ears it would break the tension and make you laugh. It’d be easy to apologise in those moments, because you knew this was on you, and the warmth coming off of Joe as he’d turn soft at your laughter would always sort of fix things.

“Stop being so silly,” he’d say as he’d hug you. As he’d kiss you on the cheek until your embarrassed grimace, aimed fully at yourself, disappeared.

“Got some moaning left in there?” he’d ask, tapping the side of your head with a finger, making you giggle despite yourself. “Want to go shout into the air from the balcony? Since you’re here now, this is the time to get all of it out.”

That was how it usually went.

And he was right; you could definitely communicate better. Express feelings in the moment rather than hold on to all the negative shit for ages.

Easier said than done, but at least you were aware that you had to stop saving things for another day.  

This time the fight had been different though. There was no eventual humour slipping through any cracks. No secret smiles hidden from each other until you stopped being able to conceal them. No apologies. Zero kind words. Just… anger. And silence.

Joe was waiting for you to break first. For your wrath to turn into something a little softer that he could mould into something more to his liking.

And you were waiting because Joe was waiting. Simple as that.

It didn’t feel fair that every time you’d share negative feelings, Joe would end up calling you silly.

It didn’t feel fair that Joe never apologised for anything.

It didn’t feel fair that, just because you were quiet for a moment as you collected your thoughts, Joe spat, “Silent treatment? All right.” at you.

Four days.

Four days of Joe making a morning coffee just for himself, actively choosing to ignore, and therefore, hurt you.

Four days of his lone empty coffee cup left on the table, which you then didn’t clean, because why the fuck would you, but the sight of it was eating you alive.

You spent four days witnessing petty, childish behaviour from the man who you started believing you needed some space from. A little breathing room. Just until he’d miss you enough to reach out and say sorry, you know?

You wondered if he was thinking the same.

If the silence was also letting his mind wander into those same dark corners yours was exploring.

But then, Joe broke it.

A glass of wine on that fourth night broke it.

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but… it felt like one. You decided it was an apology.

You were sitting on the sofa, tapping away on your phone, talking to Emily about your stupid boyfriend, and she was a good friend, made fun of him effortlessly which really did a good job of making you feel better.

Then, Joe placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table in front of you.

It didn’t fully register at first.

You saw the glass, but assumed it was Joe’s wine that he poured for just himself, and if you were going to want some, you’d have to go and fetch you own.

Mid-typing out a message to Emily about it, you felt Joe sit down next to you, and when you chanced a quick glance, you saw that he was holding a glass of wine himself as he got comfortable and turned on the TV.

Slowly, your phone lowered into your lap, and you stared at that glass of red wine on the table for a moment.

Without warning, your eyes welled up.

He poured that for you.

In the effort to not let Joe notice how this gesture hit you right in the gut, you held your breath until you were shaking, and then a heaving sob burst out of you.

Shit.

You shattered.

Split right down the middle, and burst into pieces with such vigour, you surprised yourself, but surprised Joe more.

He had expected you to pick up the glass and empty it in the sink, or whatever.

Four days was much longer than he thought you’d let this go on for.

His girlfriend was stubborn – he knew that. But four days? Four days was a really fucking long time. And, apparently, four days was long enough for a simple glass of red supermarket wine to make you cry.

The astonishment rendered Joe useless for a moment.

He just looked at you for a moment as you sat with your phone in your lap, head dropped down, and your face covered by both your hands.

This was really fucking embarrassing.

Your legs felt the want to escape the situation before your mind got the chance to catch up. You were up on your feet and wanted to bolt it to the bedroom when you heard Joe put his glass of wine down.

You hadn’t even taken two steps before you got taken hold of by an arm. Pulled into a chest. Held firmly into place.

Going from four days of moving around each other like you didn’t exist to one another, to the very sudden tightest hug you’d received in ages was a lot.

And then Joe placed a hand on the back of your neck and squeezed you gently, making you fucking bawl.

No one apologised.

No one said a word, actually.

But you took whatever that glass of wine was as enough of an olive branch to let yourself be hugged.

Be shushed quietly.

Be gently kissed and softly touched.  

It shouldn’t have counted as an apology, but you’d taken it as one, and Joe had conveniently let you.

Saturday night.

You’re out.

Alone.

You know Emily would have come if you had asked her to, but you hadn’t, because she would’ve likely asked a bunch of questions you didn’t want to answer.

“Where are we going?” “That’s not where we usually go...” “Why are we going there?”

Couldn’t tell her. She’d try her best to talk sense into you. Would try to convince you that this behaviour wasn’t serving anyone in the long term.

And she’d be right.

But you currently don’t really care about the long term.

Short term is where it’s at.

Where all the fun and the excitement lives.

So you’re out. Having drinks at a bar by yourself, and you do your very best fending off any trickle of doubt at your life choices until you see him walk in.

Jackpot.

You fucking knew it.

You pretend you haven’t seen him at all, of course. Continue your chat with the girl behind the bar, until suddenly–

“You know you’ve got the worst timing?”

Joe sneaks up on you.

His voice is low in your ear, and you do your very best to sound as surprised as you possibly can when you gasp a small breath, all innocent. You turn your head to see him over your shoulder, both his hands on your sides as he looks down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You say it like you truly didn’t expect to run into him.

Oscar worthy.

Well. It would have been, had you not both been very aware that you’re exactly where you are for this exact reason. Wearing what you are wearing, drinking what you are drinking. It’s more than a lucky guess that he’d be here tonight.

Joe’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

“I’m here with a whole group.” Joe’s making excuses he already knows aren’t going to stop either one of you.  

“Do I know them?”

“No.” Joe answers as he scans your face from the side. God, you look all… glossy.

“Good.” Would’ve been a bit awkward otherwise.

“You better hang around for a bit.” Joe gives you a face, sort of stern, and it’s so comfortable to frown at him. To act all offended. Like it’s not exactly what you want to hear.

“Excuse you, I’m–” you start all aghast, and want to add, I’m seeing someone, which is a lie, but you get cut off by a strong squeeze into your waist from both his hands.

“I’m not joking. Give me… maybe, like, an hour and I’ll come get you.”

You scrunch your nose at him and he gives a small nod, his grin spreading wide, before he turns around and finds the people he came in with.

You’re alone. Single, and having drinks in a bar by yourself, which has every opportunity to feel a little sad, but instead you feel giddy. You predicted you’d run into him, and then you did.

Perfect.

You’re a genius.

After last time, you kind of want Joe to think that you are seeing someone. Just to make you feel like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that it matters. You’ve both made the same wrong choice in similar situations before. But, still. You just don’t want him to win.

Joe joins his friends, and he throws a quick glance back to see you smile into your drink as you take a sip.

Yea. Glossy is the right word, he thinks. He could stare at you all evening.

Fuck.

A whack to his shoulder by one of his friends pulls him into a conversation and momentarily, he shifts into the evening he had planned to have.

He forgets about you for a minute, but never entirely.

It’s like there’s a constant little buzz in the back of his head, and he keeps wanting to look over. See what you’re doing. Who you’re talking to. Who’s talking to you.

Joe’s in trouble.

You do things to him that he can’t entirely comprehend, and that no one before or after you has ever really managed. He doesn’t know what to make of that most of the time, except that the feelings he’s got for you are sort of… big. And scary.

You’re still devastatingly gorgeous to him, he can objectively look at you and think, yea she’s fucking hot, but you also manage to make him laugh. Manage to him feel heard and cared for. Manage to make him forget about all current worries life has on offer for him.

And Joe is generally, just, doomed.

Whatever he had with you had worked for a while and then suddenly it hadn’t anymore. You’d suddenly wanted out, but now… it feels a little like you both want to start over. Like you both want to forget about that chapter of bullshit. Pretend it never happened.

And what’s the problem with that?

Is whatever you are doing now a problem? If it works?

If it doesn’t hurt people, Joe thinks there’s no issue.

But he knows it actually does hurt people. It’s another truth he ignores. Tries to, at least.

There’s no denying the gravitation pulling the two of you closer and closer together until eventually you end up a tangled mess. Like a pair of forgotten earphones left in a coat pocket, too annoying to untie, so instead someone will pull at both ends until the earpieces reach both ears, leaving the wire tangled up even tighter as it sits under their chin.

Even though Joe appreciates the poetic beauty he can find in all of that, he knows he’s got to fucking stop hurting people all the time.

He can’t help his feelings.

But he can help how he treats others.

If he is going to choose to let the general ache of a bad week be soothed by the balm of your presence, he can at least have the decency to not let others presume they’re dating him. Because generally, that’s always been his problem. Joe’s vague and avoidant and all about surface level fun – he never defines anything if he can help it, and he lets others think what they please.

It’s easier that way.

For him, at least.

It’s both a shame and a godsend that this is a part of him that you know through and through. That you see. He doesn’t have to try to hide it, because he knows that it’s of no use with you.

And apparently, it’s fine, because here you fucking are, aren’t you?

He remembers when he thought you were just the same, and remembers how he felt so lucky at first.

A perfect match.

He’d learnt over time, you’re actually very much not the same. But! You had at least some of the same tendencies, and you showing up in this particular bar tonight was enough proof of it.

Joe’s in his group of friends, and they’re all chatting and laughing, and this was meant to be a fun night out, but he might as well just leave right now. His mind is with the girl at the other end of the bar, sat on her own, smiling and chatting to whoever had the courage to strike up a conversation.

Yea.

He’s got more problems.

Forget not wanting to define anything with anyone.

Joe also has to stop banking his entire future on the idea that you want him too.

There’s… there’s a lot of things to ignore.

It should foreshadow that the path he’s going down isn’t good. Isn’t the right one. But... it’s so fun and exciting, he kind of has to know where it leads.

He sighs loudly, a frustrated grumble originating from sheer defeat, and he gives the glass he’s holding a glance. He’ll finish this, and then he’ll fetch you and leave.

About fifteen minutes later, he’s got you under his arm and is leading you outside. Asks, “Yours or mine?” because there’s no need to act coy with you.

You answer, “Yours.” a little too quickly for Joe not to raise an eyebrow at.

You’re walking together, and you’re still fixing your scarf, but your steps are too determined. Too rushed for your quick answer not to hide at least some secrets.

“What, you got anything to hide from me?”

“No–”

“Let’s go over to yours. It’s closer.” he challenges without the intent to actually do so, footsteps still carrying him in the direction of his own flat.

“No, I–”

“Or has Jasper left all of his things strewn about?” Joe couldn’t finish the question before having to twist his mouth in a bid to hide his smile.

You stop walking for just a second, and give him a dead pan stare that transitions into an eye-roll before you flatly say, “All right, good night.” and pretend to turn around to leave.

It makes Joe throw his head back in a laugh, both his arms grabbing at you and pulling you close.

“Mine, okay. Mine.”

And you fall back into step, smiling into your scarf at how you just made Joe’s laugh echo down the street.

Feels good to make Joe laugh.

It’s quiet for a bit, just a short few seconds. Just footsteps on the ground amongst the noises of the city. Somehow, it feels like it drags on, like every second lasts a whole minute, and you can’t help filling it with awkward chat. “No,” you start. “Jasper’s put all of his things where they’re supposed to go.” And you give Joe a pointed look after.

He bites immediately.

“Wha– I always put my things where they’re supposed to go!”

He doesn’t.

You know he doesn’t.

He knows you know he doesn’t.

It’s impossible to forget all of the little things that made the rug look all lumpy. You’d always keep things under there for ages, which gave you a lot of time to quietly lift up corners to examine all the mess.

So you snort, and he stutters through beginnings of words he never finishes to find excuses that don’t exist until you’re both laughing.

Then he says, “Here. I’ll put this thing where it’s meant to go.” And you think it’s just about the cheesiest innuendo ever, but then he takes your wrist in his hand and lets his fingers intertwine with yours.

You look up at him with a pursed smile, but Joe’s already looking right ahead, making sure you don’t bump into anything.

You’re lucky it’s cold enough to blame the flush of your cheeks on the cold wind.

You hold hands all the way to Joe’s flat.

It’s nice.

You also talk about Jasper all the way to Joe’s flat.

That’s less nice.

Joe asks what else Jasper does that he allegedly doesn’t. If he lets you keep your heating on. If he lets you sleep closest to the door. Every question comes out with disdain, like this loser doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing.

And you answer every question with lies. Paint a very pretty picture.

Jasper doesn’t even fucking exist, but you like that Joe thinks you’re taken. That you’re off the market, and that he shouldn’t be taking you home, but still chooses to. You think maybe he wouldn’t have held your hand if he thought you weren’t already spoken for.

However, it doesn’t feel so nice to remember all the things that ruined your relationship with Joe. He just keeps listing a bunch of shit you’d once yelled at him for, and you don’t think he fully understands how it’s bringing the mood down.

Presumably, you’re meant to think it’s funny, so you smile, but all of it sits wrong in your gut. It leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth that uncomfortably sticks to your tongue and sours your mood a little.

The short-term fun with Joe is meant to be just that. Fun. You don’t want to be reminded of all the reasons why you shouldn’t be going home with him right now. If you did, you’d have taken Emily with you tonight.

You refrain from saying anything, though.

You’re still you, after all.

You just smile and tell Joe that Jasper actually does do all the things that Joe never did, and hope it sparks enough jealousy in him to maybe do something about it.

“Hmm,” Joe says when you turn the corner and his building comes into view. “Jasper sounds... he sounds kind of perfect, doesn’t he?”

He does.

You’ve created the image of a perfect boyfriend. One who you know you’d never actually gel with; you need someone who pushes back a little.

Problem is... Joe knows that too.

Just when the thought crosses your mind that maybe Joe knows you’re making everything up, that you’ve been lying this whole time you’ve been holding hands, Joe confirms your fears.

“Almost too um... almost too good to be true, wouldn’t you say?” he narrows his eyes in suspicion, a smile still playing on his lips.

“Yea, well. Some people are.” you shrug, but know Joe is reading your unsteady body language just fine.

“Sure, sure. Yea. I guess so.” Joe says, and then falls silent.

He knows you’re lying.

Well, fuck.

And then, he lets the silence linger.

Joe doesn’t say anything as he fishes his keys from a pocket and lets you into his building. Doesn’t say anything as he pushes the lift button. Just gives you a little smile, like he’s trying to hold in a chuckle, thinking secret thoughts.

It gets in your hair.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s... no, it’s nothing.”

Joe lets his small smile turn into a fat smirk and it’s starting to get on your nerves. The lift doors open, and you assertively step inside before Joe can give you a small ladies-first gesture.

Joe watches you press the button to his floor before he shakes his head a little and follows you in.

“What?” you ask again, and to that, Joe finally lets a barking laugh out.

“What?” he mimics, feeding off of the brooding bit of bite he can sense growing underneath your skin.

“If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s fucking working.”

“I’m not trying to do anything.” Joe patronises, joy very much still visible in the lines on his cheeks.

He knows you’re single.

He knows there’s no Jasper.

“Hmm.” It’s your turn to narrow eyes at him. “Yea, no. Of course not. You don’t have to try to piss me off, you’re right. You’ve got the skills to auto-pilot your way–”

In a lightning-speed quick move, Joe shuts you up by suddenly getting close enough for you to stumble back against the mirrored panel or the lift. He’s got two hands touching your sides over your coat, firm enough for you to feel them through the thick layers of fabric.

It startles you into silence, and makes you audibly swallow.

You can see from up close how Joe smugly pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes roving over you slowly, and, fuck.

Yea.

Yea. Okay.

It shifts.

All of it is shifting.

The annoyance and slight anger transfers into something else.

Into something a little more raunchy.

You feel a sudden rush down your body from the way Joe’s eyes blaze with intention.

Joe knows you. Bit rash of you to forget.

Just before the lift stills and the doors open behind him, Joe lets his body sway forward a bit to press himself up against you entirely. It makes your breath hitch and stutter. Makes you want to grab hold of the large collar of his coat to pull him down enough so you can kiss him.

But then, in a blink of an eye, he’s gone. Pushes himself off, quickly moves away, walks out of the lift, and leaves you there to catch your breath for a second.

Fucking hell.

Oh, tonight is going to be interesting.

You don’t leave the lift until the doors start closing and you have to quickly launch yourself across to get an arm in front of the sensor. Down the hall you see him disappear into his flat, leaving his door open, and you take rushing steps to follow him inside.

You don’t want to waste any more time.

You want to undress right there on his doormat, despite the bitterly cold temperature you’ve just stepped into.

You want find Joe, who you can hear is already opening and closing cupboards in his kitchen, and just... you don’t know. Jump him, you guess.

That lift moment has made you want to devour him. Made you want to be devoured by him.

But then you close his door and step into his kitchen, and find him at the counter. He’s got his back turned, and is super calmly pouring two glasses of wine.

No urgency.

Zero haste.

He knows what he’s just done to you. Knows the effect that likely must have had. He’s toying with you. Fucking playing.

You drop your coat where you’re standing, right onto the floor. Toe your shoes off to make a pile. You cross your arms and grab hold of the bottom of your top, ready to pull that over your head next, but you pause to watch Joe’s shoulders move under his shirt as he carefully twists and pushes the cork back onto the bottle to seal it.

When he turns around, he leans against the counter, one hand on the edge of it, and in the other he’s holding a nice fat glass of red.

Glass.

One glass.

For a moment you just assume that there’s another hiding behind his back, though it doesn’t even fully register.

You make eye-contact as he takes a slow sip of his drink, and then you slowly pull your top off. It reveals a lacy bra you’re convinced Joe likes the look of.

And you’re right.

Joe halts, and openly stares. Mouth in his wine. Hypnotised. Frozen on the spot. Mind slowly turning to mush.

He’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

You take a deep breath, inflating your whole chest, and Joe groans at the sight. The glass of wine gets put back down behind him, and you don’t even think he has taken real sip. Then he takes a few steps to pull a chair from his table.

He holds a hand up that means, one second, and pulls at the fabric of his trousers to give himself a bit more space before he sits down. He shifts a little, settles in, and then leans back with his legs spread wide, both hands behind his head, fingers folded and elbows sticking out.

He takes a deep breath before he gives a small nod that says, carry on.

You bite your teeth into your bottom lip as you smile, because Joe is an idiot, and you let your hands find the button to your trousers to take off next.

Then, suddenly, it lands.

There’s one single glass of wine on the counter.

One.

You stop your movements as you look at it and watch the red liquid inside softly swirl from when Joe put it down.

It takes a second for Joe to follow your gaze, and for him to understand what you’re looking at.

He frowns in confusion a little, looks back at you to see that you’re still staring, and then looks back again, and–

“Oh...”

Your expression has gone cold.

And Joe thinks that maybe he gets it. He isn’t entirely sure, but he’s smart enough to know that the show he had just settled in for is probably going to get cancelled if he doesn’t do anything.

“Did you...”

But he’s not sure what to say. Doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. When you start moving, he thinks maybe he doesn’t have to.

It’s crazy how this feels like it used to feel, before.

But, it’s a little different now, because… there’s nothing at stake. There’s no you to protect. No you two as a couple to preserve.

That stupid single glass of red wine.

You fucking hate it.

And you know it’s sick, you know that you’re not meant to enjoy this, but the feeling of rage bubbling up within you honestly feels kind of good. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to experience full-body resentment, and have the immediate source of it right there to take it out on.

You want to feel this dark, sticky displeasure.

Feels fucking good.

Joe’s been reminding you of what a shit boyfriend he was to you, which was meant to be ha-ha funny. Joe thought enough time had passed. You had gone from no-contact to two people that bickered for a bit, and then would end up in bed together. It had happened twice already, and you had all the right ingredients to keep this going. The recipe had proven itself delicious, and Joe thought he could just... serve the same meal again.

It’s self-destructive, you know it is, but… you are hungry for it too.

You take a few slow steps and walk over to look at this glass of wine more closely. Joe watches you from his seat, entirely unsure of what to do, and then, without warning, you slowly push the whole thing into the sink.

Red splashes everywhere, and the glass clatters loudly, but it doesn’t break.

Next, you take the bottle into your hands. Look at the label for a moment. Pretend to read it. It’s still pretty full.

Too bad, you think. Such a waste.

You remove the cork, turn around to look Joe directly in the eye, and then tip that over as well. The whole sink colours blood read as you drain the whole thing, and all Joe can do is watch on from his seat.

He doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you and feels the energy of the room build.

He’d forgotten how things always build with you.

You’re quite the sight, face reading thunder, standing in his kitchen in your bra, breath deepening with every second that passes.

Joe hates what it does to him inside of his trousers.

When the bottle empties, wine clattering in the sink, Joe sees your face change. Something more… calm seemingly overcomes you. You look... pleased.

“Does that feel justified?” Joe asks, eyes blinking at you.

“Fuck you. Yes it does.”

“Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

You don’t give a shit how expensive that was, but just because you know Joe does, you want to know.

“Tell me.”

Joe scans your body all the way down and then all the way back up.

“Come here.” Joe holds an arm out and reaches for you.

“Shut up. Tell me.” You’re already making your way over.

“That’s a class A premier grand cru...”

You take Joe’s hand and let him pull you to sit on his lap. To straddle him, thighs spread wide, one leg over each one of his.

“That was a class A premier grand cru.” the words mean nothing to you, you know fuck all about wine, but there’s something glorious about correcting Joe.

“Hmm.” Joe hums as his nose nudges yours, and he lets both hands slide up your thighs until he finds the bits he likes holding most. He uses his grip to pull you in closer and continues, “A blend of merlot, and cabernet franc...” Joe’s French accent is awful. “An award-winning Château Angélus from... from 2016, I think...”

That’s fairly recent, you think. Can’t be that expens–

“Cost me over 500 quid.”

Your eyes darken.

Good.

You wouldn’t pay much more than a tenner for a bottle of the same size.

“Should’ve poured me a glass.”

And it’s only then that the penny drops. That he gets it. You can see it in his eyes. The flush of memories suddenly making it to the forefront of his brain.

The silent treatment.

The coffees he didn’t make you.

The wine he eventually did pour for you.

That one glass of red that temporarily had fixed everything.

Shit.

Joe grimaces. Groans. Squeezes his eyes shut. Feels like an idiot.

“Should’ve poured you a–”

You kiss Joe.

Hard.

Breathe him in, and move in enough for it to almost make the chair tip backwards. You’ve got both your arms around his neck, hips moving over Joe’s lap in a desperate grind, all needy and in search of feeling something.

Fire.

You want to feel the fire.

Momentarily, you think it’s working. That something is catching aflame. You can feel how Joe spreads his legs even wider, bucking his hips upward as he presses himself into you.

Joe is straining in his trousers, and he groans as you figure out the right rhythm to make it feel good with every hip roll, with every back and forth.

You break the kiss to let a moan escape you, head dropping back, and Joe’s mouth finds the skin of your neck to taste. His teeth graze before he kisses as you fiercely move against each other. Louder noises escape you when Joe lets a hand curl around and grab you by the back of your neck.

“Yea? That feel nice?” he pants, and all you can do is bob your head in a barely there nod as you keep moving.

It does feel nice.

Feels really nice.

Not exactly fire, though. You’re both in trousers, fabric rubbing together furiously, dry humping each other like a pair of horny teenagers who haven’t passed third base yet.

So, not fire, but nice none the less.

In contrast, there’s a lot of things Joe’s feeling, and he kind of wants you to know about all of them. Needs to speak them into the air in order to fully process what’s happening inside of his brain.

“Did you know I um… I broke everything off, the next day?” Joe starts, and stops to curse under his breath. “Fuck. Yea, keep going. Shit. Ah... A-after you left, I mean, remember? I had a lot of m-missed calls, so I called her back, and I–”

You shut Joe up with a kiss.

Try to at least.

“We could–” Joe starts again after turning his head and pushing you aside with his nose, both hands spread wide over your thighs as he helps you move over his lap. “Remember, how we really were something?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to focus on the feelings inside of your body instead of on the words you don’t want to hear.

“We could be something still.”

“N-no.”

You refuse to acknowledge what Joe’s trying to tell you, but don’t stop your movements. You can’t stop, head dropping back. This all feels too good.

It’s still not fire, though.

There’s no stakes.

You’re both single, and every decision you have made this evening turns out to have been inconsequential.

It’s... it’s almost boring.

But it’s good enough.

You just need a couple more seconds, you can feel it building already.

“We c-couldn’t be somethinhgh...” you choke on your words, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Joe insists, voice low and breathy, your bodies still moving in tandem. He then uses one hand takes hold of your face by your cheeks, tilting your head down so he can make eye-contact with you for a second.

“Yes we could.” He sounds hopeful as his eyes search yours. “Don’t you get it?”

But your eyes are glassy. They flutter and want to roll back.

Joe knows this look.

Know what this means.

And it’s not like Joe thinks his kind words will really fix anything, but, maybe they will, you know? Maybe. He’s glad he has said them anyway, even though you look like you haven’t even properly heard him.

“You close, baby?”

He switches gears.

“Yea? Come on.” He helps you move with strong arms that press you down a little more, and your arms scramble behind his back in your want to hold onto him tightly.

“There you go.” he coos into your ear, and, it’s not fire, but you come anyway.

Joe should have poured you a glass of wine.

Shouldn’t have brought up bad memories, shouldn’t have tried to be funny about it, and absolutely should have simply gone and poured you a glass.

You pretend that a glass of wine would’ve made a difference tonight.

The difference that you had hoped to find.

That would’ve lit the fire.

Deep down you know that’s not it, but still. The empty bottle is right there, watching you come down from your high, Joe still hard beneath you, and it’s easy to use that as the excuse.

You decide on the spot that Joe’s going to have to deal with what resides inside of his underwear by himself.

You’re done.

Sitting up, you look him in the eye for a short moment and softly but definitively say, “Should’ve poured me a glass.” and press a small kiss to his cheek which Joe gladly accepts.

Because he knows you’re right.

“Should’ve poured you a glass.”

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @cowboymcflurry

@demonsanddemogorgons, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson

@emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby

@gri959, @hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns

@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719

@mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets, @nadixq

@niallersfreckles, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid

@readergf, @royale1803, @skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac

@solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle

@tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

add yourself

[napoleondidthat]

I Am Dying A Thousand Deaths…

I’m currently watching the director’s cut of Napoleon by Ridley Scott. There is quite a bit new material that does fill out the story, explains things better and overall makes the movie flow better. There are gross inaccuracies still that makes the Napoleonic historian, us, cringe, but the average viewer wouldn’t care.

Some scenes are good, some are meh and then a few like what the hell am I looking at?

I haven’t been through the whole movie yet because I have to stop it every now and then but I had to stop and talk about this fucking scene.

This. Fucking. Scene.

Napoleon seeks out Hippolyte Charles to get advice on how to get Josephine pregnant.

Scene opens with Hippolyte waiting to be summoned by the Emperor and he seems nervous because he probably thinks Napoleon is going to confront him on his affair with the wife. Cannons are being fired outside randomly, who the fuck knows why, and every explosion makes Charles fidget more and look more guilty.

He is summoned.

Napoleon asks him if he can keep this conversation to himself and be discreet. Charles agrees. Napoleon then asks if he has children.

Yes, he has three sons, he says.

Napoleon asks if it took long (the act) to conceive.

Charles says he can’t remember.

Napoleon then asks, I shit you not, “is it important to pleasure a lady before you enter her”

Charles is like “dude” and mumbles about loving his wife. Napoleon says he loves his wife too and doesn’t want Charles to be shy, speak openly. Charles says he doesn’t know what the FUCK is going on.

Napoleon then says, again I shit you not, “tell me is it important for me to use my mouth down below between my wife’s legs before I enter her. “

The fuck is going on! Am I having a stroke? Am I stroking out?

Charles says he believes that a more a woman is aroused the more likely she is to conceive.

Napoleon thanks him and says he sought him out because he is a man of good “cocksmanship”, has a pretty face and the aire of a hairdresser.

I want to throw myself out of a window. I am dying watching this. Not laughter, like I want to go crawl under the bed and never come out again.

This fucking scene.

What in the absolute actual fuck did I just watch?

[2hoothoots]

saw this post in the tag earlier talking about how we never really get a detailed look inside Maligula’s mind, and it got me thinking about the themes of the game again so I’m gonna use it as a jumping-off point. because i agree, it’s very significant that we never get to really see Maligula/Lucrecia as she used to be! but i think that fact actually makes the game much stronger, especially on a thematic level.

Lucrecia’s presence haunts the narrative throughout Psychonauts 2. at first, we can only make her out through her absence. she’s the seventh stump around the campfire, the missing center of a torn photo. we see glimpses of her in the ruined fragments of Ford’s mind. in Helmut’s mind, she’s a looming specter, a shadow of the friend he once knew. in Gristol’s mind, she’s a celebrated war hero. and as the game goes on, we learn that everything in Psychonauts 1 – the Aquatos leaving Grulovia, the family ‘curse’, Raz running away to camp – all of that was set in motion because of her. she’s at the very center of the tragedy that PN2 revolves around.

and she does haunt the narrative, even if Nona is still alive. because the old Lucrecia – the real Lucrecia – we never get to meet her. she’s long gone.

the closest we come to actually interacting with Lucrecia, as she used to be, is in Cassie’s mind. while the rest of the Psychic 7 only have a few lines to share, paper Lucrecia has a full dialogue tree. this is probably one of my favourite moments in the whole game. there’s an awe in Raz’s face, getting to meet her, but also this palpable tension throughout the conversation.

(screenshots taken from here! if you don’t remember this conversation, or just want a refresher, i’d highly recommend going back to watch it.)

this dialogue tree is great. it’s funny, and subtle, and surprisingly moving. Raz is full of questions for Lucrecia, and Lucrecia isn’t giving much away, but we get glimpses of her story here that are so tantalising. it’s a fascinating window into the person she used to be: coy, and playful, and a little aloof.

but – this is also very clearly not Lucy. we hear Cassie’s own thoughts coming out of her mouth (“Cassie told us [hydraulic mining] was very bad for the environment, but nobody listened to her, as usual”), but her dialogue is also steeped in Cassie’s confusion, her struggle to understand what happened (“I don’t really know [why I murdered all those people]. I was the nicest person during my time at Green Needle Gulch”). this is the closest we ever get to seeing Lucrecia, face-to-face, but she’s still heavily filtered through someone else’s perception.

how much of this is the real Lucrecia, and how much of it is just how Cassie sees her? we’ll never know.

i think a crucial part of PN2’s themes is that perception – how you can be someone completely different to different people around you. everyone has their own version of the story to tell. the most obviously propagandistic is Gristol’s retelling, which comes as a shock twist at a climactic moment that throws the whole game on its head. here, we get to see the other side of the story, from someone who only ever knew Lucrecia as a protector, a general, a murderer – and thought she should stay that way.

(screenshots from here)

but as entrenched as he is in his narrative, Gristol doesn’t have all the answers, either. and Ford’s version of events, while probably more factually correct, is still steeped in his own biases. Ford was so dedicated to the memory of the woman he loved that he did terrible things for her; and when he tried to bury that memory, it was so deeply entrenched in his mind that it broke him.

(screenshot from here)

but note the wording, when he talks about using the Astralathe to “neutralise” the “problematic” parts of her mind. My Lucy.

something else that PN2 touches on is how experiences change you. after the battle against Maligula, the remaining members of the Psychic 7 become very different individuals. Cassie withdraws from the world, unable to return to normality after everything that happened; Compton becomes an anxious wreck without his support network. Bob is broken with grief after the loss of his husband, and Ford willingly shattered his mind because it was what he thought he had to do to keep Lucrecia safe. and throughout the game, Raz helps all of them – but he doesn’t fix them. he doesn’t undo everything they went through, because how could he? the things that happened will stay with each of them forever.

and it’s the same with Lucrecia. even after she lets go of the rage and grief and violence that Maligula carried with her, symbolically severing the threads that bind her to her past – she doesn’t just go back to her old self. because she’s someone different now, too. she’s a mother, and a grandmother, and she loves her family so truly and so deeply. she’s patched together a new life for herself. and that’s what she affirms to Raz, in the moments before the final fight.

and he loves her right back. even after everything he’s learned, she’s still his Nona.

i think sometimes a story is more satisfying for not giving you the easy answers. Psychonauts 2 leaves a lot of things unsaid. it gives you pieces of the puzzle, glimpses of Lucrecia’s story through other people’s eyes, and asks you to draw your own conclusions from that. and then it says: this is who she is now. this is what matters. and personally, i think it’s stronger for that.

[seitmai]

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, you’re met with a smiling family picture. Only, you’re not in it. Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

Uff 😬

The nickname stings you. Your name isn’t Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because your mother’s husband knew you weren’t his and would rather die before letting you take his name.

Damn

Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that you’ll never know.

To know that you don't know a lot and will never know more is rough...

It’s been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

Sometimes being honest to oneself is not easy

He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Hey, nobody slander thin crust there are far worse kind of pizza ☝🏻

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken. “…For what?” You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown. “I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.

God they are lowkey awkward together and neither of them just knows what to do with themselves 🥴

“We weren’t that close.” You tell him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. You’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

I feel like this maybe hurts Bradley more than her..

Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

👀

Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese.

I mean it could be worse lol🤷🏻‍♀️

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

At that I would have laughed too 🤭

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That's really shitty, especially knowing Mav's reputation 🥴

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

At that they really share a bit of similar fate

Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that she’s headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way you’re trying to shrink behind him. Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.

Good thinking Bradley, nothing worse than an unwanted hug by a stranger 🫣

You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

I'm sure he does 🤭

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.” Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him.

It seems his feeling run deep 😬

“But— he’s dead.” You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?” Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that. “The point is to bring him home.” He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

This is rough... I get her questioning the process, it's not something that someone is usually confronted with..

You’re biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like you’re trying not to cry.

🥺🥺🥺

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“ “Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.” You know that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, you’re sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is.

She has every right to be angry, upset and sad even if he really just ries to be nice, this is just not a good situation anyway and with the news of the investigation it just got SO MUCH worse🥴

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him. “You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.

I like that he is thinking practical!

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that you’re in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse. He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. “You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

Just a night or two, sure 😏🤭

Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

masterlist | prologue | next chapter

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: mitchell!reader, no physical descriptors other than the implication that Bradley is taller, no use of YN, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of you. This place is something that you had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not your home and it has never been, until now. Now, you’re stuck here until things are figured out.

On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, you had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, you’re met with a smiling family picture. Only, you’re not in it. 

Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 

These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of your bags in one hand behind you today.

“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind you, reminding you that you’re standing stationary and blocking his path. 

The nickname stings you. Your name isn’t Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because your mother’s husband knew you weren’t his and would rather die before letting you take his name.

You shrug your duffel bag closer to your body and turn left. Bradley huffs under the weight of your luggage from behind you, watching you walk your cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”

Not struggling at all under the weight of your single duffel bag, you turn slowly to face him and frown slightly. “My room.” 

You don’t remember Bradley. Not in your own memories, anyway. You know he was around, you’ve seen him in pictures but the image in your head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.

He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 

Even with all those differences, there’s a familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.

Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”

“Oh.” You hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was yours. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was yours. It’s not like you kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that you would occupy every now and again.

There’s a brief quiet between you. 

“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on your face is killing him. 

The big room. The loft room upstairs. You’re pretty sure that you’ve never even been upstairs in this house.

“You’re staying too?” 

Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that you stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on your face, he hadn’t even considered leaving you here alone.

“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”

Like he’s doing this for your sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 

“Okay,” You agree, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like yours. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”

Pete. You call Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 

Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of your bags and nodding for you to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 

Of course, as you walk silently across it, neither one of you would know that. Neither one of you was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.

Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind you, following you up. You stop at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind you.

The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.

“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around you with your bags in his hands and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at you. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”

Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, your shoes along the tan oak floors. Your fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 

This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 

Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that you’ll never know.

Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding you of why exactly it is that you’re here.

Fire burns behind your eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets your bags on the floor with a soft thud.

He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.

It’s too early to start this process bawling your eyes out, and you refuse to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again. That thick feeling sits in your throat like a stack of weights as you sit down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking your weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to you and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.

It’s been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”

Lifting your head, you blink at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing you onto your feet again. 

Mobile once more, you turn slowly to take in your surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, you were prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing you want is to be alone in it all night.

“Oh. Sure,” You nod, setting into motion to help take the sheets off. You watch him instead of what you’re doing. 

He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, you’ve not seen how he has been for the past few days. “I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”

“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to you with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of you until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 

There’s a moment of total stillness between the two of you. Your gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of you. Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of you.

Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.

You watch his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. You wonder if this is as weird for him as it is for you.

“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. You stand there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.

He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew your dad. Once. 

When it comes to wracking your brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, you can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside your shoddily installed car seat. 

Truthfully, your experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to you as any of the other guys in the stories you grew up hearing about. Your very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at you.

He can’t hide from you forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 

He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of you. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. You’re barely unpacked. You set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever your space to claim.

You chew absentmindedly at the bite you had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above your heads.

There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.

Wondering why you aren’t angry with him, too.

Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.

Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for you. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here you are, calm as can be. 

The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you. Your hair is up now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs. You’re wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes you got it from a boyfriend.

Really, he doesn’t think you look that much like your old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when you offer him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.

“…For what?” You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.

“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.

It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.

You stop chewing. That last bite sits in your mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. You stare across at him, awkwardly making yourself swallow down the last of your bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at your mouth.

“We weren’t that close.” You tell him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. You’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 

“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” You pick up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell you not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches you, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.” You explain with a shrug.

Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.

He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For you, there’s nothing.

“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 

“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into yours under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

“It’s fine.” You hum, pushing back in your chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”

“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.

It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.

Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that you wake up. He hears you coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.

It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s yours, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making you uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as you stroll into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at your eyes.

You’re wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt you had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if you’re wearing shorts or not.

“Morning,” He offers up, making you lift your gaze from busily tapping at your phone. Your gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 

Blinking, you find his face.

“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. You lock your gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 

“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” You head right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when you grab the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.

He whips around as the machine whirs to life. You set the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching your face.

Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.

Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.

“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 

He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?

“So this guy, the one who called me,” You skim your fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”

Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much you know about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.

“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for you to get yourself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 

“Did he like Mav much?” You ask, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make your coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. You swing it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if you’ll be here long enough to need groceries.

The thought flashes across your mind — what’ll happen to this place when you leave it behind?

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

“Great.” Agitation creeps into your tone as you curl your fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 

“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on your face, stuck between whether you’re sad or pissed off.

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for you without thought. His palm claps against your shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”

Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on your shoulder, your eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what you’re searching for, or whether you find it. His fingers squeeze softly against your skin before the touch is gone all together.

You drink your coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in your silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — you don’t have a clue of what to expect. 

Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces you not to wear the more formal dress you had thought you’d have to wear. You slip into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.

He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes your dusty old car look even worse. 

Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.

Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, you watch him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.

He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; you silently appreciate that he tries, either way.

Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.

Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.

It turns out that when you cut sleep from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.

Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep you up. 

All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.

He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with your car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“You ready?” His voice startles you from your daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” You’re stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before you’re taking your next breath, leaving him to catch up to you. 

His long strides have him at your side before long, reaching ahead of you to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 

This process has already been easier with him at your side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops you from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against yours.

He catches your forearm as you try to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 

“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”

Rooster loosens his hold on your forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of your wrist as he nods his head towards you.

“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way you’ve stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”

Her warm, brown eyes whip towards you, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who you must be. 

Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that she’s headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way you’re trying to shrink behind him.

Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.

“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from your forearm and his palm falls flat between your shoulder blades, giving you a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid her hug.

The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while you continue down the hall.

Bradley catches up to you as you rap your knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against your thighs.

“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind you. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into yours and shakes your hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.

Letting your hand go, he then reaches to your right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps your back as he leans into the handshake.

You step away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?” You answer.

“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to you than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”

It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.

You sit in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 

It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”

Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him.

“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”

You blink at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.

Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 

“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”

Your brows knit together.

“But— he’s dead.” You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”

Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that.

“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

You shoot him a look. When it’s clear that you aren’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 

“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects 

are delivered to you.”

You drag your teeth across your bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of your head.

“Okay. Two weeks?”

“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns you. He’d heard that you had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead you about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.

After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for you. 

You’re biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like you’re trying not to cry.

He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing you across the parking lot, listening to you try to control your breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching you cautiously as you crowd yourself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“

“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

You know that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, you’re sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him.

“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.

You sniff, turning your gaze towards the ground. The lump in your throat burns and bobs as you try to swallow it away. 

Mav really is never coming back.

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that you’re in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.

He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 

“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

…

[obsessive-reylin]

TW: heart disease, operation, forced operation, hospital and doctors

The yandere content that I’m writing is absolutely in no way me promoting this type of behaviour. I do not romanticise it; this is just a way for me to explore the more darker side of my writing. If you do relate to these characters or think that it’s romantic, please seek help.

You are welcome to send asks/requests about my existing characters or others. Just make sure to read my rules.

A couple of months ago, it felt like your world fell into shambles. You didn't really understand what kind of sickness your sister had, but it was explained by the doctors that she needed her heart replaced. You visited her every single day, talking to her and supporting her, and then crying your heart out on your way to work. It felt wrong to be giving up on her sister, but then again, what kind of monster you would be, wishing for someone else's death to die, for her to survive ?

In the end, you didn't have to do that for her, since one of the doctors that were treating her found a legitimate donor. You were overjoyed by the news, even as far as hugging the doctor in question and crying into his shoulder. But it seemed as though he didn't mind, dare say even enjoyed it. Either way, you didn't pay attention to that, nor the joyous stare that he was giving you.

After your sister's operation, everything seemed to go back to how it was, that was until the doctor, Liam as he presented himself to you, asked you out on a date. At first, you weren't really into the idea, it felt like he thought since he saved your stater, you owned him something. But your sister convinced you that it probably wasn't anything of the sort, telling you that you should just give him a chance. Worst case scenario, it doesn't click between the two of you during the date, and you just part ways.

You had to admit, it was a good argument on her part, since you asked around and his female coworkers never once uttered a displeased comment about him. And also the fact that you were pretty desperate for someone to be your other half, so you finally decided to accept his offer.

Soon enough, you and Liam officially started dating. You were never too interested in that aspect, but with Liam it felt ecstatic. For you, he was the picture-perfect boyfriend. Scratch that, the embodiment of romance, that's what he was to you. He would always make sure that you were taken care of in every way possible. He asked for your consent to everything, listening intently to everything that came out of your mouth, taking you out on dates, and buying you everything you wanted and more. 

Meaningless to say, it didn't take long for him to convince you to move in with him. And it might have been his worst mistake, because soon after, something in you just clicked. Everything just felt too perfect, for your licking, something was definitely not right. You knew that you had a bad habit of becoming paranoid and tried to brush it off, but at the back of your mind, you couldn't just ignore this inner feeling of uneasiness. That's why you decided to rummage through the house, since you figured Liam wouldn't have a problem with it. 

Not even ten minutes in, you find yourself standing in front of the door heading towards the basement.

“I didn't know we had a basement…”  You thought to yourself as you opened the door and headed downstairs, bracing yourself for what you were about to find inside. At first, everything seemed normal, everything was tidy, like Liam usually liked. That is until you went further and discovered MRI machines, CT scanners, sedatives, opioids, and a bunch of other stuff that you were pretty sure were not legal to keep at home, even for a doctor. 

You didn't really know what to do. On one hand, you wanted to call the police, but it felt a little too extreme, you were dating the guy after all. So you decided the next day to go to the hospital and ask one of his close colleagues, so that one of them could shed some light into the situation without taking any legal actions. 

But just as you were about to do that, you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. Turning around, you find Liam smiling down at you. But this didn't feel like his usual smile, for some reason it felt creepy and unsettling. 

“Honey, are you alright ? What are you doing at the hospital ?”

“Yeah… I brought you lunch, that's all.”

You quickly handed him his lunch that you thankfully prepared in case you would run into him, hands slightly trembling as you did so. You started to regret not calling the police. Looking at him now, knowing what he hid in the basement, you felt really uneasy being around him, knowing that he could be doing literary anything with that equipment.

“Oh honey, how sweet of you…” You could practically feel the sarcasm dripping from his voice, and it made you ten times more anxious, making you question if he knew that you entered the basement.

Not long after, he insisted on taking you home, since he would finish his shift soon enough. Through the entire car ride, you couldn't help but anxiously fidget, waiting for what would happen once you're home. Liam didn't show any signs of anger or anything of the sort, but that didn't stop you from feeling like the day wasn't going to end on a happy note. As soon as you step into the house, you are hit on the back of your head with something hard, and you feel your body collapse on the floor. 

The next time you woke up, your head was throbbing, and you couldn't focus on anything, or remember what had happened, until Liam came into the room, a wide smile on his face.

“Darling ! You finally woke up, that's good.”

“What happened ?”

“Well you see darling, I haven't used the basement for quite a while, so imagine my surprise when I noticed yesterday that the door handle wasn't dusty.”

He sat beside you on the bed and took your hand in his. He had the same smile that he always showed you, and yet you couldn't help but be afraid of him, afraid of what he might do to you.

“By the way, your phone has a tracking app, so I knew you wanted to snitch on me to my colleagues. And you know what they say, snitches get stitches, so that's what I did !”

You were utterly confused by his words, until he started lifting your shirt up and to your horror, you discovered actual stitches. Your body completely froze at the sight. You finally understood what this monster of a man was doing down in the basement with all of that medical equipment. 

“I took your liver out. I remember you telling me that wanted to donate your organs, so consider this a start.”

He then grabbed your chin, and made you look at him. His grip was so tight you almost started crying, or maybe it was because you didn't want to be close to him. Either way, you were hurt, inside and out.

“Now listen darling. You have two options. One, you forget everything that happened. Two, you make me upset like you did yesterday, and you're going to be a frequent visitor of the basement.”

And with simple threat, he gently kissed your cheek. Never once you thought you would go from craving his touch to despising it.

Thank you so much for reading ! Why don't you spend some more time on my blog and look through my navigation ?

[mosneakers]

Alex: [Smiles warmly] Hi Coraleye…

Coraleye: [Smiles back] Hi Alex…

Alex: Ready for one last take before we officially call it a wrap?

Coraleye: I guess so! Alex: So how’s life treating you now? You adjusting okay?

Coraleye: Oh… well it's been a whirlwind, to say the least, heh. But I’m finding my footing again. Finally finishing up school. Just barely keeping my head above water some days, but yeah, I’m getting by. Trying to find my new normal.

Alex: [Nods thoughtfully] I want to talk about that a little bit. You’ve had to deal with the aftermath of everything that happened on election night. Do you remember when Cam and I came out to visit you in Brindleton Bay?

Coraleye: Mhm. I sure do. You interviewed some girls I went to school with.

Alex: So, Mackenzie, Briella, Logan… I’m not sure how much you’re aware of, especially with how quickly the media coverage was shut down after election night. But I’ve gotta ask—have you reached out to Coraleye at all since then? Offered any kind of support?

Logan: [Quickly glances at Mackenzie] I’m not sure if we got the chance to reach out yet, have we? Mackenzie:[Feigning innocence] She hasn't filled us in completely, but we’ve heard bits and pieces... Briella: We heard about her and her boyfriend. They broke up, right? [Big grin] Life has a cruel way of teaching us lessons!

Mackenzie presses her lips together, appearing to hold back a laugh, but finally cracks as a sharp cackle spills out.

Mackenzie: Oh my mod, Briella, stop! You can't say that! I just love you. So sorry about her, she's so crazy. Anyways, yeah. We wish her the best. I hope it all works out for her, I really do.

Cam: Well, I think that will probably do it for now, thank you ladies. Alex: Cam's right, thank you for your time. We'll be in touch. Have a happy Harvestfest.

Several weeks later, Britechester-

Alex: Cam and I try not to get too involved with work matters, but I'll be honest, that interview was upsetting. I wonder if they'd still be snickering if they saw what you've been through in these past few months.

Coraleye: Nah, they're the least of my worries. Pretty sure I got the last laugh when it comes to them. [Mischievous grin]

Alex: I'm in awe of your optimism, Coraleye. After all this, you’re really not bitter? I mean, look at Tycho—he lied, tried to erase your memories. And you still take the high road?

Coraleye: Oh no, please don’t get me wrong, Alex! I definitely went through—and sometimes still go through—my naughty phase, from time to time. Alex: [Leans in] You have my attention... Coraleye: Maybe it was for revenge, or a way to cope, or maybe deep down I was just really lonely and had a void to fill. Either way, it got me through some dark times. Perhaps you should book a follow-up interview with Briella, ask her if she found my panties in her boyfriend's room yet. [Waves at camera, winks, and mouths, ‘Hey, Pierce!’] Alex shakes his head amusedly and softly chuckles.

Alex: Damn! You really don't mess around. I'm guessing this doubles as punishment for Tycho as well?

Coraleye: Nope. Actually, his punishment is even better. I'm giving him exactly what he wants. After this documentary is over with, I'm erasing all of our shared memories together. He wanted to mess with my mind so badly, I'll do it for him. Alex: And how do you do that?

Coraleye: Through a spell, of course. You didn't forget that I'm a spellcaster, did you? I'll put the memories in an amulet and give it to our sage of untamed magic. They'll perform a ritual to destroy the memories. Alex: Wow. Remind me to never break your heart... Coraleye: [Smiles] Oh, I will. Alex: [Sighs] Well... Last question we're asking everyone else: Is there any question that you have, after all of this, that still haunts you?

Coraleye: [Tilts head, as she pauses to think] Hmm… I’ve still got to write that paper on my ten-year plan, and somehow I feel even more lost than before. I guess it’s time to start figuring that out now.

[therealneilperry]

Look, Ik they went queerbait in season 8, but even before, house and Wilson are just so genuinely romantic.

We see time and time again that house puts Wilson above most things-if not all things in his life. He talks about “sacrificing a lot but never sacrificing himself” and then he proceeds to sacrifice himself for Wilson. We see him have to be high to be there in Cuddy’s hospital, but he never explains why it’s so difficult for him to be there; and then we get a parallel where house shows up sober, and explains why he has trouble with it. “If you die, I’m alone.”

The whole show is about House being a Doctor, it’s something he needs, even in prison and the mental hospital etc. but he gives it up willing to spend time with Wilson! Just like that! He hold Wilson while he almost dies and takes those silly pictures of them to make Wilson smile, his face when Wilson saws though his cane, the way he refuses to say I love you unless Wilson fights to live-which was his way of saying ‘I love you so much, I can’t imagine what I’ll do without you. I need you to fight so you can keep living for me’; he fights Wilson’s girlfriends constantly and Hector (Bonnie and Wilson’s dog) proves that Wilson reciprocates this weird devotional codependency (because Bonnie doesn’t point solely to cheating for her and Wilson’s divorce, she points to house)

Either way, they’re soulmates, and probably the only people who could stand to be with them, and it’s romantic as fuck; nobody can tell me otherwise.

[dragon-gem]

I love the bonus 😂😭 imagine Jay finding it though hahahaha

-

Nya dug through the chest, smiling at all the old clothing and notebooks filled with drawings and stickers. “Look, Jay! The first few iterations of the Samurai X mech!”

Jay glanced up from where he was examining an old practice sword of hers, smiling at the designs drawn in the shaky hand of a 15-year-old. “Now that is a throwback. Who knew you still had all this old stuff in here?”

“As if you don’t have a similar trunk stuffed somewhere,” she teased, “I’m just actually showing you mine.”

“Point taken.” He pulled out another notebook, this one bright pink, sparkly, and completely covered in stickers. “What’s this?”

“I don’t remember.” Nya scooted back, peering at it thoughtfully before going back to the halfway empty chest. “I think Kai bought it for me. It’s probably empty.”

“Maybe.” Jay opened it up, his eyes going wide. “Oh wow.”

“What?”

Nya glanced over at him, her gaze flicking over the page.

It was covered in her signature. But not just any old signature.

Nya Walker.

Mrs. Nya Walker.

Mrs. Walker.

She blushed. “Ahh— see, you were never supposed to see that.”

Jay laughed, flipping through it. “Is this whole thing filled with this?”

“Most of it— okay, you don’t have to laugh like that! Give it back!”

“Hold on, Water Lily, I want to see how many times you wrote my last name—“

“Jay!” She reached for it, blushing so brightly her cheeks were burning. “Oh my FSM, this is so— you were literally never supposed to lay eyes on that—“

“How old were you?” Jay laughed again, finally letting her take the notebook. “Come on, tell me that at least.”

“Maybe fourteen?” Nya snapped it closed, her blush refusing to die down. I have never wished to have Kai’s powers as much as I do right now. “We hadn’t known each other that long, it was probably before the whole deal with the Overlord.”

Jay snickered. “I mean, you have to admit, Nya Walker has a nice ring to it…”

“I will kick you out of my room,” she threatened, waving the notebook, and all its damning evidence, at him threateningly.

“Point taken!” He put his hands in the air, still grinning widely. “Although you’re the one with ‘Nya Walker’ scribbled all over a notebook…”

“Jay!”

“What!? It’s cute! I mean, it’s not like I ever did anything similarly embarrassing…”

She gave him a flat look, tossing the book back into the chest. “Yeah right. So we’re lying to ourselves now? You were down so bad.”

“You’re one to talk! So were you, apparently!”

“The threat to kick you out of my room still stands, Mr. Walker.”

Jay saluted her, his smile still refusing to fade. “As you insist, Mrs. Walker. I will shut up now.”

“Good idea.” Nya shook her head, trying not to smile back at him. He was never ever supposed to see that, by the FSM.

Oh well, at least it could never be said she hadn’t been as cringy as him back then.

“If anyone else finds out about this, I swear…”

Jay laughed, picking up the old Samurai X specs and peering at it closely. “This one will stay between us. I promise.”

Little headcanon I have—

Nya, being a roughly 14 year old girl in season1 and crushing incredibly hard, definitely wrote stuff like “Mrs. Walker” “Nya Walker” “Mrs. Nya Walker” in a notebook.

Nya is allowed to be just as cringy as Jay in early jaya <3

Bonus: only time she ever wished to have Kai’s powers is a couple years later when she finds said notebook and immediately wants to burn it

[kazumist]

EPISODE 28 ✦ PLEASE LOVE ME AT MY WORST

LOVE, MAYBE — A CHILDE SMAU

masterlist / prev ep / next ep / wc: 1265.

fifteen minutes is almost up; am i about to die?

ajax thoughts wander to all sorts of places as he nervously checks and watches the time move on his wristwatch. as to why he agrees so easily to your request to talk to him—he doesn’t know either. it just felt… right to agree. 

he knows it would pain him to say no to you anyway.

perhaps it was just the small part of him that still hopes. that one little speck in him that hopes this “talk” would mend the rift that had formed between the two of you. it was probably stupid to have such expectations when he was pretty sure you were dead set on your answer to him before.

so it confuses him. why did you want to talk? did you want to just slap it in his face once again? no, you weren’t like that. you would never do something that mean. but that just leads him back to square one: why?

the sound of soft footsteps growing louder alerts ajax, and he takes a deep breath because he knows it’s you. yet he takes a glance to check anyway. there you were, standing before him as he gets the familiar feeling of being starstruck surging through him. keep it together, ajax. he warns himself. 

“hi…” you softly said. 

“hey.”

hey? who the hell says hey nowadays, ajax? get a grip! he mentally scolds himself, forcing him to pull out a tight smile to you instead to save him from his embarrassment. meanwhile, you thought otherwise of his reaction. oh god, he probably hates me. he never gives me that smile. it looks so forced. he probably just felt bad and forced himself to meet me out at this hour. your thoughts ran fast inside your mind as you fiddled with your fingers.

“uhm.. i wanted to talk—”

“so why did you want to meet—”

you both paused when you realized you both spoke at the same time. “you go first,” he insisted. but you gestured otherwise and told him, “oh, it’s fine. you can go.”

“i insist. ladies first?”

seeing as this would go nowhere if you just went back and forth like that, you took a deep breath. 

“i love you.”

for the whole day (and the additional fifteen minutes ajax gave you), you thought of many ways on how to approach childe with the topic of what happened before. yet none of those really started with “i love you." the best option you got after thinking so hard actually started with “i’m sorry.” the “i love you” part was supposed to be near the end of the whole monologue you had prepared inside your head.

ajax only stared at you, dumfounded at your words. “shit, sorry, i—that wasn’t how i wanted to start, uhm—” you let out a sigh, a slightly shaky one at that because of your mistake. don’t fuck up this one up and run away again, (name). you mentally took note. but then again, fuck that monologue you prepared beforehand. if you want to do this properly, then it’s better to do this as bare as your emotions could get, right?

taking another deep breath, you decided to speak up again before ajax could. “i’m going to be honest. i actually prepared some long speech that is supposedly transcribed inside my brain right now. but i definitely think i just forgot a good chunk of that speech now that i’m actually with you.” 

“i’m sorry, ajax. i let my fear get the best of me that day. i never wanted to tell you to go away; in fact, i know that i wanted nothing more than for you to hold me at that moment.” you let out a bitter chuckle at that. ajax watches you, listening to every word carefully. he takes in your appearance as well, and the slightly swollen and redness of your eyes were obvious enough for him to know your state as of late.

“i never wanted to push you away. and god, i feel so stupid and guilty for everything that i said that day. because i know none of those were true. well, i guess minus the part where i listed my flaws... because i know those were true in some sense—but i want to—no, nevermind that. i’m trying to change my ways.” you corrected yourself.

“i asked dehya and the others for some advice. and they were right when they said that you had a positive impact on my life and that i’ve never been this happy with someone else other than them. because i swear, you’re just a different case for me, ajax. you make me happy in ways i never thought anyone could bring me joy. when i thought i didn’t have anyone by my side, you were there for me.”

“and i feel so, so, so fucking stupid for shutting you away that day. because deep inside, i knew my heart wanted otherwise. my brain wanted you to leave me alone, but i knew my heart wanted for you to stay. for you to tell me that everything is alright.”

“i guess the main gist of everything that i’m saying is that i love you; i’m sorry. i love you, ajax. and i know i’m probably late, and that you probably hate me right now, and also how you probably just forced yourself outside just so you could meet up with me, but i love you. this whole thing is honestly still scary to me, considering this is the first time i have experienced this in my whole lifespan of eighteen years right now.”

“yet i still love you despite that. i’m sorry that it took me a while. and again, you don’t have to reciprocate it—i just wanted to let this all out. and like i said, you probably hate me—”

“am i allowed to speak now?” ajax.

“i—yeah, go ahead.”

“have i told you that i’m so proud of you?” he asks. you don’t know where he’s going with this. “you might’ve mentioned it once or twice in the past, yeah.” he chuckles at your reply. it feels like your walking on thin ice because you really have no idea if he’s about to drop a bomb right now about him rejecting you.

you don’t think you could handle that anyway.

“thank you, (name). i personally didn’t know what to expect with what you were going to say. but i  don’t hate you. i could never hate you. not now, not ever. hell, i knew that if i said no to your request of having a talk i would definitely regret it. and i’m proud of you that you managed to say all of that. learning how to communicate is a big step already, you know?”

ajax takes a step closer and you didn’t take a step back this time. you let him get close to you this time, fixing the distance that grew after you pushed him away. “and for the record, i love you too” he says, a bit more quietly, as if he really wants only you to hear those words coming from him. “that fact isn’t going to change anytime soon, silly.” 

“i’m sorry again. but i’m ready now. i’m prepared to take a risk in this whole thing they call love. so please love me at my worst, ajax.”

the night ends with ajax walking you home once again—but this time there wasn’t a single residue of the bitterness from before.

this time, it was filled with relief.

extra notes.

yayyyy!!! communication!!!!

i didn't expect for this episode to be so long. i was 700+ words in when i realized that it was going to be a bit lengthy.

taglist (open): @xianyoon @mitsvriii @kizakiss @kissingkzuha @aethion @phtogravi @ell1e2010 @esthelily @b4tm4nn @hcmay @ivvieene @morganadorodo @kaitfae @kentply @scaranthropy @kyon-cherri @kookiibun @kochothehoe @mekiiiii @ibyobi @iuspired @tetsuskei @kunikuzushis-darling @morgyyyyyyy @chluuvr @scaradooche @kissmiere @a1-ic3 @bubblegum-angelquartz @tiredjxnna @levlucs-kiru @angeilix @cerisescherries @saeskiss @a-talkative-corn @briluvspnk @kamisatoyato @bbysatoruuu @viviixoxosblog @bambisz @chemiru @eternal-dokja @bflyprincess @jamieexistss @monocerosei @enjisthings @jangyung @hahalame @cupid-spams @snzhrchy @ukinya @luciledreamz @bisatanica @bananasquash @almond-t0fu @thegalaxyisunfolding @jaguarthecat [1/2]

[yerrmar]

❧THROUGH THE CRACKS☙

warning: angst, swearing, talks of violence, lowkey sexual tension, she/her usage for reader.

summary: you hate Luke Castellan and he hates you, but when you see him in the woods crying your gentle nature slips through… just a bit.

Luke hissed in pain leaning against a tree, he squeezed his eyes shut which only made the pain in his face worse. His new scar throbbed as the stitches begged to burst, and his head was pounding like it had never before. He had run out of his cabin so he didn’t disturb his siblings and the other sleeping campers in there with his whining, so he was currently sobbing from pain past curfew and hoping that the harpies wouldn’t hear him.

It wasn’t like he’d be able to sleep anyway tonight, he didn’t want to face the nightmares waiting for him when he shut his eyes, he was grateful for the pain he was suffering from at that moment too because every time he shut his eyes shooting pains shot across his face.

He reached up to touch the cause of his misery feeling the rough fabric of the stitches and his bumpy skin that had been deeply sliced, it only made him sob louder. The feeling of pain, failure, and hunger mixed together, he hadn’t eaten for a while and he didn’t think he’d be able to stomach a meal, he’d just be picturing what he looked like in a mirror and it would all come back up instantly.

He’d been avoiding seeing people lately too, specifically you. Luke could already imagine the jokes you’d make and the look of disgust that would be plastered on your face, it made his stomach turn. You both made harsh comments at one another, no stone was left unturned when you two were being rude to one another, but he hoped you’d at least leave this situation alone when you finally saw him face to face.

You knew what had happened, word got around quickly at camp and you even felt a little bit bad for Luke, till the feeling of pity wore away and you started to get frustrated that he was ignoring you. You enjoyed picking a fight with the boy, he felt like the only one that could match you in a fight or argument.

That night you couldn’t sleep either, not for any specific reason you couldn’t seem to fall asleep so you took a walk in the woods, like you usually did when you felt restless. You expected to get caught by Chiron or Mr D catching you outside past curfew, but you didn’t care because you knew there wasn’t much they could do other than slap you on the wrist and ask you not to do it again.

What you didn’t expect was to hear soft sobs coming from behind a tree, and you definitely didn’t expect to see the noise coming from a teary-eyed Luke Castellan whose tear-stained cheeks turned bright pink when he locked eyes with you.

He groaned embarrassed and annoyed that he’d been caught, even more annoyed that it was you that had found him breaking down. Luke was waiting for a laugh to come out of your mouth or for a witty comment about how weak he is.

But you didn’t open your mouth at all, you were just in shock. Luke Castellan the camp’s golden boy who hasn’t stopped fighting since the day he was born, probably one of the toughest people you know (though you’d never admit it) was crying.

“I’m waiting.” He spat, sniffing and wiping his face preparing to be verbally abused by you.

You noticed how tired his eyes looked, he was paler than usual too, and it made your stomach drop. “For what?” you frown.

“For you to make fun of me, what else?” Luke didn’t look at you in fear of what your expression would be, disgust, joy or even worse pity.

“You think that low of me, Castellan.” You scoff crossing your arms, you then look around you for the possible chance of another camper popping out from behind a tree and catching the both of you. And when you realised that wasn’t going to happen you slowly sat down next to him.

Luke shivered, you weren’t the most comforting presence. You both sat in an awkward silence for a while, before you broke the ice with a stupid question. “Um- why… why are you crying?” You mentally curse yourself because you already know the answer to that but you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“What do you think?” Luke snapped, he wasn’t in the mood for your games and he definitely was too mentally drained to play into them. He hissed again, his scar mocked him properly like how you were.

You frown again, catching a glimpse of the scar on his face, it looked swollen and incredibly painful. It reminded you of the time Chimera stuck its claws into the side of your thigh and every step you took made it feel like you were stepping onto millions of knives. The only thing that soothed it was this weird cooling cream the Apollo cabin made for you. And you were pretty sure you had some left in your cabin.

“I have something that will help calm that down.” You hum softly it not only surprised you but Luke too, why were you being so nice? Was it something to do with him being so broken that you just felt like you had to? Yeah, it had to be because of that.

“Really? You want to help… me?” Luke raised his brow hissing in pain completely forgetting his scar was there.

You rolled your eyes and got up off the floor crossing your arms, “You gonna accept my help or what, Castellan?” you stood over him but not in your usual intimidating way, actually, nothing about how you were acting right now was like how you usually acted and it was creeping him out.

He thought for a moment trying to ignore the possibility that this actually might be a plan to murder him and decide to place his trust in you it’s not like he had any other choice anyway, he was in pain and would do anything to get rid of it. He got up off the floor and followed behind you with his head down so that if he was caught they wouldn’t be able to see his red and puffy eyes.

When you got to your cabin you opened the door carefully and quietly so nobody would wake up, and dragged Luke over to your bed. He cautiously sat down looking around the quiet and dark room feeling extremely out of place sitting on your bed.

You open your bedside drawer wincing every time it made a noise and swiftly took out the ointment. Luke scrunched up his face when you opened the tub and a strong scent filled his nose and made him hold back a gag. “Smells like you.” You smirk slightly walking over to him and gathering some of the cream with your fingers.

Luke would’ve fought back but the words were unable to come out when he realised you were going to put the cream on him. You didn’t specify at all when you said that you were going to help him, you didn’t mention that you were going to be touching him, touching a specific spot that was extremely painful to be exact.

He backed away slightly from instinct and you huffed, “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m trying to show you how to use it, dummy.” You hadn’t really been planning on putting it on his face either, you just got carried away but you didn’t want him to know you made a mistake. You never make mistakes.

Hesitantly, he leans back in and you slowly move your fingers to his scar gently spreading the cream around and soothingly rubbing it in. It was cold but soothingly, he couldn’t smell it anymore once it was on his face and he also slowly started to not be able to feel the strong shooting pains across his face.

You were being so gentle and so soft, Luke had never seen you like this or act this way with any and if you ever did he never expected it would be him you were doing it too.

You were focusing so hard on not hurting him, and Luke noticed, you cautiously softened your pace when you got near spots that were even more tender than the others and made sure you put more of the cooling cream on those spots.

Luke didn’t know where to look, you were filling his view and everywhere he seemed to look felt inappropriate to do. At one point he felt his eyes lingering on your plump pink lips that always seemed to be stuck in a pout, he felt himself start to think about what they’d feel like and internally screamed when he realised what he was doing and tried to avert his eyes behind you.

“Stop moving.” You hissed quietly getting annoyed at his head moving around so much, that you didn’t wait for a reply and held his face still with your other hand not noticing how he shuddered at the contact.

“Why do you hate me so much.” Luke suddenly blurted out, not even knowing what he was saying till he said it. He was curious though, there wasn’t a day you weren’t mean to him, even the first day you both met you were so nasty and you didn’t even know his name. “I don’t even remember doing anything wrong, you’ve just always been such a… bitch.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing “You're not the only one, so don’t feel too triggered.”

“Wow, good to know i’m not special.” Luke sarcastically gasped acting hurt, but when he realised you weren’t bothered one tiny bit he sighed and went back to his question. “Still, why?”

“Why what?” Your tone was sharp and harsh but your fingers stayed so gentle.

“Why are you so mean?” Luke asked hoping to get a breakthrough, seems though you were acting like a completely different person today maybe he could get some truth and vulnerability out of you.

Silence filled the room once again, not because you didn’t answer but because you genuinely didn’t know the reason. You just shrugged and continued to work, but Luke wasn’t satisfied with your answer. “Angel, be real for once. You owe it to me for seeing me… you know-”

“Cry?” You slightly grin and Luke groans the look of embarrassment on his face again, it makes you frown you didn’t mean to make fun of him. So you let out a loud quiet sigh and suck up every thought that was screaming at you to stay quiet. “I don’t know, I guess I’m like… scared.”

Luke raised his brow, surprised that he got you to open up even if it was just a tiny bit. “Scared? Of what?” You being scared was something Luke thought that could never be possible, you were the most fearless person he knew.

“Getting close to someone i think… trust doesn’t come easy for me.” You try not to look at his eyes to see if you could tell what he was thinking, but the temptation was driving you crazy. He probably thought you were so stupid and weak for thinking that, that being the reason you mean to so many people is pathetic.

But he didn’t, Luke thought the opposite. He’d never seen you be so honest and open, and he loved it, in some weird way he enjoyed seeing you be so soft.

“I get it.” Luke hummed softly.

You were taken aback by this, he agreed with you? “You do.”

Luke nodded because he did understand the person he was supposed to trust most in this world, his dad, was a complete asshole who sent his child on a dangerous, impossible quest that had already been done.

You bit your lip to stop you from trying to smile at that, you were probably going to hate yourself in the morning for this because Luke would definitely use it in the future against you and embarrass you in front of all your siblings who look up to you.

His eyes darted to your lips, you were driving him crazy right now and he hated it, he hated that you didn’t even realise it too. He finally stopped looking around and just settled his eyes on your face, softly smiling at how focused you were on his own face too. The pale and radiant glow that the moon shone into your cabin lit your face up, making you look so angelic which was fitting for the current situation.

Luke smirked, “Never thought you’d be helping me, and I’m on your bed. What has possessed you tonight, angel.” he teased. The Luke that was crying in the woods had disappeared and the cocky, arrogant Luke you absolutely despised was back.

“Don’t call me that.” You snap, your nostrils flaring as you grit your teeth. But your actions weren’t acting up with your expression and tone because you continued to treat him like he was made of glass.

“Never thought our faces would be this close either.” You felt his hot breath on your face and the feeling of your noses just barely touching, you hadn’t noticed how close you seemed to be moving to him and you also didn’t notice how his eyes were piercing into yours.

It made you shiver, why did it make you shiver? And why did your stomach flip when he let his gaze drop back down to your lips and then back up to your eyes? You hated this, you hated every second you spent with his eyes on you, looking at you like you weren’t you, like you weren’t his enemy. Yet you also didn’t feel like moving anytime soon, it was like you were too magnets just begging to be even closer than you already are.

You’d stopped touching his wound at this point, your body had frozen all together the hold his gaze had on you was frightening. Your heart felt like it was doing flips and you just wanted to bang against your chest till it stopped beating.

Luke didn’t seem to mind how much his mind was currently racing with thoughts of you and nothing but you, he so badly just wanted to place his hands on your waist, your hips just anywhere he could, anywhere you’d let him.

You were supposed to hate each other yet in this moment hate was nowhere to be found, the air was thick with something entirely different and it scared you both but it felt so intriguing.

Unconsciously the hand that was on his scar slowly started to move down accidentally brushing his lips in the process, the action drove Luke even crazier because he wanted to do the exact same to you. But it made you snap out of whatever trance you were in and you backed away from him.

“All done.” You blurted out ready for whatever that moment was to be over and done with for Luke Castellan to be off your bed and out of your cabin, and for him to stop looking at you like you're a gift from the gods.

“Uh- yeah, cool.” Luke shot up off the bed, praying that you couldn't see how hot his face was right now. He scratched the back of his neck that awkward feeling creeping back up on him, “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, Castellan. I mean it, don’t ever or I’ll kill you.” You warn him, and he knows you meant it. You handed him the tub with the ointment and told him the instructions for putting it on when and how too, and after that, he rushed out your cabin leaving you flustered and so very confused.

[eddiegettingshot]

why not team buck? :(

like eddie deserves to go through his sad girl era after being so joyous but buck revels in almost dying

becauseeeee in daily life when the world is pressing in on him from all sides eddie, like bobby, truly believes that living is a curse. but when he’s dying all the noise cuts out. he is forced to stare down all the things he stands to lose and is left with his base-level instincts which tell him he needs to fight and that he was built to survive the anguish. as much as he is making small joyful choices he also needs to “choose” to stick around because he is not something his loved ones need to be protected from. and also i haven’t watched him struggle since season 4, plus we only got a whisper of what happens to buck when he thinks something is mortally wrong with eddie in 7x06 when he thought eddie was dead in the bathtub. if buck has the nde i am deprived of the opportunity to see buck do what he does best: scream and flail around in a way that is reserved exclusively for when eddie gets fucked up.

also buck almost dying pretty much never leads him to introspect but only inspires him to become a new version of himself defined by whatever it was that happened to him. you’re right he likes dying too much. they literally have done nothing with the time he already did die for whatever reason so i’m bored already. however the conditions now (he is bisexual, already sad/lonely/questioning what the hell he’s doing, eddie is unrepressing and probably not as inclined to hide behind chris) are such that having to deal with eddie almost dying again could throw some things into sharp clarity.

the reason i am very amenable to having it be both of them is that, even though everyone is always talking about how eddie never got to see buck’s reaction to the well or the shooting or whatever, i don’t think that is actually very important. what would be great is buck should see how his living/dying impacts EDDIE while simultaneously being forced to confront the possibility that he doesn’t have time to be stupid anymore because eddie is about to be gone and he needs to embrace reality, and fast, before he loses the chance to have what he actually wants for even just a minute <3