#airing out my distress to the world so i can look back at it later and point and laugh at myself for my emotional fragility

[saturnalia-charceuterie-board]

yesterday i was in walmart and i saw this really cool jellyfish lamp for only eleven dollars and oh! wait post canceled somebody sent me a reel. okay it was about astrology very cool (i love astrology) anyways i was in walmart and i saw the lamp and something in my stomach recognized it and all of my bones locked in place and can there be anything but grief here? is there anything else to feel? it's just grief all the way down, in love and in fear and in excitement and in nostalgia, it's all just grief in different coats of store brand acrylic paint. is there anything else here? camus was right about absurdity. it holds hands with grief and they're both holding hands with me, we're standing in a little circle, and i'm sitting on the floor above the jellyfish lamp with no pants on (my dick is massive) and i pray for and to nothing at all. is there anything else here? anything at all?

[marvelslut16]

Robby's Biological Clock

Pairing: Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x resident!reader

Synopsis: Robby opens up to the reader that he realizes that he wants a child after finding out that he almost had one.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: Mentions of abortion. Standing a little to close to the edge of a roof. My poor writing, felt cute might delete later.

A/N: The writing bug has bitten me yet again. And I have another Langdon one half done already. Wrote this over the course of 2 days and I didn't proof read it, so I really hope it makes sense!

You keep your eyes trained on Robby after he passes his caseload off to Abbot, you’ve kept an eye on him for the last few hours really. Something shifted in him a few hours ago, and he went from his stern but friendly self to closed off and distant. With everybody. You’ve been watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to snap completely. Or have a breakdown.

You watch as Robby slips out a side door into the stairwell, and you know right away where he’s going. You’d never seen it with your own eyes, but it was a poorly kept secret in the ED that after a long grueling shift either Abbot or Robby would go up to the roof and the other would talk them down. Everyone who knew, knew they wouldn’t actually jump, it was just a release for them. 

This time you can’t ignore Robby’s obvious distress, watching Abbot get dragged into South eight by one of his residents for a consult, you make up your mind to follow Robby. Up and up and up the stairs you go, until the wind is rushing past your face. Taking a deep breath, you let the cooler air wash over you after a long shift, and a part of you understands why your two favorite attendings come up here. 

“I don’t want to talk tonight, Jack,” Robby’s voice floats to you with the wind at the sound of the door shutting, never bothering to turn around.

“It’s a good thing I’m not Jack then,” you walk over to the railing, looking at the sunset, not at your attending. 

“(Y/L/N), what are you doing up here?” Robby turns around at your voice, and you reach out your hand a little for him to grab if he needs to be steadied.

“Thought you could use someone to talk to, you’ve been off the past few hours,” he sighs at your words, and turns back to the sunset. “Can you at least come back on this side of the railing? Please?”

“I’m fine,” he ignores your plea, and your offer to listen to him, leaning back against the railing.You stand in silence with him for two minutes- you counted- before deciding to do something you have absolutely no interest in and, frankly, scares the shit out of you. Hiking one leg up, you swing it over the railing and slip to the other side beside Robby.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he whips his arm out in front of you to keep you from slipping or stepping too close to the edge. 

“The same thing you are,” you sass at him against your better judgement. 

“So if I jumped off a bridge you’d do it too?” he matches your sass, sounding just like your mom when she would talk about the dangers of peer pressure.  

“No, I’d be waiting at the bottom for your dumb ass so I could save you,” your voice is harsh, wanting to nip any conversation where he could possibly die in the bud. “So…”

“So?” he mimics your voice causing you to roll your eyes at him.

“Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” you shift slightly to face Robby, back to the pink hues of the sunset.

“I found something out today,” he pauses, sighs, and rubs his forehead. “My world got turned upside down.”

“You aren’t dying, are you?” you tried, and failed to keep your voice neutral, fear lacing every word.

No,” he leans forward, and you clutch onto his arm desperately to make sure he doesn’t go tumbling if there’s a strong gust of wind. “Nothing like that.”

“Do you have a secret kid, or something?” you tease, and by the way his lips pull down into a frown, you know you’ve struck a little too close to home. “I’m sorry, I was just joking.”

“It’s fine,” his voice is gruff, but his soulful brown eyes give away that he is in fact, not fine. “Today a woman I used to date admitted that while we were together she became pregnant, and made the decision to terminate the pregnancy.”

“Robby-” he stops you before you can start pitying him.

“It really is fine. I understand. It was her decision and I support that, I would have supported her decision in the moment, too. But now I can’t stop imagining what my life would be like if I had a child,” he glances at your face, before looking back over your shoulder at the descending sun. ��I love Jake like he’s my own, but any day now he could decide he wants nothing to do with me, and never talk to me again. For years I put off the idea of having kids, I didn’t want the burden while I was still in medical school, then I was focused on advancing my career, then I met Janey and she had Jake, and with Jake I felt like I didn’t need my own children.”

“But now you feel like you do?” you ask cautiously, surprised that by talking he’ll remember you’re here and clam up.

“I have to have a child soon if I want to see them grow up and see them off to college, my biological clock is ticking,” he tries to ease the tension with a stupid joke. “Since I found out this afternoon, all I’ve been thinking about is how I’d have a toddler now, I’d be taking my child for their first day of kindergarten, I could be signing them up for dance class or little league. I would actually take days off to take them on vacations, and go to waterparks, and fairs.”

“Well when you’re ready and announce to the world that the great Michael Robinavitch is ready to have children, there will be a line of women at least two blocks long offering up their ovaries for you. I’ll have to fight them off and keep them out of the ED so we can still treat patients.”

“You’re more confident than I am,” he locks eyes with you, finally. 

“Oh please, you’re kind, caring, funny when you want to be, and you have fantastic genetics!” you don’t know what you’re thinking, you aren’t thinking really, and reach out to brush your fingers lightly through his salt and pepper hair. “You still have a good head of hair, and gorgeous brown eyes that would look so adorable passed down to a baby. You’re going to be a fantastic dad someday soon, Michael.”

The door to the stairwell creaks open, both you and Robby jolt out of the little moment you’re having. You wobble a little and Robby practically throws himself at you to catch you and keep you upright. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, face closer to his than it’s ever been before. You could just lean in two more inches and your lips would be on his. But you can’t do that, you can’t take advantage of him and his vulnerability he’s shown you tonight on the roof, and especially not when someone else has joined you two. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Jack barks out a laugh from the doorway. 

“Nope,” your voice cracks, and you carefully step away from Robby this time.

“Just trying to keep (Y/L/N) from falling,” Michael answers at the same time.

You thought the stairwell door opening was jarring, but nothing matches the cold feeling of reality washing over you at the use of your last name. It’s not like you expected him to fall to his knees and beg you to give him a child, but you at least thought after bearing his soul to you Robby could call you by your first name in front of other people, especially his best friend.

“Well I won’t take up anymore of your boyfriend's time,” you try to cut the tension, but it’s so thick you can’t even hack away at it.

“Myrna calls us the same thing,” Dr. Abbot shakes his head and offers you his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile at your second favorite attending as he helps you climb back over the railing. 

~

Everyone you worked with in the Pitt knew that you were having a tough time deciding if you wanted to be an ED attending or go into pediatrics once you graduate. You’ve always had a soft spot for kids, and they seem to always be attached to you, no matter how shy they were when they walked or were rolled through the doors. And that’s why Dana always makes sure you take the cases involving children. Today for instance, there’s a two year old back in the ER for the third time in just as many months because her fevers keep spiking and causing her to have seizures. 

Robby watches you with the girl, Eliana, you recognized her right away from her last few visits. He watches the way you crouch down to her height when she wants to ask you a question, making sure that you’re eye level with her. Watches the way you pull a dumdum out of your scrub pocket, you always have some in there in case a little comes in. The way you effortlessly scoop her into your arms to get her to stay still long enough to check to see if she bit her tongue or cheek too hard. 

Today you’ve promised Eliana that you’ll stay after your shift and sit with her until her parents arrive, both were at work when Eliana had her seizure at daycare. When Robby looks back over at you, you're curled up on a chair that he brought into the bay just for you, and Eliana is sitting daintily on your lap, both of you engrossed in the picture book Cassie’s son left in the break room a few years ago. If he strains his ears just enough, he can hear the different voices you give each character.

“Dude, you’re obviously in love with her,” Jack appears out of nowhere, waiting for Robby to hand off his cases.  Michael scoffs in denial, but his words are cut off, “even Gloria is betting on you guys.”

“Probably so she can send me to HR and fire me for dating a subordinate,” Robby pushes his readers back up, going back to the chart he was pretending to update while he stared at you.

“She won’t be a student anymore in one month man, I hate to break it to you, no one cares that you're her attending. Just you,” Jack sighs at his friend's stupidity. “So stop trying to come up with excuses for why you can’t go for it. I saw you two on the roof, the tension was palpable.”

“What are you, some kind of walking romance novel?” Robby puts his tablet down, the guise of updating a patient's chart long forgotten. 

“I’m just saying, if I had a woman as caring and as gorgeous as her offering to carry my babies, I would jump at the opportunity,” Jack throws his hands up in surrender at the glare Michael is sending his way. 

“How long were you out there?” 

An hour later you can finally leave, Eliana’s parents arrive with apologies, their eternal gratitude, and promises of them stopping by with donuts in the morning for the whole crew. Slowly, you trudge to your locker, doing mental math to figure how much longer it’ll be until you can slip into bed after a nice, long, steaming, shower. 

“Do you want kids?” Dr. Robby corners you by your locker, you thought he had left over an hour ago when his shift ended. 

“I’d have one in nine months if I found the right guy,” you refrain from swearing at his sudden appearance. “Why? Do you know a guy?” 

“I do,” Robby nods, backing you up into said locker. “With your nose and his gorgeous brown eyes, you two would have the cutest baby around.”

“You think?” your body relaxes into his when he rests hand on your hip, thumb sliding under your scrub top. 

“Most definitely,” he whispers, breath skimming across lips.

“Well Dr. Robby, your biological clock is ticking, we should probably get started now,” you laugh as he fumbles to open your locker, having given him the code over a year ago so he could grab you your cardigan when he grabbed his sweatshirt. He rips your purse out of the locker, grabs your hand and drags you out of the hospital. 

[aliteralsemicolon]

Crawling back to you

Masterlist

GIF by undertheniall

Prison changed a lot of things in your relationship with Spencer. The one thing that remains the same is the mutual desire to hold on to the person you love.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Minors do not interact at all. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Drunk! Spencer. I think that’s it. I hope. Idk it’s been a minute I’m sorry. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 3.4K See notes at end for author's note & spoilers.

Full playlist

There’s instant comfort in the sound of laughter coming from somebody you love. It's the kind of laughter that bubbles from deep inside the lungs, depriving them of air and pushing their voice up an octave or two. It envelopes you; you can feel the laughter vibrating between your torsos.

“Spencer, come on!” There’s a failed sternness in your tone, you have to physically fight the giggles away by nuzzling your head in his neck. You’re sure the neighbours below you won’t appreciate the loud thud omitted from the sound of their drunken neighbours toppling over, barely a few steps into the apartment. More precisely, the tall, lanky one drunkenly toppled over and took his girlfriend down with him. 

“I’m sorry! I’m s—so,” He’s not even trying to muffle the sounds, he’s practically hysterical. “Baby—I can’t breathe.” 

“Oh my god.” You push yourself off his chest, grabbing his arms as you stand. It takes all your physical strength to pull him up. Even then, you only manage to get him to sit. “Help me out over here!”

Your plea falls on deaf ears as Spencer bursts into another, slightly more muted, fit of giggles. He places an arm around his ribs and uses the other to hug your leg, leaning his head against your thigh. The muscles in your cheeks begin to ache from how wide your grin is. You have to brace yourself using his shoulder. Your other hand lands in his hair, gently scratching his scalp. 

What even is comfort? 

Spencer would tell you that its origins can be traced back to the Latin word ‘fortis’—meaning strong—combined with the late Latin word ‘com’ to produce’ confortare’. The word ‘comfort’ as we currently know it, was derived from the later French translation of ‘confort.’ The Oxford Dictionary defines it as ‘the easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings of grief or distress.’

What possible grief or distress could there be when his lips press on your thigh, followed by a satisfied hum from the feeling of your skin? And when he looks up at you with those big brown eyes the sun's warmth seeps into your skin, despite it being the moon's hour. You look relaxed. Happy. His lips part and his mouth runs dry. Behind adoration is curiosity painted on his face.

“What?” It makes you nervous. He doesn’t reply instantly, words escape him.

“There are…hundreds of quotes I could pull apart—th—thousands of scientific comparisons I could make, but all I’m able to say right now…is that you’re…perfect. Eve—even your flaws. They’re perfect.” His brows are concentrated and you scoff half-heartedly. It’s not the sun's warmth. It’s him. He is the sun. “Which doesn’t really make sense. But—you. You make sense.”

His eyes wander frantically as he tries to keep track of his thoughts. “Does that make sense?”

Comfort.

You would equate it to the phrase ‘welcome home’. Home. Sanctuary. Retreat from the brutal realities of the cruel world. The lack of response tells him your attention is not entirely on him. He pouts.

“You’re too far away. C’mere.” He whines, his arm moving from his ribcage to tug on your hand. He leans back to make room for you on his lap.

“No, you c’mere.” You resist, trying to pull him up to his feet instead. “We need to get you to bed.” 

“Just two minutes.” 

The tug of war is short-lived; he carries more body strength. Not that he uses much, all it takes is the sweet lull of his voice for him to command you down. His hands glide up your thighs, stopping at your waist once you’re fully straddling him. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, noses nudging and gaze fixed on each other. Spencer brushes his lips against yours, gradually locking them. The kiss is slow, there’s no urgency. The kind that makes you feel like this is forever. As sure as flowers blooming every spring and leaves falling every autumn.

“Impossibly perfect.” He mumbles with a sigh, reaffirming his previous train of thought. The statement travels off his tongue so naturally. Your ears heat up and you fail to respond once again. What response can you give? More sweet affirmations are whispered, and although you don’t hear them, you feel his lips graze your cheek. 

“I love you.” He mumbles against your skin before planting a kiss. You hum in return and diffidently nestle your face in his neck. Spencer shrieks and rolls both of you on the ground. “That tickles!”

He attempts to separate his body from yours, but your arms tighten around his neck. “Let go!”

“Mm-mm.” You shake your head and nuzzle your nose further in. Laughter engulfs you again.

“You have three—ah—three seconds to let go before I start tickling you back.” 

An empty threat, he knows how much you hate it. It works, though. You push off him begrudgingly. 

“Fine.”

His drunken state confuses your playful pout for a sad one and his victorious smirk is short-lived. Spencer ejects upright, hooking his fingers under your chin with a pout of his own. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. Just my boyfriend hates me.” You dramatically sigh and lower your sight, toying with the buttons on his shirt. 

Meanwhile, your boyfriend is aghast that he has you feeling so. If only you could see the genuine furrow in his raised brows. The subtle pout of his lips and his head tilting to the side. His eyes always look like they’re pleading for something, but that’s just the cost of having big, round, beautiful eyes. 

“No. What? N-no!” He’s almost too offended to articulate an appropriate response. “Do you—no!”

Entirely baffled and unable to verbally reject your claim, he opts for physical expression to show you just how wrong you are. He cups your cheeks in both hands and lunges at you with a flurry of kisses, each landing blindly on any accessible part of your face. You anchor an arm behind you to stabilise yourself. The whole scene is chaotic.

“Spence—mmph—” 

With every kiss he inches closer until he’s practically on top of you, leaning his weight forward on one arm. His free hand cradles the back of your head and focuses entirely on your lips. Kissing you soft, slow, deep. Any worries lingering in the back of your mind can wait. Nothing exists outside the bubble you’ve created. That is, until Spencer loses his balance for the umpteenth time and, as usual, you go down with him. At least his inebriated brain had the foresight to shield your head from the hardwood floor. He falls flat on you, free hand defeatedly next to his ear. 

The two of you freeze momentarily, processing the drop. You throw your head back with a loud ‘pfft’ and both of you break out into laughter. You can hear him cackling with his forehead pressing against your jaw. It goes on for at least a minute or two. That’s when you feel it again. The sun’s warmth. It enters your system with every grappling inhale, passing from your lungs, vibrating through your ribs and taking over every limb as it travels through your bloodstream. Your legs trap his waist and you bury your hands in his hair. His other hand shifts from under your head to your collarbone. 

“You’re so silly.” He wheezes.

“I’m silly?!” You tuck your chin in, looking down at him as you push through your giggles. “You’re silly. And drunk. And clumsy.” 

It only spurs him on, nearly to the point of tears. Spencer's drinking is not a common occurrence. Up until recently, he’d been very committed to staying away from alcohol; always choosing a glass of water or some other alternative. At the start, you assumed it was a health-related preference until he sat you down and explained his history with addiction. You can count on one hand the number of outings Spencer has taken so much as a sip of alcohol throughout your relationship. The count only began after his return from Millburn. 

You’d never previously wondered if and how alcohol changes his behaviour, but now you know anyway. It’s unusual, not because he’s different, but because it’s everything you know him to be when it’s just the two of you. There's an air of freedom alongside his gentleness, attentiveness and sass. His own mind doesn’t torment him. He exists—presently, unapologetically. Or at least it was everything you knew him to be. 

Comfort.

Noun. ‘The easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings of grief or distress.’ 

It comes in different forms for different people. For you? You’ve never known a comfort more powerful than Spencer Reid. Not the one that lays next to you every night, but the one lying on top of you right now. In all honesty, you don’t know the man you share a bed with anymore. Physically, you could describe every freckle and mole from memory. Emotionally, he’s practically a stranger. Robotic is an adjective that’s been used to describe him his whole life. It’s a literal manifestation these days. 

Your laughter starts to fade and his follows after. He doesn’t need to ask where your mind is at. Deep down he knows. It’s why he’s too afraid to meet your eyes. He can’t bear the reminiscence he’ll find.

“Too far away...” He repeats, his mumble fading as he reaches your head space.

From dawn, when he first opens his eyes, til dusk, when he finally shuts them; everything he does is part of his ritual. 

Wake up. Work. Home. Sleep. 

Somewhere along the way he’ll eat. Socialise. Read. He can’t recall doing any of it, but he knows it happened because you were there. That’s the only memorable part of it. There’s a faint image of you sitting across from him, nervously watching him nibble the meals you cook for him. He’ll force it down his throat so he doesn’t have to see the worried look on your face. The sound of your voice is slightly more vivid. Speaking at him—for him, making full sentences out of his one-word answers. Because words escape him. Visually, verbally. They’ll run from him on every page he turns; dancing around, mocking him. 

He can feel you staring. You probably don’t even know you are. 

Strange, missing somebody that’s right here. Most people know the feeling all too well, but no one can ever explain it. You can still see fragments of the man Spencer used to be under the rubble of the walls he once lowered for you. Buried too deep inside a cold, dark, liminal pit for you to rescue. A ghost trapped in purgatory. Sometimes he manifests physically. The light in his eyes returns as a culmination of the intent and curiosity he was filled with before. Every look brighter, every touch warmer. 

Comfort.

He’s just as much the source as he is the reason you go weeks without it. Your own, personal double-edged sword, threatening to slice your skin. And you’ll let him, because any ounce of heartache will melt away under the tender feel of his lips. Like slapping a bandaid over the gash and pretending it’s enough to contain the bleeding. You snap back to reality when the weight of his body lifts off you. Spencer’s on his knees cupping your thighs on either side of him, looking down at you. His irises are slightly duller than they were a moment ago. You thrust to sit up too, hands racing to cradle his face. 

“Spence?” Your meekness almost breaks him. 

His vision centres on you. You’re smiling. You have such a beautiful smile. But this one isn’t genuine. It’s a desperate attempt at keeping the pieces together. You’re so afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, he hates it. His brows furrow and he blinks rapidly. The guilt of knowing he’s the reason you’ve been walking on eggshells is overwhelming. You can visibly see his heart sink and his breathing growing shallow. Panic sets in; he pushes away from you, shaking his head and backing himself against the console table.

“Spence?” You repeat worriedly, crawling after him. “Spence, what’s wrong?”

“No. No, stop. Don’t. Please.” His voice cracks and holds his arm out to keep you from moving closer. 

You don’t understand what you did to cause the rapid change in emotions. You pause, hesitantly and kneeling a little too far from him for your liking. You look to the ground and then back at him. It hurts to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Baby—”

The frustration in his tone is evident as he whispers your name with the most strained, painful pronunciation you’ve ever heard of it. It’s not as if he wants this. To be distant or keep you at arm's length, no, on the contrary, he wants to wrap you closely against his chest and never let you go. Your proximity is the only tangible testimonial of the man he once was, the one you fell in love with—the one you deserve. 

“Don’t do that…” He pleads with almost no voice to accompany his words. 

Your arms drop in your lap in defeat. All you're capable of giving him is a hopeless expression, begging him to help you understand. He looks at you accusatorily, as if to say you know exactly what’s wrong. You inadvertently confirm it by averting your eyes.

“How long are you going to pretend?” 

“What?” You pretend to mishear him, your eyes snapping back, wide and watering. 

“That everything’s okay?”

“Why…where is this coming from?” You scoff nervously.

“Nothing’s okay.” 

His direct demeanour should feel icier than it does. Instead, you find familiarity within it. You’ve seen it before. He’s used it when you’ve shown up to his apartment in the later hours of the night, lecturing you about walking alone, and often drunk. It’s been used for many other lectures too, reprimanding any self-destructive or dangerous behaviour. He’s stern, but he’s just as gentle. It’s in his nature—was in his nature. You open your mouth for a rebuttal but he doesn’t give you that chance. 

“Me, you, us. Nothing about us is okay. I’m not okay. To you. I’m not…” His tongue swipes the corner of his mouth, retreating quickly as he stares up at the ceiling and then back at you. “I’m not good for you. Anymore.”

“Spencer, no.” The response flies out of your mouth immediately. Your chest tightens and you try to inch closer to him again. And again, he extends his hand out as a signal to stop. 

“Yes! Don’t you—god—do you think I don’t see how much I hurt you? When I leave the bed before you’re awake, climb in after you’re asleep, when I stay late—”

He doesn’t have it in him to carry on when you whimper out a hum and deflate. It compels him to close the distance by shuffling to you, cupping your face.

“How long are you going to let me get away with hurting you like this?”

At times Spencer feels the skin he inhabits isn’t his own. He doesn’t recognise the face he grew up with and although he can avoid his reflection, he can’t escape reminders of his deteriorated mental performance. There’s no running from the shame he feels every time his team looks to him for answers that he doesn’t have anymore. Solutions take a significantly longer time to reach and oftentimes the realisation of the fact hits him sooner. Being ‘the genius’ is his only value, he doesn’t have anything else to offer. 

He also doesn’t have the strength to outright tell you to walk away. Even if logically, he knows you deserve better than him. Somebody who can be there to laugh with you, hold you when you cry, talk to you about anything and everything. The way he once could. You deserve a person who makes you smile out of genuine happiness. Someone who can offer you pure, whole love. It pains him that he can’t be that for you anymore. 

“I’m sorry.” He smooths your hair, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry. My sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

His lips brush against yours and both of you melt. Bandaid over gash.

You sniffle and instantly inhale, breaking out of his grasp. “You’re drunk. It’s late. Let’s just—let’s go to bed. Okay?”

He knows that you can’t avoid the reality for long, but he’ll let you try, for now. So he nods, smiling half-heartedly. You use his shoulders to push yourself to stand, helping pull him up after you. Your hands intertwine, gripping tightly and only letting go when you reach the bedroom. Both of you enter a slight dissociative state to cope with the heaviness of the situation. He sits you down on the bed, falling to his knees before you. At first, you mistake his intentions as lustful. He guides your ankle to his knee and starts to remove your shoes. The bitterness is fleeting and dissipates into disgust with yourself for thinking so lowly of Spencer. Your Spencer. 

Comfort.

He motions for you to stand so you do. Naturally, he takes care of you before himself. He works to rid you of your pants, sliding them down your legs. You don’t question him this time. His hands trail up your bare legs, skimming past your clothed hips and stopping at your waist. He buries his face in the soft of your belly, squeezing your sides and exhaling deeply. You card his hair, holding him. To any third party, it’s an entirely romantic scene, but you suppose Romeo and Juliet’s corpses appeared just as romantic tangled together. Star-crossed lovers. A regrettable cliché for sure. 

The moment passes and Spencer stands, removing your shirt and leading you towards the bathroom. He opens the door for you, but doesn’t follow you inside, allowing you some space to carry on your night routine. Tonight’s routine consists of you staring in the mirror for god knows how long before splashing cold water on your face. You’re not sure whether to be surprised when you exit the bathroom to see your favourite pajamas laid out for you. Current or old, drunk or sober, you suppose Spencer’s attention to detail is the one constant thing about him. You slip into the pajamas and find your place next to him on the bed, but not before setting some water and pain relief on his side table.

You give him one last glance before turning off your lamp. He’s facing away from you, messy brown curls splayed out against his pillow. Darkness surrounds you temporarily before the dim light from the moon sets in. You’re about to set your head down when he speaks. 

“I…I wish I could go back.”

“Hmm?”

He rolls over and you reach to stroke his cheek. It’s cold, wet. He’s been crying.

“To being him.”

“Baby…”

“I can see the way you look at me sometimes. It’s the same look I see in the mirror every morning.” He takes hold of your wrist.

You shuffle closer, placing a chaste kiss on his nose. Maybe if you had any energy left you’d try to deny it, but right now you don’t have a better response to give. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you left, you know.”

“Shhhhh.” You can’t bear the idea. Just him raising it enough to flood tears to your eyes. 

Silence takes over and you pull him closer into your arms, resting his head against your chest. A sob racks through him, his hands scrunching the sides of your shirt. It’s jarring to see him cry so openly to you. You’ve never seen this version of him so vulnerable. You can feel the ghost slipping away. 

“Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have left of him.”

It’s entirely contradictory. A conflict between morality and desire uttered so breathlessly that you almost miss it. It shatters your soul. 

“I won't.” You reply in an even quieter voice, doing your best to hold back your own sob.

Comfort.

You’ll wait for it to come around again. For now, you wrap yourself tighter around him, both your faces drenched in tears, too afraid to let go. In all your grief you failed to notice something hidden in plain sight. If anybody misses Spencer Reid more than you, it’s Spencer Reid himself.

“Don’t go.”

You can’t say who the words come from, but you know that they’re not for you. They’re meant for somebody who’s no longer with you.

Spoilers: Post-prison Spencer, established relationship, fluff, hurt with (kind of) comfort, angst, ambiguous-ish ending. Idk I wasn’t present when I wrote it tbh.

AN - Heyyyy I know it’s been like over 5 months but in my defence. Also this could have been better, but writing literally hates me, so you get what you get. Guys please don’t worry about the grammar, I was in a mood and it’s all very dramatic and correct because I’m right and English is wrong. Also, I was bullied, blackmailed and emotionally coerced into posting this.

Okay, so I will see you soon or like in another 5 or more months maybe who knows?

Thanks for reading!

[ashthesalamipiece]

"Explosions of the Heart"

This one is rlly long😭

☆☆☆

The hospital reeked of antiseptic and tension. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Bakugo Katsuki paced the floor like a caged animal. His hands—usually steady in battle—trembled slightly. Outside the delivery room, his world was unraveling.

"Mr. Bakugo," the nurse called gently. "She’s in distress. We’re doing everything we can."

He didn’t answer. His crimson eyes were locked on the swinging double doors that had swallowed you hours ago.

You—his wife, his partner, the only person who could call him a dumbass and still get a smile out of him—were behind those doors. And you were fighting a battle even he couldn't charge into fists-first.

Twelve Hours Earlier

Your water had broken in the dead of night. You’d barely gotten a full sentence out before Bakugo was already tossing clothes into a bag and barking at the cab company over the phone. By the time you reached the hospital, contractions were tearing through you like lightning, each one worse than the last.

Something wasn’t right.

The baby was breach. Your blood pressure spiked. You were losing too much blood. They rushed you into an emergency delivery, voices sharp and fast. Bakugo hadn’t been allowed in.

Present

Time blurred. Katsuki hated feeling useless more than anything. He should be in there. He should be beside you, holding your hand, telling you it was going to be okay even if his chest felt like it was going to explode.

A sudden scream tore through the hall. Your scream.

His knees buckled. He hadn’t even heard himself move before he was slamming into the door, fists glowing faintly, ready to break it down—

"Sir!" a nurse barked, shoving him back. "You can't go in there!"

"That’s my damn wife!" he snarled. "Let me—"

The screaming stopped.

Too abruptly.

Bakugo froze. The world stopped moving.

Seconds felt like eternities until finally, the doors opened and a doctor stepped out, blood on her scrubs and exhaustion in her eyes.

"She’s alive," she said softly. "And so is your son. But it was close. Too close."

His legs gave out and he collapsed into the nearest chair. His hands covered his face as air finally returned to his lungs. Alive. You were both alive.

"You can see her now."

He stood shakily, pushing into the room. You looked like hell—pale, exhausted, barely able to lift your eyelids—but when you saw him, a weak smile curved your lips.

"You look like shit," you whispered.

A choked laugh escaped him. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his lips. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, dumbass.”

Then he saw the tiny bundle in your arms. Wide red eyes—his eyes—blinked up at him.

"Hey, little guy," he said, voice thick. "You’re already causing trouble, huh?"

You laughed faintly, and Bakugo leaned in, touching his forehead to yours.

"Next time," he murmured, "we're adopting."

---

Two Weeks Later

You were finally home.

The scent of sterilized hospital air had been replaced by the warmth of your shared apartment, still littered with unopened baby gifts and half-assembled furniture. It felt surreal, like you had died and somehow gotten a second chance.

Katsuki hadn’t left your side since the hospital.

He’d been quieter than usual—not cold, but... different. Protective. Watchful. The explosions were fewer, the yelling almost nonexistent. And at night, when he thought you were asleep, you caught him just staring—at you, at the baby, at the scar the IV left on your hand.

Like he couldn’t believe either of you were still here.

You shifted slightly on the couch, wincing. Your body still ached like hell. The stitches, the swelling, the pressure—no one talked about how brutal recovery would be. You felt raw. Fragile.

"Katsuki," you called weakly.

He appeared instantly from the kitchen, a bottle in one hand and your pain meds in the other. "Need something?"

"Come sit with me."

He hesitated. "You’re still hurting. I don’t wanna crowd you."

You reached out, fingers curling in the air.

He sighed, set everything down, and slid onto the couch beside you. Carefully. Gently. You leaned your head on his shoulder, your newborn cradled against your chest, tiny breaths warm against your skin.

"He looks like you," you murmured.

"Poor brat," he said, but his voice was soft.

Your fingers laced with his.

"You’ve been quiet."

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then:

"You almost died." His voice cracked. “And I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You turned to look at him, eyes brimming. "But I didn’t. We didn’t. Katsuki, you didn’t leave me. Not for a second. That means everything."

He clenched his jaw. “I’ve fought villains who tried to kill me. I’ve been stabbed, exploded, buried under rubble. I can deal with that. But you, bleeding out and screaming and I couldn’t even touch you—” He broke off. “I’ve never been that fucking scared in my life.”

Tears slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your lips to his temple. “You’re here. I’m here. Our son’s here. That’s all that matters.”

He looked down at the sleeping baby, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. “He’s tiny.”

You smirked. “So were you. Until puberty hit like a damn truck.”

A reluctant chuckle rumbled from him. “If he has even half your stubbornness, we’re screwed.”

“Half yours, you mean,” you teased.

The room went quiet again. You nestled closer, letting yourself breathe in his warmth, his scent. Safe.

“I thought I was ready to be a dad,” he said suddenly. “I trained for it. Got the nursery set up, read every damn book. But the second they handed him to me, I realized I didn’t know shit.”

You smiled sleepily. “You’re already doing perfect.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I haven’t blown up a diaper yet.”

You both laughed—quiet, tired, and a little broken, but real.

He looked at you, really looked, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You blinked. Bakugo never whispered.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, voice catching.

And for the first time in weeks, you both finally exhaled.

---

Three Months Later

“You sure you’re okay without me for a few hours?” you asked again, already halfway out the door.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, baby monitor clipped to his sweatpants, your son strapped into a carrier on his chest like a slightly confused koala.

“D’you think I can’t handle him or something?” he grumbled.

“I think he shat through three outfits before noon yesterday, and you nearly declared war on baby wipes.”

Katsuki scowled. “One time.”

“One time per diaper.”

You kissed his cheek before he could argue, smirking. “You’ll be fine, Dad of the Year.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that… it was quiet.

Bakugo glanced down at the wide-eyed little boy strapped to his chest. “Alright, kid. Just me and you.”

The baby blinked, then made a soft gurgling noise.

“You better not be loading your diaper already.”

**

The first twenty minutes went smooth. Katsuki heated a bottle with military precision, burped the baby like a pro, and even played peekaboo without blowing anything up.

Then the baby started crying.

Loud.

Katsuki checked the diaper. Clean. Tried feeding him. Refused. Burping? Nothing. Pacifier? Launched like a missile.

“Are you broken?” he hissed, bouncing him awkwardly.

The baby wailed louder.

Bakugo, future Number One Hero, demolisher of villains, destroyer of fear itself… was being absolutely obliterated by a 12-pound infant.

“Alright!” he shouted over the crying. “You win, gremlin!”

He tried the ultimate move: laying on the couch with the baby on his chest, just like you did.

It worked. Instant silence.

“…Seriously?”

Tiny fingers gripped the collar of his shirt, and the baby let out a satisfied sigh, snuggling deeper against him.

“Tch. You just wanted to lay on me, huh?” Katsuki mumbled. “Clingy little nerd.”

He didn’t move. Not even when his phone buzzed. You’d texted: Everything okay?

He snapped a photo of his son sleeping peacefully on his chest and sent it back.

We’re good. Don’t rush.

He stared at the photo for a long time, warmth blooming in his chest. The kid looked so much like you when he was relaxed. And Katsuki realized something he hadn’t said out loud yet.

He loved this.

Being a dad.

The mess, the noise, the confusion—it was all chaos he could handle if it meant protecting you and this little bean.

“You’re not that bad, y’know,” he muttered. “Might even grow up to be cooler than me.”

The baby snorted in his sleep.

“Yeah, alright, don’t push it.”

**

When you walked in an hour later, you found them both fast asleep—Katsuki snoring, the baby drooling on his chest, one tiny fist tangled in his dad’s ash-blond hair.

You smiled and quietly snapped a photo.

The caption would read: My boys. Chaos level: manageable.

For now.

---

Ten Months Later

Your son had started babbling a while ago, but it was mostly incoherent nonsense—"ba-ba," "da-da," the occasional squeal that sounded like a baby pterodactyl mid-meltdown.

Katsuki had been watching him like a hawk, waiting for the first real word. It had practically become a competition between you two—who would he say first? "Mama" or "Dada"?

Katsuki refused to lose.

“You know I carried him for nine months, right?” you said, folding laundry one afternoon.

“Yeah, and I carried your ass through every post-labor breakdown, so I’d say we’re even,” he grunted, ruffling your son’s spiky blond hair as he sat chewing on a toy grenade (definitely plastic).

Your son looked up at him with wide, mischievous eyes and suddenly let out a loud, clear—

“Boom.”

Silence.

You blinked. “Did he just—?”

Katsuki’s eyes widened. “No. No way. Say it again, brat.”

The baby giggled. “Boom!”

“Oh my god.”

Katsuki stood there frozen for a moment, and then his mouth curled into the smuggest grin you’d ever seen.

“That’s my boy.”

You threw a sock at his face. “Katsuki, his first word was ‘boom.’”

“I’m proud as hell.”

“He’s not a grenade!”

“He’s mine, so yes, he is.”

Your son squealed again. “Boom!”

Now he was bouncing.

“Stop encouraging him!” you said, even though you were trying not to laugh.

Bakugo squatted beside him and bumped their foreheads together gently. “Boom, huh? You’re gonna be a damn legend.”

You shook your head in disbelief, watching your two pyro-twins grin at each other like chaos incarnate.

Katsuki looked up at you, full of fire and affection. “Guess we know what kind of quirk he’s leanin’ toward.”

You groaned. “We are so not baby-proofed for explosions.”

Katsuki smirked. “Guess I better teach him control before he blows up the crib.”

Your baby babbled happily between them again. “Boom!”

Yeah. You were definitely raising a little dynamite.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Age: 2 Years, 3 Months

Your son’s first day of daycare was supposed to be normal.

You’d packed his snacks, extra clothes, diapers, wipes, and left strict instructions that he was “sweet, a little stubborn, and very attached to his Bakugou-brand plushie.”

You also wrote in bold: “If he gets upset, avoid loud noises. They tend to... backfire.”

The teacher smiled politely. “We’ve handled all kinds of quirks. Don’t worry.”

You didn’t.

Until the phone call.

Three hours later.

Bakugo answered it on speaker.

“Hello, this is—uh—Miss Hikari from Little Hero Steps Daycare. We have a small situation.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “Is he hurt?”

“No! No, he’s fine. Perfectly fine. A little excited, actually…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…but the plastic slide may have, um... detonated.”

Katsuki let out a low snort. “He blew up the slide?”

“It was only the top half,” she added quickly. “And technically, it was more of a pop than a boom.”

You could feel Katsuki’s pride from across the kitchen.

“Are the other kids okay?” you asked, horrified.

“Yes! No injuries. He wasn’t upset, just… showing off. He said ‘Boom!’ and then—”

“That’s my son,” Bakugo said, folding his arms with a smug little smirk.

You elbowed him. “That is not a good thing.”

“Didn’t say it was bad either.”

**

When you arrived at the daycare, your son was sitting on a beanbag with three teachers around him—like he was some kind of dangerous celebrity.

His hair was wild, his cheeks were smudged with soot, and he looked way too pleased with himself.

“Mommy! Daddy!” he yelled, running over and nearly tripping on his own feet.

“Hey, you little menace,” Katsuki muttered, picking him up.

“Boom!” he chirped proudly, like it was his name.

One of the teachers came over, cautiously.

“We think his quirk is starting to develop. It’s... early, but very similar to yours, Mr. Bakugo.”

Katsuki beamed. “Damn right it is.”

You groaned. “Please tell me we’re not banned.”

The teacher laughed nervously. “No—though we’re investing in more fireproof playground equipment starting immediately.”

**

That night, after your son was passed out in his crib, soot still faintly dusting his forehead, you collapsed on the couch.

“He’s gonna be a handful,” you murmured, resting your head on Katsuki’s chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stroking your hair. “He’s gonna be a hell of a hero too.”

You smiled, eyes drifting closed as you listened to your husband’s heartbeat under your cheek—steady, strong, and forever explosive.

Just like the little boy down the hall.

---

You were pregnant. Again.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen quite so soon—not when your firstborn was still blowing up laundry baskets for fun and calling it “training.”

But the second those two pink lines appeared, your stomach flipped. Part nerves. Part excitement. And a lot of “oh god, how is Bakugo going to react?”

**

You told him on a quiet evening. Your son was asleep (finally) and the living room still smelled faintly of scorched Play-Doh.

You sat beside him, heart racing.

“I’m pregnant.”

Bakugo blinked. He looked at you. Then at your stomach. Then back at you.

“…Are you sure?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He leaned forward slowly, resting a hand on your thigh like he thought the couch might explode.

“Holy shit.”

You laughed. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

He stared at your stomach for a long time before finally saying, softly, “You okay with this?”

“I’m scared. But yeah. I want this.”

He nodded, jaw tightening. “You nearly died last time.”

“I know.”

“You think I can do this again?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “What if I lose you this time?”

You reached for his hand. “Then you hold me tighter and fight harder.”

Bakugo clenched his fists, then gently rested one palm on your belly.

“…You better be a chill baby,” he muttered. “I can’t handle two demolition experts at once.”

**

Your son found out a week later when he walked into the kitchen, pointed to your tiny bump, and said:

“BOOM 2?”

You choked on your orange juice. Katsuki burst out laughing.

From that point on, the baby was Boom 2 to him.

**

As the months passed, your second pregnancy felt... different. Easier in some ways, harder in others. Your son was older now, talking more, asking endless questions.

“Did I live in your belly too?”

“You did, baby.”

“Was I loud?”

“You screamed the whole time.”

He nodded proudly. “Boom!”

Katsuki didn’t stop worrying. Not for a second. Every time you winced, he was at your side. Every time you had a check-up, he came. He argued with nurses over your chart. Practically threatened the OB into promising you a safer delivery plan.

“I lost my shit once,” he told the doctor. “I’m not doing that again.”

**

One quiet night, a few weeks before your due date, he crawled into bed behind you and wrapped his arms around your belly, pulling you gently against his chest.

“Still scared,” he whispered against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered back.

“But I want this. I want all of this. You, him”—he nodded toward your sleeping toddler down the hall—“and this tiny bomb too.”

Your heart melted.

“I want them to know they’re loved,” he added, voice thick. “No matter how loud, or messy, or crazy it gets.”

“They’ll know,” you promised, turning to kiss him softly. “Because they have you.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He just held you tighter, his hand on your belly.

And somewhere inside, Boom 2 kicked like they were already ready to make an entrance.

Just like their brother.

Just like their dad.

---

It started with a kick.

Not just any kick—one that rocked your whole body at 3:12 a.m.

You groaned, gripping the edge of the bed.

Katsuki shot up like a soldier under fire.

“Contraction?” he barked.

“Yep,” you hissed, breathing through it.

He was already moving—bag in hand, grabbing your shoes, shouting toward the baby monitor: “Stay asleep, Boom #1!”

**

This time around, the doctors were ready. And so was Katsuki.

Still, even as they guided you into the labor room, he was white-knuckling the edge of your bed, eyes locked on you like if he blinked, you’d vanish.

You reached for him.

“I’m okay,” you said between waves of pain. “I’m okay.”

“I’m not letting go of you this time,” he muttered, voice low, jaw clenched.

And he didn’t.

Not when your screams broke through the walls.

Not when the monitors started beeping faster.

Not when the doctor said, “We need to move quickly—cord’s wrapped.”

He held your hand through it all. Pressed his forehead to yours. Whispered every curse word in the book, followed by: “You’ve got this. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”

And when the final cry rang out—

A high, sharp wail that cut through the air like lightning—

Bakugo exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for nine months straight.

“She’s perfect,” the nurse whispered.

“She?” you breathed, dazed.

Katsuki blinked. “A girl?”

They placed her on your chest—tiny, red, angry as hell. She immediately latched onto your hospital gown like she was ready to fight the world.

You laughed through tears. “She’s already like you.”

Katsuki stared at her.

Just stared.

His eyes—those wild, stormy eyes—were wide and full of wonder.

“You’re kidding me,” he whispered. “I’ve got a daughter.”

You reached for his hand. “You’ve got us.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your daughter’s.

“I swear on my damn life,” he whispered, “no one’s ever gonna mess with you.”

She let out a fierce little squeak.

And he smiled, completely undone.

**

An hour later, you were resting, and he was sitting by the bed with your baby girl tucked into the crook of his arm.

“Name?” you asked, eyes heavy but heart full.

He looked down at her, then at you.

“What about Kaori?” he said. “Strong. Bright. Means fragrance or light.”

You smiled. “Kaori Bakugo. It’s perfect.”

And for the first time that night, the hospital room felt still. Safe.

Because no matter how explosive your little family was becoming—

It was built on something unshakable.

Love. Fire. And a whole lot of Boom.

---

Two days after Kaori’s birth, you came home—sore, exhausted, but glowing. Kaori was tiny, sleepy, and wrapped like a burrito in her fuzzy explosion-patterned blanket that Katsuki insisted she wear home.

Your front door creaked open slowly.

Bakugo carried Kaori in with terrifying precision, like she was made of nitroglycerin.

Inside, your two-year-old son was standing barefoot in the hallway—holding a plastic grenade in one hand and a drawing in the other.

“Mommy!” he shouted, running at you.

You caught him one-armed, lifting him up, groaning slightly. “Easy, baby.”

Katsuki stood back, rocking gently with Kaori in his arms. “Hey, Boom #1,” he said softly. “Wanna meet your sister?”

Your son blinked, looking at the tiny pink bundle.

“That’s her?”

“Yup.”

“She looks squishy.”

“She is,” you said, chuckling. “Gentle, okay?”

He padded over on tiptoes, peering up at her like she was some sort of sacred relic.

“…She doesn’t go boom?”

“Let’s hope not,” Katsuki muttered.

“She’s your baby sister,” you explained. “Her name is Kaori.”

He tilted his head. “Can I keep her?”

Katsuki smirked. “She’s not a pet.”

“But I love her already,” your son said proudly. Then leaned close and whispered (as if it were a spell): “Boom.”

Kaori stirred slightly… and farted.

A loud one.

Your son lost it.

“SHE DOES BOOM TOO!” he screamed.

Katsuki nearly dropped her from laughing so hard. “Oh god. She’s already like you.”

**

You all settled in the living room. Kaori slept peacefully on Katsuki’s chest while your son built a pillow fort and declared it the "Boom Base."

“She can live in the base with me,” he announced.

“She’s not old enough for base life yet,” you said.

“I’ll protect her,” he added matter-of-factly. “From monsters. And spiders. And broccoli.”

You looked over at Katsuki, who was watching the two of them with a look you’d only ever seen twice before: once on your wedding day, and once when your son took his first steps.

“Didn’t think I could love more than I already did,” he murmured. “But damn.”

You scooted closer and leaned into him, Kaori safe between you.

“Looks like we’re officially a team of four.”

“Correction,” Katsuki said. “We’re a squad.”

A very loud, occasionally explosive, wildly chaotic squad.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[vamptizm]

NOT A SECRET — paige bueckers

pairing : paige bueckers x wnba!fem!reader

synopsis : the bliss of winning the wnba championship causes a big slip up that exposes your relationship to the world

warnings : explicit language, alcohol, cigars and sexual innuendos (if you don’t like the new york liberty, you can replace it with your favourite team idc)

note : i haven’t checked for typos that thoroughly so… my bad

word count : 2.6k

What’s better than succeeding in life in almost every aspect? Sharing that success with someone you love and that loves you back, unconditionally and wholly. Meeting Paige Madison Bueckers had undoubtedly been one of the best things that life had blessed you with, other than your flourishing career. The two of you had met in 2019, both playing for team USA. Later on you would meet again at UConn, playing and succeeding alongside each other for the past four years. It wasn’t until barely a year ago, that the two of you decided to be brave enough to confess your love. But sadly, everything must end for a new chapter to begin, and here you were, living a two and a half hour drive from her to chase your dreams.

Luckily for you, Paige was the most dedicated and passionate girlfriend in the world, making it her mission to attend as many of your games during the playoff season as possible. Today was no different. It was her birthday, her special day, and here she was, supporting you. Hoping to celebrate you, rather than celebrating herself.

You were pacing around the open kitchen of your—extremely overprized—apartment, the nerves and anxiety eating at you like maggots, heart pounding in your throat and hands sweaty. This was by far, one of the most important games in your life so far, if not more important than the game against Iowa only six month ago.

“How about you stop walking around in circles and c’mere?” Paige spoke up from her spot on the malta-beige couch, arm slung over the back rest as her neck craned slightly to look back at you.

“I can’t, I feel like I’m about to throw up.” You spoke, your voice coming out almost like a choked whine, wiping your hands down on your sweatpants for the umpteenth time in the past hour.

You only had an hour left until you had to be ready and at the Barclays Center. Two and a half hours until the final game against the Minnesota Lynx began. You were a mess, and no one could blame you.

Sighing at your distressed state, the blonde lifted herself off of the couch, walking towards you with sympathetic eyes. She hated seeing you this way. It wasn’t the first time, and definitely wouldn’t be the last, but it never burdened her. If you needed to cling to her like a lifeline, she would be there. Every. Single. Time.

“Oh, baby. C’mere.” Her arms opened wide once she was standing a mere foot away from you, wrapping you into a hug. So tight and warm, so comforting and safe that for a moment, it felt like all your worries vanished into thin air. The only thing that mattered was the intoxicating scent and the protective warmth of your girlfriend.

You buried your face into the crook of her neck, arms wrapping around her waist as you allowed yourself to breathe—really breathe—for the first time since you had woken up. “I’m just scared. What if I mess up? What if I disappoint everyone and then I’ll be the rookie that ruined everything.” You mumble into her neck, voice slightly muffled but she understood you perfectly.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” Paige’s voice was firm, yet it didn’t lack the tenderness and gentleness you so desperately needed. Her hands snaked up, pulling away from the hug just enough to be able to cup your face in them. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re on top of the league right now, if not the world. This is not going to ruin your career. It is not going to diminish everything you have achieved and you’re sure as hell not going to disappoint everyone.”

With her hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks and eyes looking deeply into yours, you couldn’t help but tear up. Maybe it was the stress, maybe the nerves, or maybe it was the reassurance and praise that not only her words offered, but her entire presence in that moment.

“You’re going to be great, just as you’ve always been. How many times have you felt just like this and ended up wiping the floor with everyone?”

The way she was looking down at you almost had your knees crumbling, so gentle and sincere. “You think so?” Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper and if it had been any other situation, you would’ve cringed at yourself.

“Baby, I know so.” Paige didn’t have to say more than that. It was enough to boost your confidence from basement level, to the roof.

You didn’t say much either, choosing to bask in the moment, hands snaking up to lay over hers that were still cupping your face, looking up at her with glassy eyes and a faint smile. In that moment, it was only appropriate for you to inch closer, placing a soft and short kiss on her pillow soft lips.

A smile crept up on the blonde as you pulled back again, “So… How about ‘pre-game good luck’ head?”

“Well… Wait, No! I’m still in distress.”

The arena buzzed with a low hum of anticipation as you stood at the edge of the court, taking in the packed stands, the flashing lights, and the sea of Liberty blue and green. Your heart was pounding—though you'd had nerves all day, they'd sharpened now that the moment was upon you . You scanned the crowd, gaze catching Paige's in her seat near the front. Paige's steadying smile softened the sharp edges of Your anxiety, and you exhaled, focus narrowing. This was it. The moment you had been working your ass of for. It was now or never.

As the whistle blew, your nerves dissolved like mist, replaced by the razor focus of competition. Everything outside the court vanished, your only objective now to take down the Lynx and bring home a win for the team. But as the first quarter unfolded, it became clear this game wouldn't go as planned. Your team struggled to find their rhythm, their usual crisp passes and quick plays seeming off. Shots were bouncing off the rim, free throws missed their mark, and the Lynx defense was ruthless. Every time you managed to drive toward the basket, you felt hands clawing at your arms, hips bumping you hard off course. You fought to keep your form steady, but even your own three-pointers—normally a guaranteed lifeline—fell just short. Beside you, Sabrina was playing through visible pain, her movements cautious, hindered by her UCL injury.

Paige's chest tightened with each missed shot and lost point, her eyes tracking your every move. She could see your frustration mounting, shoulders tensing after every failed attempt, and every bit of her wanted to rush down there, to shield you from the weight of this game. Tell you that she believed in you more than anything.

By halftime, the Liberty had fallen behind by nearly double digits. You felt your stomach knot and churn as you walked back down the tunnel toward the locker room, breath shaky, mind racing over every failed shot, every error. Before you knew it, hot tears were spilling down your cheeks, stinging with the shame of coming up short. You barely noticed the footsteps trailing you until you heard Paige's voice calling out her name, a beacon of comfort piercing her distress.

You slowed and turned, and there was your girlfriend, just outside the locker room door, her eyes brimming with concern. A teasing voice broke the tension—Stewie, giving you a gentle nudge on the shoulder. "Hey, save some of those tears for the win, rook. You're not out of this yet."

Despite yourself, you let out a shaky laugh, and then you were in Paige's arms, face buried against her shoulder. You clung to her, breathing in the familiar scent and drawing strength from your girlfriend's embrace. "I'm playing like shit right now," you mumbled, voice thick with disappointment.

She tilted your chin up, meeting your eyes with steady determination. "Hey, look at me. You've been through worse than this. Most of these people today are here to watch you. You're gonna go back out there and you're gonna play your game. I know you. You're not done." Her words wrapped around you like armor, steadying your nerves. With a last kiss on the cheek, Paige whispered, "Go show them who you are, Ma."

Buoyed by the reassurance, you returned to the court for the second half with renewed fire only ten minutes later. Your team began to close the gap, each player digging deep as they fought to find their rhythm. Your shots began to connect, and your movements were sharper, cleaner, feeding off your team's newfound energy. You could feel Paige's eyes on you from the stands, grounding you with every step.

By the time the game went into overtime, your team had clawed their way to a slim four-point lead, the clock ticking down the final seconds. With a fierce determination, you seized her moment—gripping the ball just past half-court, you made the reckless decision in a split second. You set your stance and launched a deep three-pointer, watching as the ball arched high into the air. The arena fell silent, everyone holding their breath as it spun toward the basket.

And then—swish. The ball dropped cleanly through the net, and the crowd erupted, an unstoppable wave of sound crashing over the court. Your teammates surged around you, pulling you into hugs and shouting in joy, their faces bright with triumph. You felt the overwhelming relief, the weight of victory sinking in as tears of happiness filled your eyes.

Amid the chaos, your gaze instinctively searched for Paige, who was already standing by her seat, pride radiating from her. Without thinking, you ran toward her, your heart full to bursting. When you reached Paige, your threw your arms around her, catching her in a fierce embrace. Before either of you registered what you were doing, you pressed a kiss to Paige's lips, the world melting away in that single moment. You were on cloud nine and nothing could bring you down, anytime soon.

Paige held you close, tears shimmering in her own eyes as she whispered, "I'm so proud of you, Baby. You fucking did it."

And for the first time in a long time, you felt the weight of every struggle, every doubt, lifted, replaced by the solid warmth of love, victory, and the freedom to embrace who you truly were.

But then it dawned on you. The sudden realization of what you had just done and your face dropped, heart pounding impossibly faster in your throat all while Paige continued to hold you close. "Oh my god... Oh. My. God." You could barely manage to find the words, the guilt of what you had just done so impulsively hitting you like a wave and throwing you off that thrown you had been sitting on just a mere minute ago.

"I'm so sorry. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck... Oh god, I fucked up. The whole world just saw that, what do we do?" It was clear as day that you were panicking, the fear of disappointing your girlfriend eating away at you.

Paige however, didn't seem to have lost that smile on her face, her bright eyes almost blinding with the sparkle that shimmered in them, all while gazing at you. "I don't care. We've talked about this before, I want the world to know."

"Really?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, not trusting yourself to keep it from cracking in that moment.

"Yes, really. I would be fucking insane if I had anything against the world knowing that I'm not only dating the most wonderful person alive, but also a champion."

Your frown quickly turned upside down into a small smile, heart searing with love and pride. Not only were you a winner tonight, but with her on your side, you'd be a winner for the rest of your life.

"Now go and celebrate, you deserve it." The blonde began to release you from her grip, a soft grin playing on her lips.

"Come with me." You suggested instantly, not wanting to be apart from her for even just a second, if you didn't have to. "I wanna show off my prettier trophy on her birthday."

Paige's grin melted into a smirk, the sparkle in her blue eyes suddenly clouded and you had to make sure that your own eyes weren't playing tricks on you. "Your trophy, huh? Oh, I'm gonna fuck you so good when we get back home, champ."

Back in the locker room, the team was in full championship mode. As you and Paige stepped in, you were instantly drenched with a spray of ice-cold champagne, your teammates laughing and cheering as they each took turns celebrating. The room was filled with a mix of joyous shouts, laughter, and the sticky-sweet smell of champagne spilling from bottles held high. You could feel the bubbles fizzing on your skin, jersey soaked through, but none of that mattered—this was the taste of victory, and you drank it in like the best moment of your life.

Stewie grinned, grabbing a cigar and offering it to you with a proud nod. “Here you go, rook. You’ve earned it.”

You took it with a chuckle, feeling the weight of the cigar in your hand as you looked around at your ecstatic teammates. You didn’t smoke often, but right now, it felt like the perfect way to mark the moment. As you lit up, you took a slow draw and exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the air, feeling an odd thrill in the movement. Around you, your teammates roared in laughter and cheered you on, playfully tousling your hair and congratulating you as you relaxed further into the moment.

Paige stood slightly apart from the chaos, watching you with an expression of open admiration. Paige’s gaze lingered on you, catching every spark of joy in your eyes, every smile, and every bit of laughter that spilled from your lips. She let herself soak in the sight, wanting to imprint it on her memory—this perfect image of you, triumphant and glowing, a little champagne-drunk and flushed from the celebration. She didn’t care about the sticky residue of the champagne on her own skin or the faint smell of smoke in the air; all she could focus on was you, looking impossibly beautiful.

As you took another drag, exhaling the smoke with an air of confidence that was as charming as it was unfamiliar, Paige’s heart skipped a beat. There was something about the way you held herself tonight, bold and carefree, that sent a shiver down Paige’s spine.

You caught Paige’s eyes and, with a giggle, took a playful step toward her, the effects of the champagne clear in your soft, relaxed gaze. “Are you okay over there?” you teased, tilting your head with a grin, clearly catching on to Paige’s stare.

Paige’s lips curled into a smirk, her voice low as she leaned in, brushing a hand along your arm. “Oh, I’m doing great,” she murmured, her tone filled with a hint of mischief. “Just… can’t wait to get you home.”

Your eyes sparkled with a playful challenge as you smirked right back, the faint scent of champagne and cigar smoke hanging in the air between them. “I’m all yours in an hour or so,” you whispered, leaning in close enough that only Paige could hear.

“Longest hour of my life,” Paige replied, her voice barely above a breath, her eyes gleaming with anticipation as they lingered on your smile.

The locker room buzzed around you, but in that moment, you both were in your own world, two people tangled in a look filled with promises for later, ready to savor every bit of this win—together.

[pukefactory]

sprout x reader who is awkward and likes to scream. hear me out! sprout says something flirty and reader is just standing there awkwardly. turns around. runs away. not even a minute later you can hear extremely loud and giddy screaming. please and thank you. *slides you three cents and half a burger*

Oh my god, I got my three cents back and half a burger—truly, divine intervention!

‎♡‧₊˚✧ CLOCKED OUT ✧˚₊‧♡

𖦹 Summary: Sprout accidentally makes you a bit too flustered

𖦹 Character(s): Sprout Seedly (Dandy’s World)

𖦹 Reader pronouns: Not Specified

𖦹 Genre: Short story, Fluff, SFW

𖦹 Word Count: 444

𖦹 Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

𖦹 Image Credits: Qwelver

It starts like any other day. You and Sprout are walking together, his scarf shifting slightly with each step as he rambles about a new baking project he’s been working on with Cosmo. You’re listening—sort of—but mostly, you’re hyper-aware of how close he’s standing. Close enough that if you moved even slightly, your arms might brush. Not that it means anything. Probably.

You’re not exactly good at… handling things like this. Social interaction. People. Or Sprout specifically—because he has this way of saying things so bluntly, so casually, that your brain short-circuits every time.

And then, he does it.

“Y’know,” he says, glancing at you with that usual no-nonsense expression, “you’re kinda cute when you get all awkward like that.”

Silence. The air freezes. You malfunction.

Your entire body locks up as you stare at him, wide-eyed and unblinking. Your brain is screaming, but your mouth refuses to cooperate. The words take a full five seconds to register.

Sprout raises a brow, half confused, half concerned. “Hey, you good?”

You turn. You run. Full sprint. No words. No explanation. Just immediate escape. Fight-or-flight response at full capacity.

You don’t even make it ten steps before—

“AAAAAHHHHHHHH—!!”

A piercing scream echoes through the entire area, but not one of fear. Not one of distress. Just pure, unfiltered, giddy chaos.

Sprout stops dead in his tracks, blinking as the sound of your delighted shrieking rings through the empty halls of Gardenview, bouncing off the walls like some kind of siren.

“…What.”

He doesn’t move, just listens as your voice continues echoing in the distance. Then—silence. A pause. And suddenly—

“HE CALLED ME CUTE!!”

Another scream. Louder this time. Probably scaring off any signs of life nearby.

Sprout drags a hand down his face, trying (and failing) to fight off the warmth creeping up his neck. “Oh my Stars,” he mutters, exasperated. “You’re actually ridiculous, haha…”

He debates going after you. Decides against it. He’ll wait.

Sure enough, not even a minute later, you come sprinting back at full speed, skidding to a dramatic stop in front of him, completely breathless and visibly trying to compose yourself.

He crosses his arms, looking both smug and flustered. “You done?”

“…Maybe.” You wheeze, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down your heated face.

He stares. You stare back. The silence stretches for an unbearable second before you make the mistake of remembering why you ran in the first place.

Your face turns scarlet.

Sprout sighs. “You’re just gonna run again, aren’t you?”

Your eye twitches.

And then you turn. You run.

Somewhere in the distance—

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHH—!!”

Sprout groans, tugging his scarf up over his face. “This is my life now, huh.”

[stylesispunk]

'I love you, it's ruining my life'

Joel Miller x f! Reader

part ii

Summary: You get to spend your last night with Joel before he gets married to another woman.

w.c: 4k>

warning: angst, mentions of cheating. No proofreading, messy writing (possibly).

a/n: Well, hello. I wrote this because I had this idea in my head for a few days but now I don't feel like I completely wrote what I wanted. Nevertheless, here is it. Sorry if this is not my best work, but I wrote it in a rush and a part 2 could be possible. There's another fic I'm working on so I hope that's better than this one. Happy reading and I hope to have time soon to be back to writing 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Everyone around you could see it. The dilated pupils, the starry-eyed gaze, and the wide smile when you were with Joel. Everyone could see it, but Joel. You could also feel it, but it was forbidden. Being high over heels for your friend was almost a felony. Joel was your best friend, and he was getting married to another woman.

Your paths crossed the day you moved into your new house. The one next to his. You had gotten a glimpse of him a few times during your first days there. His messy hair and the crease between his eyebrows made him look in distress, running back and forth all the time, which made you want to know about him. A few days later, you learned from a neighbor that Joel was recently widowed with a small baby girl named Sarah, who had become his whole world. And you had gotten to meet him one day when he knocked at your doorstep, disheveled and with puffy eyes, carrying a crying baby girl tightly against his chest as if she were the most precious thing in the world, which, to him, she undoubtedly was.

"Hey, are you okay?" you asked softly, concern evident in your voice as you noticed the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Joel looked up, startled by the sound of your voice. His tired eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of vulnerability before he composed himself. "Yeah, sorry, it's been a rough night. Sarah's been fussy, and I just..." His voice trailed off, and he glanced down at his daughter, then took a look at your clothes. You were wearing a strapless black dress, and when he glanced up at you, he almost got his air cut by your gorgeous face.

You were clearly getting ready to go out; after all, you were a young woman living next to his, and as far as he could tell, you were single.

“I’m sorry, you... You are leaving. I don’t know why I came here,” he said.

Without hesitation and ignoring Joel’s words, you reached out and gently rubbed the baby’s back, trying to soothe her. "Would you like to come in?" you offered, gesturing to the warmth and comfort of your home.

Joel hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you, before he nodded gratefully. Stepping inside, he seemed to relax slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he sank into the nearest chair. You followed suit, sitting across from him and offering a sympathetic smile.

“I just came back home,” you said.

“What?” He asked dumbfoundedly.

“You said I was leaving. I’m not.” You smiled again, trying to contain the tinkle in your naked arms as you looked at the man in front of you.

"Oh,” he replied. "Oh," Joel repeated, his voice tinged with surprise as he processed your words. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze flickering between you and Sarah, who had quieted down in your presence.

After a moment of silence, Joel cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. "I, um, actually came here because... I need some help," he admitted quietly, his eyes avoiding yours.

You nodded, understanding dawning as you realized the weight of responsibility that Joel carried as a single parent. "Of course," you said softly, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his arm. "I'd be happy to help however I can."

Joel let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, relief washing over his tired features. "Thank you," he murmured, his gratitude evident in his voice. "I just... I don't know what I'm doing half the time, and Sarah... she deserves better."

Sarah.

You had learned the baby’s name was Sarah.

“My wife died during labor,” he confessed.

As Joel's words hung in the air, a heavy silence settled between you, punctuated only by the soft sounds of Sarah's breathing. Your heart ached for him, knowing the pain he must have endured losing his wife, especially under such tragic circumstances.

"I'm so sorry, Joel," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "I can't even imagine what you've been through."

Joel nodded, his expression haunted as he stared off into the distance. "It's been... it's been the hardest thing I've ever had to face," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "But Sarah... she's been my anchor. My reason to keep going." He paused for a moment. “That’s why I’m asking you if you can help me take care of her just for tonight. I just have this thing with my brother, and I found out you’re a teacher, so I suppose you’re good with kids.”

“Wait…how… How do you know I’m a teacher?”

Joel blinked, caught off guard by your question. He hesitated for a moment before his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, uh, well... I may have asked around the neighborhood," he admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his response, finding his awkwardness endearing. "I see," you said with a playful smile. "Well, you're right. I am a teacher. And I'd be more than happy to help take care of Sarah tonight."

Relief washed over Joel's features, and he let out a sigh of gratitude. "Thank you, really. I wouldn't ask if it weren't important," he said earnestly, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of appreciation and vulnerability.

You nodded, understanding his need for support and reassurance, especially during such a challenging time. "Don't worry about it," you said softly, offering him a reassuring smile. "Sarah will be in good hands with me."

With that settled, Joel visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging with relief. "Thank you," he repeated, his voice filled with gratitude. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Since that day, you and Joel have become thick as thieves, and consequently, you have become Sarah’s best friend. The three of you became inseparable, sharing laughter and tears as you were there for each other through the ups and downs of life. Whether it was late-night diaper changes or spontaneous dance parties in the living room, you cherished every moment spent with both of them.

As Sarah grew older, she became not only Joel's whole world but yours as well. You watched with pride as she took her first steps, spoke her first words, and grew into a bright, curious toddler. And through it all, you were there by her side, offering guidance, love, and endless patience.

But amidst the joy and laughter, there was a bittersweet longing lingering in the air—a longing for something more, something you knew could never be. You buried your feelings deep within your heart, knowing that to act on them would only bring pain and heartache to those you loved most.

Of course you had dated; you went on dates, but they never worked out. No one was Joel, so you kept burying your love for him. You caught yourself in a complex web of emotion with that lingering ache for something more. What could have happened if you had talked before? But as much as you tried to bury your feelings for Joel, they remained a constant presence, a silent companion that followed you wherever you went.

And now, watching as Joel prepared for his upcoming wedding, the realization of his happiness with another woman cutting through you like a knife. Each detail of the ceremony seemed to magnify the distance between you, reminding you of the forbidden nature of your feelings.

Tess was a lovely woman, yet she didn’t completely like the idea that you and her soon-to-be husband were so close. Perhaps she sensed the depth of your connection with Joel, or maybe she simply felt threatened by the strong relationship you had forged with him and his daughter.

You tried your best to reassure Tess, to show her that your intentions were pure—that you were simply there to support Joel and Sarah in any way you could. But despite your efforts, there remained an underlying tension between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings that lingered beneath the surface.

However, you knew that after the wedding, you and Joel would grow apart, and you already had a plan to bear with the solace that would cause you.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me tonight." Joel gushed, bringing his wine glass to his lips. “It feels like when Sarah fell asleep and stayed late talking.”

You nodded, plastering a smile on your face. It had taken a lot of work to become this good at faking it. You had conditioned yourself to smile at Joel and respond to his questions with excitement, as your insides felt like they were tearing apart from the thought of these being the last hours of Joel being single. But you didn’t have a choice.

Almost eight years of friendship had taken a toll on you. That was a lot of time to reconsider your feelings and come back with a new perspective, but you were just burying your feelings as you always do. You didn’t want to ruin Joel’s chance of happiness, and as soon as tomorrow arrived, you would play your role and then be out of his life.

“Are you excited?” Joel asked you.

“For you?” you asked, bringing your wine glass to your lips. “Of course,” you plastered your best smile at him, even though it didn’t reach your eyes.

Joel smiled back at you, tossing himself on the sofa, his hand over his chest as he breathed in and out rhythmically, watching as you stared at your glass of wine with a lost gaze.

“What do you want to do?” He asked, only watching you shrug.

“Don’t know.” You mumbled, eyebrows furrowed in thought. Joel only hummed in response, looking around his living room before his eyes settled on the record player across the room, his eyes widening in excitement.

“Hun.”

“Don’t call me that.” You mumbled, directing your gaze at him. You were just waiting to drift off to sleep.

“Do you remember our parties?”

Your eyes opened to look at Joel trying to piece together what he wanted to do. “I do, why?”

Without another word, Joel stood up and walked across the room to his record player, standing there with a tin of dust. Trying to look for the perfect disc and allow the melody to sweep through the house.

After his silence, you closed your eyes once again, just to abruptly open them to the familiar melody of the song playing through the house.

Out of touch, out of reach, yeah

You could try to get closer to me.

I’m in love; I’m in deep, yeah.

Hypnotized, I’m shaking to my knees.

Without a warning, Joel shot across the room to you, raising his hand for you to take it.

“What are you doing?” You questioned.

You felt a rush of panic surge through you as Joel approached, his outstretched hand beckoning you to join him. Your heart raced, torn between the desire to escape the moment and the temptation to give in to the pull of the music and Joel's presence.

"I... I don't know, Joel," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you hesitated to take his hand. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to resist, to maintain the boundaries you had carefully erected between you and Joel. But as his warm gaze met yours, a flicker of something unfamiliar sparked within you—a longing, a yearning for something more.

Joel's expression softened, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Come on," he urged gently, his voice low and soothing. "Let's dance, just like old times."

Despite your better judgment, you found yourself relenting, allowing Joel to pull you to your feet and into his arms. As the music enveloped you both, you were transported back to a time when laughter and joy filled the air, when the weight of unspoken feelings had yet to cast its shadow over your friendship.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to lose yourself in the rhythm of the music and in the warmth of Joel's embrace. But even as you swayed together in the dim light of his living room, you couldn't shake the nagging sense of unease that tugged at the corners of your mind. You felt a lump form in your throat.

"I'm going to miss this, you know? Our late-night dance parties, just the two of us." You whispered.

“I’m not dying,” he replied, humored.

You pulled back to look at his face for a moment, finding the words you wanted to say. “I know, but it will be different.”

You found the same easy smile and the same playful glint that had always been there, masking the deeper emotions that lay beneath.

"I know," Joel replied, his voice softening as he squeezed your hand gently. "Things are going to be different after tomorrow. But no matter what happens, you'll always be my best friend; you know that, right?"

His words struck a chord within you, stirring a mix of emotions that you struggled to put into words. Part of you wanted to cling to Joel's reassurance, to hold onto the comfort of his friendship, even as the world around you shifted and changed. But another part of you couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring and whether things would ever truly be the same between you and Joel again.

"Yeah," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music. "I know."

And as you continued to dance together in the dim light of Joel's living room, you couldn't help but wonder. What would happen after tomorrow?

You allowed yourself to inhale his perfume as you placed your head on his shoulder, containing the tears that threatened to spill.

There was silence.

“Have you ever been in love?” He asked.

As Joel's question hung in the air, the weight of its implications settled over you like a heavy fog. You lifted your head from his shoulder, meeting his gaze with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. His eyes searched yours, holding a depth of curiosity and vulnerability that you hadn't expected.

"Have you ever been in love before?" He asked, his voice soft and earnest, as if he were searching for something in your answer, something beyond mere words.

You felt a lump form in your throat, the truth of your feelings threatening to spill out despite your best efforts to contain them. But you couldn't bring yourself to lie to Joel—not now, not when the walls you had built around your heart felt so fragile and precarious.

"Yes," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke the words that had long been buried deep within you. "Yes, I have."

Joel's expression softened, and his heart exploded at the tiny thought of being the one you loved. “And... is it someone I know?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal and how much to lay bare before him. But in the end, you couldn't deny him the truth, and you couldn't deny yourself the chance to finally speak the words that had remained unspoken for so long.

"Maybe,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly as you met Joel's gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and longing.

As the song ended, the room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your confession lingering in the air like a palpable presence. You and Joel stood there, locked in a moment of uncertainty, each grappling with the implications of your words.

Joel's gaze searched yours, his eyes filled with a myriad of emotions—surprise, confusion, and perhaps a glimmer of hope. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out, his thoughts seemingly tangled in a web of conflicting feelings.

“Wait, you have to tell me so you can be the next one to get married?” Your heart skipped a beat at Joel's attempt to lighten the mood, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the gravity of this situation inside you.

“I can’t.”

“Why? Any man would love to be with someone like you.” he encouraged.

“I can’t because that man is getting married tomorrow.” That's it. You had confessed your feelings for him.

A heavy silence settled between you, punctuated only by the weight of your confession hanging in the air. You could see the flicker of realization cross Joel's features, his eyes widening slightly as he processed your words.

The warmth that had filled the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by a palpable tension that wrapped around you both like a suffocating blanket. You watched as Joel's expression shifted, a myriad of emotions playing across his features—shock, disbelief, and perhaps a hint of sadness.

"I... I don't know what to say," Joel finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to find the right words. "I didn't realize... I mean, I never thought..."

His voice trailed off, and he looked away, his gaze fixating on a spot on the floor as he wrestled with his thoughts. You could feel the weight of his confusion and uncertainty pressing down on you—a heavy burden that threatened to crush you beneath its weight.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, the words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "I didn't mean to... I never meant for things to get this complicated."

Joel shook his head; his expression hurt as he finally met your gaze once more. "No, it's not your fault," he said softly. "I just...”

You nodded in understanding, knowing that this revelation had changed everything between you, perhaps irreparably so. But even as the reality of the situation sank in, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at finally speaking the truth, no matter how painful it may be.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Joel's question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of years of unspoken emotions.

You swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words to explain the complexities of your feelings. "I... I didn't know how," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was afraid of ruining our friendship, of losing you altogether."

Joel's expression softened, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek as he listened intently. "You could never lose me," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You're my best friend, and nothing could ever change that."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of Joel's understanding and compassion. "I know," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "But I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, even if it meant keeping my feelings hidden."

“And you had to wait all these years just to tell me the night before I got married!” He raised his voice; he had never done it before.

Your heart clenched at Joel's raised voice, the rawness of his emotions cutting through you like a knife. "I know, I'm sorry," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I should have told you sooner; I should have been honest with you from the beginning."

Joel's expression softened at your words, regret flickering in his eyes as he reached out to gently cup your face in his hands. "I'm not mad," he said softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "I'm just... I'm just surprised, that's all. I never knew."

His words trailed off, and you could see the turmoil churning beneath the surface, the weight of his impending marriage bearing down on him like a heavy burden. You reached out, tentatively placing your hand over his as you searched for the right words to ease his pain.

As the weight of your shared emotions hung heavily in the air, you and Joel sat in a charged silence, stealing glances at each other as if trying to decipher the unspoken words lingering between you. There was tension, a magnetic pull drawing you closer, and neither of you could resist its irresistible force.

With a trembling breath, you meet his eyes, knowing this would be the last time you would be this close to him.

His eyes also met yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty, mirroring the tumultuous emotions swirling within your own heart. And then, in a moment that felt both inevitable and electrifying, Joel closed the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender, achingly sweet kiss. It was a kiss filled with years of unspoken desires and unacknowledged feelings, a silent confession of the love that had always lingered just beneath the surface.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you melted into each other's embrace, the world falling away to leave only the two of you, lost in the swirling tide of emotions that threatened to consume you both.

As Joel deepened the kiss, his phone suddenly rang, breaking the spell of the moment and pulling you both back to reality with a jolt. You reluctantly pulled away from each other, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you tried to compose yourselves.

Joel's hand instinctively went to his pocket, retrieving his phone with a mixture of frustration and resignation. He glanced at the caller ID, his brow furrowing in confusion as he recognized the name flashing on the screen.

"It's Tess," he murmured, his voice tinged with apprehension as he answered the call. "Hey, Tess, what's up?"

You watched as Joel listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line, his expression growing increasingly tense with each passing moment. Your heart sank as you realized the gravity of the conversation unfolding before you, the weight of Joel's impending marriage casting a shadow over the fragile intimacy you had shared just moments before.

After what felt like an eternity, Joel finally ended the call, his hand trembling slightly as he lowered his phone. He turned to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and longing.

"I have to go," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tess needs me."

You nodded, your heart heavy with disappointment and resignation. "I understand," you replied, forcing a small smile despite the ache in your chest.

And with that, Joel gathered his things and made his way to the door.

“Joel.”

He stopped on his tracks by the door, looking at you without being able to look you in the eyes.

Joel's steps faltered at your words, his hand pausing on the doorknob as he turned to face you once more. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of confusion and concern.

“I’m not coming tomorrow,” you said.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to comprehend the significance of your statement.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage as you met his gaze head-on. "I mean, I can't be there tomorrow," you repeated, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling within you. “Not after this, so I’m going back to my house and I’ll move to New York just as I planned.”

“What?” Joel's voice wavered with disbelief, his eyes widening in shock at your words. He took a step closer to you, his expression pleading as if hoping you would take back what you had just said.

"Please, don't do this," he urged, his voice filled with desperation. "You can't just leave like this, not after everything that's happened between us."

You felt a pang of guilt at the anguish in Joel's voice, the weight of his words bearing down on you like a heavy burden. But you knew that staying would only prolong the inevitable, dragging out the pain and heartache for both of you.

"I have to," you said softly, your voice tinged with sorrow. "I can't stay here and watch you marry someone else, knowing how I feel about you. It's too much, Joel. I need to go."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke, the ache in your chest growing heavier with each passing moment. But despite the pain, you knew deep down that leaving was the only option, the only way to protect your heart from further damage.

Joel reached out to you, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to touch you. "Please, don't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. "I... I need you here with me."

You met his gaze, the intensity of his words washing over you like a wave. But as much as you longed to stay, you knew that leaving was the only way forward, the only way to find peace and healing for your shattered heart.

"I'm sorry, Joel," you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks as you turned away from him. "But you just kiss me, and I feel sick because you cheated, and I won’t be the other woman.”

Joel's shoulders slumped, and his face contorted with anguish as he realized the depth of his mistake. "Please, don't leave," he pleaded, taking a step closer to you. "I'll call off the wedding; I'll do whatever it takes to make things right. Just please, don't go."

“Do you even love me to do that?” you asked,

Joel's eyes widened at your question, his expression filled with a mixture of shock and desperation. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out, his thoughts seemingly tangled in a web of conflicting emotions.

The silence was defeating, and your heart sank at his response, the uncertainty in his words cutting through you like a knife. You had hoped for reassurance, for a declaration of love that would make everything right again, but instead, you were met with doubt and confusion.

And with that, you gathered your things and made your way to the door, leaving Joel standing alone in his living room, his heart breaking with every step you took away from him.

"You'll marry Tess, and I'll leave," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you disappeared from his sight.

The words echoed in Joel's mind long after you had gone. At that moment, Joel knew that he had to make a choice—one that would determine the course of his future and the fate of his heart. But as he sat alone in the silence of his living room, the weight of that decision felt heavier than ever before.

[seriesxwriting]

Hi! I have an idea, maybe you'll like it. The reader was born in the 19th century. She was from a rich family. She loved Damon. Her father made an agreement with Giuseppe and you were remembered as representatives of rich families. Damon couldn't go against his father, but he immediately had a negative attitude towards her because of that marriage was settled without his opinion. Her task was only to give birth to a child. When Catherine appears, she does not want to see an obstacle in the form of a legitimate wife. Emily casts a spell that everyone thinks the Reader is dead. She is laid in the family crypt. After 150 years, when Emily destroys the horcrux in Bonnie's body, the reader wakes up. Surprisingly, she is pregnant. But the Reader is offended by Damon. He ruined her life. And she's determined to keep Damon away from her child. She also tries to fit into the modern world. There's really one problem… gradually Damon realizes that he loves the writer, and Catherine and Elena were an obsession. Will he be able to get his wife back

Thank you for this request, I hope I displayed it how you envisioned it!

Second chances

Pairing: Damon Salvatore X female reader

Series: The vampire diaries

Summary: Request! You’re Damon’s Fiance from before he turned and you wake up from a curse finding yourself in a modern world while pregnant with Damon’s child. But distracted by Katherine, Damon was horrible to you before. Can you forgive him? Has he changed?

Warnings: Pregnancy? Swearing.

Second chances- The second (Number two)

My eyes opened to darkness. My first thought wasn't where I was, my first thought was what just happened. I blinked a couple times, trying to clear my brain of the fog, of the discombobulation. I heard distant moving behind my head which created this new thought. where was I, and how did I get out. I began trying to move but I didn't have much space, nor did I have much air. I struggled some more and began making grunting noises of distress before the shouting began. 'HELP" "GET ME OUT OF HERE".

A moment or two later I heard voices nearer to me. I stopped banging and tried to listen to them, to find out if they were friend or foe. "Hello?" one of them called out. "Where are you?" another voice asked. looking at my options I had no choice but to ask them for help, even if they were foe.

"In here" I cried out banging on what seamed to be stone. "It took a second but eventually I felt myself moving backwards and then the bright light attacked my face. I looked up at the three girls standing above me. They looked at each other then back down at me. "W-who are you" I asked looking at their clothes. Id never seen anything like it before. Women in mens clothes? trousers?.

"We're... um well i'm Bonnie and this is Caroline and Elena" one of the girls answered. "Why do you dress yourself in mens clothes and speak improper" I questioned shaking my head, trying to understand what is going on. “Um?” Elena threw me a weird look and the girls looked me up and down. “What are you guys doing?” A man’s voice appeared from outside.

“I’d know that voice anywhere” my eyes batted pulling my self out of the box in an act to escape. But it was too late. There behind the girls stood Damon Salvatore and his younger brother. “Y-y/n?” He stuttered looking at me like I was an alien. “It can’t be- you’re dead?” Stefan shook his head taking a step closer. “What in earths name is going on, I don’t like this game boys?” I folded my arms putting my head up. “You know her?” Bonnie raised an eyebrow. “T-that’s my fiance- from before I changed” Damon stated still obviously in shock.

“Your father wouldn’t be happy to hear you speak so improper and hang out with such obscure company” I frowned at him before looking around at my surroundings. “Gosh- everything looks so- different” I blinked realising something was wrong. “Y/n- it’s been over 100 years since you were out of that box- we thought you were dead but- you must have been turned too” Damon told me softly. My head whipped round to him, my eyes blazing with fire.

“You know Damon I once loved you- and after all the love I gave to you, you still treat me so uncouth” I scoffed putting my hands on my hip. “Y/n- Damon and I aren’t playing any games- it really has been over 100 years” Stefan told me, all their faces had a wipe of sympathy across them, and I hated it. “Nonsense- I have had enough- I shall tell my father I no longer want to be wed with you” I folded my arms and pushed past the girls but as I did my eye caught onto something. My father’s name was written on the tombstone next to me.

I stopped and stared at it thinking about nothing else but the words “it’s been over 100 years”. I turned to the boys with tears in my eyes. “Why does my father and my mother’s names lie on these tombstones in our family crypt” I asked almost in tears at the thought of them cold, dead in a box. “You know why Y/n” Damon took a step towards me and I took one back. “Those stories- about that girl being a vampire- the one you loved Katherine- they- they were true?”. No one answered me for a minute- they all looked around at one another.

“They must have been so- how else would you live all these years- and myself? Am I truly one of those beasts?” I asked them desperately, feeling the tears roll down my face. “No- you’re not- or you would have needed blood to wake up- I think my ancestor Emily put a spell on you- if you were due to marry Damon and Emily worked for Katherine I’m sure she would have had something to do with it” Bonnie folded her arms looking at Damon pissed off. “Y/n I’m really sorry- for how I treated you- for what happened- come back to my house we will get you cleaned up and catch you up” Damon put his hand out to me.

“You did not answer me” I shook my head at his hand. “Yes” he replied. That’s all he said. That’s all I’d had to go off. A whole new world and my only friend was my horrid Fiance who didn’t love me. but I suppose I had no choice. “I shan’t hold your hand but I will follow behind” I nodded with not hint of a smile. It was all too much for me. I wasn’t sure if I’d get on in this world- awful use of the English language, girls who dress like men?

As we left I kept my questions inside- though I had many. They helped me into what they called a Morden day car, and Damon drove me all the way to his house. Though there was all this new stuff stepping into his house was like a breath of fresh air. A lot of the decor looked as if it was made in my day. It felt familiar. They took me upstairs to what was a Morden day shower and Elena left me out some Morden day clothes. She made sure she gave me a dress and I told her I shan’t be wearing male attire.

And then Damon met me in the room. He took a seat on the bed and patted for me to sit down. “This is all rather a lot Damon” I sighed sitting down, crossing my legs properly. “How can I live in a world without my Father- I have not married” “women- don’t need to marry anymore- women can live on their own now” he shrugged with a little smile. “Women can work, drive, smoke- vote- women are independent now”. I swallowed finding what he said hard to believe. “But- I have nothing left” “I’m here” he told me reaching for my hand.

“And im so so sorry for how i treated you before- you don’t deserve that you didn’t- i was distracted by Katherine” he explained to me while tucking some hair behind my head. “You never loved me Damon- you loved her- we cannot be married, my father would not want me to marry you after hearing how you treated me- the things you said to me and did to me” I shook my head taking my hand from his. “I am present for you to explain how this disaster happened- and where I go now- what I do in this morden world- after that I wish never to see you again” I told him boldly.

Damon shook his head almost pouting at me. “Y/n you can’t mean that- i will apologise every day if you’ll let me please just don’t go- when I thought you were dead the guilt ate away at me so much until I turned my switch off- i couldn’t live knowing I could have had that life with you and I threw it away- but I’ve been given a second chance to fix it to make it up to you”. I suppressed an eye roll for his idiocy. “But I do not and can not love you anymore Damon” I folded my arms looking him dead in the eye.

I wish I felt a little more remorse because his heart looked like it was breaking. But I didn’t, he put me through a lot worse. "But where will you go Y/n? you have no money no family- you're human". That was true, and I felt my heart drop when I realised he was right. "You must tell me- it is your fault I am in this god forsaken position" I expressed as anger bubbled upside of me.

"I know- i'm so sorry- we could have just lived the normal human life- had children together... what I would do to go back" Damon looks away from me, I wasn't sure if he was hiding tears or just couldn't look me in the eye. "But we cannot" I answered bluntly after giving it a second. In that moment my stomach became incredibly sore, I wrapped my arms around it and breathed out to try and stabilise it once more. "Y/n?" Damon called out gently putting his hand on my arm. "Are you okay?" he moved closer as I let out a wince from the pain.

"I am- it is merely a stomach cramp I am sure" i breathed out trying to suppress the pain. But it wasn't working. "We should take you to a doctor, you were in that tomb a long time" he suggested taking a stand. "No- I would not like to waste a good physicians time" I shook my head adimant I wasn't going to go. "Come on Y/N, I want to make sure you're alright". I looked up at him, he was worried, it was written all over his face. But how could I be sure it wasn't all a game- the Salvatore boys liked games. I wouldn't be tricked by Damon.

"Okay- if we must" I nodded weakly and tried to stand, Damon supported me wrapping an arm around my waist and the other held my left hand. "This is the longest stomach cramp I have ever endured" I stated as we left his room. Damon told the others where we were going and insisted he didn't need any of there help, he then proceeded to help me into the car. I didn't know lots about this Morden day vehicle, but the pain I was in made me glad it went faster than a horse.

We arrived at the hospital and Damon once again helped me out the car. He used what he called 'vamp speed' to get round to me quicker than I could even blink. But that just made me even more weary of him. What other powers did he posses, what could he do to me? We rushed into the hospital and it was there I saw exactly what he was capable of. He compelled the doctor to give all his attention to me. I was rushed into a room and had scans done on my stomach. The doctor left to get my results, filling the room with awkwardness. I didn't want Damon in here to hear what was wrong with me.

But he was adamant he had to take care of me. "What was it like? waking up in there?" Damon asked me softly, as if he didn't want to offend me. I turned my head to him and blinked just staring for a second, maybe two. "Like I had just woken up from a sleep- but I did not realise how long it had been" I sharply put turning my attention away from him again. "Is there anything I can do to make up for what I did?". "Do you understand how absurd you sound- not only did you abuse me- physically and mentally- committed adultery, you got me stuck in another time, I missed my friends growing up, my parents will never watch me become wedded, and I have to fit into a world I was never supposed to be in".

Damon took a deep sigh in, he knew I was right. "God- what is wrong with me- I suppressed all the guilt for so long, I really mean it when I tell you i'm feeling it" he told me talking in a soft sympathetic voice. "Perhaps I believe you, but that does not change the past- or how I feel towards you" I told him harshly, I saw from the corner of my eye that he opened his mouth but in that second the doctor walked into the room. "I have good news" he smiled clutching his papers to his chest. "And- not so good news" he took a seat next to me and smiled.

"The not so good news is you are very malnourished my dear, it looks as if you haven't had a meal in 100 years" he chuckled trying to make a joke, but I looked at Damon gritting my teeth pissed off with him. "Well what's the good news?" Damon asked so that id stop looking at him. "The baby seems to be perfectly healthy, you just need to have a few large meals, gain some weight otherwise when you come to giving birth or even being heavily pregnant, complications will be serious".

"What- what are you talking about? what baby?" Damon questioned sitting on the edge of his seat. "D-did you not know you were pregnant?" he looked to me over the top of his glasses. "I- I did not" I muttered feeling my arms cross over my stomach protectively. "Thank you- doctor" I blinked staring at my arms. "Good luck with everything" he smiled sweetly before getting up and leaving.

I didn’t move. Not my body, not my mouth. “I-is it mine?” Damon asked me eventually. “Of course it is” I snapped at him throwing my legs off the bed and facing him. “Just because you commuted adultery does not mean I did too” I frowned at him angrily. “No I know- I just- I dunno it was a stupid question I just needed to say something” he admitted, but he didn’t have the same reaction as me. I saw a little smile forming on his face. “How is this funny” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Y/n I’m not laughing” he sighed rolling his head onto his shoulder and presenting a bigger smile now. “I’m happy- you know I’m - technically I’m dead I thought I was never going to procreate- I- this is a miracle”. Excitement definitely danced in his eyes, it was obvious- spread across his face and it was starting to flow through his body. His fingers were fidgeting now. “Y/n I am going to show you I’ve changed- we’re going to have a family together and I will never- ever let anyone hurt you or our child” he told me getting up and holding my hands in his. “I promise”.

“That is a ambitious promise Damon- considered you are the only one who has hurt me before” I told him standing up now. His body was close to mine, we were almost touching. I had forgotten how tall Damon was compared to me, he towered over me. But all I felt was fear. “How can I move past what has happened when you frighten me?” I whispered looking into his deep blue eyes. “You give me a second chance- you have to Y/n I’ve changed, please that’s all I ask of you” he begged me with those eyes of his. Those eyes that he could bat and get anything he wanted. By almost everyone.

“I simply cannot answer yet- it seems this new world allows women to have some power, maybe I must take that into consideration” my arms folded across my chest. My feelings were more than conflicted. “Of course, you can take all the time you need, I’ll take you home” he replied, the happiness had been almost ripped away from him, he only showed desperation now. Damon put a hand on my back as we walked back out towards the car. The journey home was silent, I watched the roads to see how mystic falls had changed.

And oh it had changed.

I went back into the house leaving Damon trailing behind me. “You can go back to the room if you feel like you want to be alone- I’ll get you some food you must eat” he told me. I didn’t turn around or say anything to him. Just climbed the stairs heading back up to the room. Damon walked into the living room where Stefan was sitting with Caroline, Bonnie and Elena. “Hey” Elena smiled, happy he had just walked in. “How’d it go?” Stefan raised an eyebrow. “Um- I’m gonna have a kid Stefan” the older brother looked him in the eyes from across the room.

“She’s? No? Really?” Stefan stuttered, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. “She’s pregnant” Elena spat out, her face covered in envy. “Yeah” Damon cracked a smile as he nodded his head. “I’m gonna be an uncle?” Stefan joined him standing up. Damon continued to nod and he let out a small laugh. His brother walked round the sofas to embrace him. “Congratulations brother” he whispered in his ear. “So what you’re going to start a family with her now?” Elena jerked her head back making Damon look back at her.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do- once she forgives me” he scratched the back of his head. “But what about us?” Elena blinked folding her arms tightly. “There is no us Elena- we broke up got together broke up again- we were toxic” “we were working on things” she interrupted sitting forwards now. “Not anymore, my Fiance is upstairs, the mother of my child- you where exactly what Katherine was, a distraction” he told her and with that he walked away from the conversation and into the kitchen to make some food.

About ten minutes later Stefan camp ran into the room, Damon turned to him with a confused look. “Why do you look so concerned” he tutted going back to what he was doing. “Damon- you need to go upstairs” he told him sternly. “I’m about to, just need to finish this sandwich” he murmured not paying much attention to his brother. “Damon, now” Stefan warned him, “it’s about Y/n” “is she okay?” Damon turned round fiercely, paying more attention now. “She’s gone”. Damon’s eyes blinked a couple times and he dropped the knife running off in a flash.

Stefan wasn’t far behind him. “I came to congratulate her and I found this note” Stefan sighed pointing at the bed. Damon couldn’t find any words, he wondered over to the bed and picked it up.

𝒟ℯ𝒶𝓇 𝒟𝒶𝓂ℴ𝓃，

ℐ 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓇ℯ 𝓈ℴ𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉， 𝒾 𝒶𝓂 𝓉ℴℴ． 𝒲ℯ 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝒷ℯℯ𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝓉ℴ𝑔ℯ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒾𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ𝒹 𝓂ℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓃．ℐ 𝒹ℴ 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝒻ℯℯ𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝒾 𝒷ℯ𝓁ℴ𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓉．𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ𝒻ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝒾 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝑔𝒾𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌ℯ𝓇 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝒾 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝓊𝓇ℯ ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝒽ℴ 𝒾 𝒶𝓂 𝓃ℴ𝓌． ℐ𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓃ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓂ℯ 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃， 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌ℯ𝓇，𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝒻 𝒾 𝒸ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝒾 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝒸𝒽ℴ𝓈ℯ𝓃 𝓉ℴ 𝒻ℴ𝓇𝑔𝒾𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊． ℐ 𝒶𝓂 𝓈ℴ𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝒷ℯ 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈，𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔ℯ𝒹 𝒾 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝓊𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎ℴu, 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓂ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒾 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝓅𝓇ℴ𝓉ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓂， ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃 𝒾𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝓀ℯℯ𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓂 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓎ℴ𝓊．

𝒲𝒽ℴ 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌𝓈，𝒾 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓈ℴℴ𝓃．

ℒℴ𝓋ℯ 𝒴／𝓃

“Well fuck…”.

Damon Salvatore masterlist

The vampire diaries masterlist

All series masterlist

Masterlist of masterlists

[astars-things]

luke just being the cutest uncle ever and it’s so obvious besides jack that he’s her favorite person

3 moments of Luke being the cutest uncle

1- The Bedtime Story Last night, Y/N begged Luke to read her a bedtime story. He picked one of her favorites, The Gruffalo, but of course, Luke couldn’t just read it—he acted it out.

Using different voices for every character, he had Y/N laughing and gasping in all the right places. When he got to the Gruffalo, he roared so loudly she squealed and hid under her blanket, only to peek out giggling.

After the story, Luke tucked her in and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, princess,” he whispered.

2- Tea party

“Uncle Lukey!” Y/N squeals the moment Luke steps inside. “You’re just in time for my tea party!”

Luke glances at me, one brow raised in mock distress. “Tea party?” he repeats.

I smirk. “Good luck.”

Five minutes later, I’m in the kitchen making coffee, and when I peek back into the living room, there’s Luke—cross-legged on the tiny pink rug, wearing a tiara Y/N must have forced on him. He’s holding a plastic teacup in one hand and pretending to sip like a proper gentleman.

“This is the best tea I’ve ever had, Princess Y/N,” he says in a serious tone, holding out the cup for a refill. Y/N giggles uncontrollably and pours him another round from her tiny teapot.

“You have to say ‘cheers,’ Uncle Lukey!” she insists.

“Of course! Cheers!” he says, clinking his cup with hers as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

I snap a quick picture to save the moment forever. It’s not every day you see a 6'2" hockey player wearing a tiara and calling a four-year-old “Your Highness.”

3- Playground adventures

we hit the park for some much-needed fresh air. Y/N immediately gravitated toward the playground’s tallest slide, but halfway up, she froze.

“Dada, it’s too high!” she called down, her voice shaky.

I started walking over, but Luke was faster. “Hey, Y/N, you’re not stuck,” he said calmly, climbing up to her. “You’re just a little scared. But guess what? I’m right here.”

She looked at him, unsure. “What if I fall?”

Luke smiled, sitting beside her on the platform. “Then I’ll catch you. But you’re strong and brave, so I know you can do it.”

With Luke cheering her on, Y/N finally slid down, shrieking with delight. When she landed at the bottom, Luke came down right after her, exaggerating his movements and landing in a mock superhero pose. “Told you we could do it!” he said, giving her a high five.

Her face lit up like the sun. “Uncle Lukey, you’re the best!” she declared, wrapping her arms around his leg.

[godricgryffinsnore]

A Constellation For You ♡ : A Sirius Black Fan Fiction.

pairing : Sirius Black x female!reader

summary : You have always loved Sirius Black, the boy who burned like a falling star—brilliant, reckless, and always just out of reach. But war is cruel, and love is not always enough to shield the heart from the sharp edges of betrayal and grief. When Sirius is imprisoned in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit, you are left with nothing but memories and an ache that refuses to fade. Years later, when he returns, broken but alive, you must navigate the ruins of what once was—mending wounds, facing ghosts, and daring to hope that love, despite everything, can survive.

warnings : mentions of war and its aftermath, emotional distress, grief, trauma, slightly self-destructive behavior (coping mechanisms), angst with a happy ending, canon-divergent timeline, death. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3. This entire work is broken into timelines.

Word Count : 1k

main master list <3

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I. A Love Like Fire.

There was a time when Sirius Black was everything.

He was the boy who never fit into the mold his family had carved for him, the firework that refused to burn quietly. You met him at Hogwarts, in the shadow of ancient stone corridors and within the golden glow of Gryffindor’s common room. He was reckless and charming, a tempest wrapped in leather and cigarette smoke. He would grin at you with that wicked, knowing smile—the kind that made your stomach swoop like the drop of a roller coaster.

And you, foolish as you were, loved him for it.

Sirius loved like he did everything else—recklessly, with a kind of fervor that felt like standing too close to the sun. He was poetry and destruction in equal measure, hands ink-stained from writing letters he never sent, lips brushing against yours between hurried whispers of love and war.

But war.

War does not care for love, and it certainly did not care for you or Sirius.

When James and Lily died, something inside Sirius shattered. You remember the last night before it all went wrong—before Peter’s betrayal, before the arrest, before Azkaban. He had held you like he was drowning, his breath ragged against your collarbone. "Stay with me," he had whispered, fingers tangled in your hair. "Always," you had promised.

You did not know that “always” could be stolen so easily.

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II. Years Without You.

The world without Sirius was quieter, colder. You carried grief like an iron weight, the absence of him a wound that never quite healed. The newspapers declared him a murderer, a traitor, and yet—your heart refused to believe it.

You searched for him in the stars. You whispered his name into the night air, wondering if, wherever he was, he could hear you.

But love is cruel. Love is not enough to break through the walls of Azkaban.

You tried to move on. You tried to let time soften the edges of your pain. But every time you closed your eyes, you saw him—his laughter in the halls of Hogwarts, the way he used to press his lips against your temple as if to say, I will always come back to you.

But he didn’t.

Or so you thought.

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III. Ghosts of the Past.

When Sirius Black returned, it was not the boy you had loved who stood before you.

It was a man who had suffered, whose bones carried the weight of twelve years behind bars, whose laughter had been stolen by Dementors. His hair, once silk-black, hung in tangled waves past his shoulders. His eyes—those sharp silver eyes—were hollowed, dark circles smudged beneath them like bruises.

And yet, when he looked at you, something flickered. A shadow of something familiar.

You didn’t know what to say. How do you speak to someone who has been a ghost for over a decade?

"It’s you," he breathed, voice hoarse. "Merlin, it’s really you."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "You came back."

A pause.

"I promised, didn’t I?" His lips twitched, as if attempting a smile that had long since been forgotten.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell him how much you hated him for leaving, how much you missed him, how unfair it was that life had stolen so much from the both of you. But instead, you reached out, trembling fingers brushing against his.

He flinched.

It broke your heart.

"Sirius…" you whispered.

His name tasted like something sacred on your tongue.

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IV. Learning to Breathe Again.

Healing was not easy. Sirius did not know how to be soft anymore.

There were nights when he could not sleep, when nightmares dragged him back into the darkness of Azkaban. He would wake up breathless, drenched in sweat, hands trembling. And you would be there, tracing the scars on his arms, pressing kisses into his knuckles as if to remind him that he was here, he was real, he was not alone.

"I don’t know how to be the man you loved," he admitted one night, voice raw.

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the sharp edges of his cheekbones. "Then we’ll learn together."

He exhaled shakily. "You shouldn’t have waited for me."

"I never stopped loving you."

The silence between you was heavy. Then, slowly, as if afraid you might disappear, Sirius leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. It was hesitant, uncertain, nothing like the way he used to kiss you.

But it was real.

And that was enough.

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V. The Universe Owes Us This.

Time stitched Sirius back together in fragments. He still had bad days, moments where the past clung to him like a second skin. But he also had you.

You reminded him of what it meant to live.

You laughed with him again, filling the empty spaces with warmth. You traced constellations on his back, whispering stories of the stars as he fell asleep beside you. You held his hand without fear, kissed him like you had all the time in the world.

One evening, as you lay tangled in bed, Sirius pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You were always my brightest star," he murmured.

You smiled against his skin. "And you are my favorite constellation."

For the first time in years, Sirius Black allowed himself to believe in love again.

For the first time in years, he was home.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[purple-goo-writes]

Punk Hazard

Now to put this into a story.

Part 2 Here

It was a normal day in Central City. The Flashes were fighting the latest team-up between Killer Frost and Captain Cold. So of course it was snowing in July now and traffic was stalled due to ìce attacks making the roads impassable. But the heroes had the villains on the ropes. Then a fresh wave of ice and cold came out of nowhere, covering everything and everyone in frost. Dropping the temperature further as the crunching of boots on ice drew everyone's attention. Dressed in distressed black leather pants with frosted chains, a black crop top with a deep v-neck lined with blue, and plenty of ice chains to rattle as he walked was a teen near Impulse's age with pale blue skin, elfin features, and long black hair streaked with white and blue. Blue lips pulled into a deadly smirk as the air started to thrum with vibrations and the beat of crackling ice, "Time to drop the beat down."

Unfortunately for the heroes, they were not familiar with this villain's move set or powers. And it seemed they had made a mistake in assuming that his powers were similar to the other two ice villains. Only to be thrown for a loop when they missed a beat and started to freeze. And the music was only getting faster and with it came faster ice attacks.

Later, Barry groaned as his team worked to get him, Wally, and Bart out of their ice prisons. The three of them were shivering and turning blue from how cold their core temps had dropped. Looked like they would be hitting the showers on max heat once thawed out.

"What in the world was that?" Wally groaned once he was finally freed, while Barry rubbed his hands together to get feeling back, "I don't know but we better get investigating to figure out how to fight this new guy."

"Yeah, I don't fancy being a Flash-cicle just because I can't keep the beat," Wally grumbled, "Dick is going to make me play sooo much Just Dance once he hears about our new villain."

"You noticed it too?" Bart shivered, taking his mind away from the fact that the new villain was around his age and rather interesting to look at. Something he hadn't noticed before on others. he shook his head, no he needed to focus, "We had to follow the beat of the music or we started to freeze up. It was pretty easy to do until he started to ramp up the difficulty. Also...He has to follow the beat as well."

Barry groaned softly as he wrapped the blanket handed to him around his shoulders, "Wally is right, we are going to have to start ramping up our Just Dance scores...Hal is going to laugh himself sick."

All three groaned realizing their respective teams were going to be insufferable.

---

"You are pretty badass, kid," Killer Frost smirked once they got away from the heroes, "What even are your powers?" "A cross between music manipulation and Ice control," He shrugged, "I've been calling it Cryo Symphony." "Got a name?" Captain Cold grunted looking over the little punk, though little probably only applied to age given the kid was nearly his height and in that awkward stage between Twink and Tank.

"I was thinking Punk Frost-" "Yeah no, I got Frost already covered and I'm not looking for a side kick," Killer Frost hissed at him, making the kid raise his hands in surrender, "Okay, how about Punk Hazard? After all, I am a punk and my powers are hazardous to other's health if they can't keep the beat." "Sounds good kid, now you got a place to stay?" Snart asked, tone gruff but concerned. He never liked seeing kids turn to the villain life, didn't really like kiddie heroes but at least they had more support then kiddie villains did.

"Ummm not really?" Danny shrugged, "Probably the bridge I've been sleeping under."

Even Frost looked concerned at that, causing Snart to sigh, "Yeah no, I got a safe house you can crash at. Come on, you look like you haven't eaten in days." Danny blinked in confusion, "Huh?" Making Frost snicker, "Sorry, kid looks like you've been adopted."

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward, and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. Takes place between BOTW and TOTK.

Heavily inspired by my Zelink thoughts

I wanted to dig into the dirty, grimly reality of being the saviors of the world and not knowing how to be the savior of yourself. But you can find that safety in another person.

Fan fiction warnings: Canon-typical violence, eventual smut (in later chapters, characters are consenting adults), references to self-harm, eating-disorders, and a lot of angst. Each chapter will have chapter-specific warnings.

Chapter one: I used to tie your shoes

Song: We’ll never have sex by Leith Ross

Summary: Fresh off Hyrule Field, Link and Zelda have to face life after the Calamity, and come to terms with the long road to physical, emotional, and mental recovery.

Warnings: Vomiting, trauma, canon-typical violence, eating-sensitivity

Word count: 3.7k words

Author’s Note: I am so excited to share this. Please share and support this in anyway. I drew this art for the cover :) chapter begins after the page break. I love you guys. Also, these chapters won’t be heavily edited. Ignore any grammatical/spelling errors pls

Time. We never seem to have enough time. Green grass burns soft red embers into the field, a horse’s mane is rebraided at the nearest stable, and the stars shine as if nothing changed. Because it hadn’t, not really. The sun will still rise in the east and set in the west. The birds will still sing their songs at daybreak and the fireflies will still flicker at dusk. Nothing changed, but everything did. The air feels lighter, the sun feels warmer and yet Zelda’s fingers still shake as if she was in the snowy Hebra peaks.

The Princess by nature, is very gentle. She’s soft and patient at heart, but was placed under such strenuous situations all through her youth that caused her to often snap or lash out. But not now. Currently she is silent, stone-cold and confused. She was in shock. And Link could tell.

“Here.” He pulls out a baked apple from his pack, handing it to her. He has to get her attention twice before she finally takes it, their hands brushing for a moment. Her awareness returns to her gaze then, her bright-green eyes meeting his.

“I-I’m so sorry.” She sighs, her voice weak. “I’m just… so tired.” Link tries not to show his distress, but she notices his demeanor change as well. “How much further?” She says, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Probably another hour and a half. It’s just through those mountains.” He points.

“Dueling peaks. I remember.” She nods. “I remember everything.”

“Everything?” He asks as he starts to dig around a pack on the rear end of Epona, searching for his rito attire. It was starting to get dark, and she hadn’t stopped shaking since they left Castle Town almost three hours ago.

Zelda nods once.

Her silence speaks volumes.

He yanks out his snowquill armor, finally. “Do you remember anything from the last hundred years?” She doesn’t answer right away, she instead takes a smaller than small bite out of the apple. “Zel? Can I put this on you? You’re still shivering.” He asks, looking at her blank, traumatized stare. “It’s from the Rito, it’s soft as a cloud and will keep you warm for the rest of the way.”

“The Rito.” She sighs. “Revali…”

Link realizes that she hasn’t had any time to process what she just went through. She had spent the last one hundred years deeply focused, probably in a trance-like state. He places a hand on her cheek. “Look at me.” His voice is gentle and welcoming, not forcing her at all. She looks at him, their eyes locking. “Breathe with me.”

They take two deep, heavy breaths. They sync their inhales, exhaling together.

“It’s over. It’s all over, okay?” He reassures her. “It’s not coming back. It’s just us now, alright?”

She swallows, still emotionless. “You’ve changed.” She says.

“So have you.” Link smiles in an attempt to comfort her. “Can I put this shirt on you?” He asks again. She answers faster than she usually had, nodding twice this time. Link bunches up the excess fabric before pulling the head-opening over her hair. He then guides each one of her hands through the arm-holes. Link takes a moment to adjust the garb around her torso until it was probably positioned around her shaking body. She immediately sighs in relief.

“You talk more.” She mumbles, looking at him as he gently wraps his fingers around her long, golden hair and softly pulls it out of the shirt, knowing how much it irritates him when his hair is loose underneath a shirt.

He smiles again, “I do. Some people say I don’t shut up.” He tries to lighten the mood.

“Like who?”

“Impa.” He sighs.

Zelda’s eyes light up with that name. “Impa?”

He hums and nods. “We can go visit her when you’re feeling stronger, okay?”

“Okay…” Zelda looked down into her lap, the skirt of her goddess dress was barely white anymore. “I am going to get stronger, right?” She asks, her voice tender and broken.

Link’s heart sinks. Not because he’s worried she won’t, but rather because he feels responsible for putting her in this state.

“Of course.” He reassures. He believed it. He wanted to believe it.

“I’m… just so tired.” She repeats herself.

“I know, come on, let's get you a bed.” He then picks her up bridal style from the ground. They had stopped in the first place to get that rito armor for her. She rests her head against his chest as he lifts her onto Epona. She smells like burnt oil and exhaustion. He probably isn’t smelling any better.

They wouldn’t get to Hateno until noon at the earliest tomorrow, and traveling wasn’t doing anything for her recovery. He gets on Epona behind her, letting her weak body rest against his chest as they make their way to Dueling Peaks Stable. The road is quiet, so much quieter than it ever has been. The pair of lizalfos always swimming in the river aren’t there, and even the crickets suppress their chirps.

It’s post-apocalyptic. Literally. Link isn’t sure how to feel.

She throws up a few hundred feet from the stable. She gags and lurches over the side of the horse, somehow managing to keep it off of anyone. Not much comes out, she hasn’t eaten in over a century, but Link frowns when he realizes the apple probably triggered it. He silently curses himself out for causing her any form of distress. She dry heaves violently, and Link tries to hold her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. When she finishes, she holds her breath.

She can’t decide if she feels like she lost a bit of dignity or not. She holds back the tears that well in her eyes. Link breathes in to say something, but she raises her hand in protest. She would rather they act like it never happened. Neither of them say anything from there on, they just keep riding the final minute of the journey.

Everyone at the stable was asleep except for an attendant… who was also treading precariously between consciousness and a deep rest behind the counter.

“Excuse me?” Link asks to wake him up, hopping off of Epona after making sure Zelda would still be comfortable in his absence. She would never admit she wasn’t.

The man stirs awake with a jolt. He yawns, slightly startled, “So sorry, young man.” Link wouldn’t necessarily call himself young. He smirks softly.

“I’d like to board this horse till the morning, and we’d like one soft bed, please.” Link nods before setting down the required rupees. The man squints his eyes, taking the money in hand.

“Ah! It’s you! Link, was it?” He asks when Link turns his back to help Zelda down from the horse. “Jeez, you haven’t passed through here in at least six months! We were holding onto that old mare for you!” He gestures to their stables where a small gray spotted horse sleeps. Link’s first horse since he woke up from his century-long slumber. He only rode her in the beginning, when he was doing chores between Hateno, Kakariko and one time a longer trip to Zora’s Domain. But she’s old and weak, which is why she was easy to catch when Link was still regaining his strength. He stopped taking her out when he found Epona in the western part of Central Hyrule.

“Yeah… you guys can let her free.” He says as he sets Zelda down on the ground. She holds her cold hands together.

“Well uhh.. we tried. You see, after four months at a stable we let go of any forgotten pony’s, but she kept coming back.” He chuckled, his voice exhibiting a distinctive nasality.

“Here,” Link hands him a red rupee, not wanting to discuss an old horse any longer when he literally has the closest thing to a God in this world resting her head on his back. “Keep her for another month, I’ll come take care of her then. Okay?” Link asks. “Can I get that bed now?” Not impolite or forceful, he never was. He’s assertive but has a comforting cadence to his tone. For being such a talented swordsman, guard and easily the most deadly hylian in the entire kingdom, he was never rude or condescending. He was welcoming, and little kids often looked up at him with intimidation when they first met him, but it didn’t ever take long until they were chasing him with tree-branches while he fled and begged for mercy, letting them take him down with ease. The kids at the stables loved him, knew him by name, and would play as him in their silly pretend games.

The stable-man replies, “Of course! But you only asked for one bed, it’s not big enough to fit both of you.”

“I know, it’s for her not me.” Link then starts to guide her into the stable, where it’s much warmer and safer. Just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean it's safe. Hyrule is a dangerous place by nature, especially if you’re two century-old Gods being hunted for sport with the faces of children.

“You won’t sleep?” Zelda asks quietly behind him.

He doesn’t directly answer, and instead guides her to the bed. She’s weary, and he’s terrified of her not waking up. He wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he wanted to. He helps the Princess sit in the bed, and kneels before her to untie her sandals. When he touches the leather, he immediately gets transported into another memory.

It rips through him, just like the memories he had images of. Suddenly, he’s kneeling in the same position, but instead he was outside of the spring of courage. He looks up to see the clear sky, it’s sunset, and then his eyes meet Zeldas. Her face is rosy, and her eyes don’t have the blank stare they possess in the current time. He looks down at his fingers, tying the straps around her ankle.

“Really, you don’t have to do that.” She hums. He doesn’t respond. He never did back then. He finishes wrapping the leather around itself and then stands up. His face is emotionless. She looks at him, they’re about the same height. “I won’t be long this time.” She says. “I’m not expecting much anyways.” She sighs and then walks past him, but before she can get very far, he gently grabs onto her arm, holding her back. He doesn’t say anything but she can read his expression. He’s trying to tell her to have faith this time, just one more time.

Surely the Goddess would commune with her.

She shakes her head, and wades into the warm waters of the spring. Link turns to watch her, how her hair cascaded down her back, how her hands balled into fists. She turns around to look at him, their eyes meet. She smiles.

He comes back as fast as the scene played in his memory. He blinks a few times, and looks up at her. She doesn’t look any different, very little—if any—time seemed to pass. He doesn’t usually experience memories with someone, he wonders if she realized anything happened. Link didn’t even consider the fact he would keep receiving memories after the fact. His stomach turns, he feels like he’s lived two completely different lives and is forced to remember things from one that he doesn’t even relate to anymore. He doesn’t feel like the same person, the boy he was a hundred years ago is a complete stranger to him.

Link much preferred this life.

And that scares Zelda.

“I just remembered something.” He says. Zelda hums in response, a light-hearted noise that implies an inquiry. He elaborates, “I used to tie your sandals for you at the springs, didn’t I?” He asks.

Zelda smiles for the first time since they defeated Ganon. It’s a small pull of her lips, not showing any teeth but her eyes finally light back up. After she had asked if he remembered her on the field, she collapsed, not even aware of her own exhaustion until that moment. He ran to her aid, and ever since then she felt woozy, it only got worse the further from the castle they got.

“You did, yes.” She says. “I never asked you to, but since I was in the dress, you insisted.” She sighs. Link grunts in response. “It was very chivalrous.” Zelda adds.

They look at each other for a minute. Not saying anything. It was late, and two beds down there was a set of kid brothers sleeping. Link remembered them from their last visit. One of them wanted nothing to do with him, trying to act mature and ‘cool’. Link eventually won him over, though. They don’t speak out of fear of waking anyone. Zelda’s smile slowly fades away, and Link swallows thickly. They will never be the same.

He pulls her sandals off, her feet are filthy with century-old mud. He silently smiles about that. The closest thing to a Goddess in the entire world has dirty feet. How human of her.

Then, after pulling down the heavy rito-down blanket so she can slide in, he helps Zelda swing her legs into the bed. He pulls the blanket up to her neck, she lays on her side facing him. Her hands find their way up to her face, resting her cheek against them. Link pulls a short stool over to the bed, sitting on it and looking at her, bending at the waist.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” She asks in a timid, sleepy voice.

Link’s heart just about breaks when she asks. “Never.” He shakes his head. He takes his gloved hand and tucks a piece of her loose hair behind her pointed-ears. He lets his fingers linger a little bit longer than they should. “I will never ever leave you again.”

“Promise?” She asks, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Promise.” He whispers, “Just as long as you promise to never leave me, okay?” He asks, ignoring the lump in this throat.

“Promise.” She says, taking her pinky finger and sticking it out for him. He wraps his finger with hers, which is far daintier and softer than he's ever been. She is a Princess, after all.

“Wake up in the morning, okay?” He whispers.

“Mhm.” She hums as her eyes slowly close. He tries to disconnect their pinky fingers, but she holds onto his. He leaves his hand in that position, letting her hold it until she falls fast asleep.

Link doesn’t move his hand until he’s certain it won’t wake her up from her much needed rest. He looks at her gentle, soft face. No one even understands what she just went through, no one ever will. He’s worried sick that she won’t make it through the night, and he keeps leaning his head down to listen to her breathing, or places a few fingers against her forehead to check her temperature.

He does his best to stay vigilant the entire night, not once even looking away from her. But just before the sun rises, his body suddenly catches up with his mind. He also just had the most demanding battle of his life. His muscles started to ache, and he developed a headache. He was just a boy, after all. More than anything, his sword arm was weak, and fire-hot pain shot up and down through it. He probably overused it fightin the calamity.

He keeps telling himself that he’s fine. He has to be fine, for Zelda. His arm isn’t that bad, what really hurts was his heart. Usually he’d just down a fairy tonic and maybe go to the hot springs if he was in the area but this pain was different. A twisting and contracting ache in his chest pulled and tugged on his lungs and pulse. It’s the same pain he felt when he remembered Mipha, and more specifically, the pain he felt when he dreamed about his family before the resurrection.

The dream that gave him the memories of a little sister with blonde hair like his collecting fireflies in her pockets. Her laugh echoing, the call of an older man, the image of a royal guards sword leaned up against the dinner table. The touch of his father’s hand as he rubs Link’s back to sleep.

Link’s first sword.

He wakes up like a fire, standing up and almost toppling over. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep. He could hear the soft tune of the penny whistle playing the standard stable theme, and the two little brothers played tag outside. He curses and looks down at Zelda.

Her bed is empty, and his heart completely stops. He starts breathing hard and heavy, his entire nervous system feels as though it’s pulled into stasis. How could he make such a foolish mistake? He swings his sword over his back, strapping his shield to his leathers and turns around in a wild-hunt to see the Princess sitting at the round stable table, drinking out of a mug and speaking gently with an older man.

Link takes a breath of relief, and approaches the two.

“Good Morning.” She smiles up at him. Her voice sounded much better, and her eyes finally had life back into them, but she still wasn’t herself. Her skin still looked sickly, her face hollowed out and eyes droopy. Any progress is good progress, Link decides then and there.

“I… didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Link sighs. “I’m so sorry. When did you wake up?”

“Oh not long ago, maybe twenty minutes? I didn’t want to disturb you-”

“You should have.” He interrupts her and her words get swallowed out of surprise. Link realizes that he snapped at her a little, and immediately becomes apologetic. “I’m sorry, again. I just…”

“You’re worried about me. I understand.” She takes his hand, her bones frail. In many ways, she physically looked worse today than last night. But at least she could hold a conversation. He nods. Zelda notices the tension, and changes the subject, “This kind gentleman was telling me about when you saved the stable from a horde of lizalfos about a year ago.”

Link looks over at the man, Giahzo. “Oh that was nothing, it was just two green lizalfos and a blue one who wandered too close to the stable.” Link hums. Their hands were still held together by Zelda.

“Don’t be so modest!” The old man chuckled, “Without you, it would have been a disaster! The number of monsters means nothing, especially when you don’t know how to fight!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Link smiles and then realizes he and Zeldas hands, he’s the one to pull it away. “What are you drinking?”

“I’m not sure…” Zelda begins and Link immediately snatches the mug from her hand. “Hey!”

“You can’t just drink something mysterious.” Link scolds.

“Oh it’s just a bit of Hateno Milk.” The man assures. Link looks at him, then Zelda, and then into the mug to see the creamy liquid. He brings it to his nose and smells it, and then takes a sip of it. Sure enough, it was just milk.

“I’m sorry, Giahzo.” He apologizes and places the mug back down. “I’m just on high alert.”

“Do not apologize to me, apologize to this lovely young lady you’ve graced us with.” The elderly man smiles with a chuckle, his eyes wrinkling up with his age. Zelda smiles, blushing a little, “Tell me, dear, where are you from? We don’t get many new faces at this stable these days.”

Zelda looks at him, her eyes sad. A hundred years ago every person in Hyrule knew her face. She looks at Link, unsure how to answer.

“She’s from the Outskirts stable.” Link covers for her. “Her family used to reside in Central Hyrule before the Calamity.”

“Yes.” Zelda immediately chirps, “We’re headed to Hateno for…”

“A honeymoon!?” Giahzo smiles brightly. Both Link and Zelda freeze in their tracks, and Link hopes he doesn’t look as embarrassed as he feels. “Hateno is a great Honeymoon destination! Although I’ve heard Lureline is even more splendid!” He clasps his hands together.

“Research.” Zelda clarifies, “so sorry to disappoint.” She chuckles politely, making a conscious effort not to look at Link. “I’m researching… population dynamics in Hyrule.” She makes something up that sounds completely believable.

“Of course.” Link then says, “I’m just escorting her there, we are total strangers.”

That breaks Zelda’s heart.

She knows he’s just trying to be extra careful, pushing her anonymity as much as possible. And in a way, it wasn’t a total lie. But it cut her like a knife.

“I see…” Giahzo doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to stop by. Hopefully the monsters will start to die down.” He smiles and stands up, moving outside.

Zelda is still afraid to look at Link, and he’s a little bit shaken up by the entire interaction. He knows the Yiga are still out there, he knows that there are people who will try to take advantage of her for power or money. He has no reason to suspect anything from the old man, but he can’t help himself from being deliberate. He senses her tension and walks back to the bed to gather their things.

“You should have woken me up.” Link says as he picks up a satchel full of food and readjusts his gloves.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was timid and tired. He turns around to see her, her green eyes looking up at him apologetically. “I didn’t know it would worry you so.” He approaches her.

“Of course it worries me.” He sighs. “I spent three years trying to get you out of that castle, I’m not gonna lose you on the first night.” He holds his hand out for her to trade, helping her up. She must not have rested as well as he thought, because as soon as she gets on her feet, she almost topples right over him. He catches her, holding her up before she collapses. “Woah there.” He mutters. “You alright?”

She nods, “Let’s just get to that house you told me about.”

—

chapter two

[smilingformoney]

Champagne Problems

Chapter 1. IOU

Lionel/Reader

Summary: It's the summer of 1971 and Lionel Shabandar is 18. With school behind him and university ahead, he has the world at his fingertips. A chance meeting brings you into his orbit, and life will never be the same again.

Word count: 7.5k

AN: I tried, guys. I really tried to make this short. But it's not. It's a growing behemoth. I regret nothing.

warnings: references to divorce and past domestic violence

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

1971

You were standing on your tip-toes, trying to peek through the annoyingly high window of the boys’ college, when you were startled by a voice.

“The boys’ changing room is in the east wing.”

You jumped and lost your balance, grabbing onto the wall for purchase. You looked up, embarrassed, at the person who’d startled you.

It was one of the boys from the college. He had blonde hair, swept to the side like all the boys had, narrow eyes, an aquiline nose and thin lips that sported a smirk around the cigarette he was smoking. He was quite cute, you thought, even if he held that pretentious “I’m better than you” air that all the boys in the college did.

“I’m not looking for the changing room, I’m not a perv,” you insisted. “Do you know they’ve got Monets in there? Like, real, actual Monets, not copies.”

The boy looked at you curiously.

“Yes, I know. I saw them in my Art class this morning. Well, if you’re casing the joint to steal them, you’re not doing a very good job.”

“No, I just wanna see them.”

“You… want to see the paintings?”

“I know, I know, it’s dorky…”

“Not at all. Well, okay, a little bit. Do you want to see them? I’m sure I can convince the Art teacher to let us in after school.”

“What, you gonna threaten to have your father fire his father?” you snarked.

The boy shrugged and stomped out his cigarette.

“Well, if you don’t want my help…”

“No, wait!” you said quickly as the boy went to leave. “Yes, please. Would you help me?”

The boy smirked at you. “Alright. But you’ll owe me.”

“I have money —”

“Yeah, so do I. I’ll figure out what you owe me. Meet me at the front gate at 4 o’clock.”

He turned and left, and you realised far too late that you hadn’t asked the boy his name.

- - -

“It’s Lionel,” he told you later when you met him outside the front gate to the college and asked. “Lionel Shabandar. You?”

“[Y/n].”

“Just [Y/n]?”

“Just [Y/n].”

“Alright, just [Y/n]. Come with me.”

He beckoned you to follow him into the college, which looked just as fancy inside as it did outside, its interior looking like something out of a period drama.

“Wow, you literally go to school in a castle,” you gasped.

“It’s not a castle, it’s just medieval. Stop.”

“Huh?”

Lionel pushed you back before you could follow him around a corner. He peered around the corner, waited a few moments, then beckoned you to follow him.

“Prefect,” he explained in hushed tones. “I’ll get a lashing if I’m seen sneaking a girl in. I’m really putting myself on the line for you here, you know.”

“You still haven’t told me what I owe you,” you whispered.

“I’m still thinking about it. Quickly — through here.”

He ushered you through a door into one of the blocks.

“Then why are you risking a lashing for me?” you asked as he escorted you down the corridor, past a row of classrooms. “I didn’t even ask for your help.”

Lionel shrugged. “Can’t a gentleman help a girl in need?”

“I am not some damsel in distress,” you said firmly. “Don’t go thinking you’re getting a kiss out of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just really, really nice. What school do you go to, by the way?”

“St. Swithun’s,” you lied.

“Day or boarding?”

“Er, day.”

“Ah, so you’re not sneaking out then. Here we are.”

Lionel opened the door to the last classroom in the corridor and held it for you.

You entered the classroom, and your eyes widened when you saw the walls, lined with actual, real Monet paintings.

“Ah, this must be our secret guest,” said the teacher, who was sitting at his desk, apparently waiting for you. He looked at you and sighed. “Shabandar, you didn’t mention your friend from another school was a girl!”

Lionel shrugged. “Is it important?”

“Yes! You know the rules about girls. Right, fine, she’s here now. What’s your name, miss?”

“[Y/n].”

“[Y/n], I’m Mr Barton. Shabandar tells me you’re interested in Monet.”

“Yes, I just wanted to look at them — but if me being here’s a problem, I can go…”

“It’s only a problem for Shabandar, especially if you’re caught near the boarding house,” the teacher said with a stern look at Lionel. “Did he tell you what we agreed?”

“…No?”

“This is instead of my exam,” Lionel explained. “I have to explain each painting to you.”

“And answer any questions you have, so don’t hold back, [Y/n],” Mr Barton added. “Alright, when you’re ready, Shabandar.”

He sat back with a pen and notepad, ready to assess Lionel’s painting-explaining abilities. Lionel showed you to the first painting and, as he explained it to you, you found your eyes drifting away from the canvas you’d tried so hard to see and back to the strange boy who’d agreed to help you see it.

You had met boys from the college before. Each one you’d met had been aloof, stuck-up, pretentious, all the adjectives one would expect to describe posh rich boys from a posh rich boy college. And Lionel definitely gave off the pretentious air you’d come to expect from a boy in his uniform. But… he was also here, helping you to see the Monet paintings. And you were sure he was going to pass his exam, because he told you about each one in detail, and he seemed genuinely excited about them. He told you so much detail, in fact, that you struggled to think of questions to ask.

“The best until last… this one is my favourite,” Lionel said admiringly as you reached the final painting, a landscape of a field with a stack of hay in it. “Haystacks at Dawn. There’s a twin painting, Haystacks at Dusk, but it’s lost.”

He spoke animatedly about the painting, and you took the opportunity to ask him questions about the twin painting, but apparently there wasn’t much to say about it other than it was lost.

“Very good, Shabandar,” said Mr Barton as Lionel wrapped up his spiel about the last painting. “I’ll think about your mark over the weekend. Now, let me escort your friend out, I don’t want you getting into trouble. Get back to your dormitory.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Before you had chance to say anything, Mr Barton was shooing you out of the classroom, closing the door behind him before escorting you down the corridor.

“So - um - did Lionel do well?” you asked. “Obviously I can’t say if everything he said was correct, but it was really interesting. He sounded like knew what he was talking about.”

Mr Barton laughed. “Mmm, Shabandar’s good at that. Sounding like he knows what he’s talking about. Well, I hope you enjoyed your little peek into the boys’ world. Don’t go telling your friends about it, or they’ll all want to have a look, eh?”

“Yeah, no, of course. Um, thank you.”

“Anything for an art enthusiast. So many of the boys here are clearly bored in my class, they have no appreciation for the strings I had to pull to get these paintings in for them. I’m glad someone appreciates it.”

“Oh, yes, it was amazing! Reproductions can never do the originals justice.”

“Well said,” Mr Barton agreed as he opened the front gate for you. “Well, have a good evening, [Y/n]. Do watch how you go.”

You left, feeling suddenly rather hurried, and the gate closed behind you, sealing you off from the strange world of the boys college.

And, you realised with a little disappointment, sealing you off from Lionel.

- - -

Lionel Shabandar had a problem, and that problem was you.

“I can’t believe I didn’t get her number,” he groaned for the third time that day. It was Sunday, the one day a week they were allowed out of school, and he was in the pub with Sinclair, his cousin, who was very eager to hear the story of the cute girl Lionel had found trying to peek into the art block earlier in the week.

“We should try to find her!” Sinclair suggested.

“No, I already tried. I asked around; there is no [Y/n] that goes to St Swithun’s. Either she lied about her name or her school. It’s hopeless.” Lionel sank down in his seat miserably. “Just leave me here to die.”

“It is not hopeless,” Sinclair said firmly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his trusty notebook and pen. “Let’s write down everything we know about her. Her name’s [Y/n], she says she goes to St Swithun’s… let’s put a question mark by that one. She likes art. What does she look like?”

“Pretty. Really pretty. Honestly, Sinclair, you should have seen her.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down. Hair? Eyes?”

“Gorgeous and gorgeous.”

Sinclair shook his head and laughed. “Li, believe me, I am so happy to see you lovestruck. But you need to get it together. This could be the love of your life here!”

Lionel sighed reluctantly. “Fine. Let’s see, her hair…”

As Lionel described your appearance, Sinclair diligently wrote down every detail, his tongue between his teeth and his brow furrowed in concentration as he scribbled.

“Okay, we’ve got some idea. We know she likes art — maybe we could start with that? There’s got to be an exhibition or something on somewhere that she might show up at. What about the Guildhall?”

“She might not even live around here. Maybe she came to Winchester just to peek at the Monets.”

“Then she’s likely to come back for something even bigger that she could have access to! And maybe she’s looking for you, too. I bet she is, she’s probably just as frustrated as you are.”

“Alright, fine,” Lionel sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. “Let’s see if there’s anything on at the Hall.”

There was an art exhibition due at the Guildhall, but it wasn’t for another week, Lionel and Sinclair discovered when they stopped by to enquire.

“I didn’t know there was so much going on in the city!” Sinclair said as they left, a handful of leaflets in his hands. He’d found each and every leaflet on display in the Guildhall very interesting, and had insisted on taking one of each.

“None of those are going to help us find [Y/n],” Lionel said.

“They might! What if she’s in one of the photos!” Sinclair gasped, and he immediately began looking through the leaflets. “You never know, maybe she’s really into… local rambling groups. Or… over-65s health clubs. Okay, maybe not that one…”

“What I don’t understand is why she lied,” Lionel said, not listening to Sinclair’s ramblings as he sorted the leaflets by most to least likely to feature a teenage girl they knew very little about. “What do you think’s more likely, that she lied about her name or her school?”

“School,” Sinclair said immediately, not looking up from the leaflet he was scanning over. “Hey, is this her?”

He held up a leaflet for a volunteer group. Lionel shook his head. The girl on the front matched your description, but it wasn’t you.

“You sound rather certain,” Lionel said.

“Why would she lie about her name?”

“Why would she lie about her school?”

“‘Cus she wanted to seem like an equal, and she thought if she said she went to St Swithun’s, you’d be impressed.”

Lionel sighed and leaned back against the wall.

“Maybe this exhibition next week is our best bet. Will it be open on Sunday?”

“Yes, it’s open 8-4 weekdays, and 10-3 weekends.”

Lionel didn’t even question why Sinclair had memorised the opening times already. His cousin had a memory like a steel trap for useless information, but anything useful went in one ear and out the other.

“Right. Next Sunday it is.”

- - -

While Sinclair and Lionel were meandering around the city trying to think of ways to find you, you were having a crisis of your own.

You couldn’t stop thinking about that boy you’d met from the college. Lionel Shabandar. Even his name sounded pretentious… but still, he’d helped you. Why had he helped you?

Every other weekend was your contact weekend with your dad, so while Sinclair and Lionel were hoping to catch a glimpse of you in Winchester, you were in Basingstoke, helping your dad out in the café he owned there. It wasn’t until Sunday evening, when the two boys returned to school, that you went back to Winchester where you lived with your mum.

If you could, you’d have staked out the college, and the few times that you did walk past it, you scanned the groups of boys outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lionel, but you had no luck.

You knew about the exhibition, and you did go — on the Saturday. Lionel wasn’t allowed out of school grounds until Sunday, so while he, assisted by Sinclair, lurked around the exhibition hoping to see you, you were at a friend’s house, being relentlessly teased for having a crush on one of the college boys.

An entire month passed, and both of you were too preoccupied with your A-level exams to continue your hunt for each other. Still, every time you passed the college, you looked for him.

You found each other again by pure chance.

It was the first weekend after your exams had finished, and you were with your dad, which meant working in the café.

You’d never seen him here before. You were sure you’d never seen him here before. You’d have recognised him when you met him outside the art block. A cute face like that wasn’t one you were bound to forget.

He was acting weird. He didn’t seem to recognise you, but more than that, he was being really friendly. Okay, so you didn’t really know him that well, or at all. But this was like a split personality or something.

Maybe it was because he was with his mum. At least, you assumed the woman he was with was his mum. She looked a lot like him. That was probably it, he was probably acting really nice to the coffee girl to impress his mum.

“Go on, go out and get some sun,” your dad said to you not long after Lionel and his mum left. “It’s quiet, I can cope on my own.”

“Ooh, no, Dad! You said the Q word!”

Your dad gasped and clutched his heart. “Oh, mercy, so I did! I’ve brought the curse down! Well, it’s my curse to bear. Go on, go be a kid.”

“I’m eighteen, Dad.”

“Then go be a pensioner, I don’t care, just get out of my sight.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” you laughed as you untied your apron. “I’ll come back in an hour to check you’re not busy.”

“No, you will not. You’re banned from work for the rest of the day.”

“You said it, not me!” you said with a grin before dashing out of the café, daring to hope that Lionel hadn’t gone far.

You turned left up the road, and were almost knocked over when someone walked right into you.

“Oof! Oh, sorry!” you said quickly. “Are you okay?”

It was, you realised, Lionel. Again.

You glanced over his shoulder and saw that his mum was up the road, waiting for him.

“No, that’s okay! I was coming back to find you, actually,” he said.

“Oh! Well, you found me.”

“Yes! Um, I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Sinclair.”

Your brain short circuited for a moment.

“Sinclair?” you repeated stupidly. Why was he giving you a different name?

“Er… yes? I know it’s usually a surname, but it’s my first name. Anyway - what’s your name?”

He seemed to be buzzing with energy, as if he were excited about something but trying - and failing - to contain it. His voice was similar, but different, than the other day. He was like an entirely different person.

You’d told Lionel your name the day you’d met.

“Um, it’s [Y/n]. Listen, do you… have a brother?”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up. “Ha, I’ll tell him you said that! You mean Lionel, right? He’s my cousin. This might seem like a mad question but… did you meet him a few weeks ago outside the art block at Winchester College?”

“Yes!” you said eagerly — too eagerly? “Yes, I did!”

“Oh my god! I found you!”

“Oh my god! You were looking for me?”

“Yes! Well, not me, Lionel. Well, I was helping. We’d almost given up… I didn’t even realise until I was halfway up the road with Mum - that’s my mum up there, by the way - that your name tag said [Y/n]. And you look just like he described. Wow, Lionel’s not gonna believe that I just found you hiding in a cafe in Basingstoke! If it’s not too forward, can I have your number? For Lionel, obviously. Don’t tell him I said this, but he was really bummed that he didn’t get your number.”

Sinclair was already reaching into his pocket and pulling out his notebook.

“Here, you can write it down in here!”

He handed you the notebook and a pen. You took it and, just as you were about to write your number down, your eyes scanned the writing on the page the notebook was open on.

Mystery girl

[Y/n]

St Swithuns ?

Likes art, Monet

“Really pretty” - LS

A list of your physical attributes followed, but you were mostly intrigued by the note that, apparently, quoted Lionel as calling you really pretty.

Conscious suddenly that Sinclair was watching you, you quickly scribbled your number, along with a note:

Lionel - IOU one favour - Just [Y/n]

“Are you usually here on a Sunday?” Sinclair asked as you handed his notebook back to him.

“Every other week, yeah.”

“Okay, great! I’ll let Lionel know, just in case. He’ll be so glad I found you!”

With a beaming grin, Sinclair set off back up the road to catch up with his mum, leaving you stunned in his wake.

- - -

Lionel called you a few days later, on Wednesday night. The phone rang while you were having dinner, so nobody answered it. You thought nothing of it until you went to your room to read a book, and your mum came in.

“Mum, what have I told you about knocking!” you said with frustration. It was a battle you’d been fighting for years, but she’d never listen.

“Oh, well, if you don’t want to hear about the boy that called for you…”

“No, wait! Um - who? Probably just someone from school…”

Your mum handed you a piece of paper with a phone number written on it.

“Someone called Lionel. He said something about someone called Sinclair owing him a favour now and asked you to call him. I don’t remember you ever mentioning a Lionel or a Sinclair from school.”

”Stop looking at me like that!” you groaned. “Just someone I met in dad’s cafe, that’s all.”

“Does your father still have you working at weekends?” Mum said sternly.

“Only a few hours, and he pays me, I told you. You’re blocking the doorway, can I leave, please?”

Your mum threw her hands up innocently and stepped aside.

“Tell your father contact weekends are for spending time with you, not putting you to work!” she called after you as you ran down the stairs.

“Working is spending time together!” you called back.

You picked up the phone in the living room and dialled the number your mum had written down.

“Good evening, Shabandar residence,” came a very formal, very posh voice after a few rings.

“Er - good evening,” you replied, trying your best to sound formal. “May I speak to Lionel Shabandar, please?”

“Whom might I say is calling, please?”

“Just [Y/n]. Tell him exactly those words, please. ‘Just [Y/n].’”

“Hold, please.”

You stood there for a minute or two, anxiously rocking on the balls of your feet, until the phone clicked and you heard a voice at the other end.

“Lionel Shabandar speaking.”

“Lionel, hi, it’s [Y/n]. I, um, I heard you were looking for me.”

“I wasn’t looking for you,” Lionel insisted. “I simply had my eye out in case you happened to show up. Don’t let Sinclair tell you anything different.”

You laughed. “Yes, of course. How did the rest of your exams go?”

“Swimmingly, I’m optimistic for them all. Have you finished for the year?”

“Yeah, just last week. I’m free as a bird now.”

“Excellent. Then… you’d be free for a trip into London tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Where do you want to meet?”

Lionel gave you the place and time, and when you turned to hang up the phone, you almost jumped out of your skin to see your mum was not so subtly spying on you from the hallway.

“Christ! Do I have no privacy?”

“If you want privacy, don’t go calling boys in the middle of the living room,” your mum said innocently.

“The phone’s plugged into the wall, I can’t exactly move it.”

“So who’s this boy, then?”

“Never you mind!” you protested, dodging past her to reach the stairs. “I’m going to London tomorrow, if I don’t come back, it was nice knowing you.”

“How old is he? Is he still in school? [Y/n]!”

But your bedroom door was already closed, and you pushed a chair against the handle just to be safe. You couldn't worry about getting your mum off your back now — you had, somehow, a date with Lionel Shabandar to prepare yourself for.

- - -

Lionel Shabandar was a boy that lived up to his name. He was a lion in every sense. He was proud, he was regal, he was fierce. He had fabulous hair. And he most certainly did not get nervous around girls.

Yet, here he was, nervously and painstakingly sorting through his wardrobe, trying to find the perfect outfit for his date with you.

Sinclair wasn’t helping. He kept buzzing around like an overgrown fly with opinions on fashion, advice on how to treat a girl on a date, and questions about the minute details of Lionel’s plan for the date.

“Christ, Sinclair, would you just stop!” Lionel snapped. “I have been on a date before, you know.”

“Yeah, but never someone you liked this much!”

“I don’t like her that much. I hardly even know her. That’s the point of a date, isn’t it? To get to know her and decide if I like her.”

“Ugh, you sound like my dad,” Sinclair groaned. He threw himself down onto Lionel’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. “He’s always trying to set me up with his mates’ daughters. And don’t get me wrong, I love meeting new people! But it feels so forced, like I have to fancy her. It makes me feel so guilty when I don’t. I hope I meet someone nice at university, someone I like.”

“Sinclair, you’ll be spoilt for choice. Speaking of choices… I’ve narrowed it down to two. Navy blue, or black. What do you think?”

Sinclair sat up again and looked at the two shirts Lionel was holding up.

“Blue,” he decided. “A black shirt makes it seem like you’re going to a funeral. Are you going to wear a tie? Or is that too formal?”

“Hmm… too formal, I think. It’s a date, not a job interview.”

“Right. You don’t want her to think you’re going to work afterwards. Do you want me to drive you there? I’d like to go into London anyway, there’s a vintage car exhibition going on in Greenwich.”

“Yes, but only because I don’t want Mum finding out about [Y/n], she won’t let me hear the end of it. If she asks, we’re going to this car thing together, alright?”

Sinclair mimed zipping his mouth closed.

“My lips are sealed!” he announced.

“That’s a change,” Lionel muttered.

- - -

You were worried that the pub Lionel had invited you to was going to be way too fancy and posh for you. You’d spent even longer than he had agonising over what to wear. While he worried about a tie being too formal, you worried about your clothes not being formal enough. Eventually, you settled on a navy blue summer dress, and brought a cardigan in case it got chilly later.

You waited anxiously outside the pub. He’d definitely told you to meet him outside, and when it came to ten minutes past your agreed meeting time, you began to worry he’d stood you up.

You were just thinking about finding a payphone to call and see if he was still at home when you saw him climb out of a car on the other side of the road. He crossed the road as if he owned it and jogged up to you.

“[Y/n], I am so sorry I’m late. You can blame my driver, he took me in completely the wrong direction.”

“Better fire him,” you joked.

“Oh, believe me, if I’d had our chauffeur bring me here, I’d have been perfectly punctual. No, Sinclair gave me a lift. Anyway…” He looked you up and down and smiled. “You look lovely.”

“Yes, I dressed to match you, apparently,” you laughed, indicating his shirt.

Lionel looked down and laughed. “Well, we both have good taste. Shall we?”

He offered you his arm and guided you into the pub. It was large, and not too busy; you found a table for two on the upper floor, near a window. It was quieter upstairs, Lionel had explained, but there was a second bar there so you could still get drinks.

“A London Pride and a small white wine,” Lionel said to the bartender as you passed the bar on the way to the table.

“Oh, um —”

“You’ll love the wine here, they have an excellent selection. Here —”

Lionel pulled a chair out for you and you sat down, leaving your cardigan draped over your knees. As Lionel took his seat opposite you, the bartender brought your drinks over. Lionel handed him a £10 note and told him to keep the change.

“Cheers,” he said, holding up his beer. “To chance meetings, I suppose.”

“Er - yes,” you agreed, holding up your wine glass to clink it with his.

Lionel took a generous gulp from his pint glass. You did your best to take a sip from the wine glass, but your facial expression said it all.

“No good? I’ll get you another one, a better vintage —”

“No!” you said quickly, before Lionel managed to stand up. “No, I - I should have said something. I don’t like wine. I’ll go and get myself something else.”

“Nonsense, I’ll get it —”

“Lionel, please,” you said firmly as you stood up. “I’m a big girl, I can order my own drink.”

When you returned to the table a few minutes later, you had a pint of lager in your hand, and two packets of crisps in the other.

“Ready salted or salt and vinegar?” you asked.

“No cheese and onion?”

“I really hope you’re joking about eating onion-flavoured crisps on a first date.”

Lionel laughed. “Of course I am,” he said, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped at the fact that you’d called it a date. “I’ll have either, so it’s ladies choice.”

You passed him the ready salted, and he was a little disappointed — truthfully, he preferred salt and vinegar.

“So you’re a Peroni girl,” he said with amusement. “I’ll take note of that.”

“Gonna add it to your list in Sinclair’s notebook?”

Lionel’s eyes widened in alarm, and you laughed.

“Relax, I thought it was cute. I especially liked the ‘very pretty’ comment.”

“Well, it was all I really knew about you.”

You laughed. “Yeah… sorry. In my defence, I had no idea you’d go looking for me.”

“Without having cashed in my favour? I don’t let debts go unpaid, [Y/n].”

“Is this - is this the favour? Or do I still owe you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, [Y/n],” Lionel insisted. “To be honest, I’m simply glad to have met someone interested in Monet. The only other boy at school who seemed to remotely care about the significance of having so many originals on display was Sinclair.”

“You two seem very close for cousins. I barely know any of mine.”

“We were born three days apart, and our mothers are very close. My mother and I moved in with Sinclair and his parents when my parents got divorced. Sinclair and I were about seven at the time. Then, a few years later, Sinclair’s parents got divorced. His father moved out, leaving just us and our mothers. It’s been the four of us ever since.”

“Oh, wow, so you’re more like brothers, huh?”

“Mmm. Our mothers are actually identical twins, so as Sinclair will love to explain to you, genetically that makes us half-brothers.” Lionel chuckled with amusement as a memory popped into his head. “You should have seen him when he figured it out. We were learning about genetics in Biology, and he asked the teacher if our mothers being genetically the same person made us brothers. ‘You’re half-brothers,’ the teacher said, and his eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. He told everyone he came across for the next month or so that we were brothers. He’s stopped doing it unbidden now, but if you ask him, he’ll tell you all about it.”

You smiled. Lionel was a natural storyteller, and definitely charming, but most of all, you could tell that, despite his attempts to seem cool and aloof, he really did love his cousin.

“When I ran into him - well, actually, he ran into me - I thought he was you at first.”

“Mmm, we look like our mothers.”

“I was so confused. I thought you were giving me a fake name. But he’s a lot more energetic than you, and when I realised he wasn’t you, he just looked like you, I asked if he had a brother. I thought it was weird how much that amused him.”

“[Y/n], why are we talking about my cousin on our first date?”

You laughed. “Because we don’t know much about each other, and he’s one of the few things I do know about you. And you brought him up!”

“Only to emphasise how unique it was that you were interested in the Monets. How did you find out about them, by the way?”

“The Art teacher at my school mentioned it. I suppose the art teachers in Winchester all talk and she found out that way.”

Lionel looked at you curiously over his pint glass.

“Hmm… so you do go to school in Winchester, then. But not St Swithun’s. Interesting…”

“How do you know I don’t go to St Swithun’s?”

“I asked around. There was only one [Y/n] anyone was able to identify, but she was in lower fifth. I didn’t think you were that young.”

“I’m eighteen. I just finished sixth form.”

Lionel smiled. “Me too! Where have you applied to? Not to brag, but I have offers from both Oxford and Cambridge. Conditional, though, so I have to wait for my results to be certain.”

“Which one’s your first choice? Oxford, I assume?”

“You assume wrong. I chose Cambridge.”

“Oh! What’s Cambridge got that Oxford doesn’t?”

Lionel shrugged. “I just liked it better.”

“Hmm… no, I don’t think so.” You leaned forward and rested your head in your hand thoughtfully. “The college is a feeder for Oxford, I don’t think you’d turn it down because of some vague feeling about Cambridge. There’s something there that Oxford doesn’t have. Or someone…? I’d suggest a girl, but I really hope not.”

Lionel’s eyes darted away, and he sighed.

“Alright, fine. I chose Cambridge because Sinclair did. When he said he was choosing Cambridge, I decided I’d rather go somewhere I’d at least know one person. And I can keep an eye on him.”

“Aww, that’s sweet that you want to keep an eye on your baby brother!”

“He’s not my baby brother! Wait, how do you know he’s the younger one?”

You shrugged. “You just have that protective older brother air about you. And you talk about him like a younger brother. Like he’s a little bit annoying, but you love him really. How come he chose Cambridge? Or did he not get into Oxford?”

“Oh, he had offers from both. But his offer from Cambridge was unconditional, and he decided that meant he’s supposed to go there. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Where are you hoping to go?”

“I am… not. I’m not. I’m not going to university.”

Lionel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh! Well, that’s alright, I suppose. Not everybody does. Polytechnics are all the rage now.”

“Or, just, y’know… work.”

“Work, of course. I hear a lot of progress is being made for women’s rights in the workplace. You’ll even be getting equal pay soon. What work do you want to do?”

“I like helping my dad with his business. He runs a café, nothing fancy, and he mostly gets me serving customers while he sits out back and does the business stuff, but at the end of the day he’ll let me help him with stock and things like that. He says I have a good mind for it.”

“Then you should go to university! I’m going to study Business, you should too if you want to get into it.”

“I… I’m not…”

Lionel sensed your discomfort, and he placed his hand over yours on the table.

“I’m making you uncomfortable. I’ll stop prying. Let’s talk about something else. What was your favourite Monet piece that we looked at?”

“I liked the one you said was your favourite, actually. The haybale one.”

“Haystacks at Dawn! Yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it? I hope the owner sells it one day, I’ll be the first in line. He’s done quite a few studies of haystacks, you know, but Dawn has to be my favourite.”

“Yes! I find it so impressive the way he can make two paintings of almost identical subjects come across so differently just through the use of light and colour. And when he painted certain times of the day, like dawn and dusk, he only had a few minutes to capture it each day. Imagine the patience that takes? And he was such a perfectionist too. That’s why I wanted to see them in person, to really see the detail that he put into each painting.”

“[Y/n], you are a woman after my own heart. Yes. That’s exactly it. A reproduction just can’t capture that amount of dedication. In fact - this might be a little bold to suggest on a first date, but I’m not one to beat around the bush - why don’t you come with me to Paris this summer? I’m planning on going to the Orsay Museum, they have a large Monet collection, and a Van Gogh collection.”

“Paris? Wow, um…”

“Just think about it. I’m not asking to be romantic - though I’m sure it’ll be lovely to be in Paris with you - I’m asking from one art lover to another.”

“Alright, I’ll - I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Lionel said with a smile, and he took his hand back from yours to pick up your now empty glasses and the untouched wine glass. “Do you want another?”

“Oh, yes, please. And some more crisps.”

“Of course.”

When Lionel returned a few minutes later with two more pints and two more packets of crisps, you plucked up the courage to make an admission to him.

“Lionel, can I be honest with you?” you asked as you took your pint and packet of crisps from him gratefully.

“I wouldn’t want you to be anything but,” he replied, sitting down.

“This is actually… my first date.”

He frowned. “No, I don’t believe that. You’re far too pretty not to have had a date before.”

“I mean, guys have asked. And I did kind of have a date with a boy from school when I was fourteen. We went to the cinema, we saw… oh, what was it now? Oh, it was the Jungle Book!”

Lionel sniggered. “How romantic.”

“I know, right? Anyway, we didn’t even hold hands or anything. Plus my mum thought I was too young to go to the cinema without an adult so she was there, albeit a few rows away. So it was really awkward. I think we realised afterwards that we didn’t actually fancy each other, we just really liked each other, and society had told us a boy and a girl who like each other have to like each other. Since then, I decided I’d only go on a date with a boy I knew I like-liked.”

“And that’s me?”

You blushed. “Yeah, apparently. I’m sure you get it all the time, but I think you’re really cute, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you after we met so… yeah. I figured I must like-like you.”

Lionel smirked proudly. “Well, I’m flattered. Not surprised, of course, I am indeed very cute.”

“And humble.”

“Precisely. So if you’ve never had a date before… does that mean you’ve never been kissed?”

Your cheeks were burning red by now.

“I - well - I did once, actually… at a friend’s house last year, we were playing spin the bottle truth or dare. I refused to answer the truth, so I had to do a dare, and I was dared to kiss this boy there - I didn’t know him, a friend of a friend. It was typical awkward first kiss, you know, dry, closed lips. Hardly even counts. But it was lips touching lips so, yeah, that was my first kiss.”

“A shame. I’d have loved to be your first kiss,” Lionel said with a cheeky grin. “Although I could settle for being your first good kiss.”

“And what makes you so sure it’ll be good?”

Lionel laughed. “Well, if it’s not, we can practice, can’t we? We have all summer before I go to Cambridge.”

“God, I can’t believe this, I’m getting flustered,” you cringed. “Look at me, I’m probably bright red, aren’t I?”

“Not bright red. A subtle flush, really.”

You rubbed the back of your neck nervously.

“Sorry, I - I guess I’m not used to this.”

“What, flirting?”

“…Yeah. Christ. My mum was pregnant by my age, and I’m getting embarrassed just at the mention of kissing.”

“Well, you know, that was usual back in the fifties. People got married and started popping babies out as soon as they left school. My mum had me at 28, and that was considered old.”

You snorted. “Yeah, my parents did that the wrong way round.”

Lionel looked at you with mock scandal. “[Y/n], are you a bastard?”

“Shut up!” you laughed. “No I am not, because my grandad made sure they got married before I was born. They lasted about three years before they got divorced. Turns out, rushing into marriage because you knocked your girlfriend up isn’t the best basis for a lifetime commitment.”

Lionel grimaced. “Yikes. Well, if it’s any comfort, like I said, my parents are divorced too, as are Sinclair’s.”

“Oh, wanna swap child of divorce stories? Here’s mine. So, as I said, parents both eighteen, dating at school, classic. Mum gets knocked up. My grandad, outraged. Just about ready to kill my dad. If my grandad owned a shotgun, it may well have been a literal shotgun wedding. They got married right out of school. Round about now, actually, just after they finished sixth form. Dad manages to bear it for three years. Imagine it: you’re 21, and you’ve already got a wife and a toddler. All your mates are out shagging. Best years of your life, and you’re stuck at home with the baby. I don’t know exactly what happened, or who she was, but… yeah. You can imagine what he did. My grandad, once again, is ready to kill him. The divorce went through pretty quickly. Mum didn’t ask for alimony, just child support. Dad couldn’t even do that, apparently. He went off the radar for a few years. I’ve never asked what he was doing. I only found out last year that he’d cheated. But he showed up again when I was… nine? Ten? Just before secondary school. Got his shit together. He was managing a café. Couple of years later, the café owner gives him a franchise. Then last year, he’d saved up enough money to buy it out. Now he owns the place. Runs it pretty much by himself, he’s got one employee and me. We have a really good relationship now. It’s weird to think that he was like that at all, but I suppose nobody’s the same at 36 as they were at 18. I sure hope I won’t be. When I’m 36, I really hope I’m not getting flustered when a cute boy says he’d like to kiss me.”

“I’ll kiss you when you’re 36 and I’ll let you know,” Lionel said.

You laughed out loud then.

“Deal. Go on, then, I told you my story of how love is a lie and marriage is a sham. What’s yours?”

“Well… my parents are both old money. It wasn’t an arranged marriage, so to say, but their fathers set them up. My father was nice enough, so Mum married him, and then… he changed. He wasn’t ever angry, not at first, but he was… cold. Distant. Mean. My mum was - and still is, when she wants to be - such a kind, fun-loving person. You’d think she was Sinclair’s mother. But my father seemed to make it his mission to squash her spirit. In the last couple of years, it was just… fighting. Non-stop. Screaming matches. I started spending days, weeks, with Sinclair and his parents. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I realise now it’s because Mum wanted me away from him.”

There was a long pause. Lionel stared out the window, brow furrowed in anger. You waited, patiently. Tentatively, you placed your hand over his. He looked back at you, as if he’d forgotten you were there.

“I don’t remember it, but Sinclair does. One day, Mum showed up at his house with me in tow. Sinclair told me he remembers his mum opening the door. He was really excited to see us. He came running up to us. Our mums were crying, he didn’t understand why… until he saw my mum had a massive bruise on her face.”

You gasped.

“I mean, huge. A few years later, when it was all a past memory, my mum bought this book. Phantom of the Opera. Do you know it? The guy on the front, with his eyes and cheekbones covered by a black mask?”

You nodded.

“I remember her showing the cover to Aunt Helen and saying, ‘He looks like me when we moved in.��”

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

“Mum swears that was the only time my father ever hit her. And Christ, she was so brave, she knew it would be the last. The divorce was messy. You know, lots of money involved, more of it going on lawyers than anything else. She didn’t want him anywhere near me, he wanted full custody. It went on for years. It was only when I was old enough to express what I wanted that anything got resolved. I said I didn’t want anything to do with him, and that was that. No contact arrangements unless and until I asked for them. Never did. On my birthday this year, he wrote to me. Said I’m a man now, I can see him if I want. He seemed to have it in his head that it was Mum and the courts that had decided no contact, that they were keeping us apart somehow. But it was me, I didn’t want to see that bastard. And I never will. I don’t care if he disinherits me. Mum’s - I don’t want to show off, but…”

“No, go on,” you said softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Mum’s a millionaire in her own right. So’s Aunt Helen. Sinclair and I are set for life. I’m going to work, and so is he, we both want to make our own futures. Neither of us want to be those rich kids who just fritter away our parents’ money. I’m going to be - Christ, just you wait, [Y/n]. I’m going to be a huge name in the business world, you’ll see. And I won’t need a penny from him to do it.”

You believed it. You saw it in his eyes, that fierce determination. Like he’d take down anything and anyone that stood in his way. He knew what he wanted, and he was going to get it, no matter what.

“When I get that kiss at 36,” you said seriously, “I expect you to be the biggest fucking name in business.”

Lionel’s fierce frown melted into a smirk.

“Oh, I will be. I promise you that.”

[mukimokai]

hey you!!!

wanna hear one of my fic ideas for a canon rewrite that will absolutely shatter your heart????

yeah...

you've been warned..

.

TW!!!

dr//g ab*se, attempted su!c!de

⠀

alhaitham attempted to overdose after the argument with kaveh over their thesis.

.

they basically screamed each others throats off that day; they've argued over their differing ideals before but it was never this bad, and the fight eventually got a bit physical, and there was a lot of hairpulling, scratching, pulling each other up by the collar, because they weren't just arguing about the thesis anymore, they were mad at each other. until alhaitham pointed out kaveh's fatal flaw, how his altruism is going to fail him one day, and kaveh, who can't handle the truth, yanks at alhaithams hair again, telling him to fuck off, that he wishes he never met him, all through pained, angry tears. and then, he lets go and leaves, bolting out the front door and not even bothering to close it.

it was one of the first times in alhaitham's life that he had ever let his emotions get the better of him, and he watched kaveh run out of the door, panting and shaking, tears prickling the corners of his eyes out of pure, unadulterated frustration. and alhaitham realizes at this moment that he'd lost someone. again.

oh yes, alhaitham's all alone again!! no one cares about him anymore!! he'd just lost the last person in the world who gave a damn!! silly alhaitham!! all because you're you. because you had to open your mouth again. because you had to say something. all you wanted was to help, but nobody understands that. nobody ever will. to them, you're just a cold, calculated, arrogant, cocky, bastard. and look what you've done now.

the thought breaks him, and he crumbles to the ground in what can only be described as a meltdown, a very violent one. vases are shattered, kitchen wear chucked across the room, books thrown around carelessly, all while he screams curses into the air, directed at no one, maybe at Kusanali, maybe at Celestia, who knows, but he screams anyway, bordering on babbles as he stumbles to his room, dizzy and distressed and grabs the bottle of prescription drugs (working on what kind of drug currently). It's not full, it's almost empty actually, only about 10 tablets at the bottom, but alhaitham, hands shaking, laughs incredulously at himself, and eats all of them.

or at least: tries to...

the commotion he'd made upset his neighbours. initially, they were storming over to his house with the Matra beside them to have him taken care of but upon arrival, they were horrified. The matra with them practically tackled alhaitham, making him spit out the 3 pills he had in his mouth when they found him in his room; he had already taken 5. they dragged him to the bimarstan as fast as he could, the neighbours following in terror and worry.

alhaitham was saved that day and the memory still haunts him. he was so clouded with emotion he'd lost all sense of what he was doing and just felt, and it scared him how his own feelings took control of him. At that point, alhaitham only closed up even further, basically forcing on his poker face and shoving down his feelings because he never wanted to feel so vulnerable again. he doesn't want to feel. it hurts to feel. strong feelings only bring pain. more pain than alhaitham could bear.

so alhaitham chose to hide this story, he never told anyone about it, not even a single detail. but kaveh, who moved back in eventually and now lived with alhaitham for about a year since their argument, was tidying up when he found a bottle of pills under alhaitham's bed, it was practically empty, only 2 pills remained.

concerned, he questions alhaitham about it later and it was the first time he'd seen alhaitham genuinely look scared. when kaveh explained he'd found it under his bed, alhaitham snatched away the bottle and disposed of it in the trash, cursing himself for not having found it last year when the incident happened and couldn't believe it had been there the whole time.

kaveh isn't an idiot, he pieced it together the moment he saw alhaitham's reaction. he just stands there, completely speechless and horrified. all he can say is "when..?"

and alhaitham, for the first time since their school years, responds in a shaky, miserable voice, "a year ago."

and kaveh is stunned, just staring at alhaitham, who seemed so unreachable when he moved in, suddenly looking so heartbreakingly vulnerable.

he doesn't say anything.

kaveh just hugs him, buries alhaitham's face into his shoulder and hugs him. and he swears he can hear soft, weak sounds coming from the scribe, and he swears the fabric over his shoulders became damp, but he doesn't say anything.

he just holds him.

i'm sorry. come at my throat all you'd like.

⠀

⠀

⠀

[ruporas]

Hi there, this might be stupid but I don't have anyone else to spew this to so I suppose you just have to endure my self-indulgent ramblings. Sorry in advance!! I've been thinking a lot about, like, Wolfwood with wings? Not like, an AU where he's been a Plant all along but where something happened that forced them out of him, maybe something with the tincture/vials or being in the proximity of one of Vash's sisters when he takes one or perhaps even something the Eye of Michael did right at the beginning that was lying dormant until they felt the ned to active it, I don't know- this probably sounds so stupid. I'm just imagining this painful, confusing, otherworldly thing happening to Wolfwood that he doesn't understand, seeing the black feathers crawling across his skin and sprouting from his shoulders, thinking himself more of a monster than he already is because he obviously isn't human, he isn't Plant, he isn't even like Vash, so what is he other than another kind of monster, more fucked up than he used to think that Vash was?? And Vash just looking at Wolfwood with his sharp claws and his fangs and his glowing eyes and the feathers sprouting from his arms and face and chest, at the big black wings that extended from his back to stretch around him like a funeral shroud, understanding the pain and the fear and the feral instability of something unthinkable happening that he couldn't comprehend, knowing that Wolfwood was thinking about himself as a monster just like Vash did, and being in the unique position of being able to help him through it, helping him understand what was happening to him and aiding in dissipating the feathers and fangs and claws and helping him recover in the aftermath. I don't know, this might be stupid and crazy but. I can't stop thinking about it. Thank you for coming to my ridiculous self-indulgent TED talk, thank you for everything you do.

hello! omg, getting this was such a lovely surprise, i love seeing the passion in this au. i love the concept of wolfwood with wings too (specifically a huge #fan of guardian angel wolfwood or some sort of angel with smaller wings than vash).

wolfwood is such a meant to be human, made to be human character that it always makes me a little sad to dip him into the creature zone because the confusion and distress he'd inevitably experience hurts me afgmskgmsd but Regardess, it's always a good angsty concept. piling on top of the way he views himself already, it's as though those thoughts physically manifest themselves and air it out for everybody to see. unable to deny what he has become when it's presented in such a blatant way.

from the way it's described, i'm imagining this to be like… mid way through the story, close to vol 7 :3 i think something like this happening after vash got his big scare with his powers becoming open to the world, a monster now openly claimed and known, he'd be scared, wracked with guilt, and struggle to navigate his own vulernabilities to properly help wolfwood. at the same, wolfwood is understanding vash better, acknowledging the person he is despite his other worldliness and thinking of the impending doom on humanity if vash doesn't get to knives, i think amidst his own self loathing, it's touched by fretting over vash and wanting to not hold them both down with this abrupt transformation. he'd likely push down his own fear to try and find a direct solution to stop the height of the transformation, to which vash would likely shred a sliver of vulnerability to give objective advice/assistance.

i like the idea of them settling down later and both of them being in the "what the fuck do we do now" phase and having no answer but can only discover the answer by navigating it slowly. having something like this happen would forcibly open a conversation of their experiences, i think, especially for wolfwood who might have to talk a bit about his EoM experience to give an inkling on how something like that could've happened. it's both kind of sweet and depressing how they'd get the chance to communicate more of their life to each other through this :'] an almost parallel experience… and i think vash would have to think about what could define a monster, he'd certainly view himself as one but not wolfwood.

i wish i had more creative fuel to churn your vision out into a drawing but i couldn't come up with anything cool enough to match the descriptions…

i'm not sure if you've seen it from me yet, but i did do a plant-related thing that follows a similar horrified discovery for wolfwood / being changed into a half-human half-plant sometime ago, in case you might want to see more feathery woowoo! it has trimax spoilers (post trimax) so heed warning, but here's the asks:

thank you for sharing this with me! it's fun to think about it, always a joy to wolfwood in Situations… just constantly experiencing the horrors, but at least he isn't alone..!

[reijamira]

My Golden Blood Episode 1: Mr. Sheltered, Clueless & Confused meets Mr. Protective Stalker Abs (my live reaction)

Another Wednesday, another new BL series. It's the old THK slot. Like with THK, I'm going in completely blind. I only know the trailer. I don't know these actors, nor the novel. Let's see how I like it. 

What a cute baby. I guess we will get back to this later in the story. 

Ah, we're facing the guitar of doom already. (Now there are TWO guitars mentioned.) I entered the BL world only four months ago, yet I've heard lots about these guitars. I have only watched five BL series so far. The only guitar I've encountered was in Hidden Agenda. But Joong can actually sing and play the guitar. So it wasn't cringy. Gawin is a singer as well. Maybe it won't be that bad either.  🤣 I have hope.

Tong is supposed to be 20 here? 😂🤣 I can suspend my disbelief for a lot of things. But it gets hard when an almost 30 year old man is cast as a 20 year old one. Gawin is sweet, but he has no baby face at all. 😂 But he can play naive and confused and distressed really well.

Tong is so done with this “Never spill a drop of blood”. 

Love the intro. It's very emotional and haunting. I heard Gawin himself sings it. I have to watch it on YouTube. It's a really nice song. 

The flashback: That's really hard for a kid not being allowed to play with others. Will we get a rebellious Tong soon? 

So, who is watching Tong? Is it Mark or that vampire who killed Tong's parents? Or did Mark himself kill Tong's parents and does protect him now out of a bad conscience?

This series reminds me a bit of these old late 1990s/early 2000s tv-shows like Buffy and Angel, Charmed, Roswell and the like. I love it! I never watched Twilight, but it definitely also has a gay Twilight vibe. 😍

Sweet Tonkla is actually a wild one. 

Love how the rich people's product launch and party is pictured. The evil vampire is intriguing. Where is the third cousin? The woman? Interesting. 🤔

Ah, no, I bet that unfortunate reporter lady will end up as dinner. 

Uhhh, what do we have here? Mark's entrance definitely leaves an impression.

Not just on Tong. Look at those wet ABS. The biceps. The legs. The pecs! Uhh, lord, I've never been envious of a towel before in my life. 

Lololol, that massive gulp feels so real. I was fanning cool air to myself, too. 

Omg, Mark looks like he recognizes Tong. Why that sad expression? 

Did Mark just wait until Tong entered to pull up his pants? (NOT that I'm complaining. He can run around in tiny swim trunks and briefs all he wants.)  

Those abs again. They are a secret third main character, right?

I get the feeling Mark knows more than he lets on. 

Oh lord, Tong cut his finger. MARK LICKED THE DROP OF BLOOD FROM TONG'S FINGER! Holy fuck, this was so sensual and hot. 

What's happening now? Looks like Mark is about to have a golden blood orgasm.

(GIF SOURCE.)

Fucking hell, look at how sensually he is writhing on that bed, biting his finger (Fadel in The Heart Killers anyone?), clutching the bedsheets, stroking these incredible abs, going even further down to his pants. That boy desperately wants to touch his dick. But GMMTV won't allow it. 😂

Mark's smitten look. 🤣🤣 He's really whipped. I'm so entertained right now.

(Sorry for the bad screenshot. I have a new tablet and am still trying to figure out how things work under Android.)

What does this golden blood do? Make vampires horny? Or does this happen only to Mark?

Uh, the ear bite! Hawwt! 🌶🌶🌶

(GIF SOURCE)

The blindfold and the manhandling: also hawwwt. 🔥🔥🔥

Lol the window jump! The special effects really add to my entertainment!  I'm wheezing. 🤣😂

Tong looks good in distress. Great acting! 

Hahaha, that vampire speed move. I'm laughing tears over here. I love these low budget special effects.  

I love the auntie. 

Not the robotic-like spiders and butterflies. 🤣

I must say the little manhandling and the seductive way Mark is with Tong is super alluring. They both have incredible chemistry. I love the sizzling sexual tension and sensuality here. 

Lol, it was clear that Mark has been protecting Tong all this time. 

Well, this was fun! I enjoyed it a lot. It made me swoon, it made me go awwww and ohhh. It was thrilling. I'm definitely seated for the next 11 episodes to come. 

Next week, the guitar of doom comes out to play. 🤣