#like teen and man who is older but looks like a teen

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version) VIII

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You try to help your brother

It's not that being gay is bad, Jaume knows this.

His aunt is gay. His mothers are gay. You, his sister, are gay.

There's nothing wrong with being gay when you're a girl.

There shouldn't be anything wrong with being gay when you're a boy.

But when Jaume's at football, he knows that there is something wrong with it. He can't find boys attractive. He can't look at a boy and think he's handsome.

He has to like girls. He has to look at girls and think they're hot. He has to talk about girls with the rest of the guys. He has to get a girlfriend. He has to prove that he's just another one of the guys. He has to prove that he's just like them.

It doesn't matter if he becomes the best goal scorer in the world.

If they find out he likes guys then all that's he's worked towards doesn't matter. It's all worthless if the team decide he isn't one of them anymore.

The Putellas name, the Putellas legacy means nothing if the team decide he doesn't deserve to be one of them anymore.

You frown as your brother stares off into space, inching out your leg to the other side of the sofa, digging your toe into Jaume's ribs.

He yelps, turning to you accusingly.

"What's up with you?" You say," You're not watching the film."

"It's boring."

Your frown deepens. "You're the one that wanted to watch it."

It's a late evening, just the two of you while Alexia and Olga are out on one of their date nights.

Jaume's just come back from a Spain youth team round of friendlies and a Barcelona B match as well. He's fifteen now, growing into his looks and his talent and just now opening his eyes to why he doesn't get the same fluttery feeling in his stomach with girls as he does with guys.

You're nineteen, still living at home and dancing professionally. There's only four years between you both but somehow you seem so much more worldly and smart than him.

You're settled and comfortable with your attraction to girls and your attraction to girls only. You're open with it. You don't mind talking about it.

Jaume doesn't know if that's because ballet is more open about that thing or just because you're mimicking what you're seen and grown up surrounded with people like Mami and Mama and Tia Ingrid and Mapi and Tia Irene and Lucía.

There's so many women on Mami's old team that are gay and have surrounded you and Jaume as you've grown up.

The women's team are much more open about that thing but Jaume's never met a man who is a footballer and gay at the same time.

It's different.

It's not normal in men's football and Jaume desperately wishes that he was the same as everyone else.

He wants to be able to look at a woman and think she's beautiful. He wants to be able to approach a girl at school or a girl in the crowd and invite her on a date. He wants to be able to kiss a girl and feel fireworks.

He doesn't want to look at a boy on the opposite team and wish he was caged in his arms, wish his were the lips on Jaume's at the end of the day.

He wants to be normal.

He wants to go into the locker room and not hear the jeering of his teammates as they make fun of some gay guy they've seen on Instagram or at school or in the street.

But then he looks at you, his older sister, talk about that girl you hook up with when she comes to Spain. He sees you talk so candidly about your lack of attraction to men. He sees you dance and dance and dance and, at the end of the day, know that you're no less a great dancer as the straight girls that dance with you.

"I'm gay."

You turn to look at your brother, taking in the way his mouth hangs open like he's shocked that he's even said it.

"That's cool, Jaume," You say.

You say it like's it's natural. Like it's normal for him to confess this to you out of nowhere. You say it like he's just told you the weather or that he's in the starting eleven at the weekend.

You say it like it's something that you've always known.

You smile at him like it doesn't change your perception of him, your little brother that climbs into your bed in his sweaty kit, your little brother that leaves his dirty boots all over the house, your little brother who uses you like his personal taxi service now that you've gotten your license.

"No," He says," I'm gay."

Your brows draw together, an amused smile on your face. "I know. You've already said that."

"No." Jaume shakes his head, a sudden pressure on his chest that he's desperate to force out. He stands, beginning to pace the small space as his hand rubs at his chest. "You don't get it. I'm gay. I like guys. I-I don't like girls. At all."

Something wet and desperate pricks in his eyes.

"I...I like guys. I...What's wrong with me? Fuck! There's something wrong. I...I'm..."

"Jaume? Jaume!"

Your hands are on his arms, gently guiding him to sit against the wall. You draw his hand away from his chest, placing it onto your own.

"I need you to match my breathing. Nice and slow. In and out."

Jaume doesn't know how long it is until the roaring in his ears disappear and the crushing weight on his chest turns from rib cracking to manageable. It doesn't disappear but he can breath again and function.

He looks into your eyes.

"You can't tell anyone."

Something in you breaks as you look into your brothers eyes.

He's always been a bit of a goofball. He's always been the extroverted one out of the both of you.

You've never seen him look so lifeless before.

You're not quite sure what to do.

"Should we get milkshakes?" You ask, ignoring the way your own stomach twists itself into knots in outrage," Would that make it easier?"

"With whipped cream?"

"Whipped cream and sauce. Whatever you want."

Your mind runs the whole week. Jaume's face is etched in your mind even as Alexia sits in front of you in the little café you're eating at.

Olga's at work but both you and Alexia have the day off. There's no matches for her to coach for the week and you had a performance yesterday so take today as your rest day before you're dancing for a crowd for four days straight again.

"What's up with you?" Alexia asks," You feeling okay?"

You contemplate just telling her.

Jaume had spilled everything to you as you sat on the beach with your milkshakes. He spoke about realising he only liked boys and the attitudes of his teammates at football and his friends at school and they way that he's had to lie and fake his attraction to girls all year because he doesn't want to be iced out of the group.

Alexia is more equipped to deal with that stuff than you. You're a dancer but Jaume is a footballer. The reception to being gay in your dance company is wildly different to the reception to being gay in a football team.

Alexia would be able to help. Alexia always helps.

But Jaume told you not to tell anyone so you're not.

"Yeah. I'm fine," You say. Just because you can't spill the beans doesn't mean you can't help push your Mami in the right direction.

But Alexia's not the best at picking up hints.

So she takes your words at face value, nodding along as she stirs her coffee.

"And you know that we're coming to watch you on Friday, right?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, Mami. I know. You and Jaume and Olga and Abuela and Tia Alba. Centre of the middle row so your necks don't get crooks in them. I know."

Alexia smiles at you. "Just making sure you know. I mean-"

The ringing phones interrupts Alexia and soon you're abandoning your lunch to get to Jaume's school.

He's sitting outside of the head teacher's office with bruised knuckles and a split lip.

Alexia stalks into the office and you stay outside, gently taking Jaume's hand.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"No. It's-"

"Tell. Me. I can't help if I don't-"

"They said some stuff," Jaume says," You know, stuff about..."

"Oh."

"So I punched him and they all ganged up on me."

"Did you get some good hits in at least?"

The corners of Jaume's mouth turn upwards and he stares down at his split knuckles. "Yeah, I did."

Alexia storms out of the headmaster's office and you and your brother both go stiff.

"Jaume," She says," Get in the car."

"Mami-" You say and she holds up a hand.

"Don't defend him. He knows better than to start a fight."

"Mami..."

"No! He's suspended. You're suspended, Jaume! Was it worth it?!"

Your brother shrinks under Alexia's furious gaze.

You can relate to that. All you've ever wanted is Alexia's approval, in all your actions and you know Jaume feels the same.

Your brother is taller than you like Alexia is but, still, you step between them.

"Mami," You say," Just wait. Hear him out. It's not what you thin-"

"I'm not having this conversation here." Alexia cuts you off, taking a deep breath. "Give me some time to calm down. We'll talk at home."

The car ride is tense with Alexia ramrod straight in the driver's seat and Jaume staring blankly out the window.

Alexia goes in first and you catch Jaume's hand.

"You can tell her," You tell him," You don't have to if you don't want to but you can tell her. She won't be mad at you."

"I...I don't know if I can."

"It won't make her love you any less. It won't make her see you any differently. She loves us. She loves you."

Tears are in his eyes as he looks at you, hands shaking. "Promise?"

"I promise."

He looks at the front door, where Alexia waits for him.

He reaches his hand out for you.

You take it.

"It's going to be okay."

[jhyoos]

Of Roses And Steel

chapter one : where roses bloom

knight sevika x princess reader

mentions : royalty au, medieval au, romance, strong reader (as in combat and intelligence), silco is king, reader is a heavy daddy’s girl, silco being soft around her daughter, sevika is only 5 years older than you, major character deaths, very long first chapter !

notes : let me know if you guys like the small text or should I go back to bigger words. another chapter will be released tomorrow!

↳ next chapter

The night of the queen’s death remained seared into your memory like a jagged scar, a moment that altered the course of your life—and the kingdom—forever.

Your mother had always been the kingdom’s heart, her kindness radiating like the sun, touching the lives of every villager, knight, and noble. She possessed an innate gift for seeing the good in people, even when they couldn't see it in themselves. When she had married your father, her warmth had melted away the rougher edges of Silco, a man who was once feared for his ruthlessness.

Before her, Silco’s reign had been efficient but cold, his focus solely on maintaining power and expanding the kingdom's borders. But with the queen by his side, something shifted. She softened him, guiding him to rule with compassion as well as strength. Under her influence, roads were built, trade flourished, and the kingdom prospered. When you were born, the union of their love, Silco seemed to find an even deeper purpose. He adored you from the moment he held you in his arms, his mismatched eyes filled with awe.

“She’s perfect,” he’d whispered to the queen, who smiled through her exhaustion. “Just like her mother.”

Your early years were filled with laughter and warmth. Your mother would sing to you in the mornings while brushing your hair, and Silco, despite his busy schedule, would often sneak away from his duties to spend time with you. He read you bedtime stories, his deep voice weaving tales of adventure and bravery. You were his reason to rule with integrity, his reminder that the kingdom’s future depended on more than power—it depended on love.

But everything changed the day your mother decided to visit the village alone.

You were six years old, clinging to her skirts as she prepared to leave.

“Must you go?” you asked, your voice small and pleading.

She knelt before you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I must,” she said gently. “The children in the village are sick, and they need help. But I won’t be long, my love. I’ll be back before the sun sets.”

She kissed your forehead, her smile warm and reassuring, and then she was gone. You spent the rest of the day waiting by the window, watching as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky.

When the sun finally set and she had not returned, unease settled over the castle like a heavy fog. It was Sevika—then a young squire barely in her teens—who came running into the throne room with the news. Her face was pale, her breath coming in short gasps as she fell to one knee before Silco.

“Your Majesty,” she said, her voice trembling. “There’s been… an attack. The queen—she—”

Silco rose from his throne, his voice cutting through her stammering like a blade. “What happened?”

“She was ambushed,” Sevika managed, her hands clenched into fists. “A group of thieves—they didn’t know who she was. She fought back, but…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

Silco didn’t need her to. The look in his eyes was enough to send a shiver through the room, a mix of fury and anguish so profound it was almost unbearable to witness. He left the throne room without another word, his footsteps echoing through the silent hall.

The days that followed were marked by grief and silence. Silco locked himself away, emerging only for the queen’s funeral. You remembered the way he stood by her casket, his shoulders rigid, his mismatched eyes devoid of the warmth they once held. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse but steady.

“She was too good for this world,” he said, his gaze fixed on her peaceful face. “But I will ensure her legacy lives on.”

He turned his focus to you, doubling down on his efforts to keep you safe. Guards followed you everywhere, even within the castle walls. He forbade you from going into the village, insisting it was too dangerous. His love became suffocating, a cage built from his fear of losing you as he had lost her.

You grew up under the shadow of that fear, but you refused to let it define you. Determined to honor your mother’s memory, you threw yourself into your studies, mastering everything from diplomacy to combat. Your father disapproved of your training, insisting that the daughter of a king had no need for swords or bows. But you persisted, finding solace in the discipline and focus it required.

It wasn’t until you were sixteen that you truly began to make a name for yourself among the knights. One of the senior knights, impressed by your determination, arranged for you to train with Sevika, who had recently returned to the castle after years spent serving on the borders.

Sevika was in her early twenties then, already gaining a reputation as a skilled and fearless warrior. She had a scar running down the side of her face, a mark of the battle that had earned her the rank of head knight. She rarely spoke, her focus entirely on her duties, but when she did, her words carried weight.

Your first session with her was a turning point. She showed you how to hold a bow, correcting your posture and guiding your hands with a gruff patience you hadn’t expected. “Don’t overthink it,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Just breathe and let the arrow fly.”

For a brief moment, you saw a softer side of her, a flicker of something almost kind beneath her stoic exterior. It was enough to make your heart flutter, a feeling you didn’t entirely understand at the time.

From then on, your crush on Sevika only grew, fueled by fleeting moments of warmth amidst her cold professionalism. She was everything you admired: strong, capable, and unyielding. But she was also distant, her loyalty to your father a wall you doubted you’d ever be able to breach.

You were every bit the spoiled princess, and you made no apologies for it. Your wardrobe was filled with the finest gowns in silks, satins, and velvets, each more extravagant than the last. Shoes adorned with delicate embroidery and shimmering jewels lined your chambers, matched meticulously to every ensemble. The maids who styled your hair each morning knew your tastes well—tight curls for formal occasions, elegant braids when you ventured to court, and soft waves for quiet evenings spent reading in your chambers. It was a life of luxury and ease, one that you embraced wholeheartedly.

Your favorite moments, however, were the hours spent with your ladies-in-waiting. Gathered in the sunlit parlor, the scent of freshly brewed tea mingling with the fragrance of blooming flowers, you would sit for hours, gossiping and laughing with your closest confidantes. Together, you exchanged stories, whispered secrets, and speculated about the various knights, courtiers, and even the visiting nobility. You didn’t shy away from discussing the beauty of the women who graced the castle halls, often causing a ripple of giggles among your companions when your admiration turned bold.

Through it all, there was one secret you kept entirely to yourself: your growing infatuation with Sevika. It wasn’t the kind of crush you could casually admit during tea or in the middle of idle chatter. Sevika’s cold professionalism and the unyielding strength she displayed as the head knight made her a figure of both admiration and intimidation. Her rare moments of warmth toward you—brief, fleeting instances where she adjusted your grip on a bow or gave a quiet word of approval—were treasures you tucked away in your heart, replaying them long after they passed.

But secrets have a way of surfacing, and yours was no exception. One lazy afternoon, as Mel helped you reorganize your chambers, she discovered a bundle of papers hidden beneath your bed. They were scraps of poetry and unsent letters, scrawled confessions of your feelings for Sevika. Mel’s gasp of surprise as she read them turned your blood cold. You tried to snatch them away, but it was too late—she knew. Her teasing smirk was almost unbearable as she leaned against your bedpost, waving the papers at you.

“Sevika?” she drawled, one perfectly arched brow lifting in amusement. “You’re in love with her?” Mel, ever the quick-witted daughter of a noblewoman, didn’t let you live it down easily. Though she was sworn to secrecy, she took great delight in teasing you about your unspoken feelings, often poking fun at how flustered you became whenever Sevika was nearby. Despite your embarrassment, there was a part of you that found comfort in sharing your secret with someone, even if Mel’s constant smirking made you regret it at times.

The dining hall was bathed in warm candlelight, the long table laden with golden platters of roasted meats, fruits, and delicacies from across the kingdom. Laughter and chatter filled the room, and for a brief moment, everything felt peaceful. You sat at your father’s right hand, the place of honor, dressed in a gown of soft lavender silk. The fabric shimmered with each movement, the embroidery catching the flickering light. Around you, nobles toasted to victories, knights traded boasts, and your ladies-in-waiting whispered behind their hands, no doubt commenting on which of the lords appeared most eligible.

You entertained their murmurs with a polite smile, but your focus drifted to the heavy doors of the hall. You noticed them before they opened, as if instinctively sensing Sevika’s arrival. She stepped inside, her boots echoing against the stone floor. She wasn’t in her usual armor but a simpler, dark tunic and breeches, though her presence alone was as commanding as any battle regalia. She moved with purpose, her scarred face set in a grim line.

“Sevika,” Silco called, his voice cutting through the noise. The room fell silent as she approached the king, bowing her head slightly.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice low but carrying easily through the hall. “There’s news from the gates.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Silco’s eyes narrowed, his wineglass forgotten in his hand. “Speak.”

“The monsters at the borders are escalating their attacks,” Sevika began. “They’re not just striking in waves anymore. It’s constant now. The knights are struggling to keep them contained, and we’re losing ground. Reports suggest their numbers are too great for our current defenses.”

A murmur rippled through the assembled nobles. Silco’s grip on his goblet tightened before he set it down with a sharp clink. “And the commanders? Have they devised a solution?”

Sevika hesitated, her silence answering for her. Finally, she said, “No. They’re holding the line, but we’re losing too many. We need to regroup and rethink our approach.”

Silco’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the chandelier above. Then, decisively, he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll go to the gates myself. I need to see this for myself and consult with the commanders directly.”

You didn’t think—you simply acted. Rising from your seat as Silco and Sevika left the dining hall, you followed them into the dimly lit corridor. Your silk skirts swished as you hurried after them, your jeweled slippers clicking softly against the stone floor. You reached the shadows just in time to overhear Silco’s voice.

“I’ll leave at dawn with the first battalion,” he said. “The reports alone aren’t enough. If this is as dire as it seems, I need to see it myself. There’s no room for error.”

“Understood,” Sevika replied. “But it’s a risk. The journey to the walls is dangerous, especially with the creatures lurking along the roads.”

“I’ll take that risk,” Silco said firmly. “The kingdom’s stability depends on it. If we don’t act now, there won’t be a kingdom left to protect.”

“Father!” Your voice rang out before you could stop yourself. They turned, surprise flashing across Silco’s face before his expression hardened.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he said, his tone sharp but not unkind.

“It concerns me when you’re talking about putting yourself in danger,” you countered, stepping closer. “You can’t just leave. What if something happens to you?”

Silco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t up for debate, child. I need to go. I won’t make the same mistakes as before by sitting idle.”

Your chest tightened, and the memory of your mother’s final words hit you like a blade. “The last time someone told me they’d come back, they didn’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “She promised me, and she never came home. How can you ask me to watch you walk out that same door and pretend it’s fine?”

Silco’s expression softened, though the steel in his resolve remained. He placed a hand on your shoulder, his mismatched eyes meeting yours. “I understand your fear,” he said quietly. “But I have a duty to this kingdom—and to you. If I don’t go, the threat will only grow worse. You’re stronger than you think, and I’ll return. I promise.”

Before you could respond, Sevika stepped forward, her presence grounding the moment. “He’s right,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “Your father’s not reckless. He’ll have me and the best knights in the kingdom with him. You don’t need to worry.”

Her words, though meant to reassure, did little to ease the ache in your chest. You looked between them, fighting the tears welling in your eyes. Finally, you nodded, though the knot of unease remained.

As they turned to leave, you stood alone in the corridor, your hands clenched at your sides. The weight of their footsteps faded, leaving only the faint flicker of torchlight and the hollow echo of your thoughts.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of hurried footsteps and quiet murmurs just beyond your door. The servants were already at work, preparing for your father’s departure. Their shuffling echoed in the hallway as they polished the portraits, hung banners in the kingdom’s colors, and arranged the grand send-off for the king. A knot formed in your chest as the realization settled—he was really leaving.

When your maids entered, they didn’t need to speak to know you were already awake. They moved with gentle precision, draping you in a gown of deep crimson, black, and silver. The silk hugged your frame, the silver embroidery catching the faint morning light. Your hair was styled intricately, each strand woven into a braid that they adorned with silver pins shaped like roses. They murmured compliments, but you barely heard them, your thoughts elsewhere.

As soon as they were done, you hurried to the throne room, your stomach twisting with each step. When you entered, the sight of your father nearly stole your breath.

Silco stood at the base of his throne, dressed in armor that seemed more fitting for a king from a storybook than the man you’d grown up with. The polished silver breastplate bore the royal crest, its sharp lines gleaming under the golden light of the chandeliers. A long crimson cape hung from his shoulders, draping elegantly to the floor. At his side rested a sword with a gilded hilt, its weight a reminder of the battle he was about to face.

You didn’t speak at first, your throat tight with the effort to hold yourself together. But when he saw you, his expression softened. For just a moment, the weight of his responsibility lifted, and he looked at you not as a king but as a father.

You crossed the room quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a fierce embrace. He stiffened, surprised, before his arms came around you, holding you as tightly as you held him. His armor was cold against your cheek, but you didn’t care.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “be safe. I love you, Father.”

His grip tightened, his hand brushing the back of your head. “I love you too,” he said, his voice low and filled with something you rarely heard—uncertainty. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his mismatched eyes searching your face. “You’ve grown so much,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Every time I look at you, I see your mother. Her strength, her heart… I hope you know how proud I am of you.”

Your throat burned as tears welled in your eyes. “Then don’t go,” you pleaded softly, your voice breaking. “Please, Father. I can’t lose you, too. I can’t…”

He cupped your face with one hand, his calloused thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “I have to, my love,” he said, his voice steady despite the sorrow in his eyes. “This kingdom needs me. And more than that, it needs you. You’re stronger than you think—you always have been.”

His words were meant to reassure you, but they only made the ache in your chest worse. “Promise me,” you whispered. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was lingering, full of the unspoken things he couldn’t bring himself to say. “You’ll see me again before you know it.”

You nodded, though the doubt remained, and reluctantly let him go. As he stepped back, you noticed Sevika standing near the doorway, watching the exchange silently.

You crossed the room to her, your steps hesitant but determined. She straightened when you approached, her expression unreadable.

“I need you to promise me,” you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart still raced. “Promise me you’ll bring him back safe.”

Sevika’s brow furrowed slightly, her usual coldness faltering for a moment. “I promise,” she said simply, her tone calm and even.

You narrowed your eyes, stepping closer until you could see the faint scar on her cheek. “No, Sevika. I’m being serious. I know you just see me as some spoiled princess, but I’m not. He’s all I have. Promise me for real.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced briefly at your hand as it reached for hers. The warmth of your touch seemed to catch her off guard. For a moment, something flickered in her expression—something unspoken.

“I’ll protect him with my life, your highness,” Sevika said, her voice quieter this time. “He’ll come back. You have my word.”

You held her gaze for a long moment, searching for any sign of insincerity. But there was none. Finally, you let her hand go, your heart still heavy but steadied by her promise. As she turned to join your father, you watched them walk away, the ache in your chest growing with each step they took.

For now, all you could do was trust—and wait.

Days turned into weeks, each one heavier than the last as you anxiously awaited your father’s return. The castle felt hollow in his absence, the echo of his authoritative voice replaced by an unnerving silence that no amount of bustling servants or lively courtiers could fill. You tried to busy yourself with your routine, but nothing seemed to dull the ache in your chest.

Mel did her best to distract you, her endless ideas for entertainment failing to ease your worry. She often led you to the gardens, coaxing you to admire the blooming roses or walk among the neat hedgerows. She’d chatter about trivial things—her mother’s letters, the latest gossip among the ladies-in-waiting, or the prospect of an upcoming festival—but her words felt distant, like a hum in the background.

On some days, she’d take you to the nearby lake, where you’d lounge by a small boat anchored at the shore. The gentle lapping of the water against the wood, the songs of birds in the trees, and even Mel’s attempts to make you laugh with exaggerated tales of court drama couldn’t pull you from your thoughts. You were miserable.

The anxiety seeped into your nights, turning them restless. You woke more often than not in cold sweats, the remnants of nightmares clinging to you like a suffocating shroud. Dreams of your father not returning—or worse—haunted your sleep, leaving you too afraid to close your eyes again. You’d toss and turn, clutching the heavy blankets as though they could shield you from your fears.

It wasn’t long before you could no longer bear being alone at night. Mel, ever loyal, started sharing your bed, her presence offering a sliver of comfort. She’d hold your hand or hum softly, her voice lulling you into uneasy sleep. But even with her there, the nights felt unbearably long, and the ache in your chest only grew.

You missed your father. His commanding presence, his sharp words that were always tinged with an undercurrent of affection. No matter how stern he could be, he was your anchor, and his absence left you adrift.

And, though you hated to admit it, you missed Sevika too. Her presence lingered in your mind like a ghost. Even though her words were often clipped and dismissive, there had been something in the way she spoke to you that lit a fire within you. A rare spark of interest, a momentary pause that felt like a flicker of attention just for you.

Her aloofness only made her more enigmatic, her sharp gaze and blunt demeanor stirring feelings that you didn’t quite understand. You replayed your interactions with her over and over in your mind, from the sarcastic comments to the way she’d adjust your posture during archery. It wasn’t much, but to you, it was enough.

It was foolish to feel this way, you told yourself. She was the head knight, loyal to your father and bound by duty. She likely thought of you as nothing more than the king’s spoiled daughter, another responsibility on her long list of obligations.

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Each day that passed felt heavier than the last, the weight of your longing for both your father and Sevika pressing down on you. You clung to the hope that their return would bring relief, but until then, you were left to endure the suffocating stillness of the castle and the ache that refused to fade.

Mel, ever persistent in her attempts to lift your spirits, decided that simply resting by the lake was no longer enough. She wanted to give you a moment of true peace, something that might soothe the restlessness in your soul. With a few words to the castle staff, she arranged for a servant to row one of the small boats onto the still waters of the lake.

When the boat was ready, she guided you down to the shore. The late afternoon sun bathed the lake in a soft, golden glow, and the air was filled with the gentle hum of dragonflies and the occasional splash of fish breaking the surface. The sight was tranquil, almost idyllic, but your heart was still heavy.

Mel helped you onto the boat, her steady hand ensuring you didn’t slip on the polished wooden planks. You settled onto the cushioned seat, and as the boat pushed off from the shore, the rhythmic sound of the oars dipping into the water began to lull you into a state of calm.

You leaned against the edge of the boat, resting your head on your folded arm. The water was cool beneath your fingertips as you let your hand trail lazily through it, brushing against the occasional lily pad that floated by. The gentle sway of the boat and the soft rippling of the water were almost hypnotic. For the first time in weeks, you felt a fleeting sense of tranquility.

“If my father and Sevika come back…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy on your tongue, like a confession you hadn’t intended to make. You glanced at your reflection in the water, your face distorted by the ripples. “I’ll actually obey him... and I’ll confess to Sevika about my feelings for her.”

The admission hung in the air, a vulnerable truth you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself before.

Mel, sitting beside you, turned to look at you. Her usual sharp wit and playful banter were absent as she took in the sincerity of your words. After a moment, she smiled softly, a flicker of warmth and understanding in her expression.

“We’ll see about that, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of skepticism.

You turned your head slightly to glance at her, catching the faint curve of her lips and the knowing glint in her eye. She didn’t press you further, didn’t tease or pry as she usually might. Instead, she simply leaned back in her seat, allowing you the space to lose yourself in your thoughts.

As the boat glided across the lake, the silence between you was comfortable. Mel’s presence was steady, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t entirely alone in your longing or your fears.

For now, you could allow yourself to hope.

The following week arrived quietly, marked by the same monotony that had filled the days since your father left. You were seated by your vanity, your servant brushing your hair in slow, careful strokes. The rhythmic tug of the bristles on your scalp was almost lulling, but your mind was elsewhere.

Then, a sound shattered the quiet—faint but unmistakable. The trumpets of the king’s arrival.

Your heart leaped in your chest as you sat up straight, the brush slipping from your servant’s hand. “Your Highness?” they asked, startled.

But you didn’t answer. Without hesitation, you jumped to your feet and ran to your balcony, the cool morning air rushing to greet you as you flung open the doors. The grand stone entrance of the castle stretched below you, and there he was—your father, dismounting his horse in a flurry of movement.

As though sensing your presence, his gaze lifted to meet yours. His face softened instantly, a warm smile spreading across his features. He lifted a hand and waved to you, and you couldn’t stop the answering grin that broke across your face.

“Father!” you called out, your voice carrying down to him.

Without a second thought, you spun around and hurried back into your chambers, your bare feet sliding slightly on the polished floors as you moved. You quickly grabbed your slippers, slipping them on clumsily.

“Your Highness, you’re still in your sleepwear—” your servant began, her voice tinged with concern as she reached for you.

“I don’t care!” you called over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

Your heart raced as you darted through the halls, the familiar corridors blurring past you in your excitement. The heavy stone walls seemed brighter, the tapestries more colorful, as if the castle itself had come alive with his return. The sound of your footsteps echoed off the marble staircase as you descended, nearly stumbling in your haste.

When you finally reached the entrance, your father was just stepping down from his horse, his gloved hands steady as he handed the reins to a nearby stable hand. His cloak billowed slightly in the breeze, his regal presence commanding the attention of everyone around him.

“Father!” you called again, your voice breaking slightly from your breathless sprint.

He turned toward you, his expression shifting from one of composure to pure, unrestrained joy. The moment his eyes met yours, his arms opened wide, and you didn’t hesitate for a second. You closed the distance between you, throwing yourself into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. His grip was firm, steady, and warm, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“It feels like I’m seeing an angel,” he murmured, his voice low and full of emotion.

You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and faint traces of ink from his correspondence. “I know... me too,” you replied, your voice muffled but no less sincere.

Silco finally pulled back from the embrace, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked you over, his sharp eyes softening with affection. “Have you been well, my daughter?” he asked, his voice steady yet tinged with concern.

You nodded, though you hesitated before answering. “Yes, Father. I’ve kept up with my studies and my training... though I missed you terribly,” you admitted, your voice faltering slightly at the end.

His expression softened further, and he cupped your cheek with a gloved hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I missed you as well. It was far too long to be away from my only child.”

As he spoke, you noticed the weight of exhaustion in his features—the faint lines of weariness etched into his face and the slight droop of his shoulders. Yet even so, there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes as he looked at you.

He stepped back, his posture straightening as he addressed not just you but the attendants and soldiers gathering around. His voice carried, commanding attention with its authority.

“My soldiers and I have returned victorious,” he announced, his tone filled with the subtle pride of a ruler who demanded respect but did not flaunt his power unnecessarily. “And such a triumph deserves celebration.”

Your heart skipped slightly at his words, and you couldn’t help the small smile that formed on your lips.

Silco continued, his gaze sweeping over the gathered servants and knights. “A feast will be held tonight in the Great Hall. Let it be a night of joy and gratitude for our success and the safety of our kingdom.”

The attendants and soldiers murmured their approval, the quiet hum of excitement rippling through the crowd.

He turned back to you, his expression softer once again. “And you, my child, will be at my side as the kingdom celebrates.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” you replied, your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within you.

“Good,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But first, you’ll need to prepare. I expect you to look every bit the queen you are destined to be. I trust Mel will see to it?”

You nodded quickly. “She will, Father. I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

“Good,” Silco repeated, placing a hand on your shoulder briefly before turning to his steward to give further instructions about the preparations.

As the crowd began to disperse, Sevika stepped forward, her ever-stoic presence now standing close behind your father. Her sharp eyes glanced over you briefly before she addressed Silco. “I’ll ensure the knights are ready for the evening, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone curt and professional.

Silco nodded in approval, but before Sevika could leave, his gaze shifted back to you. “Sevika, see that my daughter gets back to her chambers safely. She shouldn’t be running through the halls like that again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sevika replied without hesitation.

Your father gave you one last affectionate glance before turning back to his advisors, leaving you standing there with Sevika.

“You heard him,” Sevika said gruffly, her tone laced with the usual edge of authority. “Let’s get you back to your chambers. Can’t have you causing another scene.”

You rolled your eyes slightly but complied, following her as she led the way back into the castle. Despite her sharp words, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort knowing she was there, her towering presence a reminder of both your safety and... something else you weren’t quite ready to admit.

As you and Sevika made your way back through the dimly lit halls of the castle, the cool stone beneath your feet and the drafty corridors sent a shiver down your spine. Without a word, Sevika unclasped her cloak and draped it around your shoulders, the heavy fabric engulfing you in warmth. Her movements were brisk and efficient, as if she had done this a hundred times before, yet the gesture left your cheeks warm in a way that had nothing to do with the cloak itself.

“Thank you,” you murmured, clutching the edges of the cloak tightly around yourself. The faint scent of leather and smoke lingered on the fabric, unmistakably hers.

Sevika gave a short nod, her gaze fixed ahead as the two of you continued walking. The rhythmic clink of her armor filled the silence, but your mind was elsewhere. You kept stealing glances at her, your heart thudding harder with each one. You wanted to speak, to finally confess the feelings you had held onto for so long. The words were right there, resting on the tip of your tongue.

But before you could summon the courage to open your mouth, Sevika’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady.

“Don’t run out in your nightgown again,” she said gruffly, not bothering to glance your way. “It’s quite transparent in the right lighting.”

You froze mid-step, your eyes widening as her words sank in. The warmth in your cheeks flared into a full blush, spreading down your neck as you quickly looked away, your hands instinctively tugging the cloak tighter around your body.

“I-I wasn’t thinking,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to see my father.”

Sevika finally glanced at you, her sharp eyes briefly scanning your flustered expression before she huffed a soft, almost amused sigh. “That much was obvious.”

You felt your stomach twist with embarrassment, but there was something in her tone—a faint trace of humor, perhaps—that eased the sting of her bluntness.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you muttered, your gaze fixed firmly on the stone floor as you walked.

“See that you do,” Sevika replied, her voice returning to its usual sternness. “You may be the king’s daughter, but you’re not above common sense.”

Her words stung, but there was no malice in them, only the no-nonsense practicality that defined her. Still, your heart ached as you realized how far away your confession still felt. How could you possibly tell someone like her—so composed, so seemingly unimpressed by you—what you truly felt?

As you neared your chambers, the weight of the unspoken words pressed heavily on your chest. For now, you would settle for the warmth of her cloak and the fleeting moments of attention she gave you, even if they were laced with sternness.

The feast was a spectacle of grandeur. With Mel and a team of diligent servants, you were adorned in your finest jewels, your hair styled to perfection, and the shimmering gown hugging your frame like it was made of starlight itself. The dress—delicate and intricate, like spun silver—glittered under the candlelight, catching every flicker and transforming it into magic. The translucent layers of the fabric hugged your silhouette, leaving just enough to the imagination while maintaining an air of regality.

Mel circled you with a satisfied smile, tucking one final lock of hair into place. “If Sevika doesn’t fall for you tonight,” she teased, “she must be made of stone.”

You swatted her arm lightly but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your lips. With a deep breath, you stepped out into the party, your heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor as you entered the grand ballroom.

The hall was alive with music, laughter, and clinking glasses. The party was far too large for the dining hall, so the grand ballroom served as the perfect venue. Guests danced beneath glittering chandeliers, their movements synchronized to the lively tunes of the string quartet. You and your ladies joined in, swirling through the dance floor in familiar patterns, your laughter mixing with the music.

You’d had two glasses of wine by then—an indulgence you rarely allowed yourself—and it left you feeling warm and light. Your inhibitions melted away, and you let yourself be swept up in the joy of the moment.

That was when you saw her.

Sevika stood near the edge of the ballroom, her tall frame unmistakable even among the most decorated soldiers. Her usual rugged attire was transformed, enhanced with gold detailing that caught the light in flashes of brilliance. Her armor had been polished to a mirror finish, and though her expression remained stoic, she looked breathtakingly regal.

Your gaze lingered, and Mel—ever observant—caught on immediately. She grabbed your wrist, pulling you from the dancing circle with a knowing grin. “Now’s your chance,” she whispered.

You hesitated, your heart racing. “I don’t know, Mel.”

“What if you don’t see her again? What if she leaves for a mission and never comes back?”

The weight of her words struck you, and you turned to look at Sevika again. She was speaking with someone, her stern profile illuminated by the golden light of the chandeliers. Mel was right—you couldn’t waste this moment.

With a deep breath, you smoothed your gown and made your way toward her, weaving through the crowd. When you reached her, you placed a tentative hand on her arm, causing her to turn and look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I speak to you somewhere privately?” you asked softly.

Sevika’s brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, following you out of the ballroom and into one of the quieter hallways.

The hallway felt like it was closing in around you, the flickering sconces casting fleeting light on Sevika’s armor. Her stern expression was unreadable, and her imposing frame seemed even more unyielding in the dim corridor. Still, you gathered every ounce of courage you could muster. This was your moment, and you couldn’t let it slip away, no matter how heavy the weight of her cold demeanor felt.

You hesitated, the stem of the wine glass trembling in your grip as you tried to muster the courage to speak. She didn’t move, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting. Always waiting, as if the weight of your words was little more than an inconvenience.

"Well?" she said flatly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "If you dragged me away from the ball for this, I suggest you make it quick."

“I’ve held this in for too long,” you started, your voice trembling slightly. “I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter, that you don’t matter.”

Sevika’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing, her silence more oppressive than any words could be. You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I love you, Sevika,” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of your confession. “I’ve loved you for years.”

For a moment, her mask slipped. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—surprise, uncertainty, maybe even longing. It was so fleeting you almost doubted you’d seen it at all. But it gave you the courage to close the distance between you, to take her face in your hands.

She didn’t pull away. Her body tensed under your touch, but she remained rooted in place, her breathing shallow and uneven. It was enough. You leaned in, your lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was as much a plea as it was a confession.

For a fleeting moment, she kissed you back. Her lips were hesitant, but warm, and you felt a spark—something you’d only ever dreamed of. It was like the world had stopped, and in that heartbeat, everything else ceased to matter.

But just as quickly, it was over. Sevika’s hands came up, gripping your wrists firmly as she pulled away. The space between you felt like a chasm, and the cold air rushed in where her warmth had been.

“No.” Her voice was sharp, almost a growl. She let go of your wrists, and you staggered back, staring at her in disbelief.

“Sevika—” you started, your voice cracking with desperation.

“Don’t,” she snapped, cutting you off. Her expression was hard, her eyes blazing with something you couldn’t place—anger, regret, pain. “This… whatever this is, it can’t happen. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Why?” you demanded, tears welling in your eyes. “Why are you doing this? I know you feel something for me. I know you do!”

“Because you’re nothing but a spoiled little girl who doesn’t understand the world she lives in,” Sevika snapped, her tone cold and biting. Her eyes bored into yours, unyielding and merciless. “You think this is some fairy tale where you confess your feelings, and everything falls into place. But that’s not how life works. I serve your father. I protect this kingdom. That is my duty. Not indulging the childish fantasies of a princess who doesn’t know the meaning of sacrifice.”

Her words were a dagger, each one sinking deeper into your chest. You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. The tears you’d been fighting spilled over, streaking your cheeks as you stared at her, your heart breaking with every second that passed.

Sevika’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the cold mask she always wore. She took a step back, putting more distance between you. “Forget this ever happened,” she said, her voice flat. “And stop chasing after things that aren’t meant for you.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heavy boots echoing down the corridor. You stood there, frozen, as the weight of her rejection pressed down on you. The air felt colder now, the once-grand gown that adorned you suddenly feeling suffocating, like a cage meant to keep you trapped in a world where you could never truly be free.

You slid down the wall, your knees giving out beneath you as you buried your face in your hands. The sound of the ballroom felt even further away now, and for the first time in your life, you wished you could disappear completely.

Mel stepped into the hall, her steps echoing through the quiet corridors of the castle. She froze when she saw you, sitting on the cold stone floor, your body trembling with sobs. The sight of you, usually so composed, crumbled in such a vulnerable state, sent a pang of concern through her chest. “(Y/N)?” she called out softly, her voice filled with both worry and warmth.

Between the heavy breaths, you managed to choke out the words, “She said she didn’t love me back… she called me childish,” your voice breaking as the weight of the rejection hung in the air like a thick, suffocating fog.

Mel's heart ached at the sound of your pain. Without a second thought, she hurried to your side, kneeling down beside you. Her hands gently touched your arms, offering a quiet comfort as she whispered, “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

With surprising strength, Mel helped you to your feet, supporting your wobbly legs as you struggled to calm the tears that refused to stop. Her presence was grounding, a steady reassurance in the storm of your emotions. As the two of you walked slowly back toward your chambers, Mel kept a steady hand on your back, guiding you through the castle’s labyrinth of halls.

The comforting silence between you both was interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from you, as you struggled to regain some composure. Mel didn’t say anything more. She knew there was nothing to say—at least not yet. She just wanted to get you somewhere safe, where you could break down if you needed to, without the prying eyes of the castle around you.

taglist: @tinycherry0 @thesecondhandwoman @abbysleftbicepp @artfairyyyyy @bunninel @furrytaesss @savedforlaterr @veladeangl @5t4r1i9ht @athena-winters13 (😝) @inlovewithsevikaandambessa

[anonofthemys]

Just feel the need to praise these designs for a moment. These are absolutely sick! I love how you can see which era each sinner is from.

Always support more Bee like redesigns of Beelzebub. This one leans more towards a more royal image, but I can also see her as like an old but cool party woman. I really dig the idea of her goblet constantly overflowing as reference to her sin. Also the fact that she actively encourages overindulgence because THE SIN OF GLUTTONY wouldn't care about restraint.

Charlie's design is great. It emphasizes her more clearly being goatlike, with her horns, hooves, nose and ears. I also like her having extensions behind her hooves to emulate heels.

I love the more business style look for Angel dust, but with hints of his other life by having the peak at his stockings from behind his coat. It really fits his time period.

I'm 1000% for actual Radio styled head Alastor. If Vox can have a TV for a head and be clearly identified as the TV demon, Alastor can have more radio stuff. His mouth barely moving at all is also great because it brings to mind how Radio is

Lucifer having a beautiful face contrasting with his bestial hairy body is so cool. Also really dig the snake head tail, as reference to the garden of Eden. Might be reading into it, but Lucifer being the only one in this lineup (aside from maybe Beelzebub) who is naked makes him stand out more among the cast. He feels significantly older, as he existed before the Garden of Eden, and thus the invention of human clothing. It also gives him an air of "majesty"/ arrogance to him. Like that he doesn't NEED to wear clothing, and he just goes about hell as he pleases. Like he lords over hell like an Olympian god.

Velvette's design having more visible doll joints and a puppet mouth is great. Makes her more apparent as being a "dress up doll" demon. Plus good on keeping her melanin :D.

I love the rugged slightly deranged look Blitzo has, as well as the sickly yellow hue Moxxie has. The IMPS designs contrast really well with the classic royal look the Goetias have.

Loona's design is great, making her a bit more like a husky. The blues and magentas really add a pop of color to her design. Octavia's design is fantastic. looks like a proper princess whilst also carrying an air of "dark moody teen who's tired of her father's shit." She gives me Raven from Teen Titans vibes

Mammon. MAMMON. Mammon rules man! This design mixes Oogie boogie elements with the original helluva boss design silhouette and makes it look so cool. The eyes on the three antenna make him look creepy in a good way. he's wearing a dirty brown bag for clothes/ skin, but he's bedazzled in jewels and gold and has money literally overfilling from out of his holes as fluff. I love that his "feet" are just hands, and that he has more hands hidden under his coat.

Overall these are really cool redesigns.

Hellaverse redesigns cuz im brainrotting on making the characters/writing better! Im thinking of making au 🤔

Also hi!! Im new to tumblr :D

[mysticdreamdrafts]

Chris Redfield | Husband Headcanons

im in love with this man idk so I wanted to yell about him lol 

Chris is the type a guy who married you early on, fight me on it. That “I know we’re teens but I love you” sorta thing, ya know? Maybe y’all were high school sweethearts and just the love was real.  Maybe ya met in the military and fell for one another. Either way, it worked. Y’all stayed together and it just never died out. 

So here’s some (PRE-TRAUMA BECAUSE LORDY) hubby headcanons I think about for Chris Redfield: -Golden Retriever Hubby  -Actually really bad about remembering important dates, but will make it up to you no matter what -And like look at that face can you stay mad at him? No- -Because he doesn’t remember dates very well, prepare for random gifts literally all the time -“Happy Monday here’s some flowers because I wanted you to have them” -Breakfast in bed kinda guy -Can actually cook HELLLLLLLA well -Actually shocked you but then you remembered he’s the older brother  -Full belly laughs  -I’m talkin’ head falls back and eyes squeezed shut sorta laugh -It can make car alarms go off lmfao -Claire isn’t a fan, but you can’t help but join him when he laughs  -Protective -Very protective -He is confident you can take care of yourself, but he knows how harsh the world can be  -He doesn’t know what he would do if anything were to happen to you -We’ve seen how he cares so much about his friends. His sister. Now imagine you?? Man oh man -It can be a bit insufferable  -I imagine it would be the source of some arguments. It feels like he doesn’t trust you all the time, but that isn’t it. -It’s the world he doesn’t trust -He is stubborn too, but he’ll apologize first if he knows he’s in the wrong or being too much  -Apology kisses -Apology letters   -After an argument, be ready for a bit of silent treatment in the house. He believes time away to think about things before coming back to talk is healthy so that you don’t just both end up getting heated for nothing or say something neither of you mean -But afterward, oooo buddy he’s all about conversation -like it might take a bit to get there because he is HARD HEADED, but after he realizes your points and maybe he’s being a lil ✨extra ✨ he’ll wanna talk about being better -bad at taking photos -like a whole lotta headroom, weird angles, and atrocious mid-blink snapshots -like Chris, pls for the love of god what is wrong with you lol -lets you shave his face, he feels it’s very intimate and he loves to watch your focus face -he’ll wash your hair if you let him -hell, he’ll pamper you always -but there’s something about learning your hair type, finding out what you like, how to oil your hair, take care of you that just means a lot to him

That’s all I have for now but I’ll yell more about him later

If y’all want a NSFW version lemme know and maybe i’lllllllllll idkkkkk heeheeeeeeee~ (imma do it lol)

[lorifragolina]

Midlife Crisis

This is my contributio for the @harringrovemicroficandart January prompt! Prompt: Crisis WC: 805 TW: No TW but It's sad (at least for me...)

Read it on AO3

The thought hit Steve when he looked at the pictures of his last birthday.

Jesus, he looked so old. He didn’t seem old, not that old, but he felt all his 45 years falling over him like a truck.

When did he start to look like his father? He didn’t look “his father” old, he looked way younger, but it wasn’t the point: he didn’t recognize himself. 

Billy was in almost all the pictures, looking so young and beautiful, while he seemed so worn out… when he grew so older than his partner? When their over twenty years relationship had become so tight for Steve? They had been together for the most of their lives. Was that his future? Growing old and tired and just… used to a relationship he didn’t ever recognize anymore?

It wasn’t Billy’s fault, of course. He never stopped trying, he never stopped taking care of Steve, and himself. He regularly hit the gym, ran, ate clean and such things, he was still hot even after all that time and of course, they still had great sex, but… Steve barely started things anymore, but he didn't have the courage to talk to Billy. 

Maybe it was that young new coworker of Steve, just twenty-something and so queer and modern, like Steve never had been. Things are changed now, now a young lad could be a flamboyant gay in his office’s hallways and nobody cared; Steve wore crop tops back in the past, but he could never be like that. Times had changed and he felt he had been left behind. 

He grew resentful. At least Billy had his early teen years to explore, but Steve had been stuck in a twenty-year relationship since he came out as gay before turning twenty.

Stuck… the word struck him. Is it what he really thought? Billy never said no when he asked to try new things; they went places, explored, but Steve had never been interested in doing such things without Billy, and he never was interested in being with anyone else… until now. 

Until the shiny new lad approached him at his desk looking at him like a hot piece of meat. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name… Stud?” He smiled, flashing his tongue, and Steve blushed, completely dumbfounded.

“Steve…” he managed to answer, feeling twenty years younger. They kept playing in the next week and when Steve returned home and looked at his man with his muscled arms in his rolled up shirt, he just felt trapped in that kitchen, even if it wasn’t true. 

“What if we open our relationship?” Steve said one day, trying to seem casual. 

Billy was puzzled, Steve never gave him a clue before.

“Why?”

Steve shied away, he was afraid to confess he just wanted to fuck a brand new baby boy who probably had slept with more men than him. He made some excuses but Billy just didn’t feel comfortable at the moment. 

Steve started to “work late,” and “going out with the coworkers, you know, for team building”, and Billy wasn’t happy when he returned late at night, smelling of cheap alcohol and smoke. 

“Did you go to the club? We can go this weekend together, if you want,” but Steve always declined. It was the point: he wanted to have some experiences alone, even if it wasn’t right towards Billy. 

They never got married, so they didn’t have a nasty divorce; they had a nasty break up indeed, when Steve said things that Billy didn’t deserve and Billy didn’t be quiet in turn.

Of course, Steve was only a pretty distraction for his new young lover, and when he left him empty and alone in his new, little bachelor apartment, he sadly questioned himself and his fucking midlife crisis.

He still thought about Billy, even if they went no contact for the last couple of years; he just found an old box he  probably never opened since he moved out from indiana.

Old tapes, an old walkman too, his yearbook, a little box of pictures… and there, he found it.

A photo he took with his old polaroid during a hike he did with the party.

Billy, in his lifeguard uniform, lazily sitting on a blanket with his book, one of his blond curls burning by the summer sun. He was looking at the camera with his sassy look but a hint of a smile that Steve, holding the picture in his hand, realized he was missing like fresh air. 

He hoped Billy kept his old phone number, Steve didn’t, and he was shaking while dialing it.

“Hargrove,” answered Billy.

“Billy…” it’s me, Steve was about to say, but he realized that he hadn’t anymore the right to be “me”. 

“Billy… it’s Steve…” 

He waited in silence, with his heart in his mouth.

[uyallstars]

I watched the first episode of Baban Baban Ban Vampire and it’s more or less what I expected from the trailer… The only thing is that I really didn’t put much thought in the premise beyond the comedic aspect.

[dykedvonte]

You wanna talk about House and Benny? Let’s talk about House and Benny. Let’s talk about how House says he saw Benny as a son figure ans a rightful successor to the strip. Let’s talk about how Benny was so charmed by House’s offer that he literally killed a man to get the position to agree to it. Let’s talk about how House was intentionally priming Benny and regrets not doing better, not for the wasted time but of Benny’s wasted potential, how it was misplaced. Let’s talk about how Benny didn’t question House’s leadership until the guy started going radio silent. Let’s talk about House and Benny:

[spotaus]

If I have energy I want to draw out some designs for an au I'm spontaneously writing.

(Medieval times, there's a Prophecy. Nightmare rules over this kingdom and is supposed to complete this prophecy, he refuses to because it would harm the people. Dream was sent away and banished by Night because he was dis-illusioned into thinking the prophecy was a Good Thing abd what he was raised to complete. Night collected his Knights (Killer, Dust, Horror, and Cross most recently) and trains them and tells them the truth of the prophecy. They're loyal to him. One day the magic of the prophesy (Apple Magic) leaves Nightmare unexpectedly, returning him to the state he was in before he accepted the mantle. This puts a target on his back and gives Dream a huge advantage in maybe making a comeback. The Knight's decide that their King (newly a young lad and variably scared and frightened) must be protected and they run the kingdom as he normally would, while also ensuring he survives and that the prophecy can't be completed.)

[spicyicymeloncat]

Yknow what I kinda like Harumi and Vania (as a ship or even just friends) purely more for the aesthetic of pure sunshine and optimistic heroism vs doom gloom and bomb go boom. And they’re both princesses, and they both have daddy issues. And it’s likely that the Ninjago royal family and the shintaro royal family were in touch, and they could’ve been childhood friends

[houseofwolvess]

i am once again overwhelmed by love for humans as a whole

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Me: *talking about the older Disney Princess movies and how I'm re-watching them* Someone: Oh yeah, but man those older ones, the OG 3? They were horrible representation for wom- Me:

Me: Speak not another word, lest we get thrusted back into the good year of 2014. This is why Frozen gagged y'all, cause people had that antiquated and twisted mindset of something that doesn't exist.

[thaliagrayce]

just saw a post analyzing how in mdzs basically every man you meet is described as attractive in some way, and that fact was used for backing up how silly it is that wwx took so long to realize he liked men. which is fun and true! excellent watsonian analysis!

but. i'm rereading tgcf with a friend now and thinking about all 3 mxtx books and i've been getting frustrated that like, every single character is either a) somebody's parent/grandparent or b) described as looking 30 years old MAX. like. i understand that this is danmei and that Pretty Young Men are the thing, but also? can we have someone who shows signs of age? are we afraid of sexualizing laugh lines and grey streaks? just a thought.

[bumblebee-be]

i had the WEIRDEST fucking dream last night

[spring-lxcked]

listen college william is absolutely doing everything he can to get his shit together and not be Visibly Violent, but i do think him going completely apeshit, like, once would be funny

[adreamfromnevermore]

Love the slight AUs where Bruce as Batman has been a member of the league for ages, but he's somehow managed to keep his assortment of children under the radar.

Because it sets up the wildest misunderstandings within the league. He routinely talks about his babies, his children who are all so sweet and kind and occasionally assholes yes but only because they are young (and traumatized) hell I don't think the league would even be aware that they're adopted. So they're all thinking literal children

Barry: Bats really loves his kids.

Hal: I mean they're babies, wait till they hit the angsty teens and I'm sure we'll be hearing the opposite

Which means the day they finally meet Nightwing they don't know wtf to think. For one thing, how old would he have been when he had this kid???? Should they be worried about that???? And for the other, that is not a baby, that is not a precious little thing.

He could break someone in half. Like a twig.

He won't, but he could. And they can see that. (He's bat trained, they have seen what the bat can do they are not fools)

And they're like, okay. Okay maybe he isn't the baby (he is). He's got younger kids right? He's never said how many, they have 0 clues. They've been expecting 1 child, maybe 2 because he'd said kid in the plural exactly once when comforting an older woman while they were searching for her children in the aftermath of a rough battle.

And then a week later they run into Red Hood. In his leather, with his guns. And he drapes himself across Batmans back with all the self confidence in the world and starts whining about the "Brat" breaking into his safe house.

To steal his dog.

And yet again. He is not baby. He is bigger than Batman. He could probably break Batman in half given the bat didn't put up a fight. But Batman looks at him with probably the softest expression they've ever seen on that mans face and tells him very earnestly that the kid just wants to spend time with his older brother, next time they should try a walk. Maybe go to the zoo.

But probably not one of the babies. They're kind, and gentle, and at least one just loves reading and Bats has been trying to encourage that!!!

And then a day later he mentions his "babies" going for a walk in the park and they all instantaneously lose their minds at the confirmation.

[inupibaldspot]

Back off,kid.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : (Teen)Gojo is jealous over (kid) Fushiguro having a crush on you.

Fushiguro Megumi always wonders if he made the right choice every time a white-haired sunglass wearing teenager walks into the house.

The tall older boy would grin as his hands form a salute. “You doing good Megumi and Tsumiki?”

He was as useful as the indoor plants. Fushiguro thought.

Gojo wasn’t much good at cooking and neither helped with cleaning, probably because of his rich background—but he did spoil them with lots of food and pocket money but he wouldn’t ever admit that.

As much as Fushiguro would love to throw insults at Gojo, he holds back his tongue each time; Tsumiki would send sharp glare and nag him if he did.

The first friend he brought to visit them was a girl; it was after Gojo went missing for a while and when Tsumiki inquired about it ,he simply said one of his dear friend went cray-cray as his finger twirls at the temple of his head.

The girl had short, brown hair with a distinct smell of cigarette; her name was Shoko Ieiri. She wore an impressed look when she entered the house as she looked over to Gojo. “Heh— The place is pretty neat,Gojo.”

Fushiguro looked to Gojo who placed some groceries on the counter top with a proud smile on his face. “I know right!” Gojo replies.

The young boy frowns. “It’s Tsumiki who keeps the place clean.” Shoko gives Gojo a stare before she cackles.

A week later when Tsumiki was still in school with club activities, another person makes an appearance ,you. He could faintly hear conversations between you and Gojo through the front door on how you’d actually wanted to visit them sooner but was bombarded with mission before it swings open.

The first thing Fushiguro noticed was how Gojo seemed to make you enter first— other times he barges in without a care for Shoko— his hands near your back with a slight space, without touching it. Why was Gojo being nice?

You blink at the dark haired boy. “Fushiguro Megumi, right?” Gojo peers from behind as you smile. “Did you eat?”

“Not yet. Waiting for Tsumiki to get home.” Fushiguro thinks you’re the first person who is kind of decent.

You nod take plastic bag from Gojo’s hands and lift up it, your smile widen. “I’ll make you some good stuff then.”

“I want to eat your cooking too,y/n.” Gojo chirps in only to be ignored. And to your credit, it was actually good. He didn’t remember the last time he had something this good home made.

After that, your visits seemed to increase which Fushiguro Megumi did not mind, in fact he was getting fond of your presence. You helped with food, cleaning which lessened the load on Tsumiki plus you also helped him with his studies.

“You seemed to get it now, Megumi.” Poor kid, blushes a bit hearing your compliment. “Practice this set of questions and I think you’ll do pretty well on your tests.” You smile.

Fushiguro nods as he does as you say, face still heated up. He looks up at you, who was reading a book. Your hair slightly in your face, lips slightly parted with eyes focused. You were extremely beautiful and as much as he wouldn’t admit it , he had a big fat kid crush on you.

“Megumi-chan.” Suddenly he is shoved to the side as a body makes way in between you and him. It was Gojo who sat in between. “Move over~ This seat is mine.”

The boy frowns and so did you, not liking Gojo’s action. “Don’t interrupt the kid, who is studying.” Kid? Ouch…You huff as your move over, despite you complaining you make space for him, focus back on your book.

Fushiguro watched as Gojo leans closer to you, almost resting his head on your neck as he looked over to your book; after a while eyes slowly moved over to you, his expression softens.

Gojo smiles as he tugs a piece of hair behind your hair, to which you don’t react as if it was normal. Thee older man then turns his head to Fushiguro—oops,he got caught staring.

The white haired boy then grins, a condescending one in fact as he mouths out the following words.

‘y/n-is-mine.” Fushiguro huffs. ‘back-off.”

·:*¨༺ Part 2༻¨*:·

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