#my writing has changed a lot in three years but also?? sometimes feels like not at all

[starkravinghazelnoots]

guess who started writing pt. 4 of complicated!!!

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。and my body keeps saying (it's yours) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.6k

summary: gojo thinks this is different, new, almost like it’s the first time for everything.

contains: f!reader in mind but no specifics are mentioned, 18+/mature/soft-slight n*ft/w, sex with feelings (it’s really just vanilla tho!), first time!, there’s an awkward bit but that’s intentional!, lots of nervous feelings! but also lots of intimacy!

a/n: for nonie.🫧 who asked about what it would be like for their first time! title is inspired by an emotional oranges song, devotion (which i used as music inspo for the entire fic too + troye sivan, what a heavenly way to die). this is also my first time writing anything close to n*fw so please be kind! idk if i’ll ever write one again; takes place between tell me about love (show me how) and so this is what it means to be in love!

collection masterlist: conversations on love 02. tell me about love (show me how) <- you are here -> +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

It’s a touch—

—fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw, trailing down his neck, lightly, delicately.

Gojo kisses you beneath the glow of your bathroom lights and he twitches, just a little bit. 

“Sorry,” you stop, attempting to pull away from him immediately. 

His neck is sensitive, always has been since Toji. The mark has faded over the years; what used to be a line running through the shadow of his jawline is now nothing, but you know the feeling lingers, still. You’ve tried to avoid the area as much as you could—while sparring, hugging, kissing; holding him in moments as intimate as this. But sometimes, your fingers slip, and he jolts, so you move away, apologetic—

And he wishes that you didn’t, wishes that he didn’t have to react that way when all he really wants is for you to hold him like this.

He stares at you now, lips puffed and kiss-bitten, and thinks, he shouldn’t even be here—

—at 2:00 a.m., in your apartment, fresh out of a three-day assignment he caught the last train for, just to see you. 

He shouldn’t even be here, bone-tired in a black t-shirt and track pants he couldn’t be bothered with—there just wasn’t enough time to change out of it. 

And he really shouldn't even be here, except, he cut the assignment two days short, rushed through it, restless, eager at the thought of getting back soon. 

All because he missed you. 

Gojo keeps you close, his fingers splayed on the base of your spine, warm and pressing. You can’t read him, his next move, but his eyes hold lightning crackling. He takes your hand and guides it back to where he’s weakest, underneath his jaw, on his neck—healed skin and tissue, his lifeline to you.

“Keep it,” he murmurs, eyes piercing. 

He still twitches when you touch his skin, but it’s always been involuntary. You should know that it could never be because of you, your hands that hold every good thing his heart carries. 

You lean in first, tiptoeing, nudging his nose with yours and your lips hovering. His pulse point rests beneath your fingertips—can you feel how fast it’s beating? Just from having you near him? 

The tips of his hair tickle your forehead and he swallows, throat bobbing. It’s impossible to resist him when he’s this boyish, this charming, so you kiss his lips once, before pulling away, teasing. He bites his lips, red blooming against pink, and you don’t know exactly what you’re anticipating—

But he leans in. 

When you kiss again, the feeling is familiar, a memory of trembling lips and shaky breaths by a bathroom door that isn’t yours. He doesn’t tremble anymore, isn’t as stiff when he has your lips memorized among many other things, but Gojo still flushes the same way your cheeks heat up and your breaths intermingle at the same rate your hearts race.  

You follow where the lights have diffused into your hallway, this dance with him a push-and-pull you’ve done a few times before. He keeps his palm flat on your lower back, pushing you closer, while pulling you towards your bedroom door.  

His hands slide to your waist, dipping you, grip tightening as you bite his lips, tugging. He moans softly, voice low when your hands rake through his hair, the vibrations rippling through your mouth. Your fingers grasp at the short strands of hair at the back of his head, sighing when his lips are released from yours. 

There’s a moment where you catch his eyes, pupils blown a dangerous blue—a sky swallowing you whole before he begins trailing kisses down your neck, nips and licks evidence of just how greedy he is with you. 

A heat builds within you, rooted deep in your belly as you stay pressed against the outline on his crotch. 

It’s hard to imagine a time before all this, how he even struggled to hold your hand when he touches you now like this. 

You stumble over his feet as he backs into your bedroom, steadied only by his hold on you. You chuckle, a small ‘oops’, so sweet, as your collarbone clashes with his teeth. He smiles, lips curled against your skin as he teases, “So clumsy,” 

He’s kissed you this much before, has held you this tight, and touched you much more but this feeling between you now, he can tell—

Tonight is different. 

You lead him this time, to the edge of your bed as you keep him closer, hands all over him. When you lie down, lower lip caught between your teeth, you smile shyly but your eyes burn sinfully, and Gojo wonders if you know that this is what he sees when he’s dreaming. 

He moves closer, your mattress dipping as he hovers above you, arms caging the sides of your face. His head is spinning, eyes zeroing in on the skin exposed by the single button undone on your pajama top. 

When you cup his cheeks, thumb running across his swollen lips—

He thinks he might go crazy. 

You have no idea what you just did. 

He takes a breath before pressing every bit of his longing onto your neck, kissing, sucking, licking, imprinting proof that he was here, with you. It’s red and blotchy, situated right underneath your ear and it’s one too many but still not enough—for him, never enough.

You gasp, tugging at the hem of his shirt, and it’s overwhelming, this feeling. As quickly as it escalated, Gojo freezes, as if you’ve burned him, as if he’s caught up to what could possibly be happening, and it’s—

It’s a lot. 

He pulls away slowly, eyes wide and breath shaky. The air is thick, hot and heavy, and this—where this is going is something he’s never done before, not entirely. 

You sit up, alarmed, hands cradling his face carefully. His eyes are frantic, nervous, blinking at a pace that only makes you worried. 

“We can stop,” you mumble, lowering your hands to take his, gently.

He sees you, hair a mess, marked his, beautiful, and  he just wants to make sure—that you’re okay with this, that you want this, with him. Truly. 

“Do you want to?” he asks, a sky you could fall into, “Honestly.” 

He breathes out, staring. You gulp before shaking your head. “Do you?”  

And he doesn’t have to think much about it, really, because of course, he doesn’t want to stop. 

How could he, when it’s you?

He shakes his head too and you smile.

You squeeze his hand, guiding it to the buttons of your top, “Okay—”

“We’ve never…” he hesitates, trailing off.

It’s weird because it isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before; you’ve both done things at the very least, just never all the way. And now, with the knowledge that that very fact is going to change—it feels different, new, like it’s the first time for everything. 

You nod, stroking his knuckles to reassure him, “You said you’re a fast learner, right?” 

The nervous laugh you give is oddly comforting, and he remembers that first kiss and the single thought that if he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does? 

So he takes it—

—unbuttons your top one-by-one, and he’s a bit shaky, hands clammy, but he gets it off eventually. Then goes his shirt, and your shorts, his pants, a struggle to get past his ankles until you’re both bare, cheeks hot while giggling, like first loves—and maybe it is. 

Gojo sees you stripped down, uncovered, wholly you for the first time and thinks he could die. 

It’s vulnerable and strange as he hovers over you this time, skin-to-skin, but you fit together this way, just right. 

You giggle some more, unable to hide your nervousness. It’s a habit you have—laughing in inappropriate situations, but he thinks it’s cute, so he does it right back. 

Your fingers trace his eyebrows, down to his nose and cheeks, then to his lips, still red and bitten, “You’re so pretty, Satoru. Not fair.” 

He blushes, tips of his ears and neck flushing, “‘Course,” he kisses your nose, pulling away to get a good look at you.

“Have to be if I’m with you.” 

It’s cheesy, and you roll your eyes, laughing full-on but he smiles wider and it feels good knowing that he’ll forever get to share this moment with you. 

“I, uh,” he mumbles, trying to find the words, “have to prep.” 

“Oh, yeah, right,” you move, hands reaching for him between you, but he catches your wrist before you touch him, stopping you. 

“Don’t,” he says, firm, face red as he looks straight at you. “I might not…” he doesn’t continue but you know what he means, so you nod, pulling away. 

His hand trails down your body, inching closer to where you need him to be, and it’s sweet you think, because he kisses your lips once before asking, “Can I?” as if he still has to.

You nod, before whispering, “Don’t ask next time.” 

Next time, you said and it rings, echoes in his head as a promise for more—that this is just the beginning. 

So he touches you, in every way he thinks you should be, in every way he knows you want to be. 

There’s a gasp, then a moan as he leaves another mark on your neck, and you’re so close when he stops. 

You whimper, but you know what’s next, and you see it in his eyes as he prepares himself, fingers discarding a square packet, “You’ll let me know?” he whispers, soft, concerned.

You’ll let me know if I hurt you? he means, and his eyes stare into yours, sincere. 

You nod, brushing your lips against his, and when you feel it—it’s unusual, maybe a bit uncomfortable but he’s there kissing it away. 

There’s an adjustment, a few awkward positions until he finds it, then he goes slow, rhythmic. Your sighs grow louder and he groans, withholding, then you say it—

“‘Toru,”

—by his ear, soft and breathy, and he’s gone, stilling and spilling, a part of him forever yours, irrevocably. 

thank you notes: to nonie.🫧 for asking about this in the first place, and to niku (@stellamancer) for emotional support and for reading this first!! + for helping me go over it!! i love u niku 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[magics-neptunes-things]

Cheetah

Hello everyone!

So for once this isn't a request, but more something who was walking in my head rent free and I just had to write it.

I don't know a lot about motorcycle to be honest but i made some research, so if there is some incoherence, I'm sorry!

Also I start to translate the English in Spanish before stopping, because in the end almost everyone is supposed to talk in Spanish and I'm really bad at it (I only can command something to eat and drink).

Please let me know what you think about it and enjoy ♥

TW : Moto accident, Angst, Injuries and a little bit of autodestruction maybe.

“Come on Cheetah, everyone’s waiting for you!”

You sigh softly, putting the picture you were looking at in your bag. It’s a picture of your ex-girlfriend and yourself, during your happy days. It’s been three months since the breakup and you are still mourning the end of your relationship like if it was the first hours. You still feel numb and if like someone is constantly crushing your heart in their iron grip. It’s not getting better, and it probably never will. Ona was, is, the love of your life and it’s just impossible for you to recover from it.

Falling for Ona was easy. You met her when you were both 20, even if you come from Palma de Mallorca and not Barcelona. You are a athlete too, so it wasn’t hard to cross her path at one of the Spanish awards. Patri Guijarro was there too and like you she comes from Mallorca, so she introduced you both and the rest is history.

When Ona moved to Manchester, you follow her. You find a team to train your motorcycle and your skills there. You were still young but promising on the circuit and you didn’t have trouble the find someone to help you getting better. And better you get. Just like Ona in Manchester United, you easily improve your skills and became one of the best in the world. Sure, you were sometimes away from home and Ona for your competitions, but everything was perfect.

When Ona came back to Barcelona, you flow back with her too. Some of your team came with you, some other didn’t but you can’t hold it against them. You find people to replace them and continue to race on the top of the leader boards.

The breakup didn’t come from nowhere, you can’t say that. You knew how much Ona was worried when you race, scared that you hurt yourself. You never had a big injury until now. But just after Christmas, you were implicated in an accident and Ona had trouble to concentrate in something else than that since that day.

It wasn’t your fault honestly; you just weren’t able to avoid the motorcycles already lying on the road. So, you made a gliding flight and had a concussion and a dislocated shoulder, nothing too serious. But Ona was in Barcelona while you were in Qatar, and it took almost two hours for you to be able to call her, even if you make everything possible to have your phone back.

That’s what pushed Ona to break up with you.

“I can’t keep focusing on your future death while I’m in training or supposed to be concentrated on something important, Y/N/N. I’m so sorry.” was what she told you.

Can you blame her? No. Did she told you it was because she doesn’t love you anymore? No. Did you try everything to make her change her mind? Yes. You even told her that you will stop your sport. But she’s not with you anymore and it hurt like hell.

“Hi Cheetah!” make one of your opponent when you arrive in the garage, where the motorcycles are stored.

“Hola” you mumble back.

Cheetah is your nickname, because of your speed and the feline way you stand on your bike. But it’s especially Ona’s favorite animal. You wonder if she’s still looking at your race sometimes. Probably not. You never asked Patri who became your friend with the years, the girl never talked about your breakup either. You like it that way.

One hour after, you are on your bike, ready to start your race. Your helmet is a notch off from what security recommends, but you prefer to wear it like that. Ona had forbidden you to do so and you had accepted her request without flinching. But Ona isn’t here anymore, and you have no one to care about.

Well, your brother who is in your team maybe. And probably your parents, but even if you love them, they aren’t Ona.

The qualifying rounds put you in fourth place at the start, but after a daring overtaking you manage to get gain the third place. The weather is great honestly, a little bit sunny maybe but it’s better than the rain. You are in Italy after all.

The fight for the second place is hard, your opponent always manages to stand in your way to keep you from reaching it. It starts to frustrate you, even if your team keeps telling you in the helmet to take no risks. You don’t listen to them, still being careful not to make faults though, you don’t want to have any penalty against you.

“Lenta, hermanita por favor!” (Slower, my little sister please!)

You hear your brother’s voice but don’t listen to him either. He will probably kill you for it after the race , but if you manage to get the second place, it’s worth it right? Winning is the only thing that you have left. The only thing that makes you feel a little alive.

That’s why you don’t hesitate to take other risks to get the second place. Plot twist, you shouldn’t have.

It’s the first time since you’re a teenager that you lose the control of your motorcycle, but it’s a strange feeling. You feel yourself flying and the helmet getting ripped off your head during the crash. After that it’s all black, you just have little moments of consciousness from time to time.

“No no no no no! ¡ Y/N No me hagas esto! Respira por favor!” (Don’t do that! Breath please!”)

That’s your brother voice. You don’t know where you are, you hear people screaming and probably running next to you. But you are too tired. Falling asleep now probably will help you feel better, right?

“Sigue luchando. Piensa en Ona." (Keep fighting. Think about Ona.)

Ona? You think about her every single second of the day. You are surprised by this statement, but it has the advantage to wake you up a little. Your brother usually never mention your ex-girlfriend, knowing how much the breakup is destroying you.

“Alright we take her to the ambulance, now!”

If you were able, you probably would have rolled your eyes because of the strength that this man screamed with. You are not even able to open your eyes though, and you hate the way you feel your body not responding to what you want. But your head hurt and soon you are asleep again.

The next time you are awake, it was way quiet. You hear your parents and your brother, but you have to make a big effort to understand what they are saying.

“She called her name several times in the ambulance, but she’s asleep since”

Well, that’s embarrassing. It’s useless to wonder which name you called, there only is one woman in your head after all.

“Did you call her?”

Your mother.

“No. Y/N would have probably hated me if I did.”

Is he right? Maybe. You’ll think about it later.

“She has the right to know how Y/N is.”

Point for your father.

“I’ll call Patri instead.”

Well, it’s probably better that way. Patri is one of your best friends and if Ona wants to have news of you, she will ask Patri. But once again, she probably has no interest about your health anymore.

You fall back asleep again soon after that.

Patri’s face is white when she reaches the gym of FC Barcelona Femeni. It’s not Ona who realized it first, your ex-girlfriend is focused on her exercises next to Mariona.

“Patri you alright?” Pina asks, looking at her friend with worry.

Everyone raises their gaze on the girl, but she’s only looking at Ona. And Ona knows, right there. She gulps and stand up, her hand shaking.

“What happened?” Ona asks quietly.

But Patri takes her by the hand to take her out. She doesn’t want to explain to Ona what happened in front of the others. She doesn’t know how the younger one will react at the news, and she’s scared of her reaction to be honest. Every single person in the team know how much Ona is sad about your breakup, even if she’s the one who chose to have it that way.

“Y/N had an accident during the race” Patri starts, looking at Ona with attention. “I don’t know what her injuries are or anything else. But she has that awful crash, and they came with the ambulance and those kinds of white curtains.”

Ona knows what the curtains are for. It’s to protect the dignity of the runner in the case of a serious injury… or worse. Very worse. Her face passes from white to green.

“Is there a video from the crash?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to…”

But Ona doesn’t listen. Like you, she’s stubborn. She wants to know. She needs to know. She doesn’t know when the accident happened, but the video of it is easy to find on social media. She doesn’t react at all during several seconds and Patri wondered if Ona’s mind crashed, too.

“She loosened her helmet” Ona whispers at first.

“What?” Patri frowned.

“She loosened her helmet! She loosened her helmet and now she’s probably dead!”

Ona’s shouting and Patri prefer that, but it’s surprising. Ona isn’t the kind of girl who shout usually. She puts a comforting hand on Ona’s arm before talking.

“We don’t know that for now” she tries, with a comforting voice.

“Haven’t you seen the crash? Haven’t you seen of hard her head hit the ground? She didn’t move after that! At all!”

Patri doesn’t know what to answer at that. Ona’s right and she regrets to have inform her so soon, without having news of you. Or your brother, who had kind of a crush for Patri before realizing that she’s as gay as you are. You still tease him about it years later.

“I’ll try to call her brother, ok? But for now, let’s get out of here.”

When you wake up next time, you have enough strength to be able to open your eyes. You don’t know what time it is, but the sun is shining behind almost closed blinds. There is someone on a chair next to you, but you are disappointed to realize that it’s only your brother. Not Ona.

“Hola” he whispers when he realizes that your awake.

You only answer with a grunt, unable to talk for now. You feel sleepy again, but you want to talk with him a little bit.

“We are at the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

You close your eyes briefly to make him understand that you remember. Your throat feels too scratchy to talk for now. You’ll learn later that they have to intubate you to keep you alive.

“You’re lucky you’re alive, I’ll kill you a second time if you weren’t. They want to get you back in Barcelona tonight, are you okay with that?”

You don’t answer right away. Why can’t they keep you here?

“The team think it would be easier to be somewhere where they speak Spanish. And we will be closer to Mama and Papi.”

Your brother seems to understand your questions. It’s a great thing that you are both so close. You close your eyes again now and he nods before taking your hand in his. You don’t really care where you are taking care off after all.

“You can sleep now. You need to rest to get better, ok?”

You squeeze his finger softly before closing your eyes for good now, falling asleep again. You are still asleep during the transfer to Barcelona and when you wake up again you are in the Spanish’s city hospital.

Once again, it’s your brother who is here when you open your eyes. He changed his clothes but he’s still here, reading a newspaper with his feet on your bed.

“Don’t you have a house?” you groan.

He rolls his eyes after having looked at you for two seconds. Maybe to realize that he wasn’t dreaming. He threw carefully the journal next to you without putting his feet down, but everything is still blur.

“I can’t read it” you whisper.

“The Spanish’ motorcycle prodigy almost died in an awful crash yesterday. Her condition remains alarming” your brother read for you.

He’s angry. You don’t answer anything, what should you say anyway? You know that it’s your fault, if you were a little more careful nothing of that would have happened. You know too that you aren’t on the point to die, your brother wouldn’t have scolded you if that was the case.

“What are my injuries?” you ask without looking at him.

He sighs loudly before answering.

“You have broken ribs, a broken tibia, your cheekbone too, your elbow is in pieces, your shoulder has been dislocated again and you have a massive concussion. They thought that you have something broken in your spine, but it’s just a massive bruise. Oh, and you have other bruises almost on every part of your body, when it’s not burn because of the asphalt. They had to put stitches somewhere on your head and your brow bone too.”

you stay silence for several seconds, completely stunned. These are massive injuries, you know it. It will probably need a lot of time to heal all of them and that mean that you will miss the end of the championship. You were on the top 3, and it’s an awful disillusionment for you. You were already picturing yourself on the podium at the end of the season.

“How many time am I supposed to stay in bed? Before starting my rehab?”

He frowns softly, not expecting this question.

“They don’t know for now if you elbow will be well enough to start racing again”

“Of course it will be” you snort.

“No” your brother answer. “It’s serious, Y/N. You maybe won’t be able to drive a motorcycle again. On a circuit at least.”

“You don’t understand. I don’t have the choice. This is all I have left now.”

Your breakup was awful for you, but it was for your family too. You weren’t always careful with you, but Ona pushed you to be reasonable and stayed in the track. Now you don’t have anyone to hold you back. Ona was the only one you were listening. You don’t listen to anyone now. Only your Abuela when she when she emotional blackmails you. But your loved ones try not to use that card too much to not burn it.

“You have to stop that. You still have people who care for you. The Oldies do, I do, your friends do. I know that the breakup sucks, but you can’t play with your life like you do.”

“Piss off” is all you mumble back.

Because you know he’s right, but what are you supposed to do now that he’s here with you and you would give ten years of your life to swap him with Ona? He doesn’t answer anything, knowing that you’re out of arguments and that you know he’s right.

“Did she… Did she call you?”

“She didn’t have to” he answers after a moment of hesitation. “I called Patri as soon as we were in your hospital room in Italy.”

This hurt a little more, to be honest. You are not aware that Ona was with Patri every time she received a call or a message from your brother. You sight softly before closing your eyes. Your head starts to hurt like hell, which is probably normal for a concussion.

You wake up several hours later and you already know that it’s the night. There isn’t any noise coming from outside your room and no light from outside. But there is someone sitting on the chair next to you.

“Ona?”

It’s seems almost impossible, but it’s definitively Ona. You are able to recognize her silhouette in the dark after all these years passed with her. Even if you haven’t seen her in the last three months.

“It’s worse than anything” she mumbles, looking somewhere near your broken leg.

“What?”

“Not knowing how you are. I thought that break up with you will help me to stop worrying about your races, but it’s worse every time. I almost called you or messaged you before every race just to hear your voice, but I just couldn’t. And then I learned about your accident, and I have to live with the thought that you were dead for several hours.”

She raises her eyes on you, and you have trouble to support her gaze, even if you are in the dark.

“I’m sorry” you finally say.

“Really?”

She seems unconvinced and she has every right to be. She knows you, better than anyone.

“Well, I’m sorry that you were worried because of me. But as you see, I’m alive.”

She rolls her eyes and let her back go against the chair she is sitting on. You still feel strange, without knowing if it’s because of the drugs or because you are dreaming. You don’t have really anything to lose, so you ask.

“Is it real life?”

Ona looked at you with an obvious surprise on her beautiful face. God you missed her so damn much.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it real or am I dreaming?”

“Are you making the move where you ask me if I am an angel?”

You stupidly laugh before regretting it, your ribs protesting hardly. Ona seems alarmed when you groan in pain, putting your non-injured hand on it.

“I’m ok” you whisper, taking several small breaths, the big one would have been too hurtful.

“You are not” Ona mumbles.

She’s right.

“It’s less painful than the thought that I lost you.”

She sighs once again and looks at her fingers before shaking her head softly. You wanted to grab her hand, but she’s on your bad side and your arm is in that awful cast.

“Tell me what I have to do to have a second chance, Oni. I’ll do every single thing you’ll ask me. I swear. Please” you beg when she stays silence for several seconds.

“What if I ask you to stop your stupid moto?”

There is a challenge in her voice, and you know why. One time, she told you that she’s not even sure that if she asks you to choose between her and your sport, you’ll chose her. At that time, you didn’t know that she was serious, you thought that it was something she wasn’t thinking and said due to the fight. How wrong you were.

“I’ll do it” you answer without any doubt.

She seems surprised, looking at you with two big eyes. You have always loved Ona’s eyes, some people said that brown eyes are the most common and expressionless. They never have crossed Ona’s gaze.

“I saw what a life without you is Ona and I don’t want that life. I want you and if I have to stop my sport, I’ll do it if you still want me.”

She sighs and rubs her eyes. She seems tired to be honest, but maybe because it’s the middle of the night and that she’s supposed to be asleep right now.

“I didn’t break up with you because I don’t love you anymore. I still do and I think I will for all my life. I need you to be a part of my life too.”

Her words are melody in your ears, but you feel like there still is something else. Like if something was restraining her.

“But…?” you mumble, looking for her eyes.

“But I can’t continue like this. I thought you were dead.”

She’s crying now and your heart hurt like if someone just punch it. You move in the bed, trying desperately to touch her or anything to try to comfort her. Your ribs and your legs burn awfully, and you ignore your elbow hurting in protest.

“Ona I’m so sorry, I swear” you say, managing to take her hand in yours.

The position is awful, and you wonder briefly if you can throw up even if you haven’t eaten anything since almost two days.

“I didn’t think it will hurt you that way. Please don’t cry” you continue.

She shakes her head softly, kind of laughing between her tears.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you left me. And you blocked me everywhere.”

That point hurts, too. You weren’t even able to look at her social media to have news of her, you were reduced to follow fan’s account of her.

“I just couldn’t live with you popping randomly on my timelines. It hurts too much every time.”

You nod and that the gesture who make your position too hurtful. You roll on your back, trying to hold your whine of pain. But Ona sees it anyway and frown almost instantly.

“Do you want me to call them to have more painkillers?”

“Are they ok with you being here? I don’t want them to make you leave” you admit with a law voice.

There is a beam of silence.

“I won’t leave your side” she says in a comforting voice.

You want to believe that she means it for like all your life. But having her tonight is what you have best for now. So, you nod, closing shortly your eyes when she rings the nurses. The door is open only a minute after and you open your eyes again when you hear Ona’s voice.

“I think she’s ready for more painkillers” the brunette says.

“I will give some to you” the nurse says to you before adding something in your intravenous. “What hurts?”

“Everything” you admit softly.

She nods and gives you a smile in sympathy. You look at her doing her things, missing Ona’s small winces at your admission. The nurse starts to talk again when she’s at the door, ready to leave.

“You will feel better like this. After that it will be great if you try to eat something. You will be sleepy for now though.”

Your eyes fly to Ona who is already looking at you. She said that she will stay by your side, but does she meant while you sleep too? She probably has training or somewhere to go. A match to play? You don’t know which day is it anymore, the painkillers are starting to kick already, making you confuse.

“Ona” you manage to say.

“Sleep, Hermosa. I’ll be here when you wake up, ok?”

Two weeks after, you are finally leaving the hospital. You still have to leave in a wheelchair, much to your disappointment. But with almost half of your body injured, there is no way that you are able to walk with crutches.

The only positive thing is that the person who is pushing the wheelchair is Ona and that she managed to make it funny, sliding on it in the hospital’s floor. Your brother is following with your suitcases, smiling softly while watching both of you.

After learning that you will be alright, you parents went home in Mallorca two days before you were authorized to go home. They proposed to you to come back to Mallorca with them and you have to admit that you miss your island, but there is no way that you are somewhere Ona isn’t.

When you felt better, you had a very intense and long discussion about your relationship, both of your feelings, what you both expect from that said relationship and where you want it to go.

Ona is the one who will look after you on daily basis, but sometimes your brother will need to take you to your appointment when Ona is away or training. The end of the season is soon here, but there still is the Olympics this Summer so she has to prepare herself intensively.

Your girlfriend’s here, one month after, when you are in the doctor’s office for the worst moment of your professional life. Sitting next to you, she’s holding your hand when the doctor looks at you with an awful sorry face.

“I don’t know where to start” he begins, playing with the sheets on his desk.

“Just go straight into it, Doc” you sigh softly.

You know already that you will hate what is going to be say. Ona’s fingers stroking your hand help, but your heart is still beating faster than ever.

“You are making good progress, I saw that they removed your cast on your feet, but we are really concerned about your elbow. We don’t think it will be fit enough for you to be able to start motorcycle in a professional way anymore.”

You were waiting for it, but it’s still hurt to hear that. Motorcycle is the only thing you knew since you were a teenager, you never thought about doing anything else in your life. You swallow softly before passing a hand on your face. You did everything you can to be able to start again, followed every advice your team gave you. But it’s not enough.  

“I don’t know what to say” you finally mumble, looking at an imaginary point somewhere on the desk. “It’s all I know; I don't know how to do anything else.”

“I can pick you an appointment with our psychotherapist if you want to. It can help.”

“Can we leave? I’ll tell you if I want one”

For now, you just want to get out of this office and be able to breath some fresh air. Ona helps you to get up even if you don’t need help anymore. You suppose it’s a way to comfort you. You are glad for her. She doesn’t say anything while you are getting out of the building, but she doesn’t let your hand go when you lean against the railing once outside.

“What am I going to do, Ona?” you whisper softly.

She let go of your hand now, but it’s only to pass her arm around your waist and hold you close.

“Whatever you want mi Amor. It’s ok not to know now, but you still have a bunch of possibilities. We will figure it out together, yeah?”

She kisses your cheek, and you close your eyes, letting yourself being cuddle a little more. It’s not the same feeling that the one when you lost Ona. You know there is different exit doors, you just have to find the good one. Ona will be your light in the dark.

Several weeks later, you are in France. Not for a race, but for playing the WAG for your girlfriend who is playing the final today. She introduces you to others girlfriends/wife of her teammates and you get along great with everyone. You watched every single game in the stadium, and you were able to see Ona several times in between. You missed her and she was worried sick to let you alone at home, but you are pretty fine.

You are famous in the world of sport so it’s not a surprise that you are not able to skip some interviews while going to the stand to attend the finale.

“Y/N” said one journalist when he puts her microphone under your mouth, with an awful French accent. “You announced your retirement sooner this month because of your massive injuries. How are you feeling?”

“I’m still sad about it, of course. It wasn’t my choice and I think it makes it harder but I didn’t have the choice. I’m sad not to be able to finish the championship this year, I was really well ranked, but you know…”

You shrug, thinking that’s between his accent and yours, people on social media will have a great fun.

“Do you think you will come back in the motorcycle world one day?”

“Not as a racer obviously, but why not. I still need to figure what to do with my life, but first I have to heal correctly.”

“Thanks for your answers” he smiles. “Do you have a favorite for today?”

“Spain, obviously” you smile back.

“Have you a favorite player?”

You almost roll your eyes at that. Your relationship with Ona is a common knowledge for everyone, you are not hiding yourself. You both weren’t as famous before and you were posting without really thinking about it.

“Oh, I don’t know… Number two is pretty great” you smirk, looking at the jersey you are wearing.

You hear someone giggle in the background, and you are pretty sure to recognize Irene’s wife waiting for you with Mateo. You soon say goodbye to the journalist to find your place in the stand. You are sitting next to Ona’s family obviously and your family made the travel too. They are sitting next to other Majorcans people, Cata’s family and Mariona’s brother and mother aren’t far away neither.

When Ona smiles at you during the national anthem after looking around to find you, you smile back and say “T’estimo” to her. You know that she can’t hear you, but she easily can read it on your lips.

You don’t know what the results of this game will be, like you don’t know what you will do in several months. But you know you will be fine, because you will be with her.

Ona is your forever and you don’t want another.

[sweet-s0rr0w]

Vintage Drarry Fics

Thought I'd put together a list of some of the old Drarry 'classics' of my teenage years, for anyone interested. All posted between 2001-2006, compiled using my (bad) memory, a lot of googling, fanlore.org and numerous different LJ rec accounts (including the incredible @capiturecs). I checked as best I could, but if anyone knows of any fics that their author doesn't want to be shared, please let me know and I will of course remove.

Please also note that these fics are of their era, when attitudes may have been different, and they may not all be grammatically perfect. I haven't reread all, as my own tastes have changed, but most importantly do note that they may not be tagged - don't blame me when, for example, Harry dies tragically on a rooftop at sunrise...

Hogwarts Era (mostly 5th-7th year)

A Thousand Beautiful Things by Duinn Fionn/geoviki (M, 105k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

All Bets Are Off by Allegra (R, 53k)

I am SICK of Good-little-innocent!Harry...Enter Playboy!Harry and his Overinflated Ego, a challenge, a bet, a couple of Really Cunning Plans - and there you have it, "Forty days and forty nights", Hogwarts style. Mayhem ensues! 

Angels and Devils by beren (E, 52k)

Harry defeated Voldemort and his act of heroism is famous throughout the wizarding world. He's trying to finish his final year at Hogwarts in peace, but, thanks to the method he chose to destroy The Dark Lord, something peculiar is happening to him, something he never would have expected. It's all rather embarrassing and making his life very complicated.

Artful Facade by Sky Sorceress (T, 66k)

Sometimes you fly too close to the sun and lose your wings. With sixth year approaching, the danger Harry seeks can be found only in the form of Draco Malfoy. What follows is a twist in the line between hatred, love, and need.

Beautiful World by Cinnamon/Lissadiane (M, 70k)

Harry finds out he's going to die on his 16th birthday. He embarks on a journey of self-destructive behaviour and drags Draco along for the ride. 

Beneath You by Cinnamon/Lissadiane (M, 113k)

Draco had no idea that the repercussions of stealing Potter's journal and shoving it down the back of his trousers would be so extreme.

Bond by AnnaFugazzi (M, 173k)

It seems 95% of H/D writers feel compelled to write a "Harry And Draco Are Forced To Be Together By Something Beyond Their Control And Then Unlikely Stuff Happens That Leads To Twoo Wuv" story. Count me among the 95% ;)

Checkmate by Naadi Moonfeather (T, 245k)

Draco has the perfect plan to get Harry Potter and challenges him to a game of Dare Chess. But is it love, or betrayal, he has in mind?

The Cicatrix Cycle by Ivy Blossom (NC-17, long!)

Three parts: Origins, Haven, Belong

Draco In Darkness by Plumeria (T, 41k)

Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight. After Harry elbows his way into Draco's dark world, both boys find themselves in a strange new friendship, and they each learn new ways to see each other … and themselves.

Eclipse by PhoenixSong/Mijan (T, 287k)

"You're dead, Potter... I'm going to make you pay..." Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But, when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back. 

Friend Like Me by Lady Vader (M, 11k)

Draco's rendition of the love story that never was.

How Harry Potter Got His Groove Back by Durendal/Eleveninches (R, 12k)

Snape tries to hang himself, Draco enters an alternate reality, and Harry Gets a Clue. Humor, SLASH, naughty language, and other Evil Things. Harry/Draco, Snape/James/Lucius.

Irresistible Poison by Rhysenn (PG-13, 124k)

Under the influence of a love potion, Draco learns that poison doesn't always bring death -- there are other ways to suffer and live. Chemical emotion runs feverish as Harry and Draco discover the intoxication of love.

Lettered by pir8fancier (M, 7.8k)

Harry has a secret penpal, whose identity is as plain as the nose on his face. Except he's not wearing his glasses.

Love Under Will by Aja (R, 116k)

In their 5th year, Harry and Draco choose to be with one another; but the story--and the battle-- is just beginning...

playing the game, living the lie by Abaddon (R, 159k)

Set in Sixth Year, both the wizarding and Muggle worlds are threatened as Voldemort plans a final revenge. Past, present and future collide as all must consider where their loyalties lie; who they are, and who they want to be. Amidst it all, Harry and Draco begin a dangerous journey of understanding. Is it possible to leave everything you thought you were behind?

Resolution by Frances Potter (R, 322k)

When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. A series of vignettes chronicling Harry's final six months at Hogwarts. Exams, friends, lovers, Quidditch, the war and Draco all conspire to make the year end seem a very long way away.

Seamus is Seamus and You are Yourself by Ari Munami (PG-13, 31k)

Harry goes through some er... changes in his Sixth Year and everyone, including Draco Malfoy, sits up and takes notice.

Snakes and Lions by GatewayGirl (M, 139k)

When Ron and Hermione get together, they notice only each other. A nightmare prompts Harry to return alone to the empty Chamber of Secrets, and leads to a new look at an old enemy. Harry enjoys the company, but with Bellatrix Lestrange actively hunting him, how far can he trust a Death Eater's son?

Something Impossible by epicylical/Cassandra Claire (PG, 6.4k)

As punishment for an act of vandalism, Draco is forced to perform three tasks to win Harry's forgiveness - only they don't turn out to be exactly the kind of tasks he'd been expecting. With wet shirtless Draco, paint-covered Harry, and Proust-reading Goyle.

Transformation by amalin (E, 98k)

In Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, he must face the consequences of the attack on the Department of Mysteries and the effects of Voldemort's return. And in doing so, he finds that even your enemies can teach you valuable lessons—about the world, and about yourself.

Walking the Line by SilentAuror (E, 179k)

Sixth year is over and Draco Malfoy is on the run. The war is on and an unwanted assignment is forced upon him by the only people he trusts - and a one-time arch-enemy just may be out to kill him.

Post-Hogwarts

Adagio in G Minor by furiosity (NC-17, 18k)

Seven years after Hogwarts and the war, life continues in the wizarding world. Draco Malfoy is rich, bored, and slightly jaded. Harry Potter is famous, busy, and somewhat disillusioned. They've not seen each other since school ended. What would happen if they were to cross paths again? What if it involved music?

Big Dick, Come Quick [PDF] by Calanthe (NC-17, 204k)

Draco’s got a theory. About sex. And after much searching for the right candidate, it appears that only Harry Potter, his life long enemy, can help him test it out.

Draco's Escort Service by Cheryl Dyson/dysonrules (15, 12k)

Draco's job is to escort travelers through the dangerous, war-torn countryside. Harry Potter is forced to hire him, but his destination isn't quite what Draco expected.

Left My Heart by Emma Grant (E, 85k)

Auror Draco Malfoy has disappeared, and Harry Potter has been sent to San Francisco to find him. 

Malfoy, P.I. by Nancy (R, 60k)

"I'm Draco Malfoy, private investigator. I've seen a lot--I mean a lot, and I'm like sweet seventeen a lot. I thought I'd seen it all, until a pair of green eyes stepped into my office." A noir AU set in L.A. where passion and magic collide. Slashy and sexy.

Queen of Hearts by scoradh (E, 65k)

A spectre is haunting Harry - the responsibility of his destiny. It looms over his future and, more importantly, over the future of his friends. Harry is determined to exorcise this spectre for the greater good, but on the way, he enters into a few unholy alliances.

Tissue of Silver by fearlessdiva (R, 76k)

A love story concerning possessed furniture, black silk pyjamas, courtroom drama, premonitions of doom, assassination attempts, Death Eater yoga, absinthe, bare feet and a sensible werewolf.

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by November Snowflake (M, 58k)

When the long-missing Draco Malfoy turns up at a Ministry field hospital with amnesia, bitter Auror Harry Potter must confront the shadows of their shared past to shed light on a potentially deadly mystery.

Transfigurations by Resonant (E, 71k)

Five years after Voldemort's defeat, Harry returns to England to help re-open Hogwarts.

[jsprnt]

Americano PT. 16 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: hello loves!! I can’t believe we’ve already come to the end of this series😭 thank you guys so so much for all the love you’ve sent my work and efforts!! Love y’all so much, enjoy reading- and stay tuned for my future fics 🤍🩷

W/C: 4.025

part fifteen

I sigh for the millionth time today, leaning back against the backrest of my chair. I rub my wrists, massaging my fingers and knuckles, groaning in relief when I hear some of them pop.

There were only a handful of matches left in the league, along with the Champions League final. The entire PR and marketing department had been working overtime for a couple days now, wanting to end the season on a high note.

I was so tired and stressed out, internally debating whether to call in sick tomorrow, but there was no way the team could finish all of this without my help.

Since my role in the department has gotten much more important this season, I needed to attend more meetings and calls with a lot of different people.

Never in my life, had I exercised my social skills this much, and it was only a matter of time before my social battery ran so low that I couldn't take interacting with people anymore, without looking like a total jerk.

Though, the generous paycheck that dropped into my back account every month, motivated me to work harder, well, sometimes..

I shift from my position, grabbing a single pen from its holder. Looking back up to my laptop to write down some refreshing and creative questions for the upcoming, very important and widely viewed interviews.

Winning both the national league and the Champions League in the exact same season would be absolutely insane to witness.

I had experienced the feeling in my first season working at the club. After almost three years of getting to know the team and the players who had come and gone, this year would feel even more special.

I had grown closer to the club, not just as an employee but as a supporter as well. I had multiple personal and dear connections with the club.

My father had just renewed his contract with the club. A topic that everyone working for respective companies joked about was the possibility of the agreement not being renewed.

After all these years, both companies had become synonymous with each other.

I had also gotten closer to my colleagues, much closer than I would've ever imagined. Starting this job as an eighteen-year-old, I was incredibly intimidated by the sheer size of the operations behind the scenes.

Of course, juggling both working here and studying for my law degree was hard at first. Work in the morning had switched to the evening when attending the matches.

Study breaks consisting of trying to figure out what interview questions were rubbish and needed to be scrapped, and packing my little suitcase for another trip, only to overpack again.

Thankfully, I had gotten all of my results back from this school year, and I was absolutely over the moon knowing I'd be going for my next year of my degree after summer break.

All my hard work had finally paid off when I saw my grades, and I had celebrated it that night- with working…

The biggest change in my life?

That was the fact that I had actually found love.

Going from hating each other to loving each other was a weird feeling. Even so, Jude and I had been together for almost six months now, and honestly speaking; I had never felt so loved by anyone in the entire world before.

We supported each other wholeheartedly, and it was definitely easier to do than other couples.

Mostly, because we worked together.

Living together for the first few weeks of our relationship, definitely sped up the process of actually getting to know each other. It bonded us faster than I would’ve ever expected.

Looking back, it's difficult to even imagine a world where Jude never moved into my place..

Jude had moved out of my house in the middle of March. He had changed houses following everything that had happened the last few months.

The new house is quite far away from the old, temporary house he lived in, that got broken into. The home was spacious and modern, just like I'd expected before visiting for the first time.

My father and his partners at his firm, had finally built up a proper case to take the intruder to court. I didn't know the specifics because, for some reason I wasn’t allowed to, by both my own father and Jude.

I already knew that the man who had caused so much chaos wasn't getting off the hook easily, and that was enough for me. Knowing any more details about the situation, would probably cause me more stress and anxiety, so I had just learnt to let it go.

I couldn't even lie, lately I had spent more time at Jude’s place than my own. There was something so comforting about it, maybe it was how inviting and cozy it felt.

His friends from England and Germany would always be over, for the simplest of reasons.

Playing games, both board and video ones, watching new movies in the unnecessary, huge cinema room. It created a very fun and friendly atmosphere and made me feel more comfortable than ever.

Jude’s parent’s presence, especially his mother’s- was very much appreciated. I loved chatting to her, from the most mundane things, to the things that I was worried about.

Just like the other women in my life, she gave me guidance and encouragement to keep on going and be even better at anything I wanted to accomplish.

Obviously, there was no way we could keep on hiding our relationship from certain teammates Jude was very close with. We'd decided to be open with them, because keeping a 'secret' from them wouldn't exactly give us peace of mind in the long run.

Scratching what I've written down so far, I drop my pen onto the desk. Glancing up at the clock to check the time, and gasping softly when I remember I have a meeting that starts in a minute.

I quickly grab the necessary paperwork, and dash out of the office. Into the meeting room, already full of my coworkers, sat waiting only for me..

"Okay, I'm really confused. Do I have something on my face? Like sauce from lunch or something?" The puzzled y/n asks, turning around in her office chair, only to glance at the busy Lina.

"Uh.." The older woman begins, looking up from her monitor and shaking her head.

"Nope, no sauce. Why?" Lina takes her hand off the computer mouse, sighing before leaning back.

"Everyone has been looking at me, like since- this morning.." y/n rolls her chair forward, holding out her foot, to stop herself from violently slamming into Lina's desk.

"You think? I thought it was because your dress looked cute.."

Lina smirks at her own words, her hand reaching over to grab her purple water bottle, swiftly taking the top off and chugging a couple gulps.

y/n scoffs, glancing down at the dress she's wearing. Yes, of course the dress is cute, that's why she wore it today. But the stares she got were definitely not in appreciation of the cream-colored dress.

"Are you serious? I don't think-"

She's cut off by a loud knock. Both women break eye contact, looking up at the glass doors where someone is standing in front of.

"Jude?" y/n perks up, standing up from her chair and making a beeline towards him. Ignoring the unnecessarily loud and teasing whistle leaving Lina's mouth.

Stepping outside, she furrows her brows, looking around for anyone who could eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Follow me.." Jude can only say, immediately starting to walk down the stairs without sparing another second.

"What are you-" She trails off, sighing in defeat, before following him down, into one of the empty meditation rooms.

She looks at Jude as he locks the door behind them, his hand immediately reaching to wrap around her waist. He pulls her closer than ever, planting a kiss on her lips.

"Something wrong?" She asks, picking up on his stressed out demeanor. Pulling back, she scans his face once again.

"I have to show you something, but don't freak out, yeah? I called your dad already, and he said he'll see what he can do.."

This only sends her into a panic, his warning going over her head as she watches him pull his phone out of his pocket. Arms flexing underneath his training jacket as he moves.

She looks at him with a confused frown on her face, her eyes almost popping out of her head when Jude shows what was so important.

Grabbing the phone out of his hand without thinking, she brings the device closer to her face. A small noise of annoyance leaving her mouth.

It's all photos of the couple, outside during various times they had been on dates for the past- six months.

"This one's from Valencia, and this one's from that night in Mallorca?!" y/n exclaims, hands shaking as she tries to scroll through the other photos. All off guard pictures of them, taken while they were out together, after matches, and even on dates in Madrid.

Noticing how distressed the photos make his girlfriend, Jude grabs his phone out of her hand. Setting it down on the table next to him, he grabs onto her shoulders, making her look up at him.

"It's okay, we prepared for this, remember? I won't let my team put out a statement, apart from legal action. Your dad's handling it with my team, okay?" He brings her frazzled form into a reassuring hug, planting kisses on her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

Of course, just like her boyfriend explains- they knew their relationship couldn't be kept secret for much longer. Jude, being the high profile football player he is, couldn't exactly keep people from prying into his private life.

She knew that the media had caught a whiff of her, even back when they despised each other. The night at Wembley Stadium months ago, had caused a little commotion back then.

The gossip pages and newspapers loved a story containing love, a successful and beloved young man, and not to forget- her having actual connections to the club in both work, and her father's partnership with the club.

To the couple, when they entered the training center or the stadium, they would work at that particular day- it was about work and work only.

When they clocked in, they prioritized working. It would've obviously been very difficult for them to keep their relationship on the low- if they glanced at each other every damn second, while in the same room.

During working hours, they'd greet each other like their other colleagues, acting like they didn't make out the night before in his room.

Unavoidably, the players who knew about them dating, would try their best to sneak little jokes and teases in. The couple would successfully brush off the comments.

Practicing all these months made the perfect facade, but sometimes the jokes were too good not to chuckle, at least very discreetly.

"Okay, I trust you.." She mutters, pressing her face into her chest, a soft hum leaving her mouth. Thoughts and worries swirling through her mind.

"Baby! I'm ready!" I shout, almost falling flat on my face while pulling on my new heels.

These red bottoms were absolute hell to wear, especially since I had just gotten them as a gift, from Jude.

It would take some time before I could break them in, but with how stunning they looked paired with this dress, it was worth the pain, at least tonight.

To celebrate winning the league, Jude and I were finally going on a date. It had been a while since we had been on a proper date night, mostly due to how busy we both have been lately.

Jude with training and I with preparing everything, from interviews to social media posts, and even some press releases that needed to be out before the Champions League final that was in a couple days.

"I'm here.." I walk out of his bedroom, chuckling at the sheer amount of my clothes stuffed in his closet.

We had been staying over at each other's place on and off, but looking at both our closets, you'd think we'd been living together again.

Considering how important the past few weeks had been, Jude had been training a lot. I was especially worried about him and his health, mainly thinking of his shoulder injury.

His doctor and the team's physiotherapist had reassured me personally, but still, I could help but wince every time he touched his shoulder and grunted. Or seeing the multiple, pain-stopping injections, he had to take to play a full ninety minutes.

"You look handsome.." I mutter when reaching the front door, pressing a kiss onto his plump lips, my hands reaching to fix the collar of his button down. My lipgloss leaving a sheen of glitter on his lips, it making me chuckle as he gave me a dumbfounded look.

We’re fairly young, and early in our relationship, we realized that fancy dates weren't really our thing. But tonight was one of the few occasions we'd go all out, and dress up very nicely.

"You look absolutely stunning, love.." He smiles, his hand circling around my waist and down my back, fingers digging into the fabric of my dress.

"Thank you, baby.." I hum, giving him a small wink. A loud chuckle leaves my lips as he attempts to wink back, though, just like every time, it looks like he's got something in his eyes, instead of being cheeky.

"What's so funny, hm?" Jude questions, hands trailing down to grip at my bum, squeezing slightly.

"Mhm, nothing.." I say, reaching up to fix his hair a little. "Should we leave? It's getting late.."

He agrees instantly, and I wrap my arm around his as we walk out of his house. The sun hadn't set yet, mostly because summer was coming soon, and I couldn't wait to enjoy the weather this year, yet again.

"Wait- I didn't grab my keys.." I gasp, eyes going wide as I watch him pull the door shut.

"Oh, you're definitely not driving missy, especially not in those heels.." Jude says, giving me a cheeky smile, and I can immediately sense that he is hiding something.

"You got your license?!" I beam, eyes glistening in happiness. Though, my excitement is cut short when he shakes his head, an embarrassed look on his face.

"No, I did not get my license.."

"Oh.." I say, the corners of my mouth twitching as I hold back a menacing laugh.

"So, you'll be my passenger prince forever?" I bring my hand up to grab onto his bicep, squeezing the muscles as my body leans against his.

"Will you ever stop saying that?" I watch his lips move, eyes glimmering when his lips pull into a slight pout.

"When you get your license, sir. I'll stop calling you my passenger prince..."

"I'm sure you would like a break from it then.." Jude says, his expression changing to a smug one within a split-second, and I follow his lead without thinking.

My uncomfortable heels click against the concrete as Jude leads me outside the gates of the house, a sleek black Rolls Royce parked right in front of the driveway.

"You got a driver for tonight?" I ask, eyes fixated on the, admittedly sexy car.

"Going all out for my lovey tonight. I've got to spoil my girl, always.."

I grin at his sweet words, warmth reaching my face, and I suddenly feel shyness creeping up on me. I shift my gaze for a second, avoiding eye contact with him and staring at the concrete.

"Aw, is my pretty girl shy now? You weren't like this a moment ago, huh?" A soft noise of protest leaves my mouth at the loving words. My breath hitching as he presses a kiss on my neck, right against my jugular.

"Come on, love. We'll be very late to our reservation if I keep you here longer.." Jude gives me a charming smile, grabbing onto my hand and pulling me towards the car, making me forget whatever my thoughts were before he'd made my heart flutter.

"I'm sweating literal buckets. I can't even breathe properly right now.." My eyes immediately shift to Luis, my right eye twitching, just like it has been on and off this entire day. The stress and anxiety of this all had been building up in us both, causing actual physical symptoms to show.

"Ask me about it, I went peeing two times already, and we're just seventy minutes into this match.." I say, wiping my sweaty hands down my black jeans. The laptop and phone on my lap shaking, as I bounce my knee up and down in anticipation.

My heart also leaped in my throat every time Jude got fouled. Checking the stats confirmed my suspicion, he currently is the most fouled player on the pitch.

I obviously knew it was a part of the game, but considering his injury- I couldn't help but be worried.

"Fuck, I swear if we score, I'm going to lose my shit." Luis says, running a hand through his curly hair, and I can almost feel the nerves radiating off of him.

Well, all 90.000 people in Wembley Stadium feel the exact same way right now. From supporters to chairmen of both respective clubs, sitting on the edge of their seats as we all watched the Champions League final between Real Madrid and Borussia Dortmund unfold, live in front of our own two eyes.

My breath hitches in my throat as we're given a corner. The grip on my phone getting tighter as Luis glances at me.

"Okay, we got this, Toni's so experienced-"

"Shut up, I'm trying to focus.." I exclaim, grabbing onto Luis' shoulder to calm him down.

"You can't exactly focus with 90,000 people screaming.." He replies, glancing at me.

I open my mouth to speak, but decide to spare my breath, and stop breathing in anticipation.

Right, at that moment, Toni kicks the ball from the corner flag, it flies upwards as we watch both our players and Dortmund players scramble in front of the goal.

Finally, Dani jumps up and GOALLLL!!

The entire Madridista side jumps up in celebration, my devices almost slipping out of my hand and onto the floor as we jump up to cheer as loud as we can.

"I'm going to kiss Dani's forehead after this!" Luis screams, making me choke on my laughter. I hurry up and return my attention back to my devices, as happy as we were, we still had our job to do and execute.

I close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm down, before we both go back to doing our jobs.

Our wishes and prayers for a second goal aren't that far away, time-wise. Dortmund player Maatsen tries passing the ball, due to a wrong estimation, Jude gets the ball instead, shooting to Vini.

He goes on to score the second banger of the night. The stadium erupts in both cheers of happiness and screams of protest.

It's even louder than after the first goal, and we know it's only a matter of five minutes before our boys secure the victory over this season's Champions League..

y/n fixes her shirt for the nth time, trying to fidget with something before she loses her mind. Standing in the tunnel, she glances at Luis. Both of their eyes glimmering, as they wait for the families of the players to enter the pitch to celebrate the win.

They were insanely busy with handling their work, channelling their emotions into doing their job, to make sure it's all taken care of before they were done for the night. The automated system, consisting of already edited work, would take care of the rest from now on...

"Dude, what just happened?.." Luis whispers, glancing at the equally mesmerized girl next to him.

"We won!" She squeals, letting her excitement and happiness show as she hugs Luis. "Fuck, I don't even know what I would do if we lost. I'd actually be having a breakdown right now.."

Luis hugs her back, patting her head affectionately.

"You've worked very hard, y/n. Thank you for being my best friend and best colleague.." He says, giving her a brotherly smile.

"Thank you too, older brother.." She laughs, voice slightly teasing, as she pats his shoulder.

"Oh, I think we can join the celebrations.." He says, pointing to the families they’ve gotten very close with over the years.

The familiar faces joining their loved one on the pitch to celebrate this huge milestone in their careers.

"Come on.." Luis says, dragging her along and onto the pitch.

She looks around, a permanent smile plastered on her face as she's overwhelmed by the emotions running through her body.

"Dani!" Luis shouts, and y/n watches him run up to the goal scorer, just like his promise- Luis plants a fat kiss on the athlete's head.

y/n laughs loudly at the interaction, making eye contact with Dani’s wife, and laughing even harder at her confused expression.

She shakes her head at her best friend’s antics. Realizing she's alone now, she freezes. Cameras were absolutely everywhere at the moment, and she was absolutely sure at least one was pointed towards her.

The weeks following the photos of their dates being leaked were quite turbulent, with a lot of support, but also criticism- it was very difficult to ignore the reactions.

She wasn't anywhere close to wanting to be a public figure of some sort, so the attention was putting a lot of pressure on her.

But loving a star athlete, like Jude meant having to sacrifice some part of her privacy. If it meant she could run up to him now, and kiss his face a couple of times.

Then screw privacy, she'd throw that all away to get to him right now.

Her eyes darting to the rest of the enormous pitch again, frowning when she can't find the boy she's so desperately looking for.

Finally, after squinting a whole lot, and definitely causing damage to her eye muscles, she finally makes eye contact with the equally lost looking Jude.

He's standing in between both his parents, arms around them as he looks around wearily.

Jude's eyes immediately light up in relief when he spots y/n, mumbling something to his smiley parents before he makes a run for it.

Within seconds, he's by his girlfriend's side, and she jumps up to wrap her legs around his waist in greeting. He pulls her flush against him in a tight embrace. y/n cups his jaw tenderly to place multiple kisses on his face.

"I'm so fucking proud of you, baby.." She breathes out, cut off as he presses his lips onto hers, exhilarating kiss that makes them forget other people are around, and especially the hundreds of cameras and phones filming the pitch.

He catches her lips, plump lips sucking onto her bottom lip before they're forced to pull back for air. They pant, faces warm, and cheeks hurting from how much they'd smiled within the past couple minutes.

"I'm proud of you too, baby. Come on, you're my family too. Forget about work and the cameras here for me, yeah?”

She plants her shoes back onto the grass when he lowers back on the floor. She looks down as he grabs onto her hand. Playing with her fingers as he makes eye contact with her.

Reaching up, she swipes at a piece of grass stuck on his temple, probably from being fouled earlier, she chuckles at the sight, biting her lip.

“Come on, then. Your parents are waiting..” She says, turning and dragging him along the pitch. Skipping towards his awaiting, happy parents. Who look at them with an infinite amount of joy and proudness in their eyes.

“He’s a winner! Jude’s our winner!!”

[matchaelette]

GIF from pinterest

when exhausted jungkook is equal to a cranky jungkook but you’re just a simple girl

summary: idol!jk and oc!ash, established relationship, both ash and jungkook are working very hard and they’re exhausted to the point where it feels like they might drop dead soon. kook gets frustrated because ash won’t pay him enough attention but soon she ends up pampering his majesty’s ass anyways. also, there’s a backdrop on ash’s life; she is a musician and a part of iu’s band.

genre: pure fluff.

warning: none. go crazy children

word count: 4.5k

notes: I know I know, like, a part of iu’s band? isn’t that a bit too much? nah it’s not. I have enough reality chasing me irl, let me have my fun here. also, I hope ya’ll are doing okay. a new year comes with a lot of expectations and responsibilities so don’t be too hard on yourselves <3 happy 2024 peeps :D

“what. do you want. jeon jungkook.”

“ooh she used the full name, have I been a bad boy?”, the words tumble down your boyfriend’s lips with a dramatic flare, followed by a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, unfazed by the sheer force of your previous sentence, “what do you mean what do I want? attention and affection, of course.”

not that you’re counting, but what you assume to be the nineteenth sigh tonight, leaves your lips. your eyelids were so heavy that you doubted if even a fire in the building could wake you up. exhaustion tore at your limbs and you didn’t have the power to lift your eyelids to shoot a glare at your golden retriever boyfriend, let alone muster enough energy to face him and provide him... what did he say again? attention and affection.

you’ve been tirelessly working throughout the week, barely having time to eat or sleep. almost every day you’re coming back home at four in the morning, when jungkook is sound asleep, and leaving again in three hours, when he is yet to wake up. it’s the first time in quite a few days that you came home at a reasonable hour and were tangled in the bed with a very much awake jungkook. but as much as you want to entertain him, your body does not seem willing to cooperate.

you’re a musician, and boy when you pursued a music career, you never thought it could ever make you tired. music has been your love and your life since you could remember and a very fundamental part of your life. whether it was humming random strings of sounds while having your diaper changed as a baby (your parents’ word) or singing meaningless lyrics to any tune you heard when you started talking (again, your parents’ word), your love for music has always just grown. you’re now a full-blown musician, having the privilege to work with all the a-rated musicians of the world. you are pretty much a regular member of iu’s band— iu being the living legend of korea and the forever-long crush of jungkook’s life— but you still worked with other artists from time to time, sometimes as a producer, sometimes as a composer.

throughout your high school years, you developed a reputation as the person who would randomly start humming during examinations, writing lyrics on her exam papers, and always playing instruments or plainly singing in every single school function. and if that wasn’t a wake-up call, getting scouted as a musician through your personal instagram was certainly one. it happened right during the end of high school when you were preparing for uni, and the single event changed everything in your life. you were scouted by an agency called bighit, and they convinced you to audition, intriguing you enough to skip school one day and show up in a rusty building in the gangnam district of seoul with a guitar hanging on your shoulder. impressed by your skills, they signed you up as a trainee.

it was one of the best things that happened in your life.

ironically, it was also where you met your boyfriend for the first time.

saying your parents weren’t happy when you decided to completely backtrack from uni and focus solely on music would be an understatement. you were always an exceptional student— part of the reason your teachers would always overlook you humming in class or using your projects as a canvas for your musical colors— and were supposed to major in business studies as your parents’ wishes. while it was never something you hated— in fact, you always thought that you’d rather be a super successful businesswoman if you couldn’t be a musician— but having your first choice being handed to you on a silver platter, you'd be a fool not to take it. your parents were enraged, they cut you off from the family entirely, but you were nothing if not stubborn. determined to make it, alone if you have to, you've worked your ass off for all these years to get into the position you’re in now, a place where your name is gold-plated in the music industry.

but success was never truly your goal. your goal was to simply stay immersed in a world of music and you can’t help but take pride of how far all alone. but working like your life depended on it became sort of a habit, sometimes to the point where a singular musical note could make you groan. you don’t sing as much as you used to back in high school, instead, you use up all your time to compose music and play the guitars for iu.

said idol is supposed to be having a comeback very soon, somewhere your boyfriend’s bandmate was also going to star— kim taehyung— and so work has been extra draining lately, with everyone trying to master every single detail and point.

“kook, stoooop”, you whine, burying your face in the soft pillow, waterfalls of hair obscuring your vision as you make a feeble attempt to wriggle out of jungkook’s grasp. but he is relentless. he rolls his eyes and manhandles you back into his arms, causing you to let out a small yelp as your back presses against his chest.

jungkook, himself, was tired as hell. while you were coming back at four in the morning, he was coming back at three, working equally hard as you. jungkook is always driven by his passions and he never hesitates to work hard for it, but despite that fact, this week has been particularly challenging, especially with the pressure of working on his own solo album. the lack of food and sleep was almost getting to him, leaving him irritable to the point where he almost snapped at the choreographer. although he apologized quickly, he noticed that he was in the mood where people pick up fights for no reason. he decided to just come back home and get some rest before something else could provoke him, but when he discovered you were at home as well, he couldn’t help but get clingy. after all, you guys haven’t properly talked for weeks.

and he missed you.

“c’mon, I can’t even see your face”, jungkook props himself up on his elbow, his breath gently fanning your face.

“we’ve already established the fact i’m pretty. let me sleep, kook.”

“aren’t pretty faces meant to be looked at?”

jungkook furrows his brows when he gets no answer from you. he blinks furiously to keep his own exhaustion at bay and studies your face to see if you’ve already drifted off to sleep. your eyes are closed, and he can feel the steady rhythm of your heart inside the hoodie of his that you’re wearing. he can also sense you’re not asleep though. not yet anyway.

“babeee”, jungkook lets out a high-pitched whimper and immediately yelps when you elbow him in the ribs but he isn’t sure which one strikes a nerve, the elbow or the words that follow.

“dude, would you please let me sleep? I am tired as fuck and I have to wake up early”, you grit your teeth in clear annoyance, not even bothering to open your eyes, “unlike some people”

jungkook feels a twinge of guilt, but he can also feel a surge of a new emotion. anger? before he can fully comprehend what is going on, inconsiderate words escape his mouth.

“so am I. but you don't see me complaining all the time.”

your eyes fly open. before you can fully discern their meaning of jungkook’s words, he moves away from you, retreating completely to his side of the bed and putting as much space between your bodies as possible. you use your last fragments of remaining energy to prop yourself up into a half-seated position to face him, but jungkook has already turned his back on you.

“what is that supposed to mean?”

silence.

“jungkook, what the hell was that supposed to mean?”

“go to sleep, okay?”, his quiet voice makes you falter and you immediately understand that he is angry. though for what, you don’t quite understand.

“jungkook, i’m sleepy, okay? and—”

“then sleep! no one’s stopping you now.”

“but you’re mad at me for being tired! how is that fair? i’ve been working like crazy—”

“geez, sorry for being unfair, ash”, sarcasm drips from jungkook’s voice and you don’t like that in the slightest, “I also have to wake up early, earlier than you in fact, so please let me sleep.”

an uncomfortable silence follows his sentence.

“alright”, you sigh and drop it after staring at his back for a few seconds. you don’t want to get into an argument now, not when both of you are on the verge of collapsing, prone to say things you don’t mean at all. you’d rather sleep and deal with it in the morning when both of you are well rested and not running on two hours of sleep and a shit ton of caffeine.

it’s not always you get to see this side of jungkook. anyone who knows him knows that the boy is crafted from starry skies and honeyed galaxies alone, always smiling a bit too easily and lighting everyone around him as bright as the evening star.

however, every time you see a crack at his easy, carefree demeanor, you can’t help but feel a sense of helplessness within. jungkook doesn’t get irritated often and certainly not easily, but when he does, his behavior takes a different turn. he doesn’t shout or scream or take his anger out on inanimate objects as you tend to do. instead, he completely shuts himself out of the world. every curt answer feels like a form of silent treatment, every word spoken laces itself with sarcasm, always hitting where it hurts the most. even though he never takes his anger out on you, you don’t like seeing him like this.

if you knew he would react like this, you would have given a little more effort to remain awake in his company. jungkook may be childish but he rarely behaves like this. and you’re just a simple girl, hopelessly in love with the boy who has his back turned to you.

“goodnight”, you draw closer to him and drape an arm around his waist hesitantly. when he doesn’t stir or reply, a dejected sigh escapes your lips. nonetheless, you tenderly wrap the blanket around him and nestle your face at the nape of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of fresh linen and mint.

despite the fatigue draping your limbs, despite jungkook starting to softly snore within minutes, it takes you an entire hour to fall asleep.

you let out yet another groan as memories from last night come flooding back into your mind. it has been like that all day, the memories coming and going as they pleased, striking you with a sense of disappointment every time they do. jungkook was already gone when you woke up in the morning and despite knowing he had an early schedule, you couldn't help but feel downhearted.

you immediately checked your phone back then, hoping to find a message from him but much to your disappointment, there was none. both you and jungkook had quite hectic schedules, but it became an unspoken agreement in the house to update each other about your days ever since you moved in together. jungkook would always leave little neon post-its on the fridge with messages— reminder to eat something before you get coffee!!! and call me after you wake up, let’s get lunch together??? — whenever he left the house before you were up and vice versa. soon, the post-its turned into text messages because it was always easier in the rush of the mornings. jungkook would always wake up to texts from you— before you get mad, I did kiss you before leaving but you wouldn’t budge— and he would instantly call you to check if your schedules aligned and if he could pick you up after work.

but having no text from jungkook this morning could mean only one thing.

he is still mad.

despite being agitated because of your lack of basic human activities, you pushed aside those emotions and called him immediately. you got more worried when jungkook didn’t pick the phone up because you knew he wasn’t one to hold petty grudges. you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed then, brushing and getting ready to face the day. now that you’ve had gained a few hours of rest, you realized how tired jungkook looked last night. you could almost hear the constant grumbles from his stomach that pointed out how hungry he was. But he kept saying that he didn’t have the energy to eat. you could see the swollen eyelids and the purple hue outlining it more clearly, how he walked unsteadily as if he was drunk.

jungkook called you back while you were on your way to work. you weren’t really surprised but it still dissipated some of your nerves. he explained that his phone was on silent and he didn’t see your call but his voice still sounded distant and his responses were short. he also mentioned that he might not come home tonight, hoping to squeeze in some extra practice hours.

he didn’t call you once for the rest of the day.

very un-jungkook of him.

and you were too busy to call him.

it is nearly midnight now. you find yourself inside your car, driving through the dimly lit streets of seoul. despite the hour, the city is bustling, alive with people and emotions. driving through the city always puts you at ease; you hated crowds but you loved observing people, the multitudes of emotions they go through every moment, making every one so much different than another but still intricately woven within love and life.

after the long day, you yearned for the warmth and comfort of your bed, considering skipping the shower part because that’s how drained you were. you didn’t eat anything all day, something that has become a routine now, save for the apple you grabbed while leaving the house in the morning. minus the seven-something cups of coffee.

yet you find yourself driving in the direction of the hybe studios.

you’re almost near the building when a sudden realization makes you click your tongue in annoyance. should have gotten some flowers. why did I not think of that before?

you park your car and make your way inside the extravagant building. the staff knew you well by now, both from your days as a trainee and your frequent visits to your boyfriend and his bandmates. you ascend to the top floor of the establishment, going straight toward one of the empty practice rooms jungkook loves to use whenever he is rehearsing on his own.

pushing the door open, you enter the room. the space is slightly dark, only illuminated with neon purple lights, ridiculously confirming your boyfriend’s presence to you. call it jungkook being jungkook, but your boyfriend hates harsh lights. you don’t doubt that he would happily reside in the darkness for the rest of his life if he was asked to.

you spot jungkook in the farthest corner of the room— hybe practice rooms are scarily huge— a blur of black sweats and bobbing hair, vigorously throwing hooks and uppercuts at the gray punching bag hanging in front of him. even from a distance you can see that he is completely absorbed in his own world, a side of him that you have come to know well over the years. this jungkook is full of energy and passion. this jungkook is the golden maknae of bts, putting his heart and soul into whatever he was working on, squeezing every last drop of capability, and surpassing every single one of his limits every minute. this is the boy who keeps on giving birth to beauty, elegance, and unparalleled talent.

you didn’t like to disrupt jungkook’s concentration when he was working so you decide to sit silently until he noticed your himself. however, concern washes over you when you see the lack of gloves in his hand. instead, his hands are wrapped with gauze and tape as he mercilessly throws jabs at the punching bag, and you can notice the blood seeping through the rips of the cloth around his knuckles.

“are you trying to piss me off on purpose?”, you hiss softly, walking towards him and putting your palm on his shoulder so as not to scare him. but jungkook yelps in shock anyways, bambi eyes wide and startled like a deer caught in front of headlights.

“ash?”

“why are you not wearing gloves?”, you take his hands into your own, flinching when you get a good look at it. his knuckles were visible through the torn cloth, red and angry, blood seeping through the gashes on his skin.

“sorry—”, jungkook throws you a sheepish glance, recovering from the initial shock, “—when did you come here? wait, why are you here?”

“to kick your ass”, you say, exasperated, “seriously jungkook, how hard is it to wear a glove? you just take the damn thing and squeeze your hand insi—”

“I did! but then it tore somehow”

you scowled.

“it’s true! look! I threw it on the ground when it ripped. it’s still there!”

“then don’t punch so hard!”

“but I have to train!”, jungkook pouted, hoping his cute facial expression would calm you down. you scowled more.

you huff, releasing his hands and making your way toward the line of closets in the back of the room. it’s where the first aid kits are usually kept. you know every practice room in the entire building has one or two of these because this is where most of the accidents happens. you can sense jungkook’s gaze following you but he remains mute.

getting what you need, you take a seat on the furnished floor and pat it, urging jungkook to do the same. he falls silent once again, any surprise from your unexpected arrival which urged him to talk normally wore off and the tension was back.

jungkook complies and sits down in front of you. he takes a good few seconds to stare at your outstretched palms before sighing in defeat and offering you his hands when he notices your enraged glare. He doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of your rage. and doesn’t matter he says, he would be lying if he said his hands didn’t throb from the pain.

you carefully remove the white gauges from his hands, wincing when more blood oozes out. looking at red cuts and bruises across his skin almost physically pains you, but jungkook stays completely silent, eyes drinking you in. he recalls being mad at you but he can’t quite recall the reason. it’s not because he can't remember now, especially with you here, tending to his wounds in such a delicate manner that you fear you would hurt him. as if something as gentle as your touch could ever cause him harm. not because you look like you were put on this earth to solely heal his hands. and not because you showed up here unannounced. because he genuinely can’t remember what made him so mad at you last night, literally out of thin air, and now he feels embarrassed at his own immaturity.

he just couldn’t figure out how to approach you after being a total jerk.

weird how humans tend to hurt the ones they love the most, almost always for no particular reason at all.

you finish your work wordlessly, putting band-aids around his knuckles and ointment on the cuts peppering his fingers. letting his hands fall onto his lap, you gather the bloodied materials from the floor and rise up to throw them in the waste paper box. jungkook follows your suit, standing up cluelessly.

“you’re gonna start throwing punches again?”

“hmm? uh no— I think I will practice the choreographies now”

“okay”, you sigh.

jungkook looks like hell, you realize. his messy hair is messier than usual, sticking out wildly at all angles, eyes droopy and rimmed with circles darker than you remember seeing last night. sweat glistened on his hunched figure tired from the physical exertion, soaking his sweatshirt.

you know you look just as worn out as him. you can feel it by the way he looks at you.

“uh so— are you gonna drive ho—”

“come with me.”

jungkook’s eyes widen as you wrap your arms around his torso, hiding your head on his chest. while a sweaty jungkook usually makes you giggle out a gross and maneuver far away, you hug him with gentle ardor, more so than usual.

you just want him to come home tonight.

“ash, sweetheart, i’m sweating”, jungkook tries to pry himself away from you but you just hold him tighter.

“don’t care. please come home.”

jungkook goes limp in your clutch for a few seconds before he’s softly hugging you back. of course, he would go home if you wanted him to, you didn’t need to ask him twice. who the heck is he to deny you? always a prisoner to your wishes, always prisoner to your love, and gladly so. how could he not? he rests his chin on your head and sways your body from side to side in a rhythm.

“okay”

“really?”

“really.”

the drive back home was short.

you drove, as jungkook was all out of it. he didn’t have the physical and mental coordination to walk down the building to the car, how the boy was gonna rehearse overnight, you had no idea.

“whoops, babe how were you gonna dance?” you supported his weight leaning down on you while you were walking, steading yourself before both of you fell on the ground, one arm wrapped around his torso, his figure hunched and head resting on your neck.

“I can walk. I am just choosing not to since you’re here”, he flashed you a grin with his eyes closed.

after arriving home, jungkook went straight to the shower and for a few seconds, you contemplated joining him. however, recalling how jungkook’s grumbling tummy throughout the whole ride, made you change your decision. he mentioned that he didn’t eat anything fulfilling all day. that is why you told him to freshen up and made a beeline towards the kitchen to make some instant ramen, not very healthy but quick and easy, and always gratifying.

so here you are now, serving ramen into two bowls with the leftover kimchi you guys had in the fridge. sleepiness makes your eyelids droop and you feel like prying them open with scotch tapes.

like tom, you snort to yourself, from tom and jerry.

man, you loved that cartoon during your childhood.

after all these years, you still don’t know if you’re team tom or team jerry.

hearing a faint clicking sound, you turn around and see jungkook approaching you, shirtless and clad in sweatpants. the shower had done marvels because he looks as attractive as he always does, with the water dripping down his damp hair onto the well-defined muscles in his chest. feeling a blush creep in, you quickly avert your eyes.

both of you are tired enough without resorting to er— any other activities for the night.

“what are you doing in the kitchen?” jungkook stares at you with confused doe eyes.

“putting food on the table like the dutiful girlfriend I am.”

“pretty sure that’s wife material”, jungkook whispers as he works his way into your arms, tugging your waist flushed with his.

“kook, you need to dry your hair properly! you’ll catch a cold”, you scold him softly, feeling greasy when you see him so fresh and glowy. you card a hand through his locks, feeling it to be more sopping than it seemed. you break free from his grasp to grab a towel from the washroom, ignoring the loud protests.

“sit”, you command, gesturing for jungkook to sit on one of the stools lining the kitchen island. when he complies, you gently massage his head with the towel, squeezing every last drop of remaining water from his hair. jungkook prefers to air dry his hair when he is at home, allowing it to get some rest from all the heat and styling he has to do on a regular basis, but he also religiously manages to forget at least soaking the water out.

he grabs you closer by pulling your waist. you stand between his thighs and continue massaging his scalp while he muffles his face on your chest, desperately seeking your warmth and comfort. a smile stretches across your face watching jungkook moan in satisfaction.

“how are the hands?”

“mmm good. need to put more band-aids”, his voice comes out hoarse being squished in your chest, “you didn’t need to cook. I know you are tired.”

“but i’m hungry too”

“oh. let’s eat then! it smells so fucking good!”

and jungkook’s sudden burst of enthusiasm prompts a hearty laugh from you, endeared to your core, just as you always find yourself enamored by his every action.

“what. do you want. jeon jungkook.”

jungkook’s soft laughter echoes inside the room in response to the aggression in your tone. he pulls you closer to himself, wrapping an arm tightly around your torso once your back is secured against his chest. after finishing your meal, jungkook volunteered to clean the dishes while we waited for you to take a shower. now that both of you are clean and full, you find yourselves tangled together in bed once again; your usual routine, you trying to sleep and jungkook trying to keep you awake.

“I want you to eat well. I want you to sleep well. you. I want you. always you”, he presses his face in your hair, taking in the aroma of wood and wild berries.

“and I am sorry”, he adds quietly.

you stir when you hear his words, turning around in his hold to face him. you know what he is apologizing for.

“well, you should be.”

“I really am.”

“i'm kidding, kook. you don’t need to be sorry. you were tired and—”

“but see, that’s the thing! every time I tell you that i’m tired and just want to sleep, you make damn sure I get some actual rest but I—”, he gestures at himself, looking at you with utmost concentration, “start acting like a spoiled child when I don’t get absolutely one hundred percent of your attention.”

“can't really disagree with that.”

“hey!”

“your words, not mine!”, you let out a squeal as jungkook tries to tickle you, holding him tighter in an attempt to make him stop, “love, that’s a part of you. and I adore that. that you feel comfortable enough to get mad at me for nothing. I don’t want you all smiley and cheery, without the bad things. I love you. and I want you as... you.”

“however annoying you may be”, you add as an afterthought.

jungkook scrunches his nose, “I am pretty annoying from time to time, aren’t I?”

“oh boy, you have no idea.”

“wow. am I imagining things or does everyone feel like you’re in a mood to constantly attack me tonight?”, he hugs you tighter if possible, shrugging, “my fault for loving you so much, I guess.”

“well, I am very lovable.”

“...oh boy, you have no idea.”

[monthly-raining]

characters as adults

i sometimes throw up in my mouth thinking about my old art style im so much happier and expressive except i havent figured out how to add color lmaooooo

im thinking these are everyone in their early 30s

i think sophie would become a keeper... bc its literally in the series title... maybe emissary too? anyway i dont think shed be the happiest in her position but i think when she grows up she'll start to resemble oralie a lot. maybe some people will put two and two together but this might be eons after oralie resigns from the council and it becomes a little irrelevant at that point

sophie WILL go bald at a certain point when she has the biggest existential crisis

i dont know how to draw dex in general because i just dont have a clear image of who he is this late into the series... bc its been such a long time since book 9 and i havent preordered 9.5 yet

i think he might actually be the most successful out of everyone bc everyone seems to agree that he's a very talented technopath and he worked with the council when he was only a level three??? even if it was making sophie's circlet???? very impressive accepted into harvard 10/10

i love drawing biana shes just ugh. very gorgeous. cant tell if she'll live a celebrity life in the elven world or shed just mysteriously disappear for the longest time and have everyone speculate on what happened to the youngest vacker and she just comes back with like a billion luster book deal to write an autobiography of what she was up to and its basically her freaking out over the ugliest fashion trends ("i leave for three centuries and you guys make THIS a trending item of clothing????") bc biana will always stay biana

linh will cut her hair along with the silver tips. still do not know how the silver tip works. i love drawing her moles, i feel she just has to have a lot of them around her face. she volunteers for animal rehabilitation. she gives free seminars for young hydrokinetics to teach them how to control their abilities. what a woman

im the iffiest with his rendition but he probably grew out the silver tips with his sister and he toggles between keeping his bangs out of his face and keeping it down

weirdly, i think hed be a teacher of some sorts. maybe tutor for 5-10 year olds? i feel like hed be good with small kids

they get their ears pierced together. keefe's a little sadder as an adult. he also grew out his hair

fitz hasn't changed his style much

not sure why keefe is sad. i feel like the older he got in the series, the more sadder he got. it makes sense-- id be sad too. later on, he'll be happy again but i think seeing how long an elven lifespan is theyre probably still considered babies. he has time to figure it out

it'd be really nice if fitz became an author or journalist. i think alden should quit his job as emissary and write an autobiography. i think all the vackers should start journaling and not join evil organizations as a mode of therapy.

[bosbas]

Chapter 8: no one wanted to play with me as a little kid

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love (sort of. it's like pre idiots in love. on the cusp of idiots in love), fluff (so much fluff)

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: you know what. let's pretend all of the ages/years make sense. kisses to all of you!

December 4, 1809 - Dearest, loveliest, most wonderful Y/I (your initial),

I am so sorry I have not written in almost two weeks, though I did enjoy the very strongly worded letter you sent me reminding me of this fact and demanding a response. I wish I had a better excuse, but truthfully, this term has just been hectic. But to answer the question you so politely asked: yes, I will be home in time for Christmas, and I will be staying for New Year's and your birthday (your birthday is not even two weeks after Christmas, darling, give me some credit!). Though I rather think you owe me a present instead of the other way around after calling me an oblivious toad.

As an apology for my silence, I've attached my reading list for the courses I am taking at Oxford this term so you can also read them. I am sure you will be able to find them in your library but do let my mother know if you cannot find them. We should also have copies in our library. I will be heading back to Aubrey Hall in ten days to see the lot of you, and I will eagerly be awaiting all of your thoughts on this term's reading.

Yours, B

You couldn't help the excited gasp that left your lips as soon as you were finished reading Benedict's letter. You hadn't even managed to leave your entryway before you hastily opened the envelope addressed to you, blurting out a thank you to your slightly startled butler, who had been taken aback by your eager rifling of the mail. 

Now that Benedict was at Oxford, you barely got to see him at all, so you were more than a little excited when you read that you would only have to wait ten more days to see him. The three weeks he was home for the winter holiday were the bulk of your in-person interactions with him for the year, as had been the norm for the past three years he had been at university. 

It wasn't all bad, though. Proof of that lay in a box in your bedroom filled with every single letter or note you had received from Benedict while he was away at Oxford. Even the short ones, when he was studying for an exam and barely had time to write a coherent response, had found a place inside your box. You supposed the box contained most of your friendship with Ben over the past three years, neatly organized by date from oldest to newest and separated by term. 

Sometimes, you found yourself missing Benedict more than usual, and you would read through your favorite of his letters. Often, it ended up being the shortest notes that were the sweetest and ones you would read over and over. Even years after he had sent the letters, you found comfort in his messy scrawl after an afternoon playing Pall Mall without Benedict and his typical banter. But once you saw him at Aubrey Hall every December, it would be like no time had passed at all. You kept him up to date on everything happening at home with your family and his, and he told you wild stories from his time at Oxford. 

And although you enjoyed hearing about his life, it was also bittersweet. You were so jealous of him, wishing more than anything that you could go to university, too. But alas, the pesky issue of your gender prevented you from furthering your education. You got as close as you could, though. Benedict would send you all of his readings every term, and you enjoyed discussing the books you read at length when he returned for the holiday season. 

This is not to say that your conversations about literature and art were limited to your in-person time. In fact, most of your correspondence was about the books you were reading or the galleries you had gone to. Ben could spend pages and pages talking about a particular part of a painting, the way the artist had captured the way light filtered through the trees. And you loved every bit of it, engaging in your usual discussions. In a way, if you ignored how much you missed him, it was lovely to have a physical representation of your friendship. 

However, you would soon stop being constrained to receiving correspondence from Ben every few days, and you could simply knock on his door if you were particularly interested in talking about an aspect of your book. Your time at Aubrey Hall had become your favorite time of year, three weeks of daily interactions with your best friend being the absolute best birthday present you could've ever asked for. 

But this year was different. This was the last time you would have to say goodbye at the end of the holidays, seeing as Benedict was graduating in the spring and returning from Oxford permanently. To say you were over the moon was an understatement. You could barely wait to spend hours in his studio watching him paint again or reading aloud to him under the shade of the tree in your backyard on particularly warm days. 

---

August 12, 1799 - Y/I, I thought you would like this one. Yours, B

Bypassing Alex and Anthony having a heated debate about who was better at billiards, Benedict headed straight in your direction across the garden, ignoring Daphne, Colin, Theo, and Bastian, who had been playing some team game that devolved into an argument. Benedict patted your head as he came by to sit beside you on the grass, momentarily drawing your attention away from the massive book on your lap.

Grabbing the book from your lap and transferring it to his own, he asked, "So, what do you think?"

You let out an excited squeal, shaking Benedict's nearest arm with both hands. "It's amazing, Ben! An entire book about flowers, who knew? I've spent hours looking at it already, and I'm not even halfway through! It's got so much information I could die. It's incredible. Thank you so much." Though it was left unsaid, Ben knew these were hours you would have otherwise spent alone. The twins were especially adamant about not having you play with them, and Alex and Anthony were too caught up in their never-ending competitions to pay any attention to you. With your mother and his being occupied with the toddlers, Francesca, Cass, and Eloise, who had only just begun to walk and talk, you and Ben were truly the only odd ones out. But it was no bother to him. He loved when you read aloud to him, and you would happily listen to him talk about his sketches for hours on end, something he could not say about any other member of the Bridgerton-Beaumont cohort. 

Ben could only laugh fondly at your excitement, internally very proud that he had found a book you really enjoyed. "It's called an encyclopedia. There are loads of them about just about anything and everything in the world," he told you, leafing through the book himself. Gently pushing the book back in your direction, he prodded, "Well, go on then. Show me your favorite flowers so far." 

Grabbing the book, you hastily turned the pages until you reached the flowers, starting with the letter 'd.' Standing up, you rushed to the nearest corner of the garden and dug around for a few seconds, coming back with a bunch of small white flowers clutched in your small hands. 

Ben let out a short laugh, but you quickly shushed him, whining, "Stop it! It'll make sense in a second, I promise."

"I didn't say anything!" responded Ben defensively, putting his hands up in the air but unable to conceal the smile you had elicited from him. 

"Okay. Look at the page. The daisies. They're also called Bellis perennis, but that's in Latin. We have them here in the garden! Isn't that lovely?" you said excitedly, placing the flowers beside Ben.

"Oh, that is quite nice, Y/N," he responded, picking one of the daisies up and placing it behind your ear, eliciting a bright smile from you. "Did you know that a Violet is a type of flower? And so is a Primrose."

"You mean both our mums have flower names? That's so fun. I wish everyone could have a flower name," you responded, excited to have learned new information. 

"You could always give your daughters flower names," Ben suggested, enjoying the pure joy you were getting out of this.

"Well, before I have daughters, I would have to get married. And I don't want to do that! I just want to keep reading books. I want to read every single encyclopedia in the world!" you exclaimed, reaching your arms as high as they could go. 

Ben laughed, highly amused by your antics. "Just like me, then. Except instead of reading it's painting," he responded as he laid down fully on the grass, looking up at the sky and feeling particularly thankful that someone understood how he felt. On the other hand, you took the opportunity to dump all of the flowers you had picked onto his torso, arranging and rearranging them into different designs. He could only laugh, not at all bothered that his shirt would surely be dirty now, just happy to watch you enjoy yourself. 

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke up as you tried unsuccessfully to stack the flowers on top of each other. "That's perfect, then. We can get married, I can read, and you can paint, and we can have a daughter and give her a flower name."

"That sounds wonderful! I'm glad that's sorted," he laughed, lifting his head to find you flashing a toothy grin. "D'you like the name Daisy for our daughter, then?"

"That's lovely! And you can paint her a painting of a daisy for her room!" you responded eagerly. Benedict hummed in assent, busy imagining the dynamics of a blissful imaginary marriage. 

---

January 3, 1810 - Y/I, Happiest of birthdays, darling. Come downstairs, where I have a proper gift and card waiting for you. Yours, B

As you came downstairs, you already feared the fate that awaited you. Every year, your birthday would begin with a very extreme and frankly excessive snowball fight involving all the Bridgerton-Beaumont children. You could trust no one. Alliances would easily crumble under pressure, and people were just as likely to betray their siblings as they would someone from the other family. You and Benedict, ordinarily inseparable, could become sworn enemies in the span of two snowballs. You couldn't even trust sweet Hyacinth, only seven years old, to be loyal to any team, seeing as she was an outstanding double agent, a lesson you had all learned the hard way. It was absolute chaos, and you loved every second of it. It didn't matter how old you were; this was always the best part of your birthday.

As soon as you stepped outside, a snowball the size of your fist hit your right shoulder. Slowly turning toward the perpetrator, you narrowed your eyes once you saw it was Gregory, who had helped you defeat Bastian and Francesca in one fell swoop last year. Clearly, that alliance was gone, and you would have to find someone else to rely on this year. 

Since it was your birthday, the fight officially started when you threw the first snowball, and this year, you chose to throw it at Cassandra, your own sister, who had annoyed you at dinner yesterday by incessantly flinging peas at you. Once the tightly packed ball left your hand, all hell broke loose. You were hit in the stomach and leg simultaneously as you fired snowballs in every direction you could, laughing as you did. 

You briefly ducked behind a tree trunk, needing a moment to breathe. You took advantage of the fact that you weren't a target to form a massive snowball. You carefully stepped away from behind the trunk, checking that the coast was clear. Without a second thought, you flung the snowball as hard as you could in the direction of the person closest to you. 

Unfortunately, it hit Benedict straight in the face, blinding him for a few moments. Your mouth hung open, trying not to laugh because you knew you had packed quite a bit of force into your throw. You ran to Ben's side, apologizing as much as possible without bursting into laughter. He cleared the snow from his eyes and turned to you slowly, an evil grin forming on his face. 

"I believe you have just declared war, Miss Beaumont," he said finally. 

You screamed and ran in the opposite direction, knowing he would be absolutely merciless. You couldn't even look back, not wanting to slow down. After a few seconds of frantic sprinting, you felt Ben tackling you onto a massive pile of snow. Both of you were laughing hysterically while trying to catch your breath. He turned you over so you were lying down side by side, both of you panting heavily, looking up at the winter sky. 

"I miss you," you said finally, turning your head toward him, only to find that he was already looking at you. He pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around you tightly before he helped you up and brushed the snow off of your coat. 

"I know. I miss you, too. But it'll only be like this for a short while longer, and then you can come round every day and read to me while I paint, yeah?" he said, lifting your chin to look at him. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your heartbeat quicken, his brown eyes not letting yours go. Your eyes flickered to his mouth briefly, your lips parting slightly. Looking back at his eyes, you saw something flash in them that you couldn't quite parse, an expression you hadn't seen before. Finally, you nodded, letting him pull you into him and kiss your forehead, enjoying the warmth and comfort you felt as you were wrapped tightly in his arms.

---

September 17, 1805 - Y/I, I can't believe you had a book about the exact artist I was talking about! I'll pop by yours later to say a proper thank you. Yours, B

Benedict walked into your sitting room, sprawling on the couch before you with his arm behind his head, silently waiting for you to look up from your book. But you had just gotten to an exciting part, and your eyes remained glued to the page, ignoring your best friend's attempt to get your attention. 

You heard him huff and muttered a soft "Just a second, Ben" as your eyes raced across the page, eager to know what happened next. In response, he slid further down the couch and crossed his arms, eliciting a laugh from you and finally drawing you away from your book. 

"You were barely waiting ten seconds, Benedict!" you exclaimed, secretly pleased he was so eager to see you. He was leaving for Oxford in a few weeks, and although you were trying not to think about the reality of him going, you were acutely aware that you would soon be unable to see him every day.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, responding with a teasing, "It felt like ten years!" 

In recent months, the two of you had become inseparable. Your days were spent reading next to him as he painted, listening to him talk about his most recent artworks, or going for nature walks if you found yourself in Aubrey Hall. Anything to keep him close by before he left for Oxford, you reasoned. Though you couldn't help the growing affection, you were feeling, finding it impossible to look away when he tousled his hair just so and being a bit too pleased every time he complimented you. Every handsome smile or cheeky wink he sent your way lit you up inside, melting your heart just a little bit.

The problem was, and of course, there was a problem, that Benedict was always like this. Nothing about his demeanor had changed; your friendship was still the same as it had always been. Except now you found yourself spending a little too much time in the mornings making sure your hair looked good in case he popped by unannounced. Regardless, you knew Ben did not reciprocate your affections, so you tried to ignore these feelings as best as you could, folding them up very small and tucking them neatly in the corner of your heart for later examination.

Now, you found yourself on a couch against a wall of Benedict's studio, reading Romeo and Juliet as he was quietly sketching. This was quite possibly your favorite thing to do. Spend quiet afternoons together, reading and painting, enjoying each other's company. You took a moment to look at him as he scrunched his nose, unhappy with a certain aspect of the sketch. 

He sighed and looked up at you, nodding toward your book. "What has Shakespeare got to say today?"

"That marriage is a death sentence," you replied, voice deadpan. 

Ben burst into laughter. "Oh, come off it. It can't be that bad in real life. That's only a play! Besides, you've still got a while before you have to think about that," he tried to reason with you.

"Well, maybe. But it just sounds so unappealing. I want to do this. What we're doing now. I want to keep doing it. I don't want to be a wife! I just want to read and study," you argued. 

Benedict stood up, coming to sit beside you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I know, darling. I'm sorry," but he knew you had more to say.

You groaned, pushing your forehead into his shoulder. "I just don't think I'll ever be happy if I'm forced to marry. And I most likely will be, knowing my mother. She'd rather die than have one of her daughters turn into a spinster," you huffed, missing the sympathetic look you got from Ben. "And who will my husband be? A clueless man with no interest in me beyond my ability to be a good wife? I cannot imagine a worse fate."

---

May 8, 1810 - Y/I, I'll keep this one short, seeing how I'll be properly back in a few days! I've been quite busy with graduation, but I'm excited to come home. Yours, B

You smiled as you placed the last letter you had received from Benedict back in your box. The collection was complete. Three years of correspondence between the two of you finally come to an end. You carefully closed the box and returned downstairs, where a big family gathering was occurring in the garden. 

As soon as you stepped outside, Ben was at your side, chatting your ear off about one thing or another. He had barely left you alone since he had been back, granting you only a few minutes to yourself, but you couldn't complain. You wrapped an arm around his torso as you walked back to the garden table. 

"Oh, you look so darling!" cried Violet, cooing at the two of you. 

"You're proper adults now! Both of you! How the time has passed," your mother added, reaching out to hold Violet's hand. 

Benedict could only smile, too happy to be back at your side to focus on anything else. He had missed you loads while he was at Oxford, but having your arm around him now, he realized just how much he needed you. Ben placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, unable to help himself as you sat down at the table. He sat right next to you, taking one of your hands into his own so he could play with your fingers as you chatted with Primrose and Violet. 

Oxford had been a riot, to be sure, but he was so glad to come home to you.

—

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[so-long-soldier-writes]

The Light in My Darkness

damon salvatore x gn!reader | requested

summary: after your boyfriend's death, you fell back into old habits. now that he's back, you're having trouble kicking them again.

tags: angst, hurt / comfort, depression, s3lf h4rm, kisses

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i typically don't write for damon, however i feel comfortable writing this subject matter and i'm getting better with understanding his character. honestly, too, i rewatched s7 and i'm starting to love him even more. (i just love the traumatized characters.)

also, i'm not good at titles. my first title had the word 'put' in it, but i stared at it so long, it didn't look like a word anymore and i had to change it. i think i like this one better. i stg, titles are half the reason i take so long to post. whew, anyway... enjoy ❤️

“Stefan needs help at Whitmore,” Damon says hurriedly. He puts his phone in his back pocket and sighs. “Another Enzo situation.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, you stay here. I don’t want him anywhere near you, given he’s in one of his moods and would hurt you for no reason.” He gives you a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

He speeds out the door a moment later, leaving you alone in the large, empty house. You sigh. Your life is so full of supernatural drama, it’s hard to keep up. Honestly, you’re not even sure what the situation is with Enzo, or why he and Stefan hate each other so much, or how Damon knows what to do to de-escalate their arguments. Of course, Caroline debriefed you on it sometime ago, but with all the craziness happening lately, it pretty much went over your head. 

It’s been hard these last few months. Only recently had Damon returned to you from four months after being considered dead, alongside Bonnie, as the other side collapsed with him in it. Those months had been the hardest of your life, and you doubted your ability to make it through them. Losing your best friend and your boyfriend was something you never thought you’d have to endure, yet it happened. Losing them almost killed you, too. 

For three years, you were clean. You hadn’t touched a single blade since you and Damon got serious. He gave you a reason to stop without even knowing it, and with a lot of patience with yourself, you managed to kick the addiction. After he died, though, when you couldn’t bear to live without him, you picked it back up. Part of you is pissed for falling back into your old ways, but the other part has convinced yourself it’s what you need to do to survive. 

When he came back unexpectedly, you were filled with just as much panic as you were joy. You had him back, but had relapsed majorly, and now have to recount your old steps into being sober again. It hasn’t been easy. 

It’s been a couple days since your last time, and while your skin’s no longer bright and swollen, it seems to beg for your attention. You have to plan it carefully, making sure Damon will be gone long enough that he won’t sense the fresh blood. When he grabs your wrists to kiss your face, you don’t want to flinch in slight pain, or let him pick up a chance in your heartbeat. 

It’s such a complicated addiction to have when dating a vampire, yet fighting the urges are so hard, sometimes you can’t help but give into them. 

The blades in the bathroom are ready for you when you enter. A brand new pack sits in the drawer. The boys won’t miss one or two. The one time Stefan did notice, you blabbered a quick lie about needing one to scrape a bit of food dried to the stovetop. He was in such a rush that day, he didn’t catch any lie, and you were able to smile and flee the scene a moment later. Since then, you make sure to hold onto the one you have until there’s enough to not see one missing. 

With everyone seemingly involved in the Enzo situation, you don’t bother to shut the door completely before dragging the blade across your skin. The boarding house is empty, and this bathroom in particular is tucked away nicely behind the stairs. You make a few scattered cuts and watch the blood seep from them. It always seems to calm you in the most grotesque way, and, quite ironically, gives you the perfect dopamine rush that raises your spirits despite the pain. It’s a terrible addiction but with a high reward… until you have to hide the evidence. 

That little reminder makes you sigh. Too many scars are hard to hide, and with Damon back, you have to be careful. It would break him to see you this way; that thought alone makes you put down the blade. For a moment longer, you stare at the tricking blood, committing the sight to memory to maybe fend off the next urge. To imagine the blood on your skin may convince yourself it’s there, and maybe you won’t cut the next time you’re so desperate. Maybe. 

You reach for a piece of toilet paper to dab the wounds. The bleeding needs to stop before you crave another scare. It’s so tempting, but-

“Hey,” Damon appears suddenly, peeking through the door. His eyes are narrowed, as if sensing something’s wrong. “What are you doing?”

You turn to face him and hold your hands around your back quickly. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” He opens the door a little wider, seeing the reflection of your hidden hands in the mirror. “Let me see your arms.”

“I’m okay.” Nervously, you pull down your sleeves to hide your wounds as much as possible. Your eyes meet the floor, unable to lie if you look into his blues.

“No, you’re not.” He argues, anxious to see your face; to not let you shy away and avoid his gaze. His approach makes your heart race, confirming his worst fears. “Let me see.”

“I thought you were leaving. I thought Stefan needed you.”

“He does, but he can wait.”

“But-”

“You’re my first priority. I can tell something’s up. Please,” he brushes a hair away from your face, “let me in.”

“Damon, I’m fine.”

“You’re hurting, and I can smell the blood, and I’m really trying hard not to freak out right now.”

You huff at the realization that he could smell it. You should’ve waited for him to be gone longer before breaking your skin. “Promise me you won’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Just promise me.” Tears well in your eyes, but you let them fall, unwilling to take your hands off your sleeves. 

“Y/N, I promise. I could never be mad. Just let me see it.”

Slowly, you release your sleeves, but leave the task of rolling them up to him. You can’t bear to do it yourself. Damon takes one hand gently and pulls the sleeve back. Upon seeing the numerous cuts, he pulls the other back with a little more vigor, but is still careful not to hurt you. He stares, unable to speak or move, as his heart breaks with every passing second. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. His eyes meet yours and you finally break down into tears. 

Without a moment of hesitation, he pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms protectively around your body. You feel safe in his arms, you always do. Damon has a way about him that always makes you feel safe, no matter what anyone else thinks of him. He’s loyal and understanding, and that is part of the reason you feel so horrible for not telling him this. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, now sobbing into his chest. 

Your heart beats and reminds him that you are alive. The cuts made into your skin weren’t deep enough to take you. The pain you have been feeling hasn’t swallowed you whole. He concentrates on your breathing, and your crying, and uses it to anchor himself before asking the thousands of questions flooding his mind. 

He pulls away, finally, and wipes your tears with his thumbs. His hands grip your shoulders with a gentle desperation, as if he’s afraid you could dissipate at any moment. 

“Y/N…”

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“Did you mean for me to find out at all?”

Your heart feels heavy as you reply, “honestly, no.”

“Why not tell me, Y/N? You know I love you. If you’re hurting, I want to be there for you.”

“I know… I guess I just didn’t want to disappoint you? Some part of me was embarrassed about it, and I didn’t want you to see me differently because of it. I don’t know.” 

“Baby, there’s nothing you could do that’d ever make me love you less. Nothing that would ever make me feel a different way, or see you in another light.”

“I know. I know my feelings are totally irrational, I just… they’re fears.”

“I understand.” He kisses your forehead, then releases your shoulders to hold your hands and kiss them, too. “Hey, can you promise me something?”

“I can try.”

“Come to me the next time you’re feeling like you want to hurt yourself, okay? Let me help you through it.”

“But-”

“It doesn’t matter what’s going on, or who’s texting, I will drop anything and put you first. But you gotta let me in when you need it. Okay?”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now,” he pauses, biting into his arm and holding it out for you to drink. His other hand meets the back of your head, stabilizing your neck to keep you comfortable. 

To his dismay, you refuse. You try to pull away, but his other hand prevents that, so you look down instead. “I can’t.”

“Y/N…”

“The scars are a reminder that I bleed. As soon as they fade away, the urge returns, but if they’re there for a little while, the urge is less strong. They’re kind of a comfort, I think. A reminder.”

“So you don’t want me to heal them?”

“I’d rather not. They don’t bother me too much. Do they bother you?”

You can see the hesitation in his eyes. He fights with himself, knowing the sight is a reminder of your pain, but understands their existence helps you heal. After a moment, he shakes his head. “No, baby, I only care that you’re safe.” He kisses them one more time. “Have you eaten much today?”

“Not really.”

“Well… do you mind if I make you something, even if it’s just something small, and then we can sit together on the couch? We’ll take today slow.”

“Okay. Wait, but what about Stefan?”

“Caroline can handle it. Then he’ll be in her debt and she’ll be happy about it,” he jokes.

You smile, appreciating his humor despite the somber mood hanging above both your heads. He’s the light in dark times, the much needed laugh that breaks the awkward silence. It’s part of the reason you fell for him so quickly. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay. And thank you.”

He pulls you in to kiss your forehead, then reaches for your hand. “Of course.”

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Brother’s Best Friend (Azriel x Reader)

summary: you are cassian’s sister and have a thing for azriel

wc: 1K

a/n: this is my first fic ive written for tumblr since like 2014 i think so sorry if its absolute garage. this is also not proof read at all and honestly i wrote this while tipsy bc ive been nervous to write again so i’m just saying fuck it i’m sorry :)

warnings: slight smut/suggestiveness

You always looked up to Cassian since you were little.

Like most big brothers, he has always been protective as fuck, especially with growing up in the windhaven camp and becoming solely responsible for you after your mother died.

He shielded you from so much in your childhood because he wanted the best for you.

Like many little sisters, you thought Cassian and his friends were the coolest males alive and wanted to follow them everywhere.

You basically had three big brothers instead of one.

They would try to include you as much as possible, but sometimes they did certain things that you definitely should not be around and would find some excuse to get rid of you.

But at the end of the day, the three of them would stand up to just about anyone for you to protect you. And they did.

They only let you join the snowball fight once and then kicked you out because it wasn’t fair that you only targeted Cassian the entire time and that Azriel felt bad throwing snowballs at you.

Also you were a child and couldn’t throw far enough to hit any of them, but they still say you suck at snowball throwing to this day.

When you got older, you desperately tried to ignore the rumors you heard about the boys around the camp. No one needs to hear about their brother’s sex life.

When the four of you moved to Velaris and after everything with Rhysand’s family, they were all very protective over you.

Over time, you and Azriel grew closer. His close friendship with Cassian led to you becoming closer with him than Rhys.

He is soooo protective of you.

So much so that no one bats an eye when he scares off any male that tries to court you, claiming they are not worth your time.

“I’m not overprotective, I just don’t think that any of these males meet your standards.” Aka his standards for you

Having a shadow or two follow you around became the norm.

You and Azriel start to spend a lot of one on one time together, platonically at first. You two are definitely the comfortable silence type.

Reading your separate books on the couch together was a common occurrence.

You spent years trying to ignore the shift in how you viewed Azriel.

Neither of you are quite sure when you realized the change in your relationship, but one day you became very aware of how attractive you find him.

The shy and quiet boy quickly became the silent and mysterious male.

And Azriel isn’t quite sure when you went from being Cassian’s kinda annoying younger sister to a vivacious female with curves he can’t keep his eyes off of.

The emotional connection had been there for centuries through friendship, but once it became physical attraction, you both knew you were screwed.

One night after drinking at Rita’s, Cassian asked Azriel to make sure you got home safe.

The alcohol inhibits both of your judgements and you both end up in your bed that night.

“You don’t know how long I have wanted to do this. No other male even deserves the chance to try to make you feel as good as I do.”

He was your first (again because he scared away every single male who tried to come near you) and it was fucking adorable

Waking up next to your brother’s best friend is a different level of anxiety.

You freak out and tell him this absolutely cannot happen again. You make an effort to avoid being alone with him.

But obviously Azriel is not content with just one night after getting a taste of you.

He spends the next several weeks slowly breaking down your walls with sneaky touches and whispering dirty things in your ear when no one is watching.

Eventually you cave and end up at his door one night, pissed at him for succeeding, but also practically begging him to fuck you again.

And again. And again.

It took no time at all for the actual feelings to be revealed between you two and to start secretly dating.

And from there it’s months of sneaking around and pretending to be just friends in front of others.

Az feels sooo guilty about lying to his friend but you don’t want to tell Cassian because you know he will freak out.

He asks you so many times to tell Cassian because he hates lying to him.

And Rhys is so suspicious of you two but doesn’t want to interfere.

Eventually Cassian catches you two.

He enters Azriel’s room without knocking one night to ask some stupid question and finds Azriel with his face between your legs. We all know Az loves eating you out so obviously.

Cassian is pissed.

As in, he tries to fight Azriel.

But Azriel just lets him and doesn’t fight back because he knows he fucked up by not saying anything sooner.

You start screaming and put yourself between the two of them to get Cassian to stop, which makes Azriel immediately move to cover you in case Cassian doesn’t react quick enough to stop.

Cassian sees how protective Azriel is of you and how you were willing to throw yourself in front of Azriel to defend him and realizes this isn’t just some casual thing between you two.

It takes a couple days for him to forgive Azriel for lying. He forgives you within one day because you always have been able to use your puppy dog eyes on him to get what you want.

Eventually Cassian accepts your relationship.

But he threatens Azriel that if he ever hurts you, he will do something so severe that Az wouldn’t tell you what he said.

Cassian still makes an overdramatic scene of gagging every time you and Azriel are affectionate in front of him.

Which only makes you do it more to piss him off because that’s what sisters do.

[tiredandoptimistic]

As someone who likes a lot of "bad" media, or media that starts out kinda slow but builds into a bigger plot over time, I see so many different opinions on what bits are "okay" to skip in order to get to the good part, and it's just wild to me. Bouncing around between the highlights doesn't actually give you the experience, and filler is so important when it comes to just...creating a vibe and building up the relationships between characters and with the audience.

For instance, Red vs Blue is probably my favorite show (ever, of all time), and while I will admit that the first five seasons are not my favorite, I still think they're essential to the show, because those five years of relatively low stakes adventures set the tone so that it can be upset by the bigger plot points. The impact of a big twist is reduced if you haven't spent the time to get invested in these characters when they're just hanging out and being silly. Most importantly though, even once the plot really gets going in season six and we get into the more serious Freelancer and Chorus arcs, Red vs Blue is still fundamentally about a bunch of idiots standing around and talking. If you have to force yourself to put up with the majority of the show, then you might just not like this show.

I was talking about this with my friend, and they said it's kinda the same thing with Homestuck. Yes, it does get "better" as time goes on, but it's still the same thing it's always been, and if that's not something you enjoy then skipping to the bits you do like won't change what it is.

Or like, I freaking love The Order of the Stick, and last year I reread it from the beginning for the first time in a while, and I half convinced myself that I'd just made up how good it is (because volume one is funny enough but nothing to write home about). However, I hit a certain point where I realized that I wasn't just reading out of a sense of obligation but because I adore these characters and am unspeakably invested in this plot. You can really tell that it's been a story happening over the course of 20+ years, you can see the writing and art improve dramatically as time goes on. I could just recommend that someone start with volume two or three, and summarize the plot up till then so they don't feel lost. However! That would rob them of the experience you get from watching these characters grow. You can't fully appreciate Belkar's arc in volume six if you didn't see what he was like on day one, y'know?

On another note, I love the Shadowhunters Chronicles, and I know that a lot of people will give The Mortal Instruments shit and call it the worst series or whatever, but those people just hate fun. Yeah, there are other series that might have stronger plots and better writing, but there's a reason that TMI's main characters have been iconic for years. Sometimes, things are just silly, and if you don't like that then you're not gonna have a good time here.

I could go on! I also like a lot of episodic shows like MASH, Community, Tangled: the Series, the whole DC animated universe, Supernatural, etc. I could come up with lists of my favorite episodes to try to hook somebody, but all of those episodes lose a lot of their impact when taken out of context. Skipping the filler doesn't give you the ultimate experience of Only The Best, it takes away your chance to fully spend time with these characters in a variety of settings. And sure, lots of shows with multiple writers do have some episodes that are just bad, but that's not what I'm talking about. There's a difference between something being bad and something being low-stakes. Maybe you personally don't enjoy things that are low-stakes, but that might just mean you shouldn't be watching a sitcom.

So yeah, this has been an excuse for me to rant about things I enjoy for a while but I'm sorta out of time and need to eat lunch, so I suppose this post has reached its conclusion. All my favorite media are my favorite for reasons I couldn't articulate in an elevator pitch, and putting together a highlight reel will never substitute for truly being in the trenches. If you're truly having a good time with something then you won't need to skip to the good part, because the whole thing is enjoyable.

[its-time-to-write]

i hold it like a grudge - ch. 5

I don’t know why this fic wrecked me so much. I’m literally the author. I know what’s gonna happen. I decided what’s gonna happen. Maybe I’m just tired. also does anyone remember that time I said I hated writing chaptered fics and swearing that each one was an anomaly/the last time I’d ever do it?

table of contents you’re still everything to me

Jamie Tartt is in your kitchen, puttering around so he can make a pot of tea and with an eyebrow slit like it’s 2013 again.

He sent you to go change so you slip on sweatpants and curl up on the sofa.

“Here you are, love,” he says, setting the tea down on the coffee table. He sits on the opposite end of the sofa, a respectable distance away.

“Why didn’t I see you?” you ask, staring out the window. The room is illuminated by the streetlight glow from the kitchen.

“How d’you mean?” responds.

“I visited mum last year. I was there all day. Why didn’t I see you?”

Jamie pauses. “I went early.”

“No, no you didn’t. There weren’t any flowers when I got there, and you said you brought her flowers.”

He’s quiet long enough for you to turn and check if he’s even still in the room.

He is.

“I… saw you,” he says eventually. “Didn’t think we’d be there at the same time, but-” he raises an eyebrow as punctuation. “Anyway, I was behind a tree. Saw you sit down and at first I thought I’d just wait in the car, but you started crying and- and I didn’t know if I should say somethin’ or leave. Did neither, so I just stayed. Placed the flowers and paid my respects once you left.”

You sip your tea in silence.

After a long time you say, “I’m glad you didn’t say anything.”

“She always believed in me,” he says by way of reply. “Even when I was being a little shit, she still made me feel like she wanted me around. Three people I want to make proud the most were her, mummy, and you.”

“Wanted,” you correct. “Wanted to make proud. Mum’s gone, and we’re not even friends.”

“D’you think we ever could be?”

You consider. There’s a part of you that feels like you’re friends already. He’s in your flat for fuck’s sake. 

“I don’t know,” you say. “Honestly I don’t. I’ve only ever loved you, Jamie, and for a long time I couldn’t see the future without you. I still can’t see it, I’m just living day-by-day sometimes.”

He chews his lip. “How can I make it up to you?”

He’s asking all the hard questions tonight.

“I don’t hate you anymore,” you say frankly. “You were there for me when I needed you, and you leaving me was the worst. But it turned out good. And, I dunno, over the last few days I just keep wondering what’s gonna stop you from leaving again? Deciding you want someone else more, or my value means less?”

“Maturity.” He says it slightly drawn out, enunciating the consonants. He has a hint of a smile, which is stupid, because now you have one too.

“Seriously, though, I’m not like that anymore. Went of, was a prick, and it were shit. I’ve never heard mum that mad at me, Jesus Christ. Swore my ear off, she did. Didn’t have real friends, wasn’t happy, drank a lot of vanilla vodka. Keeley broke up with me for cheating on her, too, but not with sex, like; just on a date. Said shit about accountability.” 

He says it the same way he said maturity. 

“Hm,” you say. What else is there to say, really?

“Hm,” you say again as you reach to set your tea down and move to the other end of the couch so you’re pressed up against Jamie’s side.

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close.

“Stay the night?” you whisper. “I don’t want to be alone and I have a guest bed.” 

Jamie nods.

—

It’s 3am, and you wake up with the sound of your mum saying your name still echoing in your room. You’d been dreaming, showing her the life you’d created and she’d smiled the whole time. She wasn’t wispy, she was the same mum who kicked a football with Jamie, sang horribly off-key with Simon, and convinced Georgie to even give him a chance in the first place. 

Tears pool in the corner of your eye.

I am not drowning. I can do this.

There’s a light tap on the door. “Come in,” you croak.

Jamie pushes it open and sticks his head in. “You’re crying,” he states. “Woke up a minute ago feeling shitty.”

You pat the bed and roll over.

Jamie climbs in under the covers and reaches tentatively for your hand. You let him take it.

“Just because I’m emotionally fragile does not mean that I forgive you,” you tell him tearfully. “I’m just pretending you never left and everything’s fine so I’m not going to hate myself for letting you into my room and letting you see me cry.”

“Alright,” he whispers. “C’mere. We’ll forget about it in the morning.”

You both move closer under the covers. You blame sleep and grief for the kiss you press to his clavicle, and you’re sure you’re dreaming they way he murmured, “How the fuck did I ever leave you?”

—

Jamie is true to his word. He doesn’t say a word when you wake up, just extricates himself from your hold and goes downstairs.

“I’ll be here for today,” he tells you once you drag yourself out of bed. “After that, you can decide how you feel about me. You don’t have to think about it today.”

It’s a four-hour drive to Manchester, and you’re not sure when it was decided that a) Jamie was coming with you, or b) that he’d be the one driving. He stops to pick up breakfast and coffee and doesn’t say a word about eating in his fancy car. You stare out the window and let the music playing over the speakers flow over you. It’s still raining, less than last night but still heavily. 

You grip Jamie’s hand with white knuckles and cry, truly cry in a way you only allow once a year but this time, there’s a new component.

I could’ve had this, you think. You and Jamie, together.

Something new tugs at your chest and you turn to look at Jamie. Tears have gathered in the corners of his eyes, and he’s sniffling a but, trying not to let it show. 

You readjust in your seat so you’re leaning against his arm, and he tilts his head to rest on yours for a fraction of a moment. 

—

Your mum’s place is the same as it always is. Her name, printed in rounded letters. The dates, signifying that she did not spend enough time here. You place down your blanket and sit, back against the headstone as usual with your head tilted up to the sky. Jamie stands a good distance away, just watching with his hands shoved in his pockets. 

“Hi mum,” you begin, voice cracking. “Um, I’m sorry I don’t get up here much. But that’s what kids do, right? Leave the nest and only visit on holidays. 

Things are going well still. I’ve gotten offers for collabs with some brands, so I guess that’s cool. Jamie’s here, he’s by the tree though. I don’t- I don’t know what to do about it, mum. I wish you were here. You always saw things clearer than any of us, and I just don’t know. Turns out I didn’t ever stop loving him. Keeley thinks we have this weird cosmic connection or something. Do you believe in that? I think you might have. 

I- I think we’re going to see Georgie and Simon after this. I don’t really know. I haven’t been thinking straight today, you know. I just miss you.  I want to hug you again and I promise I’m okay on my own, it’s just hard sometimes. I thought- I thought-”

You’re unable to get the rest of the words out. It’s fucking sunny out and it feels wrong, like the world should remember this is a day to mourn a soul who should’ve been around longer. The sky should at least have the decency to cry along with you. 

A hand touches your face to wipe away a tear. You wrap your arms around Jamie’s neck and he just holds you for a minute, an hour, a year. Time might be passing but you’re unaware of it. He’s whispering in your ear, saying, “I’ve got you, it’s alright love, take as much time as you need,” but it’s only sounds to you. Sweet sounds, but not comprehensible words. 

It’s safe, here. It shouldn’t be, here on your mother’s grave with your cheating ex-boyfriend in your arms, but it doesn’t feel like that. 

It feels more like you’ve finally arrived home after years of travel. 

Jamie feels the same as he did before he made it to the Premier League, back when he’d nick flowers from a garden and climb through your window late at night, not like the prideful boy who broke your heart in five minutes over the phone. 

“I’m here as long as you need,” he murmurs, and you believe him. 

You pull away slightly to look him in the face. “I love you,” you say. 

He smiles, but only with his eyes as he swipes a thumb under your eye. “I love you too,” he says. “Don’t think I ever really stopped.”

It’s at that exact moment that the sun disappears behind a cloud and it begins to rain. 

table of contents

[liminalmemories21]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @screamlet (who I've been reading since at least 2010). Thank you!

1. How many works do you have an AO3? 48

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 711,517

3. What fandoms do you write for? 911 LS, and 911

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Long Story Short (series) - LS A home isn't always the house we live in - LS It came without ribbons! - LS Always Wear Your Invisible Crown - LS Awful quiet here since love fell asleep - 911

5. Do you respond to comments? I really try to, sometimes I think they get lost in my inbox, but I do try.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? uh, none of them? I don't think I've written anything that doesn't have a happy ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? hmmm, maybe It came without ribbons?, or Knave 4 (The Knave of Clubs ... swears he'll take her part). They both end in marriage proposals.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Just a few on Knave 4, which I expected and mostly ignored.

9. Do you write smut? more often than I ever imagined I would

10. Do you write crossovers? I love a good crossover. Haven't written one yet, but would enjoy it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of. Let's keep it that way. (finger's crossed)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yup! All the 911 stuff with @cecilyv - nothing better.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Well, I don't publish WIPs, not because I have an ethical stance on it, but because I'm usually still changing things at the beginning right up until I hit post and I don't understand how people post things as they write them. Not my process.

That being said, there's a LS kidfic that I'd like to finish some day, but every time I look at it I can't figure out where it's going.

16. What are your writing strengths? I feel like this is a thing other people need to tell me? Dialogue? Plot (apparently? or so 200,000 words of Knave-verse would like me to believe).

17. What are your writing weaknesses? brevity

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'd like to do more of it, because I have characters I write who I think probably do think in another language, but it's not a language I speak, so I don't.

19. First fandom you wrote for? published? Lonestar. unpublished? there's a Merlin story @cecilyv and I wrote for years that is mostly not great, but has it's moments.

20. Favorite fics you've written? ooh, okay:

There were a bunch I wrote early for LS that are kind of character studies that I love - A home isn't always the house we live in (Judd), Stitched with its color (TK & 9/11), and through same of am through haves of give (Enzo)

And, I'd be lying if I didn't say Knave-verse, because I think Knave 2 and Knave 4 are the best things I've ever written - and there is just so much of me in the way TK thinks about art.

And then Baggage That Goes with Mine - because there isn't necessarily me in there, but there is a lot of my history in fandom and the huge cultural shift that I have seen happen since I started reading fic in Tommy's story. Also, I do love me a split timeline narrative.

tagging @walkinginland, @rmd-writes, @alchemistc, @rcmclachlan, and @three-drink-amy

[luckydicekirby]

would love any director's commentary you may have on The Only True Thing if slightly older fics are on the table here bc lowkey it changed my brain chemistry forever. I read it on a whim like four years ago at 1 in the morning and ever since then I've been hooked on making all my fav pairings miserable for no reason. this sounds like sarcasm but I'm being completely sincere the schadenfreude is exquisite

okay first of all I’m SO glad to hear this because making your favs miserable is I think one of the most rewarding activities on this earth so I’m really glad I could help share that joy. thanks also to sylvain for just making it so easy. anyway, here’s some assorted thoughts, hopefully some of which are edifying!

(the only true thing for reference for anyone playing along at home.)

this fic affectionately named the darkling au due to this tweet which I feel like I should put in a hall of fame someday. anyway this entire thread showcases the origin of this fic which was me catie and lily bullying each other on twitter about sylvix, a pastime left behind in 2019 which i really miss.

the thing that really first made me Crazy Cuckoo about sylvain is his B support with Byleth--I'm obsessed with that moment where he very coldly threatens to kill you and then laughs it off, and that was pretty much the jumping off point for Sylvain's characterization in this au--what if he was like that all the time? answer: it would be bad, but also pretty sexy!

One thing I miss about writing for fe3h is the hero’s relics were sooo nice as like. shortcut symbolism. the lance of ruin comes preloaded for you! It’s familial cycles of violence! Easy! and there's a mechanic for it breaking ALSO preloaded into the game mechanics! I wrote like three versions of the ending and the lance getting busted moved around a bit--it originally happened a little earlier.

For a while when I was still femblempilled I was idly thinking about two sequels to this—a sylvain pov sequel about the war, which would have been fun but also Yikes, and then epistolary dorothea/ingrid ideological divorce fic. sorry to dorothea and ingrid who really get the short end of the stick in this universe.

oh there's a playlist. I can’t claim to have put a ton of thought into it it’s just all my fav bad ya boyfriend songs <3 actually dead girl walking reprise is like. yeah that's the fic.

ANYWAY. I feel like a lot of my commentary on this has been washed away by the sea (the passage of time) so a few extras. I apparently wrote like 400 words of sylvain POV of the training yard scene also? Last edited September 26th 2019, here you go:

Felix has always been smaller him, ever since they were kids. Still is these days, to Sylvain’s delight. He wondered about it plenty, these past two years--maybe Felix had a growth spurt. Maybe he caught up to Dimitri. Maybe Sylvain would meet him at the monastery and they’d see eye to eye. Of course they don’t. Felix is a head shorter than him, and he’ll never see things the way Sylvain does. Still. Sylvain thought about it. He’s had a lot of time to think about Felix since the last time he saw him, since Felix ran away. Still a crybaby at heart, no matter how sure he was he’d grown out of it. Not much has changed, Sylvain figures. Felix might have everyone else fooled with that delightfully sharp-edged exterior of his--a pretty decent feint, Sylvian should know--but Felix can’t hide from him. Sylvain sees him down to the bone. The two of them are a matched set: liars at heart.  Like right now. Felix is trying so hard not to cry, his back to the wall of the training yard, his grip tight around the wood of his training sword like he’s actually going to use it. Sylvain hopes he will. He hasn’t gotten to see Felix fight yet, really fight. He bets he’s gotten better. He bets he’s elegant and controlled—maybe less so with Sylvain, and wouldn’t that be nice? That’s how it goes sometimes, when Sylvain dreams about their last day together. Felix’s sword at his throat, biting and cold, ending all this before it began. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. Sylvain wouldn’t have had to spend such an awfully long time missing him.  He bets Felix could make him hurt. Nothing seems to do that anymore, except for thoughts of Felix, the ones he can never stop worrying at like a bruise.  Sylvain doesn’t want much these days, and maybe that’s why it’s so hard: he wants Felix in a way that aches, delirious and unstoppable. It doesn’t matter so much how. Felix is welcome to cut him open or kiss him quiet or anything in between. As long as he never stops looking at Sylvain like he is now, hateful and just on the edge of tears, so clearly focused on nothing else. As long as Sylvain can have that, the rest doesn’t matter.  That’s love, Sylvain figures; the cheerful facade he gives the girls is nothing. He forgets about a new one every week. But Felix? He’ll be dead someday, and Felix will still have a grip on his heart, as tight as he’s holding his sword and just as dangerous.

and what exists of the sylvain POV sequel I never wrote:

Felix looks like shit. Of course he’s also beautiful. He’s radiant, for all that his hair’s a mess and his face is drawn and he’s got the kind of dark circles that only come from weeks and weeks of exhaustion. He’s Felix, right? He can’t be anything else. “You look like shit,” Sylvain tells him, because honesty is what Felix thinks he wants from him. He hasn’t seen Felix in six moons, but that probably hasn’t changed. “What are you doing here?” Felix asks. His horse stamps her feet and shakes her head, moving uneasily under him. Felix has never been a good rider. It’s clear he doesn’t appreciate his mare, and she doesn’t appreciate him. Sylvain wonders how long Felix has been making his way across Faerghus like this. He wonders if he stole the horse. It’s awful not to know. “Looking for you,” Sylvain says. “They say you’re searching for the king.” Felix never could stop himself from chasing ghosts. Sylvain hates that about him. It’s just as unfair as everything else: it’s the only reason Sylvain is still here, after all.  “I am. And you should be defending Gautier territory.” “Got a message from your father,” Sylvain lies. He slides off his horse, patting her flank. Felix, clumsily, does the same. “He wants you to come home.” That part’s probably true.  Felix scoffs. “My old man can send all the messages he wants. I’m going to find the boar.” He means it. Sylvain can see that he means it, in the flinty look in his eyes, the fold of his arms, the jut of his chin as he looks up at Sylvain. It’s the saddest thing Sylvain’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot of shit. “Felix,” he says. He reaches out. He can never help it, not when Felix is like this, not when he believes. Felix doesn’t flinch from Sylvain’s hand on his cheek anymore. “Sweetheart. You know he’s dead.” “Don’t call me that,” Felix says. But when he swings himself back in the saddle and Sylvain does the same, he doesn’t tell Sylvain not to follow. That’s more than good enough. 

[alexwilltellyouthings]

Entirely self indulgent rating post about the top 10 TV shows that made me fucking insane for some reason

10. Sense8

God, this was so good. Such a blessing. I saw part of the cast during a Pride Parade and it's one of my favorite memories. I felt every possible emotion with this show, I love it.

9. The Last of Us

This is kind of a cheat, because the obsession comes from the games, but it is what it is. It's one of the few games that had a big impact on me and I closely relate it to my relationship with my dad. Can't wait to cry my heart out at season 2.

8. Good Omens

It's a given, isn't it? That stupid angel with his stupid demon and their stupid God. GRRRAAWW. A lot of thoughts and feelings came from the fandom, I have to point out. It's been very nice.

7. The Umbrella Academy

I have the first issue of the comics autographed by Gerard Way!! I mean, yes, it's because I'm a MCR fan, but it became even more precious after I got into the show. I'm rewatching right now, preparing for the last season. I'll be a mess when I say goodbye to them. Can't even really think about it too hard or I'll cry right now.

Continues under the cut

6. Our Flag Means Death

LISTEN THIS CHANGED EVERYTHING TO ME. What do you mean we can have a show THIS queer? It's all I want now. I ate it up. I smiled so much. I wanted this so badly and had no idea.

5. Interview with the Vampire

Feels like it should be top 3 honestly but I'll get there. This is also a cheat, I've been reading the Vampire Chronicles since I was like 15. Growing up with Anne Rice probably messed me up but hey at least I have great taste. And seeing them on screen? The way they made it BETTER? And Lestat?? Who has been haunting me for 15 years on and off??? And the second season and their reunion and and and?????????? I'm STILL insane about them and will be forever, I'm afraid.

4. Doctor Who

Listen. Listen. Okay. Yeah. What can I say? If you get into it, you're doomed. And I have been doomed for 10 years at least. I stopped watching for a while and got back last year, and it hit me all over again. I love this dumbass genius alien in a way that's calm, even. Just a permanent part of who I am now.

3. The Untamed

The year was 2022, it had been a while since I had a proper fixation and I didn't think it would happen with this danmei live-action, but then came Wei Wuxian. Guys, if I tell you I fell in love. Couldn't stop thinking about him. Everyday I was plagued by his smile and red ribbon and tragic backstory, yadayadayada. I really like other characters too, and their stories, but WWX did something to me that I still don't quite understand.

2. Queer as Folk (US)

This was a looong time ago and it didn't really persist over time like the others, but it was my first actual obsession. I was clinically insane over these gays. I had no one to talk to about them, so for every episode I wrote several pages of notes to comment to my (only) friend at school the next day, the poor thing. It was pretty much all I talked about because I spent EVERY MINUTE we had to talk going over the notes and explaining the episode. Like, between classes, during breaks, everything. Months of that. She held on firmly because she was a good friend, but I'm aware it must've been terrible. Like I said, insane.

1. Dead Boy Detectives

Maybe I'm putting this up here because it's my current hyperfixation? Maybe. But I don't think I have felt something hit as strongly as this since QaF over there. This time I can participate in fandom so I don't need to write every thought I have because it's all a big talk anyway, but I'm still pretty much having those thoughts all the time for *checks notes* nearly three months. I'm writing more than I have in years. I'm back at Tumblr after I don't know how long. I'm staring at GIFs over and over like I have the fucking time for that. I'm distracted at work daily. I talk about it in therapy. I have the main cast's notifications on. I'm getting involved in fandom discourse sometimes even knowing I shouldn't. It's a nightmare. I love it. I love them.

If you read all of this, congrats! Now you know how my mind works, kinda!! I'm open to talk about any and all of these shows. It's amazing how they mess us up. It's also scary, but anyway.

[activesplooger]

Progress Update on some WIPS! + teasers! :) | Doe!Reader x Alastor SMUT | Help Me: Part 3 Vox x Assistant!Reader | His New Obsession: Reader x Yandere!Vox

a few days ago i posted a screenshot of some WIPS, and i thought I’d give a progress update! + teasers! i promise im working on everything guys i just want everything to be quality :) ive also been quite busy so, yeah!

Doe!Reader x Alastor SMUT 1/2 DONE

About halfway done! Maybe a lil less than halfway? So far I’ve gotten a lot of the exposition out of the way and im starting to get onto the dirty little smutty part ;) its taking awhile bc ive been busy ALSOO smut is hard asf to write and writing deer themed smut is even harder! lmao guys the amount of deer mating season research ive done is crazy im definitely on some type of watch list now bc of my weird search history lol. I’ve gotten a lot done though! Should be out soon, I’ll let you guys know when itll be out when I get more of it done! A teaser is on my page if u wanna see it!

Help Me: Part 3 Vox x Assistant!Reader

i dont rlly have an exact fraction amount for how much is done lol. i promise i didnt forget about it guys 🙏 i have the whole story pretty much planned out! all the scenes and stuff i want to include (+ the ending duh) are all written down! perchance ill do a bigger teaser tmrw idk sometime this wknd maybeee. I have all the scenes planned out and ik how the whole story is gonna go i just have to articulate it into words and spice it up! :) stay tuned!!

teaser!:

“The Vee's empire grew exponentially and are now the three top overlords in hell. You still worked for Vox, however, your job description changed over the next few years. A lot changed over the next few years…. You went from being introduced as “This is Y/N, my friend and assistant!” to “This is an employee of mine, she won’t be a bother.”.”

this whole paragraph is subject to change, i wouldve done a bigger teaser but im just so unsure about the other paragraphs i might literally delete it all and redo them and i dont wanna edge u guys like that lol.

His New Obsession: Reader x Yandere!Vox

OK THIS ONES SO RANDOM BUT LEMME COOK LMAO. this one has SO MUCH BUT ITS NOT EVEN CLOSE LOL. its gonna be like pretty smutty i think like toxic sweater electrocute my fukin pussy type smut. its gonna be a big one bc im trying not to make it into different parts but that might change. its gonna be a fat minute till it comes out im just chipping away at it every once in awhile 4 fun! :))

teaser!:

“Yes, dear,” Vox gestures to Papermint standing idly in a corner, “This one over here will also be my assistant. You’ll handle the more personal needs of mine while Papermint handles more business related needs.”

“I see…”

Vox, completely entranced by you, puts your resume down and extends a hand out to you across the desk, “Well, that’s all I really need! Congratulations! You got the job!”. Winning sound effects could be heard from Vox’s speakers as he congratulates you.

“Oh! I-Is that it..? No questions..?”

“Nope, I’ve seen enough- Actually, what size are you?”

“Uh… Why?”

“For your uniform, of course!”

(this is also subject to change btw! im slowly doing it its just kind of a fun lil random thing i like to do when i need a break or just feel like it)

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stay tuned folks! if u wanna be tagged for any of these lmk in the replies!