#that would be on and off 4 clouds of sadness

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats (Pt. 5)

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Two days pass before Y/N is called to stand round her mother’s council table and discuss strategy for their return to King’s Landing.

“With Aemond and Helaena gone, they have no dragons. But they do have a formidable land army, it would be my great honor to return on dragon back and present your terms. Once they agree, I will send word here.” Aegon says.

“And if they won’t agree?” Daemon arches a brow.

“How we proceed from there will be left up to the Queen.”

“We’re supposed to trust you?” Daemon sneers, “this is your fault.”

“For the sake of the seven, Daemon.” Y/N throws up a hand, wincing as it pulls the scabbed flesh of her side. “After all he has done for my mother’s cause, can you not afford him the smallest bit of grace?”

“He still breathes our air, does he not?” Daemon drawls, “this is a concession made for you, daughter.”

“I shall go with him to King’s Landing then.” Y/N offers.

“No,” Rhaenyra says, immediately. “You are my heir, the risk is too great.”

“Then we offer our terms by raven,” Y/N insists. “After they agree, our fleet returns together. Aegon swears his allegiance, on bended knee and you ascend the throne as our rightful Queen.”

“Who’s to say Alicent will not ignore the fucking message?”

“Aegon is her King.” Y/N narrows her eyes at Daemon. “One does not ignore letters from their fucking King.”

————————————————————————

“Mother?” Dahlia tugs at her skirts.

Y/N blinks away the fog clouding her mind. “Yes, my love.”

“You look sad, or frightened.”

“Forgive me.” Y/N forces a smile, “I am expecting a message. You know how I dislike waiting.”

Dahlia nods, plopping into her mother’s lap, as her father plays happily with her siblings. “Do you think it has to happen?”

“What, my darling?” Y/N wraps both arms around her.

“That brothers and sisters must fight for the throne?”

“No one is fighting,” Y/N assures her.

“I saw what the bad men did to Aunt Helaena.” Dahlia whispers, “it was because of Uncle Lucerys…when he went to the heavens. Uncle Aemond sent him there, because Luce took his eye.”

“Who told you this?” Y/N demands. “Alicent?”

“Grandmother did not tell me a thing. No one ever does.”

“Because you are a child, and this burden is not a child’s to bear.”

“I hear things,” Dahlia tells her, “and I see them. Though I would rather hear them from you or father. At least you are kind about it.”

“Has someone been unkind to you?”

“Not to me, but to father, in front of me.” Dahlia leans into her mother, “and sometimes to you, in front of me.”

“I apologize, my darling.” Y/N kisses the back of her head, “our family history is…a unique tapestry, by no fault of yours. There are many people we love dearly who’ve been hurt and those who’ve hurt us.”

Dahlia says, “if that is what it means to sit the throne, I do not want to.”

“That is not what it means to sit the throne.” Y/N explains, “your great grandsire, Viserys reigned peacefully, all his years. But I will not force it upon you.”

Dahlia nods.

“You are my daughter first and my heir second. That is how I was raised, equal to my brothers in every way.” Y/N presses on, “I do not believe that brothers and sisters must fight. I think rather, it is a tragedy when they do.”

“So father and grandmother Rhaenyra are not at war?”

Y/N sighs, pointing to Aegon, blowing raspberries on Laenor’s belly. “Does your father appear to be at war?”

“No.” Dahlia shrugs, fighting back a grin.

“We needn’t fret then.”

Aegon the fourth begins to fuss, having been left to his own devices too long.

Dahlia climbs off her mother’s lap, tapping her youngest brother’s nose. “Shh.”

The babe grabs for her finger, holding it tightly in his grasp, as Dahlia coos at him.

————————————————————————-

“Is everything alright, my dearest love?” Aegon asks his wife, when they are finally alone in their quarters. “You were awfully quiet at supper.”

“Do you know what your daughter asked me?” Y/N turns to Aegon, as he strips down to his small clothes, for bed.

“Gods only know,” he laughs, “which daughter was it?”

“Dahlia.”

“Dahlia,” he repeats, fondly. “What did my girl ask you?”

“Whether or not brothers and sisters must fight for the throne.” Y/N informs him, “she also presumed that you’d be going to war against my mother.”

Aegon sighs, “and what did you tell her?”

“No, of course. But she’s overheard a great many things in her life. I’m not sure the simple answer will suffice.”

“The whispers round these halls are insidious.”

“It is every hall,” Y/N shakes her head. “She watched that man hold a knife to Helaena’s throat.”

Aegon abandons his sleep clothes on the chair to comfort his wife.

“I have failed her.” Y/N sprawls out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“You have not.” Aegon climbs in beside her, wrapping her carefully in his arms; mindful of her injury. “You are a wonderful mother, my love.”

“I’m meant to protect her.”

“You did.” Aegon insists, “you protected our children and my sister’s.”

Y/N nods against his chest, “why then do I feel so awful?”

“Awful mothers do not spend their nights lamenting imagined shortcomings.” Aegon presses his lips to the top of her head. “Our children know love and that they are worthy of it. I think it speaks volumes she was comfortable enough to raise this matter with you.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Y/N leans up on her elbow.

“I do.” Aegon meets her eyes.

She leans down, pressing her lips to his, before turning over to make herself comfortable with her back to his chest. “This is the longest we have not lied together, save for the weeks following the births of our babes.”

“I’ve no desire to cause you more pain.” Aegon murmurs, “but if you are feeling up to it…”

“I think it might help me find sleep.”

Aegon wastes no time reaching round her hip, hiking up her nightgown and slipping a hand beneath her small clothes, rubbing slow circles over her pearl until she is wet and wanting. “This is good fortune, you know?”

“Of course,” Y/N laughs, indulgently.

“Laugh all you want.” He groans, low in his throat. Shoving the pesky garment down past her knees and easing his cock into her from behind. “Your cunt has gifted me the greatest winning streak in all the realm.”

“And how is that, my love?” Y/N sighs as his fingers continue dancing along her pearl.

“Four wonderful children and years of happiness. Though I’d like to make it five.”

“Get to work then.” She reaches back, to bury a hand in his hair. “Ow,” she hisses, moving for her bandage, but Aegon’s hand is already there.

“Shhh, shh, shhh.” Aegon hushes her. “Be good for me, darling girl. Be still.”

“I can’t.”

“Try for me.” Aegon breathes, fucking her slow and deep, watching her sweet fingers curl around the pillow instead. “That’s the way,” Aegon praises, “lie there and take me.”

Y/N relaxes into the mattress.

“I love you.” He breathes, against her ear.

“I love you.” Again she begins reaching for him, only to be caught by his hand.

Aegon laces their fingers together. “Whilst your mother is Queen, we will spend many a day lazing about our chambers. Entertaining our children, creating more, watching them grow. We’re going to live happily together, the way we’ve dreamed it.”

————————————————————————-

Before first light they are called to an impromptu meeting of the small council.

“There’s been word from King’s Landing.”

“And?”

“Alicent has agreed to our terms,” Rhaenyra announces. “Her only request is an audience with the acting King and Queen before the declaration of allegiance.”

Aegon’s mouth is agape when Y/N turns to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“This is wonderful news.”

Daemon rolls his eyes.

“Indeed,” Rhaenyra beams at Y/N. “We will fly out within the hour. The four of us,” she motions to her daughter, half brother and husband, in turn.

“Oh happy day,” Daemon grumbles.

“The children will remain here, until the transition of power is complete. Then we return for them on dragon back.”

“Too easy.” Daemon rounds the table to Aegon. “Surely a trap, laid by your bitch mother.”

Y/N slaps her palm against the table, “you may not speak that way of my husband or his house. My daughter has overheard, the servants whisper in the halls.”

“Then see their tongues removed.” Daemon sneers.

“Enough.” Rhaenyra holds up a hand. “We are a family. Aegon is my father’s son, your brother’s child, my daughter’s husband. With grievances of his own, surely; yet here he stands.”

“We’re supposed to forgive all of it? Clouding my brother’s mind with milk of the poppy, usurping your throne, forcing you into such a state of distress that we lost our unborn child?” Daemon shakes his head, “and Lucerys?”

Rhaenyra blanches.

“You are innocent?” Y/N scoffs. “Tell my mother how I came to be here on Dragonstone. Tell her what my little girl saw the men you hired do.”

“I did not order them to harm children!”

“As my husband did not order the murder of my brother.” Y/N says, pointedly.

“We cannot hope for a better future if we cannot be better ourselves.” Aegon looks to his uncle. “I am not asking for forgiveness, nor your kinship. I am asking for peace in the space between us, and I swear to you, it will be a significant amount of space.”

They are dismissed then, to don their riding gear before meeting Rhaenyra and Daemon near the dragon pit.

“Good morrow, my girl.” Y/N greets her dragon, passing a hand over her scales.

Sunfyre butts his nose against Aegon’s chest, smiling as he does.

“Hello, there.” Aegon grins, patting his snout. “We’re off to King’s Landing, shortly.”

Stormborn waits her turn to be greeted by Aegon, enjoying her rider’s affection as she does. When Aegon does come to her, he is met with a content hum.

“There we are, sweetling.” Aegon pets her bowed head.

“Good morrow, Sunfrye.” Y/N steps over to the golden dragon.

He does not sing for her, the way he always does, glaring as he leans into her hand.

“You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?” Y/N sighs.

The golden dragon huffs.

Aegon chuckles. “Now, now, Sunfyre. Infuriating as she is, we love her.”

Sunfyre blinks at Y/N, expectantly.

“Forgive me, my friend. I do not intend to take Stormborn from you again. That is why we fly together this day.” Y/N says, leaning her forehead against him.

Sunfyre begins crooning.

They will tell stories someday of a Queen and King Consort, so deeply in love their dragons could not bear to be parted; and how their marriage, born of duty, saved the mighty house Targaryen.

Taglist: @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago @kaysav608 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @wolflover384 @jaydemon99 @minttea07 @lightdragonrayne @baybaybear1 @oh-you-mean-me @niyahnotnia @holymusicalmothman @lxdyred @godofstory @cloud-toast @jankityjankjank @lenadoerrer

[dailydoseoffanfics]

⭐️ SELF AWARE FORSAKEN AU (GENERAL HEADCANONS PT. 2)

⭐️ a/n: DARLINGGGGG GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM JAILLLLLLLLL /silly ASDFGHJKL ANYWAYS THIS IS PART 2 TO MY PREVIOUS HEADCANONS ! FEATURING ELLIOT, SHEDLESTSKY, GUEST 1337, 007N7 AND BUILDERMAN !!! I'LL LATER DO THE KILLERS PART !!! (FEATURNING ALL 4 :3)

⭐️ warnings: possible ooc

reader is gender-neutral so they/them pronouns are used !

(1) (2) <- you're here!

You're a really normal fan about a Roblox game called "Forsaken".......yeah.....totally a really normal and sane fan about that game. But lately, you've noticed something weird about the characters you're playing.

The characters have varying reactions into finding out they're being controlled by something....or someone (you).

⭐️

ELLIOT (MY SHAYLAAA)

Elliot was going on his way to confront Noob about their sudden increased weariness when he noticed Two Time walking down the hallway as Elliot was approaching Noob's room.

Elliot noticed Two Time looked....deep in thought. They aren't smiling, and their eyes are narrowed, looking down in the ground. It feels like they didn't even noticed Elliot bumping into them.

....Elliot just decides it's best to not disrupt them, and shakes his head. C'mon, focus Elliot!

Back to his original mission, Elliot goes to Noob's room, and asks them what's going on, and cracks some jokes here and there to calm Noob down a little.

Something's controlling Noob, and they know by feeling a type of warmth?

That's......concerning.

Elliot's concern grew when he noticed Two Time being....more unusual. Elliot would catch a glimpse of Two Time looking at nothing in particular, their face looking like they're deep in thought. Two Time isn't the only one deep in thought though, Chance seems to look like he's in the clouds as well.

Elliot frowns about his observations of his acquaintances. What is going on? Why are Noob, Two Time and Chance suddenly acting...off? Did it had something to do with this warm, controlling thing going on????

........Speaking of this controlling thing.

When a new round started after observing his acquaintances' weird behavior, which is just, y'know, the usual trying to restrain himself when any of his teammates ignored the pizza he threw at them, he immediately felt something.

The warmth. His arms losing control and a muffled voice.....are those white strings around his arms???

Elliot felt his soul left his body for a second before immediately snapping back. My man is trying SO hard to stay focused and calm, but right now, his mind is having a mantra of "WHAT THE FUCK".

Annnnd when the round ends, Elliot is still having his mantra of questioning what the hell just happened and who was that person as he lays on his bed. Holy shit, he just wants to reunite with his family and make customers happy again. WHAT MORE CAN HE ASK FOR?????

The more Elliot thinks about who was controlling him, the more sleep he loses.....well not like Elliot has a sleeping schedule, he usually just stays up at night, so I think you just made his insomnia worse 💀(Random head canon I have for Elliot is that he's insomniac. He just wants to see his father and his sister again. He's fr trying his best 💔💔💔)

Elliot is SPOOKED about that incident. And then he quickly realizes that "oh shit am i going to be controlled by some kind of person EVERY. SINGLE. FREAKING. ROUND?????"

Yeahhhh, Elliot's kinda scared of you, but that's only because he doesn't know if you're good or not. And if your behavior seems alright so far, Elliot still got some doubt inside of his mind, but his heart is telling him to trust you.

He could even throw a smile at you for your helpfulness! He noticed that he's getting less hits and stabs from the killers so far, and he shows his appreciation by looking at the screen, and giving you a warm smile. He even thanks you for your help.

.......The response was Elliot immediately losing the warmth. Elliot is caught off guard by this, but is immediately sad about it. Awh man, did he scare you? He hopes you'll come back soon.

Overall, the most STRESSED about this situation (for a while). When he first felt some type of force controlling him, Elliot is sweating BULLETS. But later, he appreciates your hard work and also wants to know you more. Even if he's still a little scared of you....

⭐️

SHEDLETSKY

Being a former admin, he noticed that something is off about his teammates.

Noob was usually scared, so Shedletsky didn't mind. But now? Noob is acting like the boogeyman actually got them or something!

Two Time? Creepier than usual. One time, when Shedletsky went into Two Time's room to ask them if they want to eat dinner tonight, he saw piles, and I mean, PILES of papers being everywhere. It looked like a tornado struck Two Time's room, and one of them has .....a person in it? With the other half of papers being filled with.... undecipherable handwriting. (But that's only because Shedletsky immediately shut the door the moment Two Time's eyes locked with his. So uh, he didn't had enough time to read about what Two Time's writing about.)

Elliot? Normally, Elliot was happy-go-lucky and always smiling. And now? Elliot seems to always have his mind somewhere, with a blank face on his face. For Robloxia's sake, he even forgot to make dinner one time!! (..Ehhhh, it's not like he was actually starving, he totally didn't eat some fried chickens earlier.)

Chance also seems to have their mind occupied with something. Yea, he's still smiling and having a big ego, but Shedletsky also noticed Chance looking at a window, thinking about....something.

Shedletsky's confused, and frustrated about the sudden weirdness of his teammates' behaviors. Seriously, what's going on with these people?

Shedletsky talks to Builderman about what's going on lately. Turns out, Builderman also noticed as well, but he also doesn't seem to know WHY his four teammates are acting like this.

Shedletsky's stumped about this. But depsite this, whatever's going on, Shedletsky WILL find out about it sooner or later, and Shedletsky WILL find a solution to whatever this problem is.

.....That's what he thinks at first. Because during a new round, while Shedletsky is brainstorming a plan about stunning the killer, he feels....warm. And his arms go limp before being picked up by....white strings?? And Shedletsky thought that somebody laced his fried chickens with some kind of drug, because he heard a voice, despite the voice being....far away.

At first, Shedletsky tried to ignore it by saying some few jokes. Something like, "oh hahaha can't be that bad...." until his legs jerk forward, a movement that was NOT something he was in control of. Shedletsky got GOOSEBUMPS after that. Bro went "OH HELL NAH I'M NOT DEALING WITH THIS 😭😭"

Would try to cut off the strings with his sword LMAO. Meanwhile in your POV, you're just wondering why Shedletsky is trying to cut air.

When the round ends, Shedletsky wastes no time into checking his admin logs, yes he still has the commands. He's searching the logs PRECISELY, wondering who was controlling him, thinking you're some kind of hacker or exploiter.

Despite his bestest efforts, Shedletsky found nothing. Shedletsky lets out a groan of frustration, and immediately reports this encounter to Builderman.

Yeah, no. Whoever you are, Shedletsky is gonna FIGHT BACK. He thinks you're up to no good, and doesn't trust you AT ALL....at first.

For some reason, Shedletsky decided to do some kind of test of just letting you do whatever you want with him, and yea, he knows this idea has high risks, and pretty dumb, but he's going to only do this ONCE.

And YOU'RE actually......somewhat nice? Your voice is still muffled, but he could've sworn he heard a "sorry" when he got hit. You found a medkit, and even healed him.

.....Yeah he still doesn't trust you. What if you're just doing to make him trust you? So that you can betray him and torture him forever?

But eventually, if you still continue to be nice to him, his doubts will slowly melt, and he'll trust you eventually. He'll say some dialogue about thanking you for your hard work if you stun a killer (which you question if that dialogue was official or there is something wrong with your device) and when he's feeling goofy, he'll look at the screen with his epic face, while having finger guns pointing at you (or so what it looks like since he technically doesn't have fingers).

BRUH, WHY ARE YOU STILL PLAYING THIS GAME DESPITE THESE CHARACTERS SAYING THOSE THINGS THAT YOU SURE AREN'T IMPLEMENTED??? You thought to yourself as you saw what Shedletsky did, instantly leaving the game.

....Well damn. But Shedletsky knows you'll come back eventually, so he waits for you. And when you come back and play as him, he's going to ask some questions here and there.

........You meekly replied to some of his questions. Honestly, you're already mentally unstable in a way, so I guess there's no harm into answering these questions???

Even if your voice is muffled, Shedletsky turns his head away from your view, as he quietly cheers. "Score!" He says in his mind.

Overall, I think Shedletsky's mind will be between "Hahahha what will this person do i ain't scared (he is..kinda) 🤣🤣🤣🤣" and "oh shit what if this person is actually bad....", so erm, yea, he will be ON EDGE with you at first. But over time, he wants to know more about you, so he starts making jokes and casually talking to you like you've been his best friend for 10 years. He's definitely gonna yap about you to Builderman, and tells Builderman to trust you since he's CERTAIN you're a good person!!! (Builderman ain't buying it 💀)

⭐️

BUILDERMAN

Shedletsky's been talking about you for a while. Builderman wouldn't really mind if he knew you actually had, y'know, GOOD INTENTIONS.

Builderman reminds Shedletsky to not trust too easily, you never know. Shedletsky would agree....and then the next day talk about you again. Builderman would sigh at that.

Yeah, Builderman had been noticing something was going on with his teammates. It seems that Shedletsky seems to be under your influence as well.

Even if Shedletsky reassures him that you're a good person, Builderman is the boss of ROBLOX after all, so he'll be stubborn and won't trust you. He ain't budging.

....That's what Builderman thought at first. He knows the drill by now. He knows that the player is controlling someone by the strings (I'll make a separate post about the white strings cuz y not) and feeling a strong warmth, so he prepares for you to control him.

No matter how mentally and physically prepared he is, he still feels his skin crawling when his limps are wrapped around the white strings and hearing your voice that sounds mumbled. All of it just feels.....alien to him. So foreign. So.....unusual. So he doesn't try to resist you.

He wants to trust you, and I guess he is, kinda? I mean, he still would be on edge around you, but over time, he'll be more.... neutral about your presence. He guesses that Shedletsky was right after all. You don't seem too bad.

As long as you're nice and you showed that you have no harmful intentions, Builderman will be chill about you, and throws you a quick smile at your screen if he survives a round.

....You don't close your game this time. You've just....kinda accepted it at this point. (Builderman is secretly giddy about that, but he won't let you show his joyful face.)

Overall? Builderman WILL be more skeptical of you than Shedletsky, but don't worry, he'll be comfortable in your presence eventually. (Man, I think Builderman has like the least amount of headcanons... 😭)

⭐️

GUEST 1337 (i'll just call him by Guest in this post) (also fun fact: i actually had to watch the movie for the first time to try to make him more in character.....yeah i know, i missed out 😭)

Guest will eventually found out about this "controlling force" going on. He gets along with all of the survivors, so he's bound to know about it.

Initially? Guest is immediately on guard. What do you mean there's someone out there that is controlling them? How are we even certain that they're even good?

NGL, I feel like he would disapprove of Shedletsky and Builderman seemingly being positive towards you. C'mon, both of them are like, the higher beings of ROBLOX. But he keeps it to himself and doesn't say anything.

But what do you expect from a man who witnessed his parents get killed by one of the members of the Bacon Terrorist Organization, was in military, and had to sacrifice himself to defeat the Bacons? He doesn't even know if he'll ever see his family and his friend again. He's canonically stated to be the "no-nonsense type of person". He WILL not trust you in the beginning.

That's just because that's how he is. Adding on from what I said earlier, he learned that naivety will get him nowhere, so he'll always be on guard whenever he meets someone new.

He also already knows the drill by now. He overheard Shedletsky talking about feeling a strong type of warmth when you're being controlled, so he's READY.

And when he DOES feel the strong warmth and his limbs being wrapped around by the white strings, he.....surprisingly doesn't try any attempts to resist. He's just staring at the ground, and later looks at your screen.

...Well, Shedletsky did mention you didn't seem to be a bad person, so he'll let his guard down...for now.

So Guest just lets out a sigh and tells you to do whatever you want with him. And you obliged.

And...oh wow. Not even one teammate died. Even if one of them got injured, he could sense that you're genuinely trying your best, with the evidence being your voice letting out quiet squeaks of "sorry" and bodyblocking Elliot.

Guest feels......relieved in a way, and also feels a bit of happiness....but those emotions immediately dissolve when his paranoia logical side reminds him that you could be tricking the survivors, including him.

....And he's immediately on guard again. When the round ends, he's standing near a wall, with his arms crossed and his eyes gazing at the floor. You were truly an enigma. How would he exactly sure that you're a good person? And what even exactly are you?

Ehhhh, he's just generally protective. He'll learn to not hold grudges against you and will warm up to you. That's what you expected after all. But you were kinda expecting Guest to continue not trusting you, so this was a pleasant surprise for you.

Overall? Yeah he would definitely be the LEAST trustful about you in the beginning, so also give him some time to trust you. But like the other survivors, he'll warm up to you eventually. Might even defend you if anybody's talking shit about you.

⭐️

007N7

He already knew everything. He watched everything from the sidelines. He saw how his teammates were talking about this "person". About how they're controlling them.

However, 007n7 seems to be a special case. His first thought of you wasn't fear or distrust, it was....interest.

As in like, he was at first curious about you. I feel like he would be the person to ask the most questions. He's definitely going to yap to you A LOT.

However, he noticed that you didn't even try him once. So naturally, 007n7 just feels.....insecure. He thinks that his skills are "useless", which is why you don't play him. Or you might even hate him. Yeah, it's probably.

He's trying to think positively, reassuring himself that you don't seem to be the type of person to say like that. He's heard of the survivors talking positively about you!

But considering that he's an outcast of the group.....yeah, I don't he'll hold up these positive thoughts for long. The negativity will get to him 💔

BUT ONE FAITHFUL DAY, where a new round started, and during that round, he expected you to not play as him, so he just walks around, searching for a generator.

But his walking suddenly halts. And he feels....warm. And---oH SHIT, HE'S GOT STRINGS ON HIM.

007n7 was alarmed at first, but it quickly turns into disbelief.

But not in a way "OMG PLZ DON'T HURT ME 😰😰😰😰" it's more in a "....you actually wanna play as me??? fr"

(GIVE THIS MAN MORE LOVE HE'S BEEN THROUGH A LOT 💔💔💔💔💔)

His mind is running around circles about you actually playing as him, while you wanted to try something new, so you decided to play as 007n7 for a bit.

When the round ends, he runs off to the ocean where the fisherman resides, as his brain keeps replaying that interaction he had with you.

He knows that he's being too hopeful, too..... delusional. But despite these thoughts, you actually made him happy in a way, so yey :D

Overall? 007n7 the second chillest about this situation. He also wants to interact with you more, but sometimes, his insecurity will get the best of him 💔

[clare-875]

Love love love the New Names prompt! I loved Ace’s and Sabo’s!! Poor poor Ace.

I was wondering if you could do another part with: Corazon, Killer, Mihawk, and Penguin 👀👀👀

Have a lovely day/night! ✨🫶🏽

New Names pt.3 (Corazon, Killer, Mihawk, Penguin)

_____ Pairings: Corazon x Reader; Killer x Reader; Mihawk x Reader; Penguin x Reader Summary: His reaction when you call him pal, buddy, etc. Warnings: Mostly fluff, Female Reader A/N: I'm so glad you like the fics! This is my first time writing for these characters so I hope you enjoy! 💗 [One Piece Masterlist] [Part 1: Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Ace, Law] [Part 2: Shanks, Sabo, Crocodile] [Part 4: Kid, Katakuri, Smoker] _____

Corazon

(A/N: Spoilers for Law's backstory)

A young Law looks to you from behind where he hid, unusual eagerness buried in his gaze. You and him had come up with a little prank to play on your boyfriend and despite being in the middle of a crisis, you would do anything to see Law's smile. When Corazon had left with Law to find a cure for his Amber Lead disease, you (being an undercover Marine yourself) had joined him. With time came the undeniable connection that was formed between the three of you.

You adored both of them with all your heart.

You were currently trying to hide the grin on your face as you looked up, anticipation thrumming as you watched your boyfriend finally approach from a distance. His painted face seemed to light up at the sight of you, and he moved faster to get to your side.

"Hello, love." His smile is wide as he approaches, but you watch as it fades to confusion in the absence of the boy usually by your side.

"Where's Law?"

You smile at his concern, but you continue with your little game.

"Don't worry buddy, he's just resting for now."

You expected a lot of things for his reaction, but what you didn't expect was the series of events that followed. One minute his face had been full of his usual adoration of you, the next came one of shock at your words, and the next moment his face was buried into the ground.

He had fallen.

You quickly approach in concern, rolling your boyfriend over so he is on his back. You kneel by him and look down at his face.

"Buddy, are you okay?"

You are surprised, however, that when you look down at your boyfriend's face, his eyes are clouded more with sadness than pain. There is a pout that lingers on his face.

"Love, why are you calling me that?"

You furrow your brows in mock confusion.

"What are you talking about, bud?"

Your boyfriend sits up quickly at your words, expression twisted in disarray.

"You-you're calling me buddy, but I'm- we're dating now. So, you should be calling me love."

He states it all so plainly to you, that you stare for a moment before losing yourself to your light laughter. This only causes the crease between your boyfriend's brows to deepen.

"Love?"

In that instant, you hear the rushing of footsteps, before Law jumps onto your boyfriend's back suddenly. He is smiling wide as he meets your gaze and amusement glistens in his eyes. Corazon yelps at the sudden weight on him.

"Surprise, you got pranked!"

Law grins in his mischief before running over to you and hiding behind your leg. Your boyfriend looks up in complete bewilderment as his eyes turn from you to Law, and back to you again. But then he spots the smile on Law's face and loses himself in a light-hearted chuckle; he tries to hold back his tears.

"...Not bad kid."

There is a pause before Corazon ruffles Law's head slightly and stands up to his feet. You smile softly at the interaction. You can see Law trying to play off the light blush on his cheeks at the gesture.

"Now you, love," your boyfriend says turning to you and taking your hand in his.

"I was expecting better."

You roll your eyes at his words but your smile does nothing to waver, and the three of you make your way back to camp.

That is until your boyfriend falls to the ground once more.

Killer

You fight the smile that wants to reach your face as you watch your boyfriend a small distance away talking to some members of crew. An idea had swarmed your mind and you were keen to see it take place. "What are you smirking about?" You hear the low growl of your Captain on your left as he looks at your expression with suspicion. A grin tugs wide at his words.

"Nothing you need to worry about Captain."

Kid grits his teeth as he seethes and walks away from your amused expression, but you pay him no mind; your attention is back on your boyfriend as he seems to conclude whatever conversation had taken place. You watch as his masked figure turns and spots you. You quickly put back on a neutral facade as Killer finally makes his way over, suspense bubbling within you.

"Hello, love."

His words to a stranger would sound surprisingly gentle, especially for a man named Killer. However, his kind nature is a given to you, and so you smile softly at your boyfriend, before giving way to your plan.

"Hey man, what were you up to?"

You watch as your boyfriend freezes momentarily. You grin discreetly, as you try to play nonchalant. Instantly, Killer's mind goes to concern.

"Okay love, what's wrong?"

His broad figure looms over where you are sitting and you don't have to remove his mask to know that his eyes are searching yours for answers. You keep up the act as you look at him in mock confusion.

"Nothing's wrong man, I've just been waiting for you."

He freezes again at your choice of words, and before he knows it his hand is under your chin.

"Princess, why do I feel like you're messing with me."

You feel warmth rise to your cheeks at his low words spoken softly to you. You try muttering an excuse, but it is for naught as Killer seems to put the dots together, and he has pulled you to your feet in an instant. You gasp as he swiftly drags you in the direction of your shared chambers, Kid still looking at the both of you in utter bewilderment.

"I'll show you who you're calling man, princess."

Mihawk

(A/N: Slightly suggestive at the end)

Your boyfriend is lounging on his chair, paging through the most recent newspaper copy that had been delivered. Your lips twitch upwards at the sight and you push open the door wider so you can get through. In your hands are two cups of steaming tea. Your boyfriend instantly perks up at your presence; he has sensed you lingering for some time now.

His sharp eyes soften slightly as he watches you get closer. "Hello love." You smile as you place his cup in front of him and put yours next to it. You would be lying to say you hadn't missed him. He had been so busy recently with whatever duties come with being the world's strongest swordsman and a warlord of the sea. But despite your sentiments, you wanted to go through with the little game you had formed in your head.

"Hi pal, anything interesting happened lately?"

You peer over his shoulder trying to look at the newspaper in his hands like nothing is wrong. But you would be stupid to think that your boyfriend did not notice the change in the name you usually called him.

"Love, what are you doing?"

Mihawk's eyes are sharp once more, buried perplexity masked in irritation. You simply play dumb and give him a look of confusion.

"Looking at the newspaper?"

At your words, your boyfriend places the paper in his hands on the table in front of him. One hand grabs yours as you look in bewilderment at his sudden movements.

"You called me pal."

His words are low as they are menacing and you hesitate, unable to meet his golden eyes.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

Your boyfriend has none of it though, as he pulls you closer to him so you're basically straddling him on his chair.

"You seem to have forgotten something. Something I thought I taught you not to forget."

You freeze as you try to hide your flustered face at the sudden proximity and the rumbling of his words.

"And that is?"

He pauses, before placing a hand on your face and inching closer to you.

"I am your partner, not some pal."

His breath is hot against your lips before he closes the space between you. You feel yourself flush and warmth fills you. His hands frame your face and you pull him impossibly closer. When you part, there is a shine in the gold of his irises that signifies whatever this is wasn't over.

You grin.

If this is what you get for calling him pal, maybe you should call him that more often.

Penguin

You and Shachi smirk at each other as a plan forms between you. "And then we watch him cry and piss his pants." Your smile widens as a laugh escapes you at the absurdity of his words. "You've lost your mind. He might not even react." You watch as your best friend rolls his eyes, more disbelieving of your words than you were of his. "Of course, he'll react, you're like the love of his life!" You fight the flush that wants to reach your face at his nonchalant words and shove him light heartedly. "Shut up!" He grins when he sees your flustered expression.

You had been close with Shachi and Penguin the instant you joined the Heart Pirates. You truly valued your friendship with Shachi and adored your boyfriend more than anything in the world. Your light-hearted banter continues for only a few moments until you spot your boyfriend making his way towards you. "Okay, actually shut up now. It's time!" You quickly shush Shachi and get up, as he gives you a lazy thumbs-up. Your boyfriend's expression instantly enlightens as you approach.

"Hey babe, I was looking all over for you." You can see his wide smile underneath his hat. When he approaches his expression doesn't fade. "I missed you." You hesitate only for a second before conceding to your plan.

"Missed you too dude, where were you?"

You answer him casually and like nothing was out of the norm. But to your boyfriend, he felt like the Earth had just stood still. You tilt your head, at your boyfriend's frozen expression, slowly waving your hand in front of him in concern.

"Um, dude?"

Unbeknownst to you, Penguin's mind is ablaze with flashbacks to a time well before you started dating, when you would call him friendly terms. He thought he would be stuck in the friendship zone for eternity, but when he confessed you had shocked him when you had returned his feelings too. He adored the pet names you called him in your relationship, but now with your words, it felt like he was back in hell.

"Dude are you-"

"Stop!"

His hands are flain out to you as he tries to stop the name from slipping past your lips again. You raise an eyebrow in false confusion. Shachi is now laughing his head off looking at what's taking place.

"Oi Shachi! This isn't a time for laughter! She's calling me dude again!"

You roll your eyes at the over-exaggeration of your boyfriend's words and actions, but it is Shachi and not you who accidentally lets slip of the prank you had played.

"Yeah, idiot. It's obviously a joke, can't you tell?"

"Shachi-!"

"Wait, it's a joke?"

You sigh as your boyfriend turns back to you with a more vulnerable expression on his face than you were expecting. "Yeah, I'm sorry babe." You reach out and grab his hand, as you watch him relax at the name you call him once more. "It was just a bit of fun?" He sighs deeply in a mixture of relief and exasperation. "Thank god, I thought you forgot we were dating or something." Your lips upturn more at the teasing grin on his face.

"Like I could forget that."

You step closer to him, and you see a familiar flush reach your boyfriend's face. His heart thrums in anticipation at your sudden proximity. "Yeah?" He murmurs to you, and you inch closer, almost closing the space between you two when-

"Okay! Enough of the mushiness! Not when I'm here!"

You hear Shachi's voice break the trance between you both, and you instantly see your boyfriend's face darken. He turns swiftly from your side.

"Hey, we were having a moment moron!"

Penguin makes his way from you to Shachi, a multitude of curses leaving his lips.

"Too bad!"

"Get back here idiot!"

You smile softly despite yourself. They were a handful, but there was never a quiet moment with the two of them; you couldn't give them up for anything in the world.

[awordsmith]

if we had known 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you and Spencer are best friends, and have never crossed that line because you're in love with him and he's in love with JJ–or so you think.

katcember

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s7 genre: angst content warnings: proofed! right person wrong time(?), unrequited love, false depiction of therapy (really just the quickness and no evaluation), past to present, depression, broken to mending friendship, jealousy, envy, Spencer's addiction, lots of crying (prepare yourself), personal growth, reid with care word count: 9.4k a/n: it made me cry. a lot. enjoy!

Wind had been blowing through your hair, you had worn a long-sleeve and yet it was still cold–it was December, the constant downpour should've made you think twice before you'd left, but it hadn't, and you were freezing. Maybe you should have brought a jacket, that would have been ideal, but you were running late, and you were never late, so you had been rushing.

You remembered the clouds darkening that night, you weren't afraid of the dark, apparently, as Spencer had mentioned, but of the things that could be lurking. Hotch was staying late, per usual, and the others had already gone home for the night, so Spencer had offered to walk you to your car.

He was nice like that, which is why you'd considered him your best friend. You hadn't had many outside of the BAU, some acquaintances at best–and though you had been incredibly close to the other members on your team, Spencer was different. You had always supposed it was due to the fact that you were the closest in age.

He had been 26 at the time, and you were just a year younger. That was the year you had joined the team, at the ripe age of 25, whereas he had been with the team for 4 years prior to you. He was the youngest known member to join the Bureau, and working with him, you were able to see why.

He was incredible in almost everything he did, you loved listening to him rant, it was mesmerizing the way someone could be so passionate about so many different and unrelated things, the way he knew so much about nothing and everything. You'd known it was mainly his eidetic memory, but it had still been fascinating. You couldn't help the way you'd analyze the way he spoke nor could you fail to notice the other team members energy toward his rambling. It annoyed you a little, but you had been new and hadn't wanted to say anything.

In your own way though, you'd been able to show him you cared, "go on," you'd murmur in a low voice, a small smile grazing your lips. He used to look at you contemplative. The first time you'd said it, you'd almost wished you could take it right back. The others had looked at you like you might have been mad, and maybe at some point you were; if it were maddening to want to listen to someone speak, then you would've concluded that, yes, you were indeed mad.

"Thank you," you'd said as you got to your car, spinning on your heels, smiling up at him.

"Any time," he had chirped, hands in his pockets, "hey, there's this showing, it's in Italian and there are no subtitles, but I can whisper you the translations, if you...wanted to go..." he'd scratched the back of his head, it was the first time he'd invited you out. It wasn't a date, you'd known this because you'd heard him ask the others about it before, most of the time he was shut down and you'd had to cover your snickers because as sad as it was, it had also always been somewhat funny, their responses and expressions–and the way Spencer never look disappointed, but rather confused and sometimes even expectant.

"I'd love to-o-o," you'd shivered, grabbing your arm and rubbing it up and down.

"Oh, are you cold?" He'd frowned, concerned. He'd pulled his satchel off and had sat it atop your car's trunk. He'd shrugged of his sweater, it was his favorite at the time, the brown, plaid one. He'd worn it more than he spoke, which was saying something, you remembered smiling at the thought as he'd handed it over to you.

You were stunned, you had never dated anyone before, so this treatment hadn't been normal for you. Though with Spencer, things always seemed to be everything but ordinary.

He had grabbed your bag as you'd slipped into his sweater, dainty as it had been, it did the job. It smelled like him, like too-sweet coffee and paper, or maybe that was old books, it could've been both, he never was seen without one or the other.

"Thank you," you'd smiled up at him, taking your bag back, watching as he'd pulled his satchel back over his shoulder. The wind picked up again, but his sweater kept you warm, "again."

He'd nodded, "as I said, any time, it looks better on you anyway," you'd returned his nod, suppressing the grin that would have no doubt escaped you if didn't know Spencer was Spencer, if you were strangers, perhaps.

"So, the movie, where do you want to meet?"

He'd grabbed the strap of his satchel, eyebrows raised in slight disbelief, "you–want to go? Really?"

"Yep," you'd nodded, eyes lighting up, "I have a personal translator, not many people can say that. I'm special," you'd said dramatically, but pride had slipped through, and you were sure he'd noticed it, even if he'd omitted to say anything.

He'd snorted, "I don't come free."

That was the moment you'd known, that no matter how hard you'd try detaching your heart, losing him would hurt–it'd hurt in ways you'd kept yourself from imagining. Coming to this conclusion, making up your mind hadn't been all that hard, it was simple–really; you would just never lose him.

That same year, Spencer had been kidnapped by an unsub, who'd later be identified as Tobias Hankel. Words couldn't express how angry you were at JJ. You'd lashed out when you'd found out he was missing, Morgan had to hold you back from, from that point you had lost all control of your emotions and it was the first time you hadn't been scared to lose your job. You had been terrified of what he was going through, you hadn't even a clue as to where he was or if he was still alive. But he has to be, you remembered thinking.

It had almost drove you to complete depression, thoughts of uncovering his body in the most gruesome way, thoughts of him being a body and not Spencer, the genius who could ramble on and on about almost anything, who'd given you his sweater when you were cold, who'd whispered translations into your ear–it was unthinkable, and to this day it still brought you to tears when you thought about it.

When the live videos of him began popping up on the screens in the living room, Hotch had ordered you to stay in another room.

He'd noticed the way you'd began to look at Reid, how you watched him speak and encourage him to do it more often around you. He'd never say it out loud because he knew you and Spencer were both adults and would never cross that boundary, but he just couldn't bring himself to let you see Spencer like that. Gideon seemed to agree.

You'd been angry at him, of course–you were angry at the world. It's how he'd feel if something like that ever happened to Haley or Jack, he hadn't blamed you, but he had still needed you to be at your best, and you had already been deteriorating with the knowledge of Spencer's kidnapping, seeing those videos–him in that state–it would have ultimately broke you, and you were so young; he hadn't known then, if he could have pulled you back from that.

Finding Spencer alive was the only thing that saved you from a catastrophic end. You would have brought down the door with you bare hands had it not been for Hotch kicking it down for you. When you found he wasn't there, you'd run out, passed the other's shouting, "they have to be on foot, they can't be far."

Gun out, you were the first to approach, some part of your mind had taken over and you'd realized doing this by yourself wasn't rational nor professional, even if it was Spencer. He had been right there, so close, and yet so far. "I'm moving in," you'd told Gideon and Hotch, when they'd finally caught up.

No one said anything as you'd moved forward, guns trained on whatever might have been in front of you. It'd been dark, you'd had your flashlight above your gun when a shot rang through, you'd screamed and had ran towards it. The rest of the team followed close behind. Spencer had been leaning over Tobias, mumbling to him.

Hotch had stepped in front of you to help Spencer get to his feet as you'd stopped to watch, unable to physically move forward. Tears sprang in your eyes as the team began asking if he was alright. When Hotch had confirmed this, he'd glanced at you and frowned, turning back to Spencer for a brief moment to pat him on the back before walking away. Spencer had turned to you–or at least you thought he had. JJ had moved forward to your side hesitantly, but Spencer instantly captured her in a hug.

Your heart dropped and you felt some type of way, though you hadn't wanted to admit it to yourself at the time, there'd been a strong distaste for JJ in that moment, strong and yet it hadn't just been anger, it had been envy. You'd known it was envy because jealousy stemmed from something you had, and you did not have Spencer the way JJ did.

"I am so sorry," she'd said, and guilt had ran up your spine. How could you have felt such a terrible way toward her when she'd probably been punishing and blaming herself for everything he'd been going through? The worst part however, was that though you may have been closer to Spencer than anyone else on the team, he'd always have that bond with JJ; she'd known him first–and that was something you couldn't compete with.

When they'd pulled away, he'd glanced at Gideon and smiled painfully, but then his eyes had turned on you, and a nervousness that hadn't been there before spread across you like fire in a forest.

"Hey," he'd mumbled.

"Shut up," you'd wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest. He had smelled horrible, alcohol and another scent you wouldn't recognize until later.

He'd chuckled and you had heard the aching in it as he'd wrapped an arm around you, the other had gone to your hair, smoothing it downward, "I didn't say anything."

"What did I say," you'd pulled away, eyes red and rimmed, tear streaks smudged slightly on his dirty shirt.

He'd gave you one of those impeccable smiles, the ones he'd come to find could always get him out of trouble with you, you hated it, but despite yourself it still worked. He'd lifted his head then, to someone behind you, it was Morgan, his own eyes looking just as haunted.

Morgan had followed Gideon toward the cars after a shared silence. You'd helped Spencer limp back to the car, "you can put your full weight on me, I can handle it," you'd said, huffing.

He'd snorted and winced right after, "I know, you can handle anything." You'd smiled to yourself, then had frowned when Spencer stopped moving suddenly. You'd slid your eyes across his face, afraid he'd had some internal wound, one he couldn't mentally feel, but then his eyes–serious and captivating–stopped your wondering, and his voice had trembled when he'd whispered, "thank you."

Your throat had went dry and the rawness that'd laced your tone said everything and nothing at all, "any time."

He'd gotten addicted, anyone with half a brain could've seen it. You'd wanted to mention it, you'd wanted to bring it up, you just hadn't known how. Everyone on the team had seemed to want to ignore it, or, like you they'd had no idea how to bring it up without triggering him.

But you would. Your movie nights had ceased, after he'd been released from the hospital, you'd wanted him to take it easy, you'd never once thought that would've been the result. What the hell had happened? What had you not seen? What in this tragic world had he'd been going through on those live videos?

You had kept biting your tongue, but eventually, it had got to a point where you just couldn't stand to see him like that nor could you stand to sit idly by like the others and pretend like nothing was wrong.

Unannounced, you'd shown up at his place, should you have been there? You didn't think to care, a knock, then two. As you'd gone in for the third, audible rustling had come from the other side of the door. You had frozen, hands glued to your side like a cheerleader at default. His face when he'd opened the door looked horrible, he'd probably been just been asleep, it was a Sunday after all, a once in a lifetime Sunday where you hadn't been called in, a miracle, really; were it not for that Sunday, you just might have chickened out.

"Hey," you'd smiled, rubbing your hand over your arm nervously. "How–are you feeling?"

You hadn't bee able to see half of his body as he'd been leaning halfway out the door. You'd been to his apartment a few times prior, sometimes to pick him up, sometimes you'd binge movies and shows, but you'd never stayed the night. With how close you were, you were both careful not to cross that boundary–well, it had mostly been you.

You not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you not wanting to accidentally give yourself away by mumbling something in your sleep; you not wanting him to notice it in your eyes on an evening when you were half awake–and he would have, you had absolutely no doubt that he would have.

"I'm okay," his voice was thick, it had been 1 in the afternoon and you hadn't been one to judge, especially when it came to him, especially when you'd considered what he had survived–but it had still clung to you like a shadow, a dark, looming shadow. "What are you doing here?"

Your friend–your best friend–had been in trouble, he hadn't even looked like your friend anymore, he'd been a shell of himself, and if you had been anything, you'd been determined. You'd frowned and pushed your way into his house, "you've been distant," you'd moved your eyes around the space, nose crinkling at the odor, his apartment had been trashed. Cups of noodles had been on every surface, some even on the floor between his couch and coffee table. Blankets scattered the floor and you could remember seeing clothing on the floor in the hall that led all the way to his room. Your chest had squeezed in pain for him.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to," he'd motioned around and had cleared his throat.

"Oh, Spencer," your eyes had softened as he'd shut the door behind him, "I don't know what you've been going through, but I know it's been hard on you."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he'd audibly gulped and had cast his eyes to the floor, having the decency to look a little ashamed.

"Spencer," you'd walked toward him, voice startlingly clear. His eyes had glanced up for a second, then quickly back to the floor. "Spencer," you'd said again, pulling on his wrists, "why haven't you come to me? I know you're hurting, please let me help you."

"Why?" His tone had been clear indifference, his eyes narrowed slightly and when he'd looked at you his face was distrusting.

That was the first time you'd felt a physical crack in your heart. You had never–never–seen him this way, in all the months you'd grown to know him, to appreciate and respect him, never once had he looked at you that way.

"Because you're my friend," you'd pleaded, tears welling up in your eyes.

He'd snatched his arms from you and had turned around with swiftness he'd only ever used in the field, "I think it's time you go."

"Spencer?" You'd called, your voice quiet.

He said nothing as he'd stepped out of your way and had reopened his door, waiting patiently for your exit.

You'd done so, but not without a plan forming in your head. The next day, Monday, you had woken up extra early, gotten ready, and had headed for Spencer's. You hadn't let a single word of his deter you from banging on his door until he'd answered–pushing away the guilt of waking up his neighbors–that day you'd forced him to give you a copy of his house keys.

The day after that, you'd gotten up early again, and using the copy of his house key, had silently slipped into his apartment and hauled him out of bed. You'd took his groaning and shouting and every insult he'd thrown your way under his breath, he didn't mean it, you knew, so you'd always thrown them away as soon as they'd leave his mouth–but sometimes, they'd find you at night when you were in bed and you'd cry yourself to sleep, then you'd get up and go through it all over again for his sake, all for him–but maybe...maybe just a little bit had been selfishly for you.

Hating yourself for knowing that had it been anyone else, you probably would have given up that first day, but it hadn't been anyone else, and you hadn't given up on him. Even if you'd known he was in love with JJ at the time, you wouldn't have done anything differently, because you didn't want to lose him–you couldn't; you had promised yourself.

The following weekend, you'd asked Gideon to let you stay home from the case you and the team had been working on, alluding to the fact it had something to do with Spencer, which thankfully got to him.

While Spencer was away with the team–you'd hoped they would watch out for him, you had to have faith that they had cared enough to do at least that much–you cleaned his apartment. You'd bought materials specifically to tackle the mold threatening to grow. You'd searched up–a lot of what you now knew on how to clean an apartment that had been dormant for a couple months–on the computer in the nearby library. Leave it to Spencer to always make you feel young.

You'd begun with the things you could pick up, separating dirty laundry from garbage via trash bags. The space had garnered a foul smell which you'd noted that first Sunday you'd popped up out of nowhere, but it had eluded your mind when Spencer had asked you why. You'd thought on that moment multiple times, why? Why? You'd sometimes felt like screaming when you were alone, how could he have asked such a stupid question? Of all the things that must have been floating through his thick skull he'd settled on "why"–you'd taken a breath, calming yourself. He couldn't help it, he hadn't expected anyone to care so he acted as if no one did. You hadn't meant to profile him at the time, it had just happened, and if you'd been honest, you hadn't felt sorry. It had been one of your biggest motivators–to show him that someone did in fact care.

Eventually, he'd begun to expect you each morning, and maybe it was a little selfish on his part–maybe–but he'd begun to lean on you, turn to you...a lot more than he should have. At first he'd rationalized it, you'd been persistent, who was he to stop you?

Within a month he'd begun seeing a therapist, he hadn't wanted to take time off of work and admit himself into a facility, doing that had–and still–scared him more than his addiction, it would have meant admitting he was unstable, unable, and that just–well it hadn't been an option.

He'd gotten his life somewhat on track again, thanks to you, it had all been you. He had treated you horribly and you had still cared, had still helped him–admitting himself into an institution not only scared him because of his past, but because the thought of not being able to see you at work everyday, and outside of work whenever he'd wanted was too much to bear, he knew he would have possibly gone mad–and he hadn't wanted to think about what that had meant.

You'd never seen a drunk Spencer before then, the air was chilly, and you'd just left the bar, thanking God Hotch hadn't been there, or he no doubt would have ripped into you for allowing Spencer to drink as much as he did.

Before then, the only thing you'd thought he drank more than he could handle was coffee. Morgan had taken Penelope home–you'd gotten used to their relationship as fast as Spencer read novels. Rossi and Emily had stayed home as well, reasons: unknown.

JJ hadn't been able to make it, she'd gone on a date with Will, she'd grown on you after Spencer had gotten better, but you'd still had a bone to pick with her and the rest of the team for allowing Spencer's addiction to get a bad as he did.

You'd kept your opinions and feelings to yourself because Spencer never brought it up, but there'd been times–you'd recall them sometimes right before you'd close your eyes at night–times where he'd asked for help in complete roundabout ways. But he'd said them in a room full of profilers, so there was no way he'd said them on accident or without meaning.

"Woa–ho," you'd laughed, grabbing onto his arm to keep him upright. "I am never letting you drink that much again."

"Wha–what?" He'd whined, "why? What did I do?"

You'd heaved a heavy sigh, but had laughed when he'd stopped, turned to you with squinted eyes, and poked your forehead.

Turning back away, he'd found you were on a bridge that overlooked a shallow river, the lampposts that had glowed that night lit up the dark, working together with the stars to allow you to see.

You'd followed him to the hangar and watched as he'd leaned over the railing, his elbows had b raced against the cold metal. You'd leaned your back on the railing beside him, head tilted upward toward the stars as his tilted down toward the water. "I think I love her," he'd whispered, but when you'd caught it–and you had caught it, your heart sank.

"...love her?"

"Yeah," he'd paused, "JJ."

JJ.

Crack went your heart. You'd blinked away tears and gulped. How were you suppose to respond? How would a normal friend respond? What would Penelope or Dereck say? Hell, even Hotch would've been a better person for him to say this to–but he hadn't known that.

You'd swallowed your pain, "oh..."

"I don't know what to do," he'd continued, "she's my best friend..." and she has a husband, and she has a kid on the way, and I thought I was your best friend and I love you... Thoughts ran through your head at godspeed, but you'd stayed silent because you were sure–no, more than sure, you knew for absolute certainty your voice would have given you away within seconds. Spencer had been drunk, but you hadn't been thinking about him, no it was you. If you'd heard your own voice, even for just a second, you would have lost it.

A break down had not been on your list of things to do that night, but there you were, balling your eyes out like a lovesick teenager the instant you'd stepped into you apartment. You hadn't been able to stop it, it wouldn't have been healthy, anyway, and if you had kept it inside, you would have chanced being profiled by the best, and it wouldn't have been hard to connect the dots.

You'd been pretty sure Spencer had not remembered a single thing from the moment you had left the bar. He'd called you the morning after with a massive hangover and as much as you had wanted to avoid him, he'd been your best friend and it wouldn't have been fair to him, especially if he'd had no idea what you were feeling–and how could he?

You'd hid it so well you hadn't even been able to believe it yourself. How to move on, how to get ride of these thoughts that had seemed to plague you every night? You buried it the only way you could; you wrote it out in a journal, everything, every last bit, it had been easier than saying it out loud to a therapist and even yourself.

Every time you'd felt the sudden urge to cry, every time you saw his gaze linger on her or they spoke alone, it hurt you, it hurt you a lot more than you'd ever thought it could.

It'd been a year, a year of suppressed feelings, of envy, of keeping quiet just so you could hold onto what you have left of him because if there was even a small chance JJ had given him any thought–yes she was married, yes, she had a child, and yes they were coworkers–you were pretty sure Spencer would take it.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Spencer plopped down on the chair beside yours. You were using it to hold documents as you'd been cleaning out your desk, but you'd stopped using for some time now, and you'd meant to take it back to the meeting room you'd stole it from when–briefly–you recalled that night Spencer had gotten a little too drunk.

You slammed the notebook shut way too fast to go unnoticed by him and as you lifted your head to meet his, his eyes snagged on the small brown, leather-bound book. "Nothing, why–what's going on?"

His eyes narrowed bit and when he lifted them back up to meet yours, you stilled. "Nothing..." he dragged out, "just wanted to see if you were busy tonight."

"Nope, completely free," you chirped.

He pressed his lips together, careful to keep his eyes on you. If he didn't, you would've profiled the notebook piqued his curiosity, and if he was going to snoop, he could't give you any reason to hide it.

Now, Spencer never would have done it if it hadn't been you. You had your secrets, sure, but he had talked to you about his mother, he had introduced you to his mother. You hadn't been around when the team first met her, and Spencer had desperately wanted you to, had wanted her to know you.

He'd taken you after he'd gotten clean, and you had been perfect just as you always were. You'd told him about your family too, where you'd grown up, what it was like for you in school, in university, you had practically shared life stories, so the fact that you were keeping something from him–it just–it didn't sit right.

It would keep him up at night and he knew it and–yes, it was an invasion of privacy and it was your right and yet he could not find it in himself to–for a lack of better words...care.

It was nearing his birthday, you hadn't mentioned it yet, but he knew you were planning something, perhaps that was what you'd been writing about, and if it was, well, then there was no harm no foul. You'd be pissed, of course, but you'd forgive him...eventually. You always did when he prodded at you, he'd use the smile you never seemed be able to say no to.

That smile, you were sure God had crafted it just for you because every time you saw it you just melted. Your knees would go weak or you'd get butterflies in your stomach, somersaults, or you'd just feel sick–you didn't know which was worse.

Some days your body would be affected physically and there would be no other explanation except the way you were feeling that day. Except the way you'd cry into your pillows, whenever the pain was too much, you found yourself ignoring the wold around you.

It was growing–had been for a while–you were planning to cancel on Spencer, which wouldn't be out of the norm for you these days, which was most likely one of the reasons he'd invited you out today, because you'd cancelled on your movie night last Saturday and the Tuesday before that, you'd cancelled your babysitting at Hotch's with him.

He was probably worried something had happened to you and you knew it was't fair, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. His birthday was coming up and you wanted to do something for him, something special, you both loved October, you more than him because it was his birth month as well as spooky season, but as the days passed, you couldn't stand to see his face without feeling your heart ache.

You tried reading, throwing yourself into work, anything and everything to get your mind off of him, but nothing stuck. You were being consumed by your thoughts, your unrequited love, you needed a rush, maybe then you'd be able to close your eyes and breath without smelling his cologne and seeing his stupid, pouting smile.

October 12th, Spencer's birthday, he was turning 30 this year, and you still hadn't wrapped your head around what to do. You'd walked into the office, Penelope running past you, calling for you to follow. You weren't normally late, but the past year of suppression had taken its toll on you; you didn't think you'd ever been in a worser state than you were in now.

You listened over the case, but you weren't really listening, you were debating whether or not to tell Hotch, when someone latched their arms onto your shoulders and shook you.

You glanced around the circular table, meeting each pair of eyes with more shame than the last, "I'm sorry," you said, rubbing your eyes.

Hotch stared at you for a moment, silently analyzing your appearance, Spencer opened his mouth to speak, perhaps on your behalf, you couldn't really tell, but Hotch beat him to it when he stood abruptly and said, "follow me, the rest of you continue." You ignored Spencer's concern as you followed your boss to a private space.

Your eyes locked on something behind him as you waited for him to speak, and when he did, you weren't surprised at what he had to say, "what's going on with you?"

Six years, six years you had been with the Bureau, six years you had worked with Hotch and Spencer and Morgan and JJ and Garcia. Six years and for a brief, but sure moment, you'd thought about asking for a transfer.

"Don't do that," Hotch pulled your attention to his face, "don't ignore me."

Your frown deepened, "I'm not–

"First stage, denial," he tilted his head down when you averted your eyes so as to keep the contact, "but you're not in denial, nor are you angry, I've seen you write in that book of yours for half a year, but it's not enough anymore, you must've just hit stage four–"

"I thought we didn't profile each other," he'd hit a nerve and you both knew it.

He sighed, and murmured your name, it wasn't until you found his eyes again that he asked, "who are you mourning?"

You seized up, tightening your face. It was overwhelming and scary just how accurate Hotch was. A moment passed between you two, Hotch's brows furrowed in confusion and you–body, mind, face, and soul–frozen in terror.

The sound of the door opening knocked you both out of your trance. It was Spencer, Hotch caught the twitch your left eye gave when you perceived who the intruder was. Recognition lit up his face, but then he was just as confused again. You and Spencer seemed to be as you always had been–no, something must have changed, for you at least. Spencer seemed oblivious, or he had been for the better part of whatever you'd been going through.

He was now between a rock and a very hard place, what could he honestly do? This had nothing to do with him–but he had failed a team member once, and now that same team member seemed to be at the pinnacle of the distress of another one. What was he to do? What was the best course of action? He had no information, well, he knew you were in love with Spencer, that wasn't much of a deduction, the whole team practically knew–all but Spencer of course. If it was rejection–no that just didn't fit with Spencer's upbeat attitude, whatever had happened clearly wasn't recent.

"Hotch," Spencer spoke, pulling his attention away from his thoughts if only for a moment, "do you mind if we..."

Oh. The team lead thought, perhaps Spencer had found out already? Then he had everything under control? So, should he leave it alone? Ignore it? That seemed to be what he did best, he grimaced at the guilty thought and glanced at you, now just a bit relaxed. "Sure, but be quick."

He stopped himself from saying more and took up refuge in the room with the rest, pretending like he didn't notice their questioning eyes. This time, of all times, the best thing he could truly do for his team members–was absolutely nothing.

Spencer stood silently, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared at you with unrelenting eyes. He was analyzing you just as Hotch had been, but with better, knowing eyes.

He did–in fact–sneak a peak at your journal, more so toward your latest entry. It shocked him–to his core, it shocked him. He had to put it down when he'd read the first paragraph. Being able to read 20,000 words per minute, he'd thought he'd be done within seconds, he'd thought he would have been able to read the entire thing, actually, before you got back from the restroom.

It had been the first time in a long time he'd been wrong about something, wrong about himself.

He'd read it over again after a few second of sitting in your chair, too stunned to come up with coherent thoughts. He'd thought he surely must have read it wrong, he must've been tired, he couldn't have read what he'd thought he'd read.

But sure enough, the words were still there, emboldened and burning in his head. He'd flipped back to the first entry, you'd been documenting for a few months now and it physically pained him to read it. How could he have not known? How could he have been so incredibly blind? How could he call himself a genius and not have profiled that his best friend was in love with him? That she was hurting from it, because–all because–

"You know then," her voice tugged at something in him. His face contorted into pain-stricken grief. You contained a small urge to laugh, it would have been dry anyway, and you were tired, but you shoved it down, away.

"Yeah," his voice was raw, like he'd been crying and maybe he had, maybe some part of him felt sorry for you so he had cried. Pity, it disgusted you, it made you disgusted at yourself.

You nodded, your lips forming a thin line, "I'm sorry," you got out before you shut you eyes on instinct to keep the tears from spilling out. You turned around to hide hide yourself, he already knew, you had to keep some emblem of your dignity.

You began walking away when you recalled, for some reason, his birthday, and you turned back around, walking back up to him with tears streaking down your face. Tears in his own eyes threatened to break loose at any moment. You truly were sorry that you had put him though all of this, but that's not why he was crying.

He was angry at himself and hurt for you. He didn't know how he could have been so incredibly stupid. That's all he could think of, all his mind–his heart–would let him think clearly; how stupid he was.

He watched as you stepped forward, as sad and detached as you seemed, your walk was graceful, as if you were a ghost floating down the hall. He tensed slightly, as you brought your hands forward, he'd take it, he deserved to be slapped after all–hell, he would probably slap himself later on when he was alone because of how unintelligent, how thickheaded, and witless he'd been.

He didn't even close his eyes, he was ready for it, but you didn't slap him. You pulled his face down and pushed yours forward. You kissed the side of his cheek and whispered, "happy birthday, Spencer."

Shock wrapped itself around his brain, he felt like a robot as you pulled away and turned. Pieces fell as you walked away because shattered was your heart.

He should have followed you, he should have, he knew he should have, but he had been scared. He still was, and the more time went on–the longer he stopped seeing you–that fear grew. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what was terrifying him, but he had a few guesses.

He didn't want to lose your friendship: he'd been so close to you for so long, he turned to you for everything and he'd expected you to do the same. There were moments, he'd knew there were, when he'd catch himself analyzing he curve of your figure when you'd fallen asleep on his ouch or yours. His eyes would sometimes trace the lines that made up your face, the dip at the top of your lips, the way they'd press together when you were contemplative or worried. He didn't want to lose those moments, moments that he really shouldn't have had, moments that he considered his and his alone.

He'd never been in this situation before and if he wasn't careful, he'd mess it up: Spencer'd had crushes before, he'd even had a girlfriend once, briefly, but compared to you? They had been fun, exciting even, you–you were dangerous. When those girls had entered his life, he knew they'd eventually leave and he didn't mind that. That's why he'd kept all those moments to himself, why he never told Morgan or Penelope or even Emily. The things he'd done just so he could keep you, of course he knew it wasn't rational. You'd eventually find a boyfriend and settle down and maybe that boyfriend would someday become a husband. He had always ignored the bile that built up whenever he thought about it, about losing you–because he wouldn't be giving you away, how could he if you were never his to begin with?

A week turned into a month and before he knew it, December was here, it had surprised him so much so, he thought surely a car must have hit him when he hadn't been looking.

The team noticed it, the deterioration. It was visible in both his physique and his mind. He couldn't focus on any of the cases they'd been given. It started off small, with his mind wandering, but as time went on, it became less and less easy to focus him again.

Hotch had emailed you professionally, explaining how you could take as much time as you'd needed and when you were ready to come back, the team would be waiting. Then he'd texted you unprofessionally and told you if there was anything you needed, he was one text or one phone call away.

You'd spent the past few weeks going to therapy. As soon as you'd left the office, you'd sat in your car for a while, contemplative. You'd started driving and your subconscious brought you to a personal health center. You had forced yourself out of the car and through the front doors, tears fell down as you entered. There were a few people in the waiting room, not including the receptionist.

"I–was wondering," you half said and half sniffled, "if you had any walk-ins."

They had one, but you'd have to wait for about an hour, and you did. You spoke to a woman, thankfully, it was easier for you to let out all your faults, all the times you'd cried, all the times you had felt you were a horrible human being, all because of one person, but then again this obsession wasn't at all on Spencer.

And it wasn't all on you either, your therapist, whom you called your saving grace from time to time, explained that because you had built up all of your emotions, and there had been a number of them, you kind of just broke. Which was on parr with the way you'd been feeling.

She'd asked to see the notebook you kept, but you had left the thing in the drawer of your office, you'd cursed yourself. You had no idea how much Spencer had read, but he must have read it because there was no other way he'd known exactly how you were feeling, and if there was any chance he'd go back to read any more–that was if he hadn't read the entire thing already–well, you'd wanted to prevent that.

"What are you feeling?" The therapist had asked, "would you rather write it down?" She'd slid over her notepad and pen.

You'd taken it willingly and had stared at the blank space for a moment, and then–all at once–conversations and small gestures and intimate moments flooded your system, it had been 9 in the morning, and the curtains had been closed and the regular light turned off; a lamp and candle directly across form each other had been the only things to keep the room from complete darkness.

The words left your mind faster than you could write, but you did and when you filled a page, you'd flipped it over, no longer crying, but focussed, and when you were done, you'd taken a breath. You had ignored the uncomfortable feeling of the therapist analyzing you, it was her job as it was yours, yet you'd still felt yourself shift under her gaze.

"Can I see?" She'd asked and you'd handed over the paper and pen, though hesitantly.

And it took her breath away, just as you had known it would, as it had no doubt took Spencer's.

It was almost a year's worth of grieving, and yet you had not idea what you were even thinking about. How could you mourn something that wasn't dead? It's not dead because it was never alive. You'd thought.

Unrequited love. One of the most painful types of love, yet when it came to Spencer–there was something more. You'd told her, "it's not just that," she'd nodded, encouraging you to continue and her patient eyes reached something in your heart, and just barely, you felt it mend.

You saw her the next day with an appointment, and they you a few days later, you saw her again. You grew accustomed to seeing her twice a week, and you'd even grown acquainted with some of the staff, the receptionist especially. They had multiple therapists who specialized in different areas, yours, thankfully, focussed on personal growth.

The weather transformed before you eyes and before you knew it, it was the first of December. You'd stepped out of your house and took in the fresh air, it was one of the firsts in a long time that you had felt truly okay, that you didn't feel like the world would come crashing down around you, and better, that you didn't wish for it to happen anymore.

You'd texted Hotch two days ago, you hadn't known if he was on a case or not, but it had been Saturday and your hope peaked through. Throughout the rest of October and all of November, the team had messaged you multiple times, checking in to see if you were okay. You didn't have the energy to respond at the time, but a few weeks after seeing your therapist, you'd texted each and every one of them, save for one geeky genius.

You had notably not received any messages from Spencer, and it used to send a dull ache through you, but now it only made you swallow. You missed him, missed his company, but not seeing him was a step forward, your therapist had said you needed time and space away from him particularly, and you knew she was right. Your subconscious had been telling you the same thing for weeks before Spencer read your journal.

Thankfully, Hotch wasn't on a case, and he did pick up, when you'd told him to come over, he knew something was up, for better or worse, he didn't know, but you were speaking again, and to him no less. You'd asked if he could bring Jack, you had a lot of apologizing to do to the little guy for cancelling on him.

Hotch had alluded in messages that Jack asked about you whenever a babysitter that wasn't you came over, though he never outright wrote that the kid missed you because he'd known it wasn't fair to you. You were thankful, but you still felt guilty.

That day, you'd turned on The Magic School Bus for Jack and kept a careful eye on him while you and Hotch sat at your kitchen stools and spoke quietly in the background. "How is he?" You'd asked, trying to start the conversation light.

"He's fine," Hotch had replied, "...he misses you." He didn't say 'you and Spencer', which told you he knew.

How? It was Hotch, of course he knew.

"How are you?"

You'd turned your head back to him, a small, but sad smile falling over your face. "Better."

He'd nodded, tight-lipped, "good."

"I want to come back to work," he'd let out a breath and were it not for his eyes, you would have never known he'd felt relieved.

His mouth quirked upward slightly, and a crooked grin–a rare sight from Aaron Hotchner, indeed–filled the no longer anxious silence.

Your first day back at work, a Monday, December 3rd. It was tense at first, and you thought you might tuck tail and run when you saw Spencer, but you didn't, if anything you felt lighter. Maybe now, you could mend your friendship, that's what your therapist had said was the best course of action if you wanted to still be friends with him, though you didn't have much of a choice, you worked with the man.

You didn't avoid him, and the team at first, wondered what you had spent the last few weeks doing. Hotch had returned to your house Sunday to give you an eval, and you had passed with average colors, but he had cleared you. That was all that mattered.

Spencer didn't know what to make of your abrupt return, he hadn't been expecting it and for some reason he felt Hotch was punishing him...slightly. He thought you'd go back to avoiding him, but you didn't. You didn't seek him out like you used to, but you no longer evaded his questions or averted your eyes when he spoke to you.

He felt the wight in his chest lessen, and as time went on you were slowly falling back into your normal routine, but you still loved him, despite yourself, and he still loved JJ, and you came to accept that. If this was as close as you could be to him, you were okay.

And who knows? Maybe as time went by, you'd be able to move on. Your heart warmed and gently, you felt it mend again. Quietly, but efficiently, your heart was righting itself.

A week went by, and then two. You were talking with Hotch in his office about what Jack wanted for Christmas, and he was asking if you'd wanted to take Jack to see Santa with him. The others had already agreed to go, Spencer included, it was quite obvious the kid looked up to him; it still sent a flutter through your body, beginning at your toes, till it hit you head and you felt dazed. Spencer would be an amazing father, whoever he married–and he would...marry one day, you were sure of that–would be the luckiest person on earth–and his kids, well, they'd be blessed by angels.

"Oh shit," you stopped, frowning at the looming darkness that greeted you at the exit of the Bureau.

A snort came from behind you, "yeah, I thought you'd say that." Spencer sighed, halting beside you. You tilted your head upward, your small smile adjacent to his. "I guess some things never change."

You huffed a laugh, smacking him in the chest, "whatever, come on my knight and shining armor."

Hotch watched from his office window as Spencer followed you out to the carpark, like he had all those years ago, and briefly, he wondered if Spencer was going to tell you now. He clicked his tongue, remembering the not so pleasant discussion he and the team had with him concerning you after your return.

They had more or so laid into him, Hotch, though, kept his comments to himself, knowing he didn't have the power to control the actions of others, but maybe, just maybe, fate did. He didn't believe in ghosts, but Rossi talked about them sometimes, and even he had to admit, the setting before him was a little too coincidental.

You waddled to your car like a penguin, making Spencer laugh, you loved his laugh, you always would. "So," he stopped at your car, leaning against it with those doe eyes–a gift to him and perhaps a curse to you.

"So?" You raised a brow, unlocking your car and shrugging your bag into the driver seat.

"There's this showing..." he cleared his throat, "it's uhm," he chuckled nervously, feeling his palms sweat, somehow the universe had known. It must have, he was a logical person, a scientific one, and being one he knew scientists had not yet debunked the theory of fate, normal people called them "happy coincidences" and/or "happy accidents". They were two different words, but both phrases held the same meaning.

"What language is it this time?" You sighed, but you were teasing.

"It–uh, it's in Italian," he cleared his throat and your heart boomed.

"Oh," you nodded, "sure I'd love to go."

He would have said 'really?', but it was you, and you had been so agreeable these past weeks, He was hopeful, but nervous because what if you did say no? What if he said the wrong thing without knowing it and you left again? He couldn't' loose you, not this time.

It was now or never and he knew it, the entire team had coerced him to a dinner where they half ate and half lectured him the entirety they were there.

"It's so obvious," Emily had sighed.

"Look pretty boy, I'm not one to butt into other people's business, but seriously..." Morgan had shaken his head.

And where Morgan stopped, Rossi had picked up, "did you lose your brain over night?" He'd poked Spencer's head, muttering something in Italian, but Spencer knew Italian, and he had to agree, yes, he was ignorant.

JJ, Spencer sighed when he thought about what JJ had said, "If you love her, Spence," she'd also reached out to grab his hand, holding it down on the table, "then she deserves to know."

"She's my best friend," he had squeaked out.

"Oh, sweetie," Penelope had watched him with sad eyes and a sad smile to match, "we know."

"Spencer?" You raised a brow, an awkward smile perfecting the confused expression you wore.

"Sorry," he muttered, "just..."

"Yeah...what-t?" You shivered and began rubbing your arm to warm yourself up.

"Your cold?" He couldn't believe it, but unlike that time years ago, he wasn't waring a sweater. In fact, he wondered if you still had that one. It was his favorite at the time, but when you'd tried giving it back, he'd insisted you keep it.

At the time he'd excused it as being a germaphobe, but now, he thought it might've been something more. When his eyes shifted to yours, your heart–you could swear it stopped beating. His eyes had softened and he was looking at you with something you couldn't coherently explain.

"When did you know you loved me?"

You took a step back, the question hitting you like the cold wind slapping across your face. "I–"

"I think for me, it was after I got better, after you helped me get clean. Well, at least that's when I started taking into account my off behavior." He rambled a little.

"What?" Your breath hitched, how could he spring this on you so suddenly? How–how–"what?"

He paused, eyes finding yours again, disbelief and maybe anger? He expected as much, he was telling you this after all you'd been going through, but the thing he couldn't understand was why. Why did you think there was no possibility that he could like you back? Why–if you had loved him for so long–did it just–a year ago–start breaking your heart?

He called your name and took a step forward, "what gave you the impression, that I didn't love you back?" If he had know–only if he had known you'd been going through this, that he'd been breaking your heart–that you loved him...

You turned away, tears–God you were so tired of crying. "You said–that night you were blackout drunk on the bridge, that you loved her." You took a shuttering breath, twisting your body to look at him again–knowing this was more than likely going to ruin your friendship for good. "You called her your best. Friend. Spencer...and I," you motioned toward yourself, "I knew I would never compare and I had kept my feelings hidden for so long that I didn't even know what I was feeling–"

"Whoa, what?" He held up a hand, "what–what are you talking about?" His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, recalling a memory, he had alway thought he'd been dreaming whenever it came to them.

Over the weeks after, it had come back to him in sections, as he'd pieced together the parts one by one, he had come to the conclusion that he must have dreamt it up because–because JJ wasn't there that night. She had some plans with Will, or something, he couldn't really remember.

It had to be a dream, because he couldn't have confessed his love for you to JJ–she wasn't at the bar that night–but if what you were saying was true–no it didn't–it didn't–and then it smacked him in the face.

"I–" he closed his eyes, laughing almost hysterically, "I was talking about you." His voice cracked and he shook his head, running his hands over his face. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it.

"What–" you sniffled, "what are you talking about?"

He caught his breath, tears falling down his cheek as his face crumbled and he wiped them away, loathing himself more than he ever had before, "I thought–" his breathing was heavy now and you could hear the straining–the thickness strangled together as he forced it out, "I thought you were JJ."

Step, you took a step, and then another until you stood in front of your best friend. The sound echoed across the dark, silent lot, though the wind was picking up again. The cheek you'd slapped burned red, Spencer looked like an owl–a deer caught in headlights, if you will–face turned to the side, mouth agape, eyes wide with shock.

Slowly, he let his head drift back toward you, you were already waiting for his eyes to find yours. You wanted to hit him some more, to take your pent up frustration out on him, but you only had energy for a single slap tonight. A slap, and a kiss.

You pulled him down by his collar, your eyes closing upon impact. He tasted of coffee and smelled like olde books and leather, like you knew he always did. If only you had known, but you couldn't change the past, you could only move forward.

"So, where do you wanna meet?" You asked him when you pulled away. He blinked, and you smirked, eyes narrowing slightly, "for the showing."

His eyes lit up and he pulled you closer, wrapping his long arms around your torso, breathing you in like you just might disappear before his eyes if he didn't.

You giggled as his breath tickled your skin, tears long forgotten, and your heart full as it once had been.

a/n: if you're a writer, don't proof read your angst fics

[buddierealm]

ʚ MISTAKES NEVER LAST — e. diaz x reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 Wordcount: 7.1k Summary: Everything gets a lot more complicated. It's also a lot easier. Warnings: MCD (canon compliant), idiot4idiot, yearning overload, dead mom waffles™, depictions of grief/injury/surgery aftermath, firetruck KA-BOOM, and they were roommates??. A/N: rip...

That secret, useless, inconvenient talent of yours comes back again. Only this time, when you inconveniently cross paths with Shannon Diaz, she’s dying. Some people would wish death upon the woman their ex is currently married to, but you can't do that. In fact, you have to save her. And quick.

Because Chim is barely holding Eddie back from coming over here. If it were anyone but Shannon, you would've already been coming to terms with the fact that this woman just isn't going to make it. You'd already done all you could to control the bleeding, but there was already too much bleeding by the time you'd arrived on site.

Hen's also there, asking her questions. Her expression isn't reassuring in the least. She looks alarmed, and a little sad. If you could look through the cloud of denial blocking all of your emotions, you'd probably look the same. But right now, you're still focused on saving her.

You yell out at the ambulance, asking why it's taking so long to bring a stretcher over here. The amount of blood pouring out onto the concrete is making you dizzy. Eddie finally makes his way over. He crouches down and looks at you in question. He'd just been told it was pretty bad by Chim, but he wants confirmation. You have to tell him the truth. You shake your head.

Then he finally looks down at her. His eyes are filled with an inexplicable sadness. You've only met Shannon Diaz four times, this one included, but you can't bear the thought that she might die. That she might die and leave Eddie and Chris alone again.

“Shannon?” Eddie calls out to her.

She sounds delirious, “Hey. Are you here?”

He gives her a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and nods.

“I'm here.”

She looks between the both of you and you can tell she's trying to smile. The universe is playing the biggest joke on her ever, and she's trying to smile. You think you can see where Christopher gets his strength from.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” she jokes.

Yeah, you wouldn’t want your husband’s almost-mistress stare at you during your last moments, either.

Hen uses her stethoscope to measure her heart rhythm and sounds. She over looks at Chimney.

“Vitals trending downwards,” she announces. It makes a pit form in your stomach.

You gulp as Chim begins handing out assignments. You let her and Eddie have a moment as you get ready to pull her up onto the backboard.

“Ready?” Chim asks, and you nod, “On three. Three, two, one.”

You pull her up by her legs, rolling her onto the backboard. She closes her eyes slightly. You can imagine the pain is intolerable. You pull her up with the rest of the paramedics and bring her to the ambulance.

You're already on the ambulance before you can think to leave. You really don't want to make this any worse for her, but it's already too late to get off. Hen needs a hand and you aren't sure you can find someone quick enough once you step off. So you stay.

“She's decompensating. We got to intubate her,” Hen yells.

You prep the intubation tube and anything else she might need. But Eddie decides against it at the last moment, which is pretty understandable. He wants a his few minutes with her to not be silent. He holds her hand on the ride to the hospital.

“I don't feel anything. That can't be good, right?” she questions. It isn't.

She gasps and starts crying. Usually, you'd have to advise against it, but you'll absolutely let her have her moment.

“Leaving again,” she begins, “I'm so sorry. I'd love... a little more time.”

“Just be silent,” he advises her.

He's right, of course, it usually helps make her chances of survival higher. But you think it's more for him than her. He doesn't want to feel this right now. He wants to stay strong for her. He smiles, and tries to stop himself from crying.

“God, I love you so much,” he whispers. “Christopher loves you so much.”

You can feel Hen sneak a glance at you. This absolutely isn't about you, and yet she's still checking on you. You nod towards her, trying not to let the dam of your tears break.

You're so sad for them both, and you can feel your heart break for Chris. He probably wasn't going to have Shannon as a mother figure in his life anyway, but there was still a possibility. This takes even that small chance away.

“I...I,” Shannon says through labored breaths, “I love you...both.”

Her eyes move backwards, and it's clear she's finding it very difficult to say what she wants to next, but she's determined to get it out.

It comes out in barely a screech, when she makes eye contact with Eddie and then you and says, “Take care...of Chris.”

And then her eyes are rolling back, and she can barely breathe. Hen and Chimney start intubating almost immediately. Eddie sits back on the ambulance bench. You both stare at her with tears in your eyes. Instinctually, you grab his hand and squeeze tight. He doesn't dare let go until you've reached the hospital.

Shannon Diaz's death hits everyone hard. It hits her son and husband the most, of course, but the impact is widespread. After the hospital, you head straight home. Your head isn't screwed on right for hours after. You spend the long minutes on the couch, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.

Eventually, you make your way to the kitchen, and before you even know it, you're making food for two extra people, and packing it into Tupperware containers. It’s the kind of thing you’ve seen friends do for each other. It’s the kind of thing you hope Shannon meant when she spoke her last words.

You change out of your uniform and get into your car with a definite location in mind. So, you aren't too shocked when you end up parked in front of the Diaz residence.

It takes you a few minutes to gather up the courage to make it out of your car. When you do, you ring the doorbell twice and wait for an answer. A minute goes by before the door swings open.

Eddie's on the other side. He looks shocked to see you. His hair's a mess. His eyes are swollen and blood-shot, like he's been crying. You hold up the bags you brought over.

“It's food. And dessert,” you explain. “I figured you don't have much energy left to cook. Kid's gotta eat, right?”

You hand him the bags and he sets them on the table beside the door. The look in his eyes says he wants to lean in and kiss the living daylights out of you. He might’ve, in another universe, where his wife, who was trying to walk out on him for the second time, hadn’t just died horrifically.

Instead, he steps onto the porch and hugs you in gratitude. You think he might've forgotten about food altogether. You smile curtly when he pulls away.

“You need anything else?” you offer. “Anything at all.”

He shakes his head immediately, and you take it as a sign to leave. As you're walking back to your car, though, he calls out to you.

“Actually,” he runs over, “It's Chris. He's been in his room ever since we got back from my abuela's. He won't come out. I don't know... I'm not sure I know how to deal with him. Do you mind trying?”

You nod right away. Of course you'd try. You both make your way inside, and he closes the door behind you. He takes the bags you'd brought into the kitchen, as you take off your coat. He tilts his head to where Chris' room is, but you already know.

You make your way through the hallway and to Christopher's door. The door's already open, but you knock anyway. He's lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It reminds you of yourself a few hours ago. He looks over at you, and then looks back up. You take that as a sign to come in.

You walk inside slowly, and make your way to sit beside him, on the edge of the low bed. You actually aren't too sure what you'll say. You were hoping it'd come to you in the moment.

“How're you feeling?” you ask, to start off.

He just shakes his head. Okay, not much to work with.

You sigh and look at the floor. You just try to imagine what you'd want to be said to you. That seems to work wonders, because you start blurting something out before you know it.

“Y'know, I'm kind of an expert at losing people. I've lost so many someones I've loved before,” you inform him, hoping it'll build credibility. And it's true. The job doesn't come without its losses. You've seen so many friends off, you've had to watch so many heroes you considered family pass away, you watch people almost lose the people they love the most on the daily.

“I know you’re feeling a lot of things. I know you might feel like it’s your fault in some roundabout way,” you tell him, because guilt always finds a way to creep into feelings of grief.

“But I need you to know, you did everything right. Even if it was just being there with her. You did everything you could,” you affirm. It's a little good to hear yourself too.

“And I know it hurts a lot, every time you think of her,” you guess, and he nods, closing his eyes tightly.

“But over time, it’ll hurt less and less. And eventually, you’ll remember her and it’ll only hurt a little. You're so strong, Chris. And she was so strong. And so brave.”

He needs to know, you think. He needs to know that she fought for him. He should remember her well, even if she wasn't the best at staying. You grab his hand and he squeezes tightly. You smile at him, and he smiles back. You bring a hand up to trace the side of his cheek, and it makes him laugh loudly.

“You hungry, bud?” you ask.

“Yes,” he all but shouts.

“Well, there's some dinner in the kitchen. I'm sure your dad's waiting for you.”

He shoots up and makes his way towards the door. Only then, do you realize that Eddie's been standing there the whole time. He thanks you quietly, as they make their way to the kitchen.

You stand in the hallway, not sure where to go. If you and Eddie were still together, you'd have stayed for dinner. You'd have stayed the night, too. Throughout the course of your relationship, you'd forgotten enough stuff around, opting to 'borrow' Eddie's instead, that you could stay over at any time without issue.

Now, though, it feels awkward to even be here. There are almost no traces of Shannon around the house. It's like she was a ghost that wafted in and wafted out with such meticulous care, that she didn't leave anything behind. It was newfound information to you that she was planning on leaving Chris and Eddie, again.

If you weren't so saddened and shocked by her death, you'd have resented her. The time you shared being integrated into their family was the best you've ever had. You don't think you'll never understand why anyone self-sabotages so thoroughly. You've had your moments, too, but those were fueled by a fear that you'd be the one getting left. A leave before you get left mentality. Or a leave before you get left again one.

So, you make your way to the door, set on leaving. You'll show up for the funeral tomorrow, but you can't stay here right now.

Chris catches you at the door. You feel cruel for trying to leave without saying goodbye now. You crouch down and give him a smile.

“I have to go,” you confess, “I'll see you tomorrow?”

“No,” he responds, and you frown.

“Can you stay and make me waffles tomorrow?”

You close your eyes and laugh. Wow, you regret making him waffles that one time. You ruffle his hair with one hand, as you think of the smoothest rejection possible.

“Y'know, maybe I could come over a little earlier and bring them with me,” you suggest.

He doesn't look too pleased. But he nods and makes his way into the living room to eat, as Eddie leaves the kitchen with two plates in hand.

“You can stay,” he whispers.

You look up at him with a shocked expression from your crouched position. You get up and shake your head. You can't, really.

“Hey, you did say anything,” he reminds you, “And Chris needs this right now. I can tell.”

You sigh, “I guess I did.”

Shannon's last words replay in your mind. Take care of Chris. Her eye contact with you couldn't have been a mistake. You can't shake the undeniable responsibility you feel for the kid now. You can tell it isn't just Christopher who needs you, but that is neither here nor there. Besides, you're more than willing and able to help. So you will.

Eddie nods in understanding, “Go make yourself a plate in the kitchen, and come join us.”

You wake up a little before sunrise. Sleeping was a battle in and of itself, but waking up to a bunch of clattering in the kitchen is less than pleasant. The couch was moderately comfortable. You fluff the cushions back up before making your way to the kitchen. You look at the offender who's woken you up through lidded eyes.

“Couldn't sleep?” you grumble at Eddie, as he opens up all of the cabinets to look inside for something.

“Hey. Yeah,” he says, still searching around.

You make your way over to him and grab his arms.

“Could you...just stop with the noise?” you whisper angrily.

You sigh, “You're going to wake Christopher up.”

He nods. You let him go. You cross your arms and lean on the counter, trying to wake yourself up for a moment. Coffee, you decide, is probably a good choice right now.

You walk towards the coffee maker and fill it up with enough water for two, clicking the button to get it to open. Then, you turn around and stare expectantly at Eddie, who's still standing in the same place you left him.

“So, what the hell is it you’re looking for exactly?”

“Melatonin pills. I can't do this funeral without at least a few hours of sleep,” he says, and you frown in confusion.

“My family's making it into town. My parents,” he explains.

You nod. Ah. The overbearing parents he told you all about that one night. You imagine that can't be easy. You wish you could find a way to pop their tires telepathically so they can't make it. The funeral's going to be difficult on its own, without their interference.

“You could always just tell them you moved houses. Y'know, misdirection,” you recommend, making jazz hands. He laughs. That was kind of the intention.

“Or just ditch the funeral. Kid won't remember it anyway,” you shrug.

He looks contemplative, “I think that'd make them a bit more...y'know.”

“Valid point.”

You turn around to pour two cups of coffee. You hand Eddie one and take the other for yourself.

“C'mon, you probably won't sleep anyway,” you tell him, as he second-guesses whether he should take that first sip or not.

He starts to drink from the mug, but looks a little saddened by the fact that he won't be getting any sleep any time soon. You nurse your mug and stare at the fridge.

“We should probably get started on those waffles. So they're ready when he wakes up,” you suggest.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie says, like he's completely forgotten why you're here in the first place.

You gather all of the ingredients into a pile on the counter. It doesn't take you long to realize that a key ingredient is missing. Milk.

“We're missing the milk. Why the hell do you guys not have any milk? There's a growing boy in the house,” you complain, half-joking.

Eddie snickers at you, “We could just use water.”

You turn around and narrow your eye at him, “Sorry, what? You think I'm going to half-ass the dead mom waffles?”

“Oh, right. Of course not,” he reasons, sarcastically.

You grab his mug out of his hand.

“Go,” you order, “and bring back some milk.”

He rolls his eyes but leaves the kitchen nonetheless. You hear the front door shut. You begin assembling the dry ingredients, and cracking eggs into a large bowl. By the time you're done, Eddie walks in with two milk cartons. You smile and thank him, proceeding to make the batter.

The sun begins to rise as you talk and pop the waffles into the waffle maker. You sip on reheated coffee as the scent of something freshly baked wafts through the house. You almost burn a couple of the waffles, too engrossed in each other's conversation.

You'd be lying if you said it wasn't incredibly weird to be acting so normal. No one can bring themself to address the elephant in the room, so you just sweep the last two months under the rug and let yourself enjoy the calm before the storm.

The aforementioned storm being the funeral, of course.

The finishing touches you set up onto the dining table consist of butter, the jar of strawberry jam, chocolate syrup, and a few plates. Chris walks into the living room as you set up the last plate. His smile is wide when he realizes you kept your promise and stayed to make the waffles.

“Good morning, Chris!” you say.

“Morning,” he mutters, still clearly sleepy.

You're glad he looks a lot better than yesterday. He makes his way to the table to take a seat, as Eddie walks in from his room. He'd been in the bathroom getting ready for the day ahead. He kisses Chris on the cheek before taking a seat.

You sit beside Christopher, asking which waffle he'd like.

“That one!” he points.

You put two waffles onto his plate, and hand him the chocolate sauce and sprinkles you know he likes. You watch him and Eddie eat, sipping on your second coffee of the day. Eddie's phone pings with a text. He sighs and his body language speaks volumes about how stressed he is.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Oh, nothing. My parents just said their ETA is in half an hour,” he answers.

You look down at your mug. You should really head out before they get here. The last thing any of you need is Eddie's parents asking about you sleeping over the night his wife died. You aren't sure you'd be able to explain if you tried.

You wait until Chris is almost done with his waffles, and you make your way into the kitchen to wash out your mug. When you come back you announce that you should get going. Chris takes a last bite and gets out of his seat to hug you good bye.

“Thank you,” he says. You're sure he's just talking about the waffles, but it makes you smile anyway.

“Of course. I'll see you later, okay?” you promise, and he nods.

You give Eddie a smile, and mouth ‘good luck,’ before making your way to the front door.

No one likes funerals, and you're certainly no exception. You happen to think that funerals should be abolished altogether. Memorials are acceptable. But the time directly after a person dies should be strictly reserved for the family to grieve. Not only have they just had someone die, now they have to host a bunch of people who couldn't possibly care about that someone more than they do. And the cherry on top of it all is: the body's there for everyone to gawk at. It's absurd.

Besides, it forces you to contemplate your own life in ways you wouldn't otherwise. You hate it.

After the burial, there's a small reception at the Diaz's. You sit with the rest of the 118, and entertain Chris with little games. Eddie's parents have mistaken you for Carla twice now, each. Your modest, black dress is itchy and uncomfortable. You feel so overstimulated and sad you might just die right here and turn this into your own funeral. You don't do that though; it'd be incredibly self-centered.

So, you offer everyone who comes to hug Christopher a curt smile, and ignore their judgmental looks. Yes, you're aware his mother's just died. No, you aren't trying to replace her. But how do you explain to anyone that her dying wish was this?

When it's all over, you hug Eddie goodbye, and kiss Christopher's cheek with a promise that you'll be back. His grandparents aren't nearly as happy as he is at that, though. Hen drives you home after, and you rant to her all about it on the way there. She's one of the only people who were there when Shannon said what she'd said, so she just nods and agrees the whole way home.

You're on a quick med call, the night after, when you receive a phone call from Eddie. He hasn't called you since the day you fought about Shannon. It makes you frown. Your immediate thought is that he might be in danger.

“Hey Hen?” you call out to her as she patches up a citizen, “I need a minute.”

She nods and waves you away.

You quickly press 'accept,' as the last ring sounds. There's immediately just a bunch of heavy breathing on the other line.

“Hey, Eddie? What's wrong?” you say abruptly.

“Oh, uh,” he sounds a little surprised that you picked up.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong,” he claims, but his voice is a little shaky.

“Talk to me,” you urge.

He takes a shaky breath, “You're on a call?”

“No, no. Don't worry,” you reassure.

You can almost hear him run a worried hand through his hair.

“What is it? Is Chris okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. He's fine. I just...”

You wait for him to continue.

“It's just,” he sighs, “They didn't even come for the funeral. They just came to convince me and Christopher to-”

He barely even continue with his sentence without pausing take a deep breath. He stays silent for a moment, and you genuinely begin contemplating if you should clock out a little earlier to be with him.

“My parents. They came all the way here to try and get me and Chris to go back to El Paso,” he rambles.

It makes your heart sink. Even in the time you weren't talking to Eddie, he's been a stable pillar in your life. You've let yourself get too close, and now the thought of him and his son leaving makes your chest hurt.

“Is that what you want?”

“No, no. God no. We're trying to build a life here, away from my parents,” he explains, and you almost sob in relief.

“I want nothing more than for Christopher to grow up somewhere he can express himself freely. Texas is not that. We're not going back,” he asserts, but there's still a bit of doubt in his voice.

You check the clock on your phone, it's almost midnight. Hen begins to call for you to join her in the ambulance.

“Hey, I'm sorry. I have to go,” you confess, “But my shift ends in an hour. I'll come around with a six-pack and we can talk all about it, yeah?”

“You don't...” he trails off, “There's no need.”

“Well, that's just not true,” you call him out.

You begin walking towards the ambulance, “See ya, Eddie.”

“Yeah. See you,” he says with a smile, and you hang up.

The city's been a complete mess since the bombings have started. Everyone's panicking at any sight of an unmarked package or unclaimed school lunch anywhere. You get the mass hysteria, though. You find yourself texting Eddie every few hours to check up on him and Chris. He does the same. It's so crazy to think that with a single wrong movement, you could end up so seriously injured. Or worse.

You can tell Eddie's a lot more than just on edge. All of these incidents are triggering something from his past. He constantly looks like there are skeletons being dug up from his closet, skeletons he's had buried so deep for so long. You're sure it has something to do with his time in the army, but when you ask him he just brushes it off. So, you just do your best to remind him that you and Christopher are completely fine.

Unfortunately, for him, that also means that he's started putting you and him in different firetrucks. It's a grim thought, but you figure he does it, because if he ever ends up injured en route, you're one of the only people he trusts to do their best to help. On site, and if it goes really badly, with Christopher.

So, today, you ride with Buck and a few other firefighters in a different firetruck than the rest of the them. His text comes through a few minutes after you've been on the road.

Checking in.

You laugh at how oddly clingy it is. You begin typing a message back, but before you can respond your phone is thrown out of your hand.

A loud noise fills your ears. You can feel the truck tip back, falling onto its side. You can see red, and heat licks at your face before you feel your face slide across the hard concrete of the street. A burning pain shoots up your chest. You breathe heavily, and every breath comes with unimaginable pain.

You try to sit up, your hands supporting you by leaning on the road, but you fail miserably. You wince in pain instead, and fall back onto your front. You look back at the firetruck, which was a few feet away from landing directly on top of you. You immediately start looking for Buck, whose fate wasn't as lucky as yours.

He's lying directly underneath the truck, his entire leg crushed by the vehicle. You can hear him scream in pain. You almost sob at the sight, but you notice someone standing above him. You squint. It looks like just a kid.

A kid with a bomb strapped to his chest.

Your eyes grow wide, as he says something inaudible to Buck. In minutes, the site is surrounded with cop cars and news vans. You try to crawl your way to Buck, in hopes you can help him in any conceivable way.

You hear Eddie call out your name. He's behind the truck with Hen and Chimney. He tries to instinctually run to you, but Hen holds him back, whispering something into his ear.

“Give me your captain!” the idiot holding you hostage screams.

He keeps yelling nonsense about the captain, and when he tries tell off someone for moving, with you directly behind him, Chimney steps into view.

“I'm the captain,” he announces, “I'm the captain, so please just let me help them, okay? Please.”

The teenager clarifies that he wants Bobby instead. You sigh, and continue crawling towards Buck, glad for the distraction. Once you reach Buck, you place a gentle hand onto his back.

“Hey, you're going to be okay,” you whisper. “We’re going to be okay.”

You lean back against the truck, breathing heavily. You both watch Bobby negotiate for your lives. You listen to the kid call you 'collateral damage' and it almost makes you puke. You'd really prefer if you didn't die right now.

The kid, Freddie, walks closer to you and threatens to make you all 'go boom,' as he says. You stare up at the sky. If these are going to be your last moments, you don't want to spend them staring at this murdering halfwit.

Your eyes land on Eddie instead. You smile. He smiles back. You wouldn't exactly say you'd die happy now, but you'd die pretty satisfied.

You're starting to think Bobby's very bad at negotiating if it has you thinking about death. He disarms him physically after distracting him instead. That works wonders.

Eddie, Hen, and Chimney run in your direction immediately. Eddie pulls you in for a tight hug. Your tears begin almost immediately. He kisses the side of your brow and wipes your cheeks. He only pulls back when you bring his attention to your dying friend.

You move to crouch beside Buck, as you all check his vitals and try to figure out a way to get him out from under this truck. You all try to pull the truck up with sheer force. You quickly realize there aren't enough people.

Thankfully, the people of LA, while incredibly self-absorbed and uncharitable, can be helpful too. They help you pull the truck up and release Buck in no time. You move him into the ambulance and make your way to the hospital.

You rest your head against the walls of the ambulance, feeling a little lightheaded. Hen and Chimney are working on stabilizing Buck, when Eddie turns his focus to you. He tends to a cut on your forehead from the initial blast, as you focus on evening out your breathing.

“You alright? Any pain anywhere?” he asks.

You shake your head, as he checks your vitals anyway. When he checks your pulse, he frowns deeply. He grabs the blood pressure monitor from behind him.

“Your heart rate's really high,” he notes, putting the cuff onto your arm.

“You're hypotensive too.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“I'm probably just coming down from the adrenaline rush. I was almost killed, y'know,” you say, clutching your chest.

A wave of pain hits you like a freight train. You take gasping breaths trying to calm your body down, but breathing's difficult and your chest feels heavy.

Your head's getting lighter by the second. You can feel your vision getting blurrier, too, until Eddie's just a blob of blue in your sight. You whimper at the heaviness in your chest. You can barely hear the questions Eddie's yelling at you, as you fall unconscious.

You wake up to a screech and a hug so tight it makes you see colors dance in your vision, from the pain. You're just about to cuss whoever it is out, when you realize it's little Christopher, who's just excited to see you wake up. So you grit your teeth, and smile through the pain.

You ruffle his hair, as Eddie makes his way into your line of sight. He looks like he'd been sleeping here, in this hospital room. You frown at his tired appearance. Carla comes by and takes Christopher away to bring a nurse over, and to give you and Eddie some privacy.

“Hey,” you croak out.

“Hi,” he greets, sounding he's about to cry.

You realize you can't remember a single thing after falling unconscious, “What happened?”

“You, uh,” he sounds a little choked up, “You had some internal bleeding. Hemothorax, probably from the fall.”

He gulps, “They had to perform a thoracotomy to remove the blood. Your lung was collapsed. You couldn't breathe. I just...”

He trails off. His eyes have a faraway glance in them. It looks like he's hanging on by a thread, so close to breaking down. You can tell he's reliving those moments in the ambulance, and whatever happened after. You pull his hand into yours. You let him feel your pulse with his fingers to ground him.

“I'm okay, alright? You didn't lose me. You saved me,” you say, with absolute certainty.

“No,” he sobs out, “I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. Hen had to help you. I was...stuck.”

“Oh,” you blink, “That doesn't matter, y'know. There's barely anything you could've done when I was in an ambulance, already on the way to the hospital.”

“No, no,” he argues, “I couldn't even hold your hand. You could've...You could've died. And I couldn't even look at you.”

You bring his hand up to your lips. It's a gesture that shocks him. He looks into your eyes with an intensity that almost makes you want to cry with him.

“It's okay. I forgive you. You did all you could. You did your best, Eddie,” you reassure him.

He nods once. Then, the nurses walk in and they're checking your vitals, looking at your stitches, and making sure you're comfortable. Eddie keeps his eyes on you the entire time. He searches for any way to help, but when the opportunity never comes up, he excuses himself.

"I'm gonna go call Hen. She wanted to know when you woke up."

A few days later, it's almost time for you to be discharged. Hen had taken the key to your apartment to bring you back some clothes and other essentials. You had slowly gotten up from your bed to throw the outfit she'd brought you on, in the few moments you had alone.

You only managed to slip your jeans on, though, before someone burst through your room door. You turn around immediately, covering yourself with your shirt. Your first instinct is to shout, so you do.

“Close the damn door, Diaz,” you yell.

For some reason, Eddie takes that as an invitation to close the door behind him, instead of getting out. You roll your eyes. Well, he's definitely seen it all before, so there's no reason to be shy. You move your shirt away to throw it on, which leaves you in just your bra.

He stands frozen in the corner. His eyes are trained on the bandages covering your surgical site. He must notice something, because he yells out before you can fully get your shirt on.

“Wait!” he shouts.

You look back at him, frowning. He makes his way across the room to you, staring at your torso. You wait expectantly for him to say anything. He doesn't. Just continues staring.

“Y'know if you wanted me to stay naked, you could've just asked,” you joke.

His face flushes, “No. That's not it, obviously. You bled through the surgical dressing, it's been soaked. When'd they last change it? How didn't you notice?”

You don't look down, now that he mentions blood.

“Uh, this morning probably? And I don't look,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow.

“I can't look,” you clarify, “I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. If I look, I'll freak out.”

He nods in understanding. He starts to gather a few things from around the room. He starts washing his hands with an antiseptic soap.

“So how were you planning on changing those every day at home, exactly?” he questions.

“Oh, I wasn't. I was planning on calling Hen to do it for me,” you explain.

He laughs, and grabs a pair of gloves out of the glovebox. You frown in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm going to change your bandages. Do you mind?”

“Well, yes. I like to think, as a respectable young woman, that my first choice, in a hospital full of doctors and nurses, for this isn't my ex.”

He nods, “Yeah, well, I'm all you have. They're pretty backed up. Train wreck. It could take hours for someone to come in and help you. And you seem pretty eager to get out of here.”

You are. You hate hospitals. You've hated them a lot more since you had a full-blown panic attack in one. And he's a trained professional. You're sure he's done this kind of thing an endless amount of times.

“Fine. Whatever. Go ahead,” you succumb to your fate

Eddie helps you sit up on the edge of the hospital bed. He makes his way downward, so he's at eye level with your wound. He's so close, you can feel his breath on your skin. It makes every hair on your body stand.

He starts to pull off the soaked dressings slowly. And it hurts like a bitch, even with all of the pain-killers they have you on. You wince in pain, and grab the back of his neck instinctively.

You're just about to apologize when he says, “It's okay. Just hold on. I'll be more careful.”

He dabs the wound to make sure it's dry. He grabs the new bandages and rips them open. He carefully positions them where they're supposed to be, applying gentle pressure to get the adhesive to stick to your dry skin. You keep your hand on the nape of his neck the entire time, gripping tighter when it gets more painful.

When he's done, he comes back up. But your hand doesn't leave him. He makes no move to step away. You both just stare at each other for a long moment. Your eyes drift from his eyes to his lips a few times.

Until a nurse steps into the room with wide eyes.

“Uh, I'll just come back,” she mutters, shutting the door as she leaves.

You turn around to look at him with narrowed eyes. You grab your shirt from your lap and whip him with it.

“You said they were backed up!” you accuse.

He just laughs and walks away, “They were!”

You finally throw your shirt on. You know you should feel a little taken advantage of, but you can't help but feel thrilled. Having him touch you again was a much needed comfort.

He makes his way towards the door, and then stops abruptly, like he's remembered why he came here in the first place, “Also, I think you should come stay with me and Chris for a few days. You need someone to help you around the house.”

“And I'm more than willing to do that every day.”

You shriek and laugh nervously at him. You wish you could say no. Well, that's a lie. It all just makes logical sense, you suppose.

You need someone to look after you, and he doesn't seem to mind. You'd also be doing him a favor by looking after Christopher while he's at work. Mutual transaction.

Also, the thought of him changing your bandages every day sends an undeniable thrill down your spine. You nod in agreement as he all but skips his way out of the hospital room.

Well, seems like Christopher isn't the only person who's going to enjoy this new roommate arrangement.

“Hello, Probie,” you tease, resting against the locker beside Eddie's.

“Not anymore,” Eddie responds firmly.

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head.

You wave your phone in front of his face, “I still have an hour to call you that. I’m wearing it out.”

He sighs, looking frustrated. He's been standing in front of the mirror in the station dressing room for 17 minutes trying to get his tie right. You counted.

You step closer in his direction. You grab the tie from him roughly. He almost tells you off, but gets distracted by your uniform, which is tighter today than your everyday one. He begins to look you up as down, as you begin to tie his tie neatly.

“How's your wound?” he asks.

“It's fine, dad. You don't have to keep asking me every ten minutes,” you snark, still working on the tie.

It usually doesn't take you three minutes to do this, but you'd like to prolong it as much as possible. You could guess he's definitely done the same once or twice while changing your dressings. That sadly ended a two days after you'd gotten discharged, and you wouldn't admit it even with a gun to your head, but you miss his touch.

Once it's tied, you tap his chest twice to get him to look. He finally takes his eyes off of you to look down. He looks pleased with it. He looks into the mirror one last time, and then slams his locker closed.

You can tell he's anxious, because his parents are in town. He gets this way whenever they come by. It's completely valid, but today is his day, no one else's. So you'll try to distract him in any way possible.

“You look nervous. Are you nervous, Probie?” you joke, sitting on the bench in the middle of the room. He joins you.

“I am not,” he denies, tying his boot.

“And stop calling me that,” he insists, but his eyes say he's entertained by this whole interaction.

You shake your head hard, “No. I actually can't believe I didn't do it more often, when I had the chance. Never mind, though, I still have 55 minutes.”

You laugh and move out of the way when he tries to grab you, shaking your head furiously. You walk out of the dressing room, cackling like a maniac. You pull your phone out and shoot him a message.

Probie.

He responds almost immediately. You can hear him chuckle from the other room.

Stop

You don't. In fact, his annoyance only makes you more insistent. You keep calling him that until the very moment he gets awarded the title of firefighter. Literally.

As you and Chris sit at a table, with Carla and Eddie's abuela, you convince him to cheer Eddie on when he appears to receive his new title. You want Chris to feel comfortable enough to cheer his dad on, but you also want to use the opportunity for evil.

You can't help but scream, “Yeah, Probie Diaz!” at him, as he walks over. He shoots you a feigned dirty look, but it dissipates into a smile as he sees Chris hoot for him, with you encouraging it. You both watch Bobby declare him a firefighter, pride filling your hearts.

When the ceremony's over, you take pictures and pointedly avoid Eddie's parents. You can already tell they know you're staying with him and Christopher. And they aren't happy about it in the least.

You're sure in another life, where you'd just meet them on an emergency and had absolutely no personal ties to them, you wouldn't hate Helena and Ramón Díaz.

In this life, though, you do. Anyone who's aware of the harm they cause Eddie, and by extension Christopher, would too.

After hours of carefully tip-toeing around Eddie's parents, Christopher decides that he’s completely worn out and passes out on the couch at the station. Eddie carries him, when you all make your way to the truck.

You both sigh loudly once you’re in the car alone, and as far away as possible from Chris' grandparents. You laugh quietly at your mutual distress, before making your way home in comforting silence.

Even though being around Eddie's parents has put a bitter taste in your mouth, you wouldn't trade this for the world. Christopher quietly snoring in the back seat, as Eddie drives you all back to their house. A house you've never felt anything less than loved and appreciated in.

You quickly realize on the way back that all of the glares and subtle side-eyes were completely worth it. You hope you don't have to see Helena and Ramón again any time soon.

A/N: caring more about your ex almost dying than your wife being dead is crazy work. i love eddie.

[malavera]

Logan: "I'm right here, Bub." (18+) — Logan Howlett

summary: You had a fight with your father, he pissed you off so much you ran off to Logan's for comfort. But is that all you want?

warning: SMUT! MDNI. Legal age gap, Unprotected sex, logan has a big cock, reader wanted creampie, reader is called peach, daddykink, foul language, spanking, choking, basically SMUT.

an: concept is inspired after reading @plutodexay-nsfw's thoughts/ideas i hope i got the permission to write this one! This one's dedicated to you!

🏷️: @robynanthonystark @joelsgoldrush @bpmiranda @bobateababe @simonwifu @weallhaveadestiny @daddy-hugh-jackman @suchasweetieee @kholdkill @superhoeva @narjuko @wcndercore @bontensbabygirl @weallhaveadestiny @heart-0f-silk @peachyystuff @the-occasional-artist1125

this is part 4 from my series called Peaches, you can read it as a standalone! if you wish to read the previous ones, click here.

🍑 Check out my other works here

🍑 Logan masterlist here

🍑 do buy me a coffee if you like this one ;)

“Logan! … Logan! Where are you?!”

You storm into his house like a burglar ready to hit the jackpot, the wind rushing in with each determined step. You're on a mission to find the six-foot, muscular beast of a man—and complain about what a complete jerk your father is. How dare he come back from his long-awaited business trip with a woman on his arm, declaring she’s the one he’s going to marry—after all this time since your mother’s death. You put up a hell of a fight back there, screaming and crying, saying that you will not accept that woman as your step-mother as there will be no one that can replace or resume your mother's love.

Logan knew about this. Your father had a long conversation with him, asking whether it would be a good idea to introduce this woman to you. Logan didn’t want to come off as a know-it-all, even though he is, but he steered clear of family matters. Still, if your father had asked for his honest opinion, he’d have told him it wasn’t the best idea—you’re not emotionally ready for something like this.

And then you were off, rushing to Logan’s, even though your father yelled your name countless times. His new girlfriend held him back, urging him to let you be for a moment, to give you some space.

“I’m right here, bub.” Your head snapped toward the sound of his voice from the kitchen, where he stood, a mix of pity and disappointment etched on his face. His eyes reflected sadness, but there was also a glimmer of understanding; he knew how you felt, even if he believed you should show more respect to your father.

You exhaled sharply before rushing to him, enveloping him in a tight hug. His body radiated warmth, and with each passing moment, your anger melted into a puddle. Sobbing into his neck, Logan wrapped his arms around you tighter, his hand gently caressing your long, soft hair as he shushed you. “There, there, calm down, Peaches,” he cooed. He lifted you off your tiptoes, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Holding you close, he made his way to the living room, settling down on the couch with you in his embrace.

“I hate him. I hate him so much,” you murmured into his neck, grumbling a bit as your anger began to bubble up inside you again.

“I know, Peach, I know. It’s okay—just calm yourself, okay?” Logan gently pulled you away to face him, wanting to see those beautiful eyes, even if they were now clouded with tears. Your eyes were bloodshot and red, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sniffled, struggling to hold back the snot threatening to escape.

You sighed, looking down, pouting. "I need you, please..." You whispered, your hands fisting his buttoned up shirt.

"What do ya need, Peaches?" His eyes searching for yours, looking for your honest answer.

"I need to fuck you, please. Please give me what I want." You pleaded, finally looking at him as your hips started to move on his lap a little.

Logan’s eyebrows knitted together, torn between giving you what you wanted and being the better man who took care of you. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sickness in his gut; even as you cried, he found you utterly adorable and breathtaking. He wanted those tears to be from pleasure, that only from him you would receive. He wanted those tears to be from the pain of taking his big cock, his hips piston while fucking you hard. Too bad, the day he saw those tears streaming down those kissable cheeks, was from every little girl's first love, their father.

“Please,” you pleaded once more, pressing your face closer to his, connecting your swollen lips to his soft ones. You began to peck and kiss him all over. The kiss was charged with your wants and needs, the urgency evident in its hurried pace. Short breaths mingled as your tongues swirled together.

Logan couldn't find the words; all he could do was surrender to your control. In that moment, he convinced himself it was okay—as long as it was what you wanted and it made you happy, he would give in. Because why? Because he was in love with you. He knew it was complicated, that he should be cautious given the age difference, but from the moment he laid eyes on you, he vowed that you were meant for him and him alone.

The fabric of his jeans felt rough against your exposed skin once you started grinding on him. The tent in his pants started growing each time you ground yourself more to him. Soft moans and pants coming out of your lips as you ground yourself more on his bulge. You placed both of your hands on his shoulders, supporting yourself to grind more on his lap. Logan leaned back and scootch his bum a little lower so you'd feel more comfortable moving on top of him. His arms that were wrapped around you now lay defenseless on his sides, as he now lets you do whatever you want on him.

"This what you want, Peaches? To use me?" Logan grunted, his eyes watching yours as you screwed them shut and whimpered.

"Please—Need... More," you whimpered. You moved a little to sit on his thighs as your hands found their way to the band of his jeans.

"Peach," Logan spoke, he wanted to stop you right there but he himself is not even sure if he should stop this moment right here and right now. You fumbled with his jeans attempting to undo it and once it's done, you pulled his jeans along with his boxers a little, enough to free'd what you're looking for.

Logan grunted once his cock released to open air, slapping against his clothed abdomen. You gasp, even though you've seen it, it never fail to always leave you breathless. His cock stand tall and proud, and you couldn't help but immediately scootch off his lap, until your knees hit the soft carpet, to grab him with both hands and put the tip inside your warm mouth.

Logan nervously moaned from the feeling of your warm tongue twirling around his tip that keeps throbbing from the way you suck on his cock. You purposely let some of your saliva spilling out of your mouth down to his balls, as you let one hand reached down to knead his balls in your hand.

"Argh, god." Logan grunted, screwing his eyes shut, tossing his head back. His hand found your head, as he fisted some of your hair. "Peach," he choked out a moan.

You whimpered before you started to bob your head up and down his cock, purposely making a mess with your saliva. The slurping and squelching sound from sucking his cock is the only thing that fills the quiet room, along with Logan's constant grunts and heavy breathing.

Giving him a couple of bobs before you release his cock from your hold, Logan grunted in surprise. You pushed yourself back up on your feet as you attempted to pull your panties off. Logan could literally smell your arousal leaking down your needy cunt. You pushed him to lean against the cushion as you mount on his lap before grabbing on his cock giving him a couple of pumps while you aim his cock at your entrance.

"Peach, peach—Wait... Baby, I gotta get us a condom." Logan hastily stop you right there but you whined and hold him by his chest.

"I need to feel all of you, Daddy, Please." Before Logan could say anything, he moaned once he felt you sinking down on his cock slowly while you looked down mouth agape slightly trying to hold down the pain from his monster cock tearing your walls.

Logan wished he'd claim your innocence in some other way, other than this. He wanted it to be special, to be memorable for you, but if this is what you want, and he'd hoped this would be memorable enough for you, then so be it.

He grunted through his gritted teeth, trying to hold himself from combusting in you right there and now. The way your tight walls choking his thick cock, it feels like as if he was getting choked by his neck. Your tight cunt felt so good around him, he wanted to take the matters into his own hands and fuck you hard right there.

"Baby, can you move, please?" Logan, is the one who pleaded.

You whimpered before nodding your head as you started to move yourself up and down his shaft. Once you get the hang of it, you place both of your hands back on his shoulders. Eyes bore into his as his into yours while your lips spill out the prettiest moan he's ever heard from you.

"God! Logan, you're so big." Logan lazily smirked.

"I know baby, I know you can take it. Come on, work that pussy on daddy's cock. Use, me baby." Logan whispered, his hand found its way to your nape, pushing your head closer to him to connect your forehead against his.

You started to screw your eyes shut, whimpering once you feel him move his hips along your rhythm. "So good, daddy." You sobbed.

"Yeah? Need to fuck that anger away on my cock, don't you, Peaches?" He reminded you why you needed his cock. To fuck your pain and anger away. The little girl that was once fragile on top of him all of a sudden snapped into someone even you don't recognize. Someone sinister that has been long living inside you.

You snapped your eyes open, eyebrows knitted together before pushing your head off disconnecting from his forehead. Logan keeps his face neutral, looking at you and groaned when he felt your hand wrapped around his throat. You started to move your hips rapidly, like riding a horse to make it gallop fast.

"Yeah, that's it, baby. Use my cock, come on, make yourself feel good. I know you're mad, baby. I know you do, come on, fuck my cock. Faster—Harder!" Logan gave your ass a couple of smack earning a loud moan from you, resulting in getting a rapid move from your hips.

"Yeah... There's a good girl," Logan whispered. "Come on, baby, I know you can do better than that," Logan coo'ed when he felt your hand attempted to squeeze his neck. He almost laughed at you on how pathetic you are, trying to control him.

So he reminded you, even though you're in control, who's the captain of this ship.

Logan's hand found your neck, as you choked out a moan. His squeeze was far from choking you but it felt like he was. He started to thrust his hips upwards, fucking your throbbing pussy; the squelching sound could be heard. His semi-saggy-and-heavy balls slapping against the bottom of your ass, sounding like a clap.

"Awh—Daddy!" You pathetically moaned for him. "Daddy—Yes! Right there, like that—Please! I wanna cum." You pleaded.

"Come on, Baby, cum f'r me."

"Ah—!" You shrieked with your eyes screwed shut as your whole body stuttered reaching your orgasm, coming down on his cock.

"There... We go." Logan helped you ride off your orgasm by still softly fucking your cunt. "Now come on, make daddy cum. Daddy wants to cum too." Logan whispered before he begin to fuck you back, fast.

"Ngh—Daddy! ... Does my cunt feel good around your cock?" You softly spoke, looking down at him flexing your doe eyes and your famous pout while Logan's bore into you, his mouth fell agape slightly as his main focus was to reach his high.

He panted, he groaned, while you're there on top of him doing nothing but letting him use your cunt. "Grrh—Fuck! 'M gonna cum." Logan grunted and now you started to fuck him back forcing his hips to stay down.

You rode him fast, faster than before to help him reach his high. "PEACH—GET OFF!" He boomed but you refused to listen to him, instead you crazily smiled at him and spill out tiny moans, looking at him.

"FUCK—I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM! GET OFF OF ME!" Logan roared.

"Cum in me, Daddy—Yeah!"

Logan couldn't hold himself any longer, his moral is not even working at the moment. All he thinks is only shooting his hot load out and he does, as he choked out a moan gripping your hips to stay in place while he shoot out his strings of cum inside you. His thighs stuttered a little while he still emptying his load; it was so much.

You giggled watching him trying to gain his breath while he looks at you dead in the eye.

"I better not see that attitude for the rest of the night." Logan warned while you just sit there, on top of him, looking at him without a care of his words.

"Thank you, Daddy."

[miley1442111]

(part 3) choices and meetings- a.donaldson

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a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

i'll probably do a few more parts of this because it's just so cute and sad :(

summary: the first conversation you two have after the break-up.

pairing: art donaldson x reader

warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment, hurt, allusions to an eating disorder, depression, etc. +

PART 3 of 12

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It had been 4 weeks since the break up. Both of you were miserable but you wouldn’t tell the other. There was no ‘hot guy from your science class’ that you were fucking, you just wanted to make him jealous. 

It did make him jealous. Very jealous. Just the idea of you being with someone else made his skin crawl. He’d essentially gone to every guy in that class to threaten to kill them if they even looked at you, he didn’t care if you weren’t his girlfriend anymore, he just needed some more time. He just needed you.

The only time you two interacted was during tennis sessions. You were being coached by the same person, so he made you do matches against each other. The last 4 weeks had been full of electrifying matches, often ending in Art smashing a racket or you stalking off in anger. 

But you were both playing so well. So, so well.

The matches were difficult and finally challenging. Art had never played so well, he was almost at your level, and even beat you a few times. Though, you were usually better. 

Once the rackets were packed away and you both left the court, it was like a scene in a romcom. Both of you wishing for the other, crying alone over one another, and wanting everything to be different. You regretted breaking up with him, but you knew you couldn’t take it anymore. His forgetfulness, his carelessness, his choices. He regretted breaking your heart. He missed you, your smile, your jokes, your laughs, your pretty face, your cute habits, your hands on his skin, the way you loved him, how he felt loved and wanted. Some things he’d never felt before. You were his first serious relationship, his first love, his first everything.

It came to the day of your final match against Serena O’Brien, an English tennis player. You were ready, you felt good. 

Then you looked into the crowd and saw Art, and everything went to shit. Your mind was clouded, you felt sick, you felt betrayed. Seeing him at school was one thing, that was controlled, you knew you’d see him at school. Seeing him here? Uncontrolled, unknown, and unfair.

You set your sights on the ball. The match started. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “That was some real tennis!” Your coach shouted, ecstatic at your win. The match was hard fought but she didn’t exactly have a chance, not when you were imagining the ball as Art’s face. 

“Thanks,” you smiled, though there was no happiness behind it, no pride in your win. Art walked onto the court behind him, an apologetic smile on his face. Art had noticed your changing habits in recent weeks as he tried to win you back. You were more irritable, less ‘there’, you ate less, you trained more, you stopped doing some of the things you actually enjoyed, like the literature class you just sat in on every Tuesday afternoon, or the cat nursery you used to volunteer at. 

But today, today he had a plan. He would speak to you, tell you he loved you and that he was sorry, then let you go. It’s what you deserved. You deserved someone who didn’t pick anyone else over you. You deserved someone as smart as you. You deserved someone as beautiful as you. You deserved someone as kind as you. You deserved someone as caring as you. You deserved an equal. Art did not see himself as equal to you. 

“That was amazing,” he smiled at you, walking onto the court. “You’re incredible.”

Your face fell. You didn’t want him to think your tennis was ‘incredible’, you wanted him to think you were incredible. “Thank you.”

“Can we talk?” He asked, itching the back of his neck and looking down.

“Sure,” you shrugged. All your anger had left the second you shut the door in his face. It was replaced by hurt and sadness. Feeling like you’re not your boyfriend’s priority is awful. Knowing who his priority actually is was worse. 

Art took your hand tentatively, and led you to the room you’d sat in before the match. He sat on a stack of boxes as you leant against the door beside him. His hand in yours made both of you reminiscent, electrified, and sad, all at the same time. His soft hands felt comfortable, familiar, right. 

Your hand in his felt blasphemous. You were so… perfect, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve this conservation, he didn’t deserve a moment of your time, yet you gave him it. He didn’t want to ruin it, 

There was a long moment of silence. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he held your hand. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s ok Art, people break up-”

“We don’t. We shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have let it happen, I love you too much for that,” he sniffled and your heart broke in two. Your boy, your sweet, kind Art was crying. 

“I’m such an idiot,” he whispered, looking down at the ground. He was trying to keep it together, but he’d never been good at hiding things when it came to you. Your thumb brushed back and forth on his skin, calming him. It made him cry all the harder, you were so caring, he’d hurt you so much, so deeply. And yet, you showed him a kindness he didn’t believe he deserved. “I’m such a fucking idiot.” 

“Art it just wasn’t working,” you sighed. “It’s alright. It’s no one’s fault.”

“It’s my fault,” He looked up at you with red-rimmed eyes, tears spilling from them. You took your hand and cupped his cheek, wiping them away. He leaned into your touch as if he'd missed it for an eternity. As if  he’d missed you for an eternity. Your hand on his cheek burned straight to his heart. Subconsciously he tried to commit the feeling to memory, in case this was the last time. “It’s all my fault.”

“You can’t beat yourself up about it. What we had was so good for so long. It just… there was too much going on, something had to give,” You bit your bottom lip to try and stop the tears falling from your eyes. The devastated expression on his face broke you. “I love you so much Art, but I’m hurt. So are you. You’ll be alright.” 

Art looked at you again and he started sobbing into your side, wrapping his arms around your waist. You looked up, attempting to preserve your composure. “I’m so sorry,” he cried into your side. “I love you so much. I love you so, so much.”

“I love you too much,” you croaked out. “You’re such a good person.”

That made Art cry harder. You still thought he was a good person after he hurt you. You still thought he deserved your love. You still loved him. You were comforting him, telling him it wasn’t his fault. It was all his fault. He was horrible to you, he was a bad boyfriend. 

“I miss you,” you whispered and his heart stopped. His plan was going awfully. You were too kind, too good for him. You should’ve hated him, yet you didn’t.

“I miss you too,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your hip. 

“This sucks,” you sadly chuckled as you allowed the tears to roll down your face. 

“It does,” he whispered against you. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s alright Art. We’re still friends, we’ll take care of each other, yeah?” You looked down at him and made eye contact. 

“Promise?” He whispered, holding his pinky finger up.

“Promise,” You whispered, interlocking your fingers. “I’m always here for you.”

“I love you,” he stood up beside you, closer than he probably should’ve been. His hands wrapped around your waist and out of pure instinct, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. He tasted like salty tears. You wiped his face again, a sad smile on your face. 

“We’re here for each other,” you swore. 

“Always.”

You opened the door behind you and walked out, making it the second hardest thing you’d even done, right after breaking up with him. 

He fell back into his seat, crying silently into his hands, chest heaving, eyes spilling, throat drying. 

He just made it 1000 times worse for himself, and you.

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art donaldson masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

[lackablazeical]

[Part 1 - Joel / Part 2 - Joey / Part 3 - Katherine / Part 4 - Sausage / Part 5 - Gem / Part 6 - Lizzie / Part 7 - Jimmy]

Yall gonna piss me off because there is NO content of season 1 Fwhip I'll kill the ENTIRE fucking Fandom with a gun

No angst with the siblings that isn't gem focused??? No angst with Fwhip feeling powerless and destroying himself in an attempt to fix everything??? Fuck off!!!!! 💥💥💥💥💥 I'm smarter than ALL OF YOU!!!!

Jkjk but I am sad he isn't a big favorite in the Fandom 😔 he has a lot of potential okay 💔 and YAH this redesign is entirely headcanons but you can sue me for that alr. I know my rights

So first: his arms rotted off from the withering effect. Sausage/Gem weren't effected, bc sausage just blood letted out the infection for the blood sheep to heal and Gem is magic soooo yeah. He replaced them with mechanical arms powered by Redstone (Redstone triggers electrical signals to cause the crimson vines to contract like tendons/muscles)

Bc this happened he also affixed a permanent attachment of his elytra to his back, so he is one of the rulers w/ permanently on display wings (I mean unless he's sleeping but shhhh)

He is covered in Redstone powder and some empires citizens are afraid of him cus he looks like he's bloody all the time 😔 his red lined eyes don't help this either, or coughing/wheezing red smog clouds occasionally snrk

Also he is twins with Gem, his hair would also have a gradient if it was longer/washed more (he's gross) and his scarf is a gift from gem!!! It has Redstone stones on the end, kinda inspired by that one. Bloody pearl choker I'm like reminded of SNRK also adds to blood themes. I know sausage is the blood themer but shhhhhh hush hush. Ik some ppl hc he's a vampire, I don't vibe w/ that tho I like to think he's just a freak fr

The speedpaint this time is supes boring but I gotta keep the tradition so look below tha cut ⬇️

[onlyhereforthestories]

Chica Medica - Part 7 (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

I know this isn't the final in question but I can't find a gif of it. So have this one instead. Plus who wants to see sad Ale anyway 👀 This is the final part. this journey has been crazy and long but I can't thank you all enough. I'm glad this one got finished even if it took me like 2 years! Enjoy!

The atmosphere in the stadium was thick with tension. It was the day of the women’s champions league final, Barcelona vs Lyon. The anticipation had been building for the last few weeks, now it was her and both teams were toeing the line on another historic moment. It was a weight that you could feel even though you weren’t a player.

The teams had already started their warmups, which meant the stadium already had that buzz of energy ringing round it. Fans were filling into the seats, drinks and snacks in hand, chants falling from their lips and filling the arena. In the middle of all that excitement, was the nervous energy surrounding the players, you could sort of feel it coursing through you as you did some final checks on players. A lot of the players had been involved in the 2019 game with the same teams, the day when Lyon crushed Barcelona dreams of champions league glory with that brutal 4-1 win. The memory of that loss still lingered, and it hung over today’s match like a dark cloud.

From your position on the sideline, you could see it in the way the players moved. Some were more focused than usual, pushing themselves harder in the warm-up drills, while others seemed distracted, their minds already on the game to come. Even Alexia, who was usually so composed and steady, seemed a little off.

As warm-ups wrapped up and the team headed back toward the locker room for final preparations, you felt a familiar presence beside you. Alexia had broken off from the group and was making her way toward you, her expression tight but unreadable.

"Can you tape my ankle?" she asked, her voice steady, but you could hear the tension underneath, the underlying nerves that no one else but you and her would know about, even if it was never acknowledged. To the outside world she looked like the normal fearless captain ready to lead her side the best she can and always does.

You nodded and motioned for her to lead the way down the tunnel and past the locker rooms to the medical space. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked you to tape her ankle, it had actually become something of a pre-game ritual for the two of you, but today felt different and was different. The air between you was thick with the weight of the upcoming fixture, and you could sense that there was more to this than just a simple request.

As you gathered the tape and began to wrap her ankle, you kept your movements slow and precise, giving her time to speak if she wanted to. You could feel her eyes on you, her leg resting gently on your knee as you worked.

After a long pause, Alexia finally broke the silence. “I’m nervous.” It was barely said above a whisper as if she was in a room full of people and she didn’t want anyone of them to hear her.

The admission caught you off guard. The Alexia Putellas, mighty captain of Barcelona Femani, worldwide superstar, role model for many little girls around the globe, was nervous and admitting it verbally to you. In the quiet moment before the biggest game of the season, she was opening up and letting her guard down for you.

You glanced up at her, offering a soft smile. "That’s normal. It’s a big game. And it important to you."

She nodded, her eyes focused on the way your hands were delicately wrapping tape round her ankles. "I keep thinking about 2019," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper still. "How we weren’t ready, how they tore us apart. I don’t want that to happen again. I don’t want to let the team down. I don’t want to let the fans down."

You paused for a moment, your hands gently holding her ankle as you looked up at her. The weight of her words hung in the air between you, and you could see the vulnerability in her eyes along with the fear of failure, of history repeating itself.

"You won’t," you said softly, your voice steady. "This isn’t 2019, Ale. You’re not that same player, and this isn’t that same team. You’ve led them through everything this season. Whatever happens out there, they’re ready because of you. They are ready to fight with you."

Alexia exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she absorbed your words. You could tell she was still battling the nerves, but something in her posture shifted. It was like a quiet resolve starting to settle in and the confident captain was stepping back in.

"You’ve always been there," she said after a moment, her voice soft. That little glint she gets in her eyes when she’s just scored a goal present. "Since the start of the season, through all the ups and downs. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much that’s meant to me."

You smiled, finishing the last few wraps of the tape around her ankle. "You don’t have to. I’m always here, no matter what."

The noise of the stadium, the weight of the final, the memories of what happened in 2019 were pushed to the back of both your minds in that second. For this one little moment it was just the two of you, in this quiet shared space.

She reached down, her hand gently brushing yours as you finished securing the tape. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

You squeezed her hand gently, offering her the reassurance you knew she needed. "You’ve got this, Ale."

With a final nod, she stood up, testing her ankle and giving it a small flex before looking back at you. The tension in her eyes had eased, replaced with a quiet determination.

As she walked back toward the locker room, you watched her go, your heart swelling with pride. This was Alexia, the player who carried the weight of the team on her shoulders, but in moments like these, she was just a woman who needed support too. and you would happily always be that support.

The stadium lights grew brighter as the time for kick off approached, and you knew that no matter what happened on the pitch tonight, Alexia would give it everything she had. And so would the rest of the team.

You sat in awe as you watched all the pre-match stuff happen around you. Your eyes found it hard to leave the Barcelona captain once she had led the teams out, and as the songs were playing out, you noticed her glance your way. It was barely a second look but she caught the small smile and little thumbs up you gave her and it gave her that boost she needed to get her head focused, or so she thought.

The opening whistle rang through the stadium, but instead of the usual surge of excitement, there was a quiet undercurrent of nerves rippling through the team and the crowd. The air around the stadium thick with anticipation and nerves around what was to come. Lyon, experienced and relentless, were not a team to underestimate. And within ten minutes, they made sure to remind everyone of that.

You watched from the bench, your heart sinking as Alexia was tackled. Henry standing up from the slide with the ball and driving in field, she took a couple of touches before unleashing a strike you knew Alexia herself would have been proud of and you could only watch on as it nestled into the net. 1-0 to Lyon.

The stadium erupted with cheers from the Lyon supporters, but for Barcelona, the shock hit hard. You could see it in the way the players slowed for just a moment, the disbelief written across their faces. A few glanced toward the bench, their expressions filled with frustration and a rising sense of panic. This wasn’t something they were used to.

But none of them showed it more than Alexia. Her eyes were focused, but there was an edge to her movements that you recognized all too well, the tension, the pressure weighing down on her.

As the minutes ticked on, you could feel the anxiety building. Barcelona was chasing the game, trying to press forward, but Lyon was everywhere, cutting off every pass, intercepting every run.

Jenni had a chance or two to put Barcelona level but couldn’t quite do anything with the changes, the keeper of defenders dealing with her presence or shots well.

And then it happened again.

A quick one two down the left-hand side, a looping cross to the back post that Panos couldn’t quite intercept and a well-timed run from Lyons striker meant they doubled their lead. 2-0 Lyon.

You saw the anguish in the players’ faces, the disbelief starting to set in. The memory of 2019 was no longer just lingering in the background, it was happening all over again. The stadium felt heavier, the chants of the Lyon fans growing louder, the Barcelona ones dying out a little, and the Barcelona players seemed to feel the weight of every step they took.

Then, in the 35th minute, Lyon struck again. A mistake at the back gifted a tap-in to one of their players. 3-0 Lyon.

The sound of the ball hitting the back of the net was deafening, but all you could focus on was Alexia. She stood frozen for a moment, her hands resting on her knees as she took in the damage. Her expression was unreadable, but you could see the pain in her eyes, the mounting pressure of the game slipping away. She was fighting against the memories of the past, but they were catching up with her.

From the bench, you felt helpless, watching as Barcelona tried to regain some control, but the first half had been brutal. Lyon was dominating, and the damage seemed almost irreversible. The team’s confidence, which had been so strong coming into the final, was visibly shaken.

Then, just before halftime, Barcelona found a glimmer of hope.

In the 41st minute, a well-timed run from Alexia finally broke through Lyon’s defence. She latched onto a lovely cross from Caro and struck the ball with precision, sending it into the net passed the diving keeper. 3-1.

There was a brief moment of celebration, a flicker of joy in the stands and on the pitch. But it was muted, more relief than anything else. The team knew the damage had been done. As Alexia jogged back to her position with the ball tucked under her arm to hurry the game along, she glanced toward the bench, and for the briefest moment, your eyes met. You saw the anguish behind her focused gaze, the weight of the scoreline still heavy on her shoulders despite the goal.

It was a moment of hope, but it felt small in the shadow of everything that had already happened.

Halftime was tense. The locker room was filled with an oppressive silence, the usual chatter and tactical talk nowhere to be found. Everyone knew what had to be done, but the path ahead felt impossibly steep. You could see it in their faces, the frustration, the doubt.

Alexia sat quietly, her head bowed slightly as she caught her breath. She didn’t say anything, but her presence was commanding. The team took their cues from her, waiting, watching. There were no outbursts, no speeches. Just the weight of the moment settling into every player’s shoulders.

When it was time to head back out for the second half, they rose with quiet determination. No one needed to say anything. They all knew what was at stake, and they knew how difficult it would be to turn things around.

You stood near the tunnel as the team filed out, catching Alexia’s eye as she passed. She didn’t say a word, but there was a flicker of something in her gaze, a steely resolve, a promise to keep fighting, no matter what. Not that you would ever think she could give up.

The second half was a battle, but the damage from the first half was too much. Barcelona fought hard, pressing Lyon, creating chances, but the goals just wouldn’t come. Time ticked away, and with each passing minute, the weight of the scoreline became heavier.

Lyon defended with everything they had, and despite Barcelona’s best efforts, they couldn’t break through again. Alexia pushed herself to the limit, running harder, tackling fiercer, willing the team forward, but it wasn’t enough.

The final whistle echoed in your ears, the high-pitched sound sending your heart into your stomach. Lyon had won, again. Barcelona had fought so hard to get here again, had overcome challenges but had fallen short yet again, and the heart break was evident. The stadium was alive with the cheers of Lyon’s fans, but all you could focus on was the devastation unfolding around you.

Your players, your friends stood frozen, the weight of the loss settling in. Some dropped to their knees, others stared at the ground, their faces etched with disbelief. The pain in the air was unmistakable, and you could feel it in your own chest, a dull ache that mirrored theirs.

Then your eyes fell on Alexia.

She was on her knees in the centre of the pitch, her hands covering her face as she tried to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions. The captain, the leader, the one who carried the weight of this team on her shoulders, was breaking right in front of you.

You could see her shoulders shaking, her body trembling with silent sobs, and it was too much. The sight of her like that, so utterly heartbroken, tore at you. Every instinct in you wanted to go to her, to hold her, to tell her it would be okay. But the truth was, you weren’t sure it would be.

The overwhelming loss was too much for you to bear in that moment. You couldn’t handle watching Alexia break down like this, not after everything that had happened between you, not when your own emotions were threatening to pull you under. You could see her lying on her back sobbing even when your eyes were closed.

So, you turned away.

Without a word, you headed toward the tunnel, your heart racing and your chest tightening with every step you took. You could barely see through the blur of tears forming in your eyes as you hurried into the medical room, seeking the solitude you needed to process what had just happened. You couldn’t stay out there, not with Alexia on the floor, not with the agony of defeat surrounding you.

Once inside the medical room, you leaned against the wall, taking deep, shaky breaths. You tried to block out the sounds of the celebration from Lyon, it was just another punch in your already beat up heart. But it was hard. All you could think about was Alexia, how broken she had looked, how much this loss meant to her, and how helpless you felt to not be able to comfort her.

On the pitch, Alexia wiped her eyes, the tears still flowing as she tried to gather herself. The pain of losing the Champions League final was unbearable, but it wasn’t just that. It was everything combined, the pressure, the expectations, the weight she has carried for so long. And now, the crushing defeat that brought back memories of 2019, a nightmare she thought she’d escaped, had returned and god did it hurt.

But amid the chaos, something was missing. Or rather someone was missing.

Alexia looked up, her eyes scanning the sidelines, searching for you. She needed you now more than ever. You had always been there for her, a steady presence in the chaos. And in this moment, all she wanted was to find you, to feel that connection again. To feel good again.

But you weren’t there.

Her heart clenched, a new wave of panic washing over her. She searched the faces around her again, but she still didn’t see you. The celebrations, the commiserations of her teammates, none of it mattered. She needed to find you.

Without thinking, Alexia got to her feet, her body aching but her mind focused on one thing: you. She moved quickly towards the tunnel, ignoring the flashes of cameras, and the questions from some of the staff still by the bench. None of it mattered now.

When she was inside, her eyes darted around, searching for any sign of you. Then, she caught a glimpse of the medical room door slightly ajar. Her heart pounded in her chest as she made her way toward it, hoping, no praying, that you were there. That she could feel something other than defeat.

You were so in your head that you didn’t hear the soft creak of the door as it opened. You were seated on the edge of one of the treatment tables with your head in your hands, trying not to fully breakdown. You couldn’t face the team right now and you certainly couldn’t face Alexia after everything. You felt like you were betraying her in a way by not being out there, but it was just too much.

The you heard it, her soft voice coming from the doorway.

“Y/N?” it was tentative, nervous a little, but it was unmistakably her.

You lifted your head, your breath catching slightly in your throat when you saw Alexia standing in the doorway. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, her face still etched with the raw emotion of the loss. But there was something else in her gaze, something intense, something you couldn’t quite place.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and for a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. The weight of the game, of everything that had been left unsaid between you, sat poised in the air, heavy and unwavering.

"Why did you leave?" Alexia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was no anger in her tone, just a quiet pain and confusion.

"I couldn’t..." you started, but your voice faltered. "I couldn’t watch you like that. It was too much."

Alexia’s eyes softened a fraction, and she took a few steps closer to you. "You think it wasn’t too much for me?" she asked, her voice shaking. You couldn’t tell if it was from the sadness still surrounding the day or the hurt you have now caused her. "You think losing this, after everything... was something I could just handle on my own?"

You looked away, the guilt rising in your chest, making it harder to keep your emotions in check. "I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to help you. I didn’t know if I was allowed to help you."

"I don’t need you to say anything," Alexia said, her voice thick with emotion. "I just need you there. With me. I’ve already lost one important thing tonight. I’m not losing you, too."

Her words hit you like a sucker punch to the gut, the intensity of them taking your breath away momentarily. You looked up at her, your heart beating out of your cheat as the weight of it all settled between you. The loss, the heartbreak, the months and months of tension between you, it all lead to this moment.

You watched as Alexia took a step closer, her hands shaking as she reached out for your own. “I can’t lose you,” she whispered. “Not after everything, I know I’ve pushed you away, I know I’ve made mistakes, but … I want you. No, I need you. I need you with me, and not just because you are a part of this team. As more, with me.”

Her confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. You could see the slight fear in her eyes behind the determination, the fear you knew of losing something else, someone else, important.

"I’m here," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you stood up, closing the distance between you. "I’m here, Ale. I want and need you too."

And that was all she needed.

Without another word, Alexia closed the gap between you, her lips crashing into yours in a kiss that was filled with all the emotions she had been holding back for so long. It was desperate, intense, and slightly hurried but it was everything. Everything she hadn’t been able to say, everything she had felt but hadn’t been able to express, was in that kiss.

You kissed her back, your hands sliding up to cup her face, feeling the warmth of her skin still slightly damp from a mix of tears and sweat, and the familiar softness of her lips. The weight of the loss, of the heartbreak, melted away in that moment, and all that remained was the two of you. It was always the two of you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed, Alexia rested her forehead against yours, her breathing ragged as she whispered, "I’m not losing you."

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with emotion. "You’re not losing me. Not now, not ever."

The kiss lingered between you, as did the warmth of being pressed against the woman you loved, there was a mixture of unspoken emotions still on the tip of your tongues but now wasn’t the moment. The reality of where you were crept back in when the roar of the crowd could be heard outside, the faint celebrations of the Lyon players. As much as you wanted to stay in this quiet, life altering moment with alexia, you knew she would need to return to the pitch.

A soft knock interrupted the peaceful silence.

"Alexia?" It was Leila’s voice, quiet but insistent. "We need to be back on the pitch for the medals."

Alexia exhaled heavily, her forehead still resting against yours, her eyes closed as if she wasn’t ready to face the world outside just yet. But she nodded, knowing there was no escaping this part. You gently placed your hand on her arm, offering a small, supportive smile.

"You need to go," you said softly. "They’re waiting for you."

Alexia pulled back, her eyes still red from earlier, but the strength in them was returning. "Come with me?"

“Always.” You nodded, squeezing her hand before leading her toward the door.

Leila gave you both a knowing look when she saw the two of you walk out together with your hands connected, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she offered a small smile and gestured toward the tunnel.

Once you all made it back onto the pitch, Alexia and Leila went off to join the rest of the team in the line for the silver medals. The atmosphere was heavy around them, the weight of the crushing loss still taking its time to sink in. but behind that upset and sadness you could feel the determination in the air. Even if they were defeated this year, you knew they would go again next year, and as always, together.

As Alexia stood with her teammates lined up with her, waiting for her medals to be placed around her neck, she glanced at you. Standing off to the side but there, ever present you. There was something softer in her gaze now, gone was the torment of the first goal conceded, gone was the full weight of the loss, replacing it was something that you hadn’t seen before.

When the medal ceremony final started and Alexia walked to get hers, she accepted it with a quiet nod, her fingers barely brushing over it before she let it hang loosely around her neck. The team all stood together for the photo they all knew they had to take but all didn’t want to. The photo that would remind them of how close they had come. A bittersweet memory captures in a flash.

Once the photo was done everyone started to part ways. Some going to find their loved ones in the crowd, others taking a few steps away to give themselves a quiet moment. Alexia though had one more thing left to collect before she could join the rest of them.

The Golden Boot.

She had been the top scorer of the tournament, her performances throughout the campaign nothing short of extraordinary. But now, standing with the silver medal hanging loosely around her neck, Alexia looked anything but ready to celebrate her individual achievement. You knew she wouldn’t have cared for it that much even if they had won the whole thing, but it felt cruel to get it without the win.

As her name was called to receive the Golden Boot, she hesitated, her eyes dark with exhaustion and sadness. She glanced at you, standing off to the side, and you could see it. You could see the reluctance, the pain etched into her tear-streaked face. It broke your heart slightly, even though you knew that pain would fade.

You took a step forward, offering her a gentle smile, but you could feel her hesitation, her body still rooted in place. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to stand there in front of the cameras, holding a trophy when her heart was shattered by the team’s loss. She didn’t want to accept a single award when her team didn’t get what she thinks they should have together.

But you knew how important this was, even if she couldn’t feel it right now.

So, with that thought you walked up to her, you placed a hand on her arm, your voice soft but full of conviction. "Ale, I know it’s hard to think about right now, but even on the worst day, you achieved the best."

She looked at you, her brow furrowed in confusion, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her.

"You won the Golden Boot," you continued, your eyes never leaving hers. "It might be hard to take in at this moment, but this is a major achievement. You don’t want to forget it. And I certainly don’t want to."

Alexia’s eyes softened, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she took in your words. There was still pain there, still heartbreak from the loss, but you could see a flicker of recognition. Something in her eyes that showed that she understood that even in the midst of defeat, she had achieved something remarkable. Something that in a month or two she would want to acknowledge and celebrate with her team and loved ones, just not now.

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she nodded. "I just... I don’t feel like I deserve it right now. Not after this."

You stepped closer, your voice steady and reassuring. "You deserve it more than anyone. You’ve worked harder than I have seen from any other player, and no one can take that from you, not even Lyon. This is your moment, Ale. Your incredible achievement. Own it."

For a moment, she just stared at you, her eyes searching yours for reassurance. Then, slowly, she nodded again, a soft, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She couldn’t appreciate this now, but she knew you were right, and she would later, when the sting of the loss faded.

With a gentle push from you, Alexia stepped forward and made her way towards the podium. The cameras flashed as the Golden Boot was handed to her, and she accepted it with grace, even if her heart wasn’t fully in it.

She held the trophy in her hands, but her eyes were still tinged with sadness, her tear-stained face a reminder of the battle she had just lost. But even as the pain lingered, there was a quiet strength in her, an acknowledgment that this achievement mattered, well would matter just like you said. That it was something to be proud of, no matter how bittersweet the moment.

As she was asked by the photographers to pose with the trophy, her mind ran back to the loss. The sadness in her eyes captured forever for people to see. She caught your gaze, saw the pride and quiet admiration in your eyes and that gave her the strength to square her shoulders and smile slightly.

With a deep breathe she held the Golden Boot in front of her, ignored the flashing of the cameras that were capturing the moment forever. And although the smile on her face was faint, it was there, a small demonstration to everyone that despite the heartbreak of the day, she had achieved something worth smiling for.

When she made her way back to you after the photos, you could see the sadness was still the major emotion clinging to her, but alongside it was gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “For being here with me. For reminding me.”

You smiled, reaching up to gently brush a stray tear from her cheek. “Always.”

The flight back to Barcelona was going to be quiet, the exhaustion from the match and the emotions of the night weighing heavily on everyone. The plane hummed softly as the team settled into their seats, some player lost in their own thoughts, some chatting quietly about the match and what they could have done to change it.  

You had planned to sit quietly somewhere near the back, giving the team space to process the loss. But as you made your way down the aisle, Alexia’s hand gently caught yours, stopping you in your tracks.

"Sit with me?" she asked, her voice soft but sure. “Please.”

You hesitated for just a moment, glancing around the plane. The team was scattered in their seats, most of them already focused on their phones or staring out the windows. No one was really paying attention, but this felt... different. Public, in a way that you and Alexia hadn’t been before. Even if it as only the team you both knew and cared for so much.

But Alexia didn’t seem to care. Her eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen around the team. She was letting her guard down, and this time, she wasn’t trying to hide it.

With a small smile, you nodded and slid into the seat beside her. As the plane took off, you felt Alexia’s hand slip into yours, her fingers lacing together with yours in a quiet, intimate gesture. She leaned her head against your shoulder, the weight of the day finally catching up with her. You rested your head on top of hers, letting her know you had her.

For a while, you just sat there in comfortable silence, the hum of the plane a soft backdrop to the steady rhythm of her breathing. You could feel the tension slowly melting away as she relaxed into you, her body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been building all night.

At some point, Alexia’s breathing became deeper, more rhythmic. She had fallen asleep on your shoulder, her head nestled against you in a way that felt so natural, so right. You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection as you carefully adjusted your position to make sure she was comfortable. Letting her head tuck further into you and away from the prying eyes you knew were to come.

And you were right, the peace didn’t last long.

From across the aisle, you spotted Mapi grinning mischievously, her phone in hand. She was clearly taking a photo of Alexia asleep on your shoulder, her eyes glinting with amusement. You rolled your eyes playfully and stuck your tongue out at her, quickly raising your hand to cover the part of Alexia’s face that was visible.

Mapi chuckled quietly, snapping the photo anyway before mouthing, "Too late!" She gave you a cheeky wink before turning back to her seat, clearly pleased with herself. Ingrid obviously smacking the woman upside her head that just tore more chuckles from the blonde.

You shook your head, but the moment was too sweet to be annoyed. Instead, you glanced down at Alexia, still peacefully asleep, and let the warmth of the moment settle over you. It didn’t matter if the team was starting to notice, Alexia had made it clear that she didn’t care they would notice. She wasn’t hiding this, and neither were you.

The flight continued, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a quiet sense of contentment. The pain of the loss still lingered, but in this small moment, with Alexia resting beside you, it felt like everything was falling into place. Maybe just maybe you could stay as Alexia Chica Medica.

[thebearer]

the milestone menu: roasted red pepper and tomato soup for sad days

prompt: the death of mikey's anniversary is near. you make a comfort meal for carmen.

contains: mentions of death. angty with a side of fluff (at the end). anxious!carmen (i mean ofc).

INGREDIENTS

3 red bell peppers. 4 large tomatoes, peeled, seeded, chopped. An onion, chopped. 2 garlic cloves, minced

1 1/2 tsp thyme. 2 tsp paprika. A pinch of sugar. Salt & pepper. Cayenne

1/2 cup Chicken broth. 2 tbsp butter. 1 1/2 tbsp flour.

DIRECTIONS

Cover peppers in oil, broil until black, turn to get all sides. Put them in a paper bag to rest, the skin & seeds should come off easily. Chop. Heat oil on med heat in a large pot, cook garlic & onions until soft. Add tomatoes, peppers, thyme, paprika, and sugar. Cook on med-low, until most of the liquid has evaporated, about 20 minutes. Stir in 6 cups of chicken stock, salt & pepper. Bring to boil & simmer for 20 mins, until the vegetables are tender. Strain soup. Use a food processor or blender, and blend solids to your desired consistency. In your large pot, melt butter & add flour. Add soup/purée and stir, simmer for a few minutes.

“Hey, baby,” Carmen’s voice came to you before he did. A heavy sigh, tired and heavy from the day, from the looming anniversary approaching. 

Mikey’s death date was creeping closer and closer, the days darker and colder as did Carmen’s demeanor. Longer days at work, distant even when he was home with you. You worried about him, though everyone told you not to. 

“He just… he gets like this when it gets closer to the date, you know?” Richie muttered when you’d confided in him at family dinner. “We all get kinda fucked up, but Carm… That’s just how he is, y’know? Just give’im some time.” 

Anchovy purred, rubbing against Carmen’s leg. It was almost like he knew. Carmen would swear he did, that he could sense his owner’s upset, that he was trying to make it better. He’s like you, Carmen would say, giving you a half grin that always had you swooning. 

Carmen frowned when he didn’t see you lingering about. Not in the doorway smiling at them, leaning in for a kiss, wrapping him in a hug. “Babe?” Carmen called again, looking down the hall. The lights were on in the kitchen, a small clinking of bowls and silverware. 

Carmen found you in front of the stove, trying to keep quiet, stirring a pan on the burner gently. “Hey,” He frowned when you jumped, turning around with a wide eyed gaze, like you’d been caught. 

“Carm,” You chirped, body shimmying in front of the stove, too close to the flame in a too loose shirt. Carmen fought the urge to tell you to move or tuck your shirt in. 

“You’re-You weren’t supposed to be home early.” You turned to the clock blinking on the microwave. “I-I thought you weren’t going to be home for another hour.” 

“Richie told me to leave.” Carmen frowned, trying to peer around you. 

“Why?” You blocked his view with your body, a side step in front of him. 

“‘Cause he’s a fuckin’ jaggoff lately. What’re you doin’?” Carmen huffed lightly, grabbing your waist gently, holding you in place so he could see around you. A large pot on the stove, bubbling to life, steam clouding the clear lid that covered it. 

“I’m cooking.” You huffed, shoulders deflating lightly. “I-I was going to surprise you. I had this whole thing planned, and I got candles and I was going to change out of this.” You threw your hands down on your sweatshirt- Carmen’s sweatshirt. One from Copenhagen he’d picked up when it was especially cold. You’d stolen in, not that he minded, he liked you better in it anyways. 

“Was going to at least try to look a little nice.” You mutter, wiping off a small stain, a glob of tomato that had flung when the processor lid wouldn’t come off earlier. 

“You look beautiful, c’mon.” Carmen shook his head at you. “What’re you- Why’re you doin’ all this?” His heart skipped for a moment, looking at the calendar pinned on the fridge. “Did I- We didn’t have plans?” Fuck, he’d been so busy he’d forgotten. Head everywhere but where it needed to be. First he was fuckin’ up dishes left and right at work, and now he couldn’t even remember a fuckin’ date. 

“No,” You shook your head, stilling Carmen’s racing mind. “I just… I wanted to do something nice.” You looked up at him, hands grabbing him sweetly, holding them in your own. “For you.”

“For me?” Carmen whispered, swallowing around the tightness in his throat, in his chest. “What’re you talkin’ about for me? What-Why would you wanna-” 

“Because,” You shrugged lightly, hands swinging between the two of you gently. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.” 

Carmen saw the hesitation on your face, knew what was coming before you said it. He tensed in your hold. “I just… With everything-” 

“-Don’t.” Carmen shook his head, the burn in his throat strangling his voice. “You don’t have to, baby.” 

“I do.” Your eyes met his, rounding in his gaze. “I want to. I-I don’t really think it will help, but… I don’t know. Whenever I was sad my mom would make this for me.” You nod back towards the pot on the stove. “It always made me feel better.” 

Carmen thought he might cry. He willed himself, squeezing your hands, pulling you into his chest to hold you. He just needed to hold you, to feel you, pressing his nose to your scalp, inhaling your scent. 

All the emotions he’d repressed, swallowed down and tried to power through. Anytime he’d turn the corner, see Mikey’s smiling face on the fall and he’d feel like breaking down. Screaming, crying, punching the walls, pulling his hair out, ears ringing and heart hammering; instead, he’d go to the walk-in to breathe through collapsing lungs.

You felt Carmen’s shaky breath, rattle out of his chest and shake into yours. Your hand rubbed gently against his back, up his spine in a soothing way you hoped would calm him. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, cheeks pressed against his chest. His heart raced in your ear, a pounding thud that made your own heart squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Carm.” 

“It’s alright.” Carmen gritted, jaw clenching, willing his tears back. “It’s-it’s just a lot. I don’t even fuckin’ know why. Why-Why I even get like this when-when it’s been so long.” 

“Don’t do that.” You shook your head, frowning at him lightly. 

“No, no it’s true. I- fuck, I shouldn’t be-” 

“-Carmen,” You held his gaze firmly. His red rimmed blue eyes met yours, a little wary, vulnerable. You softened, fingers brushing through his hair. “It’s ok.” 

The finality in your voice, soft but certain, it made Carmen’s jaw shake, emotions bubbling over. He held you, rocking side by side in the kitchen, cries muffled into your shoulder. You held him back, just as tight, cooing shushes over the hums of the appliances, his tears wet on his sweatshirt- your sweatshirt. 

“Don’t expect a lot.” You gave a small, teasing smile over your shoulder. 

Carmen had settled into his usual seat at the small kitchen table. He’d sheepishly wiped his tears, letting you dote on him sweetly. Kiss his tears away, soft lips pressing to his wet cheeks, his nose, pulling him in so his lips were on yours, arms still tangled around the other. 

“It’s not, like, gourmet or anything.” You shook your head, ladling out the hot liquid into a bowl. “It is my Nana’s recipe though.” 

“Better than gourmet then?” Carmen’s voice was raspy with dried tears, though he smiled lightly. Bright enough to warm your heart, leave you smiling, plating the grilled cheese. 

“She’d love that you said that.” You grin, setting the steaming bowl and sandwich in front of him. You leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, a hand running down the back of his neck lovingly. 

He burned at the simplicity, the sweetness of it all. So loving and affectionate freely, without any strings attached. Mikey would’ve loved you, Carmen was so sure of it. 

“This is good.” Carmen nodded, swallowing his spoonful. 

“Yeah?” You grinned proudly, positively beaming. 

Of course it was good, the best fuckin’ thing he’s ever had. It came from you, so it only made sense it was. Carmen didn’t say that. Instead, he smiled, reaching over for your hand, squeezing it across the table. “Yeah. Amazing. Just what I needed.” He swallowed another wave of tears, happier this time. “Thank you for, uh, for doin’ this.” 

“I’m glad you like it.” You propped your head in your free hand, a lopsided, lovey smile that warmed Carmen from the inside out. He knew his cheeks were blushing, tingling pink under your affectionate gaze. 

“It’s really good.” Carmen took another spoonful, the warmth spilling down his throat, soothing his chest. “Sorry I came home early and didn’t call. I just… I’ve been out of my mind, y’know? I’m sorry about that too, it’s-it’s not fair to you, and-” 

“-Carm,” You squeezed his hand lightly, fingers intertwining with his. “I’m glad you like it.” You smile sweetly. 

Carmen nodded, leg still shaking under the table. He didn’t let go of your hand, held it in an iron grip like a lifeline and you let him, thumb sweeping over his inked knuckles calmly. 

If Mikey could see him now, he’d be howling in laughter, cackling at Carmen at how “whipped” he was. Mercilessly tease him for being “soft” in a way that only a big brother could. But he knew Mikey would be so proud, so fuckin’ happy that Carmen found you- that Carmen had someone like you.

[hidtired]

Unfortunate Timing [Part 4]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

5.6k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

Silence… the hum of the RV engine you now sat in filling the air with something other than thought. Daryl was now on what used to be Merle’s motorcycle. You ditched his truck in an effort to save gas. Somehow that is what you were upset about. Not the fact you almost died in an exploding building or that the reason there was room in the RV for you was Jaquan choice of staying in that building. No, it was that dumb rusty truck that had you upset. The truck you had first seen Daryl working on. The truck you took to your first date and shared your first kiss. The start to your romantic relationship happening in those very seats. What a dumb thing to be upset about. You sigh finally turning to see what others in the RV were doing.

Andrea sat across from Shane. She was pouting, not getting her way of trying to kill herself. Dale had saved her yet she seemed like a child denied of a toy at the store. Your sadness about the truck flipped like a coin to detain and a little anger toward her. Mood swings were something you had while on your period. Always quick to realize why you had seemingly flip to one emotion and then the next a little to easily. Just took that first sign of blood to feel a sense of understanding to those emotions. But being pregnant was something else. You elected to practically sow your mouth shut because you were sure to pop with emotions at anyone or thing.

Your eyes moved back to the dirty RV window. Except now everyone had there attention out the windows to. Cars lining and blocking the highway. Some displeased grumbles rolling out of Dale’s mouth, Glenn and T-dog also looking displeased. Daryl rolled up to Dale’s driver side, “M’ gonna go ahead to look for a path, just go an follow me.” It wasn’t even a little while after that the constant hum of the engine spluttered and died. Now that got Dale to slump down in his seat cursing as he hobbled out of the RV opening the hood. While still seated inside the RV you saw a smoke cloud puff out floating up past the wind shield. Didn’t look too good, meaning it would take more time to fix. You took the lead of leaving your seat. If you were going to wait might as well stretch out your legs.

The sun hit you warming your skin. You heard Dale, “Yup dead in the water, don’t know how many times I have to say it…” You knew the thing could only take so much more tape. Rick appearing past one of the many cars, “Problem Dale?” You elected to ignore the conversation when Daryl rolled back in between cars. Walking straight to him he had a smirk and leaned back seeing you approach. You stood to his side putting an arm around his waist. His arm falling over your shoulder, “Piece of shit died again huh?” You sighed, “Thing is more tape than machine at this point.” Daryl chuckled electing to hop off the bike, also coming to the conclusion it would take a while to fix. You and him making your way back to the now gathered group.

“We will resupply up here.” Rick pointed to Dale and Glenn, “You both try and get this thing moving again.” He turned to T-dog and Daryl, “Maybe you both can start siphoning for gas. The rest of you try looking through the cars for anything useful.” It seemed like a good plan to you but before you could turn to start looking for things Lori spoke up, “This place is a graveyard.” Carol also chipping in, “This doesn’t feel to right to take from the dead.” Call you crazy or a bad person but you were looking forward to siphoning through all this stuff. Rick looked thoughtful but continued firmly, “We have to, remember to still have your guards up.” That left you to go about your business. Andrea seeming to head in the direction you were. She walked a little behind you and accidentally kicked something that was at her feet. The thing slid perfectly into your view. A baby bottle…

You and Andrea stop in your tracks. You both look around taking notice of other small toys splattered around and a baby carrier. A baby carrier that’s dirty with blood. You both look up catching the other’s eyes. Yours blank and her’s with a dreaded look. You left her there to contemplate as you went to go search a car. It was farther away than the one Andrea originally went for. Not wanting her to even try to talk about anything. You didn’t want to get in your own head. The car you went through was a small mini van. Looked like a quirky teens first car. Opening the trunk there was a duffle bag and suitcase. A empty tote bag fluttered to the ground. Going through clothes you found what looked to be a band shirt that was an extra large. Something someone would wear to bed maybe. It would make for a good maternal shirt down the road at least. You found new socks and a pair of heavy duty work boots, steal toed and all.

You decide after a while to look through the glove box. While moving around to go to the passenger door you tripped slightly on the bag you dropped. This caused you to turn and kick it off. Lo and behold in the corner of your eye you saw movement, walkers… There were so many of them. Far enough to have not seen you but to close to move any where. You slide down to the ground shimming under the low mini van. You didn’t want to lay on your stomach so you went on your back using your legs to scoot back. You felt jammed in but you needed under farther. Using the bottom of the car to push yourself with your legs. Your foot caught in a gap under the car. You couldn’t pull it out without making a lot of noise. The pressure of your foot was beginning to hurt. But the sound of a hundred feet stilled you. The smell of rotten flesh in the hot sun making you want to hurl.

A few walkers bumped into the car shaking it ever so slightly. It was enough movement however to twist your stuck foot. Now jamming it even farther into where it was. Hot metal touched your skin but you remain quiet. It seemed that there were still a few stragglers left so you wouldn’t have to bare this uncomfortable position for much longer. A few minutes of silence pass, that gave you the permission to start to free yourself. Now it would seem even more unwilling to let go of you. You tried to slip out of your busted running shoe but you didn’t have much of a distance to pull back with you laying down. A sharp object would dig into your ankle if you pulled. Then you started to hear a worried Daryl desperately calling your name. Well this was a little embarrassing…

Daryl POV

While he was on his motorcycle he couldn’t help but think of you saying I love you. Then seeing you happily approaching him when he rolled up on his bike further drove this feeling in his stomach. It was heavy, weighing on him but he couldn’t lie if he wasn’t enjoying it. You were already something new for him but, this was new. He was a fool for you. So when something threatened that it felt 10x worse. A horde from a direction they themselves just came from. He had no clue where you were and if it wasn’t for T-Dog needing his immediate help he might have gotten himself killed looking for you. He needed to remember that you could handle things, you’ve proven that much to him. But after the horde cleared he practically dragged a bleeding T-dog with him in search of you. “Y/N!?” While the yell wasn’t at the top of his lungs like he so wish to do it was still loud.

T-dog leaned against a car as Daryl looked over and under cars. But then T-Dog yelped making Daryl whip around in search of danger. A hand grabbed for T-dog, but your voice sounded from it as well, “A little help?” You sounded strained causing him to dropped down to his knees and lean down to look at you, “Are you hurt?” While you looked uncomfortable you still smiled at him, “Just stuck, think my foot is in between the suspension.” He sighed looking down farther to see where you were snagged, but when he looked back to your face it was pale in shock. Moving his eyes to your line of sight he saw a growing pool of blood on the ground. It came from a slumped T-dog, “He’s not bite, just cut himself on-“ a scream ripped through the air making the hair stand on his neck. Everything still for a second. Because that scream sounds like a little girl. Your voice cut through that stillness, “Go! Take T-dog with you, I’ll be fine down here a little longer!” Daryl didn’t like the idea of leaving you when you’re so vulnerable, but T-dog wasn’t looking to well and something had happen with the others. So he did as he was told. Though he didn’t like it. “Alright’ don’t go anywhere.”

While he lifted T-dog along his shoulders he heard you from under the car, “Yeah, ha ha…” He quickly shuffled back to the group with T-dog being tugged along by him. Faster he got whatever done sooner he could return to you. Dale took notice of them approaching first. However he could only focus on how Lori seemed to be holding Carol back. Dale had gotten closer why he stared off to the alarming situation, “Did he get bite.” Daryl set him down, “He got snagged by a piece of metal.” Carols cry’s made his skin crawl in an unpleasant way. Shane stood pacing near the forest. T-dog was the one to mumble out slightly slurred, “We heard a scream what happen?” Glenn spoke up while Dale tended to him as best he could, “Sophia got chased off by two walkers. Rick ran after her. Just hope they come back.” A sinking feeling of dread boar down inside Daryl. One thought drilled into his mind, ‘This world is not for a child.’ That didn’t feel to good to think. Dale after bandaging T-Dog looked around before worriedly questioning, “Where is Y/N?”

He was about to explained and take back off toward you when shuffling from the forest made everyone perk up. It was just a panting Rick, confused that Sophia wasn’t there. Panic quickly followed, Sophia was missing. Who better to look for her then a tracker, that’s why when people turned to him to find her he paused. You still needed his help and so did a little girl. The burning feeling in him told him to help you first but he knew that he himself didn’t have to be the one to help you, but Sophia did. You had said just at the beginning of the quarry that,

”Where there is people, there’s power.”

He didn’t trust anyone to keep you safe like him but this was exactly what you had been talking about. So before he got pulled along with Rick, Shane, and Glenn. He stopped Glenn, “My girl is stuck under a car, T-Dog can show you which. I can’t do this if I know she still needs help.” It was obvious by Glenn’s face he was surprised he was given such a task by the Dixon. Glenn gave him a determined look, “Ya man I got it.” Now he could only hope you were ok by the time he got back, hopefully with the little girl.

Your POV

When you had said you could stay down here a little longer you didn’t think 15 minutes would pass. Through all that time you still tried to wiggled your way out. All the twisting and pulling making your ankle feel raw. If you could only get your shoe off this would be so much easier, but you were literally pinned under a car. “Y/n?! Is it this one?” Glenn’s calls made you sigh with relief you saw two pairs of feet, “Glenn! Over here!” You saw the lower half of T-Dog slump against a car, least he wasn’t leaving pools of blood. Glenn’s face quickly appeared blocking your view. Your expression was probably very apparent to your discomfort and overall displeasure with the situation. Your voice came out in a slight pant due to being hot,

“What happened? Where is Daryl?”

Glenn looked down to see where your foot was before speaking, “Sophia got chased by a few walkers, Rick had killed them but now we can’t find her. Daryl is the only tracker we have so…” Ball of emotion stuck in your throat, Sophia had already had it bad and now she was in danger. It’s good Daryl went to go after her. Glenn now focused on your stuck leg not wanting to stare at the sad expression you wore. He slide under closer to your foot finally getting to see what your foot was stuck on. Glenn’s disgruntled mumbling told you nothing good, “Shit… Looks like car owner ran something over making a gaged edged hole.” You felt Glenn slide a hand around your ankle causing you to hiss in pain. Glenn winched but spoke with apology, “I can cover the sharp edge but you’re just going to have to pull back as hard as you can.” You sighed, “Try pulling the heal of my shoe off first.” Feeling his finger wiggle its way down your heal to slightly pop it out, then he moved your pant leg but paused and gasped.

“Your ankle is turning blue and purple.”

You needed out fast… while you did feel like you could feel it pulsating the thing that worried you was the throbbing was slowly replaced by a cool tingling. You brace your fist into the asphalt, “Then I need out now, I’m ready.” Glenn started to count down while blocking some of the sharper edges. When your foot original went through it pushed that metal back with. Now you had to pull against it, that is what had you stuck. You felt the pull on your skin before it ripped, that caused you to scream as you still pulled back as hard as you could. When your foot popped out of your shoe the release finally freed you. Glenn helped pulling you out from under the car. The first thing you noticed when the light hit you was the blood. Some scraps on your hands while pulling back on the road and blood running down your ankle into your sock. Glenn pulled your pants leg up as it too was ripped now. “Holy shit!” T-dog exclaimed while catching sight to the contrasting colors of red and the deep blue color of your skin.

You were lightheaded while now sitting up right. Your previous screaming had got the attention of the others, Dale followed by Andrea came hearing your pained screams. Your face felt flushed and you felt like you were sweating buckets, you started to slump slightly but Dale now was in front of you. You were dazed but Dale wrapped something around your leg snapping you back into some kind of alertness. Your eyes felt heavy but you still didn’t protest when Dale and Glenn held you from under your shoulders. Andrea helping a paling T-dog walk after you.

A headache started to form but the longer you were upright the more you got used to it. Maybe you were just a little too warm and the slight blood loss wasn’t helping. When you were sat in the shade next to the RV the breeze hit you immediately making you feel better. You heard voices asking questions but water was put in front of you which you gladly took. You felt slightly swarmed by people but Dale now had your pant leg rolled up and foot bandaged. Everyone moved closer to where Carol was by some metal guard rail as a figure came out of the woods behind it. It was Shane coming back alone, “Daryl and Rick are on her trail. She seemed to get spooked and took a wrong turn.” Carol just nervous shook and continued to stand starring out into the woods that you assumed Sophia ran off into. Shane now commanded people to get back to what they were doing previously, pushing out commands in a way that after hearing Rick’s way of leading made Shane seem less in some way. Not really bad but not good by any means. Oh boy and when he say you sitting on the ground next to the RV with an equally busted T-dog you wouldn’t like what followed from his mouth.

“Daryl just left you out there injured? Tsk, not surprised…”

He mumbled the last bit but you caught it. The fury you had to have a lock on seemed to chip a little, “Watch your mouth.” You sent a glare up at him as he gave you a surprised look not expecting any bark back. Even when it looked like you wanted to you never had. You’ve never really had a problem per se with Shane but he was starting to pull a feeling from your the reeked danger. Shane just tsked before bossing everyone around again. You glanced over to T-dog who was starring at you with his eyebrows raised which got you to chuckle. You leaned back closing your eyes. The air was nice but you now felt the ache back in your foot. Dale spooked you while you drifted off with your eyes closed. He helped move you into the RV, you pass a new stain on the floor but you lay down in the back choosing to ignore it. You were relaxing laying down, exhausted and now in pain. With you being pregnant you had only little experience with your ankles swelling, hence why you used to dip your feet into the quarry. Now this was just adding to it, Daryl isn’t going to like it that’s for sure.

Commotion happened outside, they had come back and by the sounds of it without Sophia. Carols cries and screams attributing to that, then you over heard the flutters of your name. Heavy steps came to the RV door before it creaked open with force. You could only hear heavy breathing as they moved to the back where you were lying down. Daryl’s frantic eyes landed on you searching your body for something. His hand moved to your face as the other rested on your stomach. He had came in so fast it took you a second to notice the blood on him.

Now here you are both worried about each other, “Are you ok!?” It was Daryl to get the first words out shortly after you, “Your covered in blood! Are you hurt?” You moved gripping on to his shirt now leaning into a sitting position. His arms pulling you into him, “is’ not mine.” He moved is words quickly while asking again, “Your both ok right?” You blinked up at him, taking in his words before stuttering out another concern, “I’ll be fine. Is… is Sophia?” You pointed down to the blood that ran down onto his pants as well. He sighed confirming you were not in such a bad shape as the others lead him to believe, ‘You should go look for yourself.’ With faces that said say your goodbyes. “It’s from a walker. Gettin to dark, don’t want to ruin her trail.” His eyes moved down to your foot, covered in bandages. “Picking up the search at dawn.” His eyes flicked back to yours questioning your injury. The look in his eyes reeked of guilt.

“It’s swollen, maybe sprained. The blood is from scraping in on metal, nothing deep I promise.” You saw him gulp and the way he was beating himself up inside. You knew he struggled with feeling like he was doing right by you. So you tapped him to look at you, “Hey, it would have been the same outcome if it was you dragging me out from that car.” He inhaled nodding while looking to you sheepishly, “Your in a shit ton of pain aren’t you?” You wrinkled your nose at him with a ‘no shit’ smile. You lean back laying down again, “Couldn’t even take the kind of medicine I would need while pregnant…” He sat close to your legs looking down to you his thumb went to his mouth and he chewed on it.

You turn you head looking at him knowing it was his nervous thinking habit, “Daryl…” His hand moved from his mouth, “Can I do anythin’ for ya?” He needed to feel helpful so you thought for a second before giving him an awkward smile, “Yes actually, something that I think I’d only let you do.” Now that was something that peaked his interest. He quirked an eyebrow at you expectantly so now you took a step in your relationship you’ve had yet to cross, “I’m gonna need your help going to the bathroom.” You had yet to really get into that part of the relationship, the weird stage you would say. Closest you’ve come is when on the rare nights where Merle was out of the house and you stayed over an he would watch you frantically get ready in the morning to open the store. He would sit back and just watch, simpler times he supposed.

He didn’t even say anything before dragging his arms under you and lifting you into his arms. Her wish is his command. He knew the RV bathroom hadn’t worked for a while so someone would’ve have to hold you while went about your business. Ya definitely a him only thing. The others only glanced seeing him carry you off somewhere. You’re not gonna lie this was embarrassing. He set you down on your good foot helping you balance. You watched his eyes glance around the wooded area he took you. You giggled causing him to look back to you. You smiled, “This is weird…” He ended up having to hold both your hands as you crocheted down. Daryl just scoffed completely nonchalant, “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

5 minutes later Daryl was seen carrying you back just before it became truly night. In the RV Carol now was laying in the spot you once were. She faced the wall in an attempt to hide her cries. Daryl looked uncomfortable but you put a finger to your lips before trying to wave him back. You would sleep that night in a car you cleared out. With a window crack to let in some fresh air in. But throughout the night Carols cries was to much for the Dixon next to you. You would sometimes wake at the sound only to see Daryl still awake next to you. But you couldn’t help the exhaustion that pulled on you. You felt him move next to you leaving you to groggily open your eyes to look if something had happened. In the morning it took you a moment to put together it actually happened and Daryl left to go look for Sophia. He had whispered, “Can’t take it, M’ go lookin’.” Which you guess you mumbled a tired, “Be careful.” and knocked back out. The next time you woke up he was next to you again seeming to not even had left your side.

In the early morn the search party was formed. You, T-dog, and Dale being the only to remain at the highway. Before Daryl left he personally cleaned your wounded ankle. Seeing for himself gave him peace knowing the swelling was the problem and not the cuts. You told him you would stay off your feet and you did. Sitting in the shade next to T while Dale stayed on watch. You hasn’t really talked to them personally only knowing things from them that others have asked and you just heard. So here you were talking trying to pass the time waiting for the others to come back.

“So you don’t mind me asking if he was a one night stand?”

You had told them you really didn’t mind any question. You chuckled replying to T-dog, “Oh trust me this-” You point to the small bump of your stomach, “Did not happen over night.” You raised an eyebrow suggestively at the implication. That got Dale laughing with T-dog making a face like he didn’t like the image going on in his mind. You shift back leaning your head on your hand in thought, “Honestly the reason I even met Daryl and started dating him was because I was running away from getting in a relationship in the first place.” They both look at you to continue seeming interested in you and the Dixon. “My parents thought I was throwing away my life by not being pregnant and married by 20. Very religious…. So I left not wanting to conform to there ideas.” You slip a hand to your stomach, “Guess they got what they wanted in the end. At least I got to pick the man.” You smiled fondly at the thought… ya you got the man you wanted.

Other then T-Dogs high fever and possibly infected arm, there wasn’t much to do so you took a nap in a quest to quell the deep rooted exhaustion in you. You woke up hearing unhappy voices. They were back and your guess no Sophia. You hopped you way to the RV door opening it gaining everyone’s eyes. You noticed that it wasn’t only Sophia to not be with them. Daryl looked stressed and when he saw you balancing on a leg in the door he moved to help you. You worriedly asked, “What’s going on, where is everyone else?” By your count Lori, Shane, Rick, and Carl were gone.

Daryl had his hands around your waist keeping you balance. The look he had was a mix of pissed but also upset. His teeth unclenched before he spoke giving a strain to his voice, “No sign of Sophia, worse Carl has apparently been shot.” You gasp slightly wobbling leading him to pull you to regain balance. A ball of pressure was felt in your throat but you choked it down to speak, “Where are they?” Daryl could hear your attempt at holding in your emotions, something he knows you have been struggling to do. He sighed running a hand down your arm, “Some lady on a horse took Lori after saying Carl was shot. They have a doctor treating him at there farm.” Your grip on him tightened, ‘another kid…’ no you couldn’t finish that thought a second further. Daryl’s face however looked like he had more to say, more to say that he was not happy about. He bite the edge of his lip before speaking.

"Glenn is taking T-dog to that farm for the doctor, I said you were going with him."

His face reeked of guilt, and the unpleasant feeling left in your stomach probably didn't translate well to your face. He at the sight of your obvious dislike to the idea tried to sputter out why, “Just don’t need anythin’ happen to you… and them.” You sighed, you weren’t planning on arguing about it with him, “I know you’re right I should go. Just don’t like us splitting up, makes me nauseous at the thought.” You eyes behind to form a slight sheen, before Daryl could say anything you beat him to it, “Said I was going to follow your lead didn’t I?” Daryl’s shoulders unclench from tension, he slide his arm under your legs and picking you up by your thighs. The sudden action making you panic and grab around his shoulders. “What are you-“ he walked inside the RV mindful of your head not wanting to slam it on the doorframe.

Before you knew it you were sat down with him at your side, he moved his handed on top of yours. His shy approach reminding you of your first date. “It’s ok you know. To scream, to cry, get mad. You’re gonna burst.” Your lip trembled, so it had been clear to him your battle with yourself. You sigh leaning on his shoulder, “I know… I just can’t seem to do it in front of everyone in fear we will be cast out. We were already outsiders once.” That comment surprised him, not expecting your reasoning. His arm circled around your shoulder, “I’ll take you out hunting when your better. Scream and cry all you want then.” You chuckle, in all honesty most of the time you go frustrated or overwhelmed with sudden emotion Daryl unknowingly helped ease everything. Silence fell comfortably between you both simply enjoying your remaining time together before you part.

Now you find yourself in the back seat of a truck. Glenn in the driver seat and T-dog in the passenger. You watch him pull up to a gate next to a mail box ‘Greener’ written in faded paint. After getting through and closing the gate, the road lead to a farm house. The porch now filling with people at the sound of your guys car. You were left in the back seat while Glenn rushed a declining T-dog, pill bottle bag that you learned was from Merle in hand. Surprising he had useful drugs with him, and not so surprising that he had drugs with him. It was a long time before you decided to get out the car yourself Glenn be damned. You hopped until reaching the porch leg throbbing at the use, it was tired of being the only one keeping you standing. You sat on the stairs to the porch. It sounded like something had happened inside but the commotion was just now subsiding.

You looked on to see open space filled with animals and not a walker in sight. You sat there in thought until a loud, “Oh shit!” broke your peace, Glenn stumbled out of the front door only to stop seeing you sat on the steps. He moved closer to you offering a hand to get up, "I'm so sorry, everything was moving so fast and I forgot you couldn't walk." He sighed with a twinge of remorse, "T-dogs all patched up so lets get you looked at." You sat up with the aid of Glenn and got into the house. Glenn was moving to sit you on a chair but you were lost in thought at the sight of a lamp on. It felt weird seeing a light on now. An older women appeared from a hall, "Hello dear, My name is Patricia." She approached gently, looking down to your legs noticing you were missing a shoe and for good reason. You foot was swollen and a ring of black formed around your ankle with purple spreading from it. She gasped before you could even introduce yourself. She turned looked back to the hall and called out, "Maggie! I need you to get some ice!" She knelt down raising your foot to rest on another chair.

A younger women came quickly around the corner. "Could only find a frozen bag of- who is this?" You looked like a deer in headlights then you hissed and flinched as fingers moved around your foot. A scab that had started to tried and form now knocked off your skin causing blood to slowly drip down. Patricia turned to the girl you could only assume to be Maggie, "Another of there group." Glenn was stood sheepishly off to the side, "I kinda forgot her in the car." The sterile smell of alcohol reached your nose before you felt the sting to your injure. You lean back with a hiss, before Patricia could mumble out an apology you spoke through the pain, "How ah- How's Carl? Is he ok?" A second of silence followed for Glenn decide to speak, "Alive, semi-stable. Shane and one of theirs is out looking for the stuff to fix him. Hershel is the doctor and is with Carl right now, he- he had a stroke few minutes ago."

A bandage had been wrapped around your leg while you listened. You let everything sink in only looking back up when a rag follow by a cold weight being laid over it. Looking down a zip lock bag filled with peas adding a relief in the constant burn that was your ankle. You sigh leaning back into a slump the diner room chair backing pressing into your back. A door opened somewhere in the house, then you see Rick. Lori at his side almost as if she was the sole reason he could stand. He was pale but also sweating making his hair stick to him. He wobbled to a couch with Lori, not before you catch a sight of the bandage wrapped around his inner arm. It was strikingly clear now why he wasn't with Shane. He was Carl's blood source. The depth this man is going for his son is admirable if not heartbreaking. Close to having blood lose it seems.

Why is it so hard to keep these kids safe, and what were you and Daryl going to have to do to keep yours alive.

Part 5

Feedback welcome and requests open!

Got diagnosed with depression and put on anti-depressants. So hope my story writing will become more frequent. Sorry for stalling on uploads. They also took 5 out of 7 vials of blood…. They stopped because I passed out at 5.

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[leah-lover]

Closed for maintenance . Leah Williamson × reader

Reader embarks on a new journey with a new club. Part 1.

My day started out like any other in the past 4 weeks. The beeping sound of my alarm wakes me up, I dread the thought of getting up even though I still do, I get my shit together, I leave for training, come back a few hours later and go to bed early.

My days have been blending in ever since that heart shattering break up. However, today had a little twist to it. As I was leaving the gym to go to the physioroom I got called into the Manager's office. Upon getting in, the coach said “hey, so I called you here to let you know that we are going to transfer you. You have been an absolute killer for our team. You will always have a place between us. The thing is your dynamic with the team has been off which has been causing some tension. And the best thing I thought to do was to transfer you this January.” Shock couldn't describe the state I was in. Running on autopilot, I got out of the coach's office, got my things and departed home without talking to anybody, which has been my pattern this past month.

My head was in the clouds for the entire drive, and when I got home I threw myself on the coach and started sobbing. About 20 minutes later I called my best friend the only person I trusted more than anything.

“Hey are you okay? The girls are worried about you, tell me what is going on please”said kristie with a worried tone

“Well tell Sam and the team not to worry anymore. Emma has decided to ruin my life and get rid of me. I won't be at Chelsea anymore. I am basically fired.” I replied, now more angry than sad.

“What the hell are you talking about? Are you transferred where? when? How ? Are you okay? Did you tell her?.” She asked.

“I think it will be announced tomorrow at the meeting. I don't know anything kristie Chelsea is home. Niamh is home. I can't live without them.” I replied, memories of Niamh and I fludding my brain.

“Sure you will. I love you bubs no matter where you go.” She said, “Me too buddy, me too.” I added, sadness creeping into my heart again.

—-------—---—------------------------------------

It has been an eventful week. It was announced that I would leave Chelsea for Arsenal. The topic has been the talk of the town. From newspapers, Instagram pages, fans on Twitter, Arsenal fans were excited to have me. However, Chelsea fans were bitter I was let go. Most of the mean comments were directed at Emma and Chelsea which I thought was fair. I was the leading goal scorer in the WSL and we were on a great track record to win the league again.

I got a new apartment, and a new car. I tried to begin again. A clear slate and a focus on winning with my new team, the gunners.

Today was the first day of practice. The girls are really nice. This team, this family, seem really gelled together and they seem to start getting me out of my dark hole.

“Hello you.” Said Beth, “I hope you are well and I well we want to let you know you are very welcome and we hope you have a great time with us here.” she added. “Me too “ I responded.

__________________________________

It has been over 2 months since that last interaction with Beth, who I can call my best friend now. Her, Steph ,Katie and I have been inseparable. Arsenal have been on a winning streak since I got here. I seem to enjoy the way they play and interact with each other.

The player I enjoy hanging out with the most is my second Captain, which I can never fully admit.

Leah has been fun, heart warming, safe and a friend and a good one. I can't let whatever is happening affect my career again. I dated a teammate before it ruined my career, or so I thought.

“Ladies, how are we feeling about a party? We won again thanks to wonderful strickers. Let's have a party, we deserve it.” Said Katie on the bus. Shortly after a plan was made.

We went to a bar, we drank, sang, danced, and it was that time of the night where I got hungry for warmth. Human connection however unmeaningful. So I kissed the first girl I fancied.

That's when I felt a hand separate me from the girl and drag me outside.

“You are drunk, let's go home before you do anything you will regret.” Said Leah with an angry tone. “ Let go of me, I am lonely. I need this, please let go.” I pleaded with the alcohol affecting my judgment.

“ You are a fool if you think I would let you put yourself in danger. You are important to me, you should know that. Now let's go.” She ordered.

“ I am not going anywhere with you, you are not my girlfriend.” I protested.

That's when she pulled me in for a small kiss. That felt reassuring but not abusive of my drunk state.

“ You are not kissing anyone or going anywhere tonight. Home it is. Now stop complaining and get in please.” She said with a pour on her face. I did as she said, my mind still on the feeling of her lips.

This is going to be a lot to unpack in the morning.

[clamenstell]

more lovesick!gojo cause this man lives rent free in my head 😔 (also cause u guys seem to really like him too 😳)

- lovesick!gojo who purposefully gets himself injured just so you can treat his wounds and nurse him back to health. "How'd you get this hurt Satoru?" "Uh, I don't know, just happens I guess," he shrugs but in reality he asked Suguru to use his curses to hurt him on purpose. "Can't you ask Shoko to heal your wounds?" "She's busy and I can't treat these myself~" "What happened to your untouchable infinity?~" "...It's a work in progress." you don't believe him.

- lovesick!gojo who hangs around your dorm during his free time whenever he can because he loves your presence and want to be close to you. 

- lovesick!gojo who barges in without knocking the door since you got used to him coming in whenever, but this time was a bad time. You were changing when you heard your door burst open with a loud obnoxious voice yelling "I'm bored! Let's do something! :D" "😦" "😨😨😨" You've never seen someone shut the door so fast. "I am soo sorry. Oh my god." you can hear him mumble through the door.

- lovesick!gojo who's face was entirely red as he covered his face with his hand, head leaning against the very door that separated him and your half dressed self.

- lovesick!gojo who swears he would gouge his eyes out if you asked him but at the same time feel blessed for being able to see a sight he thought he would never see, he feels like a young pubescent teen all over again. You forgave him as you know it was an accident but he still bought you pastries as an apology.

- lovesick!gojo who feels his face heat up whenever he sees you as the thought of you half dressed would pop up and make him flustered, making his cheeks red.

- lovesick!gojo who acts stupid when it comes to homework so that he could ask for your help and try to score a study date with you. "Hey can you help me with question 4 🥺?" "Sure :)" "That question is so easy what are you talki-" Suguru, who has to deal with his sad attempt at flirting, likes to interrupts sometimes, good thing Satoru has a good reflex and slaps his palm over the cockblocker's mouth.

- lovesick!gojo who loves sitting next to you when you host a movie night with the others, especially when it's late at night as your sleepy self would lean your head on his shoulder for support, he could smell the fragrance of your shampoo and feel the gentle rise of your breathing.

- lovesick!gojo who has never been so still in his life to not wake you up, even if the movie ends he would rather stay here all night to be close to you. When Suguru and Shoko notices, they would make kissy faces and all he could do is flip them off while his ears redden.

- lovesick!gojo who loves doing little things like covering the corner of the table when you lean down to pick something up, or making sure you're walking on the inside of the road when you two walked down the streets, or when raining he made sure you were fully covered under the umbrella even if his shoulder is exposed to the rain (dw he has infinity). Even if you don't notice, he wants to show his love through small actions (you do notice it :)).

- lovesick!gojo who's heart jumps out his throat when you snuck a kiss to his cheek when he brought your favourite pastry, smiling sweetly at him.

- lovesick!gojo who remains still in shock as his whole face burst in red as you grab his hand and held up the pastries he bought, "Let's share them :)" Humming softly and dragging him back to your dorm by the hand, squeezing his softly, to share the sweet treat and maybe watch a movie, just the two of you <3

- lovesick!gojo who swears he can die happy and fulfilled as you two sit shoulder to shoulder and watched digimon together (you know he loves it).

- lovesick!gojo who wishes he could pause this very moment if he could, forget being the strongest as long as he could stay by your side, holding your hand and kissing your cheek <3

- lovesick!gojo who's on cloud nine and can't stop grinning the next day that Suguru and Shoko look at him weird. "What's with his face," Shoko turns to you, sticking a thumb in Satoru's direction and you only smile. "Gross," Suguru grumbles, figuring out the reason and Satoru gasp. "You're just jealous that I bagged the most gorgeous woman ever!" wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pecking your cheek. "I bet you weren't even the one who confessed," Suguru snickers earning a 'Hey!' from your pouting boyfriend, who you love very much <3

- lovesick!gojo who finally gets the chance to kiss you under the moonlight, who kisses you with such tenderness, pouring all his feelings into it, holding your cheek with one hand and holding your waist with the other. Turning his head to deepen the kiss, he never wants to forget this feeling, the feeling of your soft lips against his and the feeling of finally having you in his arms. Pulling away to breath, you both smile as he lean your foreheads together. Gods, he's just so in love with you.

not as good as the last one but hope you guys enjoyed it none the less :)

[aineryeo]

The Legend of the Blue Sea Episode 2: Once Upon a Dream

Chapter Synopsis:

Kenji still doesn't know that you've bonded with him, considering him as your mate from there on out. What he does, however, is take a bath with you as he inches on the edge of being the father of a cute giant pink baby lizard; where he makes the decision of keeping you around too. Just enough to investigate about your possible human personality, of course.

Themes & Warnings (Chapter):

Warnings from the General Masterlist | Flashbacks | Canon Movie Scenes | The Ice Bath scene | Nudity | Kenji whimpers :p | Suggestive themes

Author Notes:

Okay I think this is going a little slow HAHAHA, I changed my mind regarding a few plot points but I literally wrote the ice bath scene at 4-5 am in the morning because I couldn't sleep. i keep DREAMING about it. like it wasn't supposed to be part of the chapter tbh but i think st. michael was giving me a sign !!

The Legend of the Blue Sea: Masterlist

Episode 2: Once Upon a Dream ⇾ Episode 3.1: Maybe This Time

“Mom? Mom…” Kenji sobs, there are small sounds of pit-a-pats from where he stood. Which was a community playground filled with colourful slides, swing sets, tubes, and sandboxes.

The playground however, was not as lively as you’d think. The weather was gloomy that day, the sun hiding behind rumbling clouds threatening to spill the water they’ve soaked up from the sea. Kenji kept looking around, yet he remained lost, the same as he was five minutes ago. To the seven-year-old boy, it was like five months.

“Hi,” a girlish voice cuts through the sobs of the only other kid around. “Why are you crying? The other kids here say that boys aren’t supposed to cry.”

Kenji frowns, lips still wobbling as he makes his reply. “I lost my mom…”

“Oh.” You hum, looking down at your mismatched socks, noticing how the boy visibly had brand-new sneakers. “Hmm… Don’t worry, I lost mine too.”

“Really?” The boy replies, nose still stuffy as he tries to wipe it with his sleeve. “Will they find us?”

You shrug. “My real one won’t find me.”

“Your real one? You have a fake mom?” Kenji asks, curious.

“I don’t know. I never met my real one.” You reply, walking to the swings and taking a seat. Kenji does the same, sitting next to you. “But I know my mom right now isn’t my real mom, so, I ran away.” You say all this with such a tone that didn’t contain much sadness; as if it was just a normal thing to do so.

“What? Why?” Your feet kick yourself off the ground, allowing you to move back and forth. Kenji follows suit, trying to match your force. Once he got the hang of it, he continues. “Are you not scared?”

“I am. But they don’t want me, I think.”

There are a few seconds of silence as Kenji could no longer spark up a reply. All you both could do was swing on the set together. Feeling like he has to say something, Kenji blurts out the first thing that came to mind.

“My dad said I should love kaiju even if he fights them.”

“Woah! Your dad fights the giants?!” You exclaim, digging the heels of your red shoes on the dirt below. Kenji only nods at this. His swing keeps going. “I think the kaiju are super cool. And Mr. Ultraman too. Is your dad Ultraman?”

“Dad says it’s a secret.” Kenji replies with a pout.

“Then, would you love a kaiju?”

The question makes Kenji stop, the swing set back in its still state as you stare at each other’s eyes. 

“Baka! Why would I love—” Kenji stops, your eyes remain wide and curious. And despite the stormy weather, they still chose to shine. A heat creeps up from his neck up to the tips of his ears for reasons beyond him. 

“...I’m, maybe?” He trails off, breaking your intense eye contact. He then mutters, unsure and low:“If they’re cute enough, why not?”

Before you could respond, however, you two started feeling the rain slowly drop down, seconds before it turned into a downpour. 

“Ah! It’s raining!” Kenji exclaims. Without saying anything, you grab the boy’s hand, leading him into the plastic tube to hide from the rain.

“We can hide here while you wait for your mom.” You assure, you and Kenji sitting with your knees bent to hug yourself better. Every other second, you scoot closer to each other, trying to get warm from the cold breeze picking up.

It’s a few minutes more of silence, maybe ten or so, that Kenji felt like crying again. You heard sniffles from beside you, making you tilt your head to see his glassy eyes, tears brimming the edges.

“Dummy, are you going to cry again?”

“I miss my mom and dad…” Kenji says quietly, digging his face into the caps of his knees.

You breathe out through your nose, feeling bad for the boy.

“Here, face me.” 

Kenji hums, still upset as he does what he’s told.

“You can’t be sad after this, okay?” You say as you lean in and Kenji felt your lips meet his. “There. That means I’ll be around when your mom and dad aren’t. So, stop crying okay, dummy?”

“You’ll… be around when mom and dad aren’t?” Kenji says after the brief kiss, not really processing what just happened. Both your cheeks and nose were a mix of warmth from each other, and cold from the rain.

“Yes.” Kenji continues to look at you curiously, waiting for more context.

“My mom and dad right now say that’s how married people are. They stay together even if no one else is around.”

You point your small finger to his face, he looks at it then back at your unyielding gaze.

“Especially if no one else is around.” You share the valuable piece of knowledge with Kenji who soaked it all in like you were a prophet. He nods slowly.

“Then, we’re married?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

The conversation ends as you two bask in silence again. This time, Kenji is the one to look over at you, staring at your sombre look towards the passersby covering their children with their umbrella; carrying them on their arms to avoid them getting wet. Your expression barely changes, but the way your eyes lidded lower.. it compelled Kenji enough to hold your hand, shocking you.

“Hey! What’s wrong with you?” You ask, mostly out of shock. But you don’t let go.

“I’ll be here too.” 

You realise he’d been staring at you when he said that, making you turn away, resuming your waiting game as you squeezed his hand lightly. He squeezes back. The rain somehow felt more mellow.

Half an hour later, Kenji’s mom arrives at the playground with his dad, ushering him to their car. As Kenji was about to point towards you, he sees you running through the rain, cutting a corner, before disappearing out of his sight.

“What is it, Ken?” Emi Sato asks, carrying the boy in her arms as she checks for injuries, now in the backseat of their car. She glances towards where her son’s eyes were fixated, seeing nothing but the empty playground.

Kenji only shook his head, choosing to say nothing. All he could think about now was when he’ll meet the person he married again.

“Were you lonely, Ken?” His mother asks. He perks up to look back towards his mother’s worried gaze.

There’s only one answer dripping from the tip of his tongue, his hand tingling in warmth, remembering the soft embrace it had just minutes prior. 

“No…”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your lips were soft against Kenji’s slightly chapped ones, both your bodies stuck in the motion of the accidental kiss. There was a small spark of electricity that climbed up from the bottom of your spines, a tingle that's much too noticeable.

It was merely six seconds. 

Kenji would know. 

He counted. 

Six seconds for you to pull away, five of you just staring into the other’s similarly wide orbs; four for Kenji to catch a whiff of that addicting scent he never noticed until now, and three before your eyes finally drooped, your head nuzzling his chest. Kenji's plain white shirt getting wet alongside with it before he feels your whole frame lose its tension, breathing resuming its slow and quiet rhythm.

Kenji remains quiet, his brain absolutely fried, staring straight ahead as he sits to support your weight, comparatively light for the athlete and occasional superhero, especially now that you weren’t a giant. His hands hover over the smooth expanse of your bare back, his legs spread, lightly encaging your snoozing figure. His mouth still ajar, not a word slipping from him.

Eventually, his hands meet the damp skin of your shoulder and the middle of your back, pushing your figure against him even more. He supports your head that was now resting on his shoulder, even as your hair lightly tickles his ear.

“Ken.”

The sudden call of his name from Mina finally releases him from whatever trance he was in. Almost forgetting the giant baby kaiju a few metres away from him who, surprisingly, had settled down; sitting on its hind, watching you and him with a curious gaze.

“I… Uh, yes. Sorry. Uhm,” He clears his throat. “Could you fetch us a towel, Mina?”

It takes only a minute before the ground next to him opened up, a mechanical hand holding the extra white towel was handed to the boy, who takes it wordlessly, working to wrap it around you as delicately as he possibly could. Taking note of your legs and arms littered in bruises and quite nasty wounds.

“I’ll take her to my room, watch over the baby for a minute.” Kenji says. “I’ll prepare the guest room tomorrow.”

“Sure, Ken.”

Once you were wrapped in the soft cotton, Kenji moved to carry you in his arms effortlessly, though he winces every now and then when he rotates his left shoulder a little too much, though it wasn’t that big a deal compared to your injuries. While walking, he would glance at your face, peacefully asleep as if you weren’t even hurt at all. He notes that your eyelashes were the same colour as your hair and eyes, that is, they’re all prismatic in nature; and with the absence of light, there is the absence of colour, where he understands your features much better.

Kenji arrives at his bedroom, setting you down gently on his king-sized bed, turning the duvet so that it covers you, he doesn’t think much of his sheets getting damp from your hair. 

You remain unmoving, both hands rested on your stomach. Kenji finally takes a deep breath in as he drops his weight to the apex of his feet, crouching as he really takes in what happened. 

His hands covers his face; lightly messing his hair in the process as an unexplainable heat pushes its way up from his chest.

Apparently, what happened smelled like Hinoki Wood and Yuzu.

“Ken, your father is waiting outside the door. It seems he has driven here in a haste.”

“Min— Shhh,” He chastises, stopping mid-call to lower his voice. 

“I’ll get to it.” He whispers in reply.

Easily enough, he’s getting off his feet and shutting his door closed as he made his way to the front door. On the way, he starts hearing distant music and giggles from downstairs, along with flashing lights.

“Mina!” Ken calls out from the living room. “What’s going on?”

“The baby had begun fussing two minutes after you two went upstairs, I have discovered that she is currently happy with Doraemon”

Kenji sighs, “Okay, but keep it down a little. Dad might suspect something.”

“But there is something.” Mina replies.

“Shut it, Mina.” He interjects, Mina doesn’t reply, knowing that Kenji particularly has a difficult situation with his father.

Kenji opens the door, looking back to regard if the lights are still on, just as he looks to see that his dad was about to knock.

“Kenji,” his dad almost whispers, a relieved undertone transfixed in the simple call of his name.

In haste, he runs his hand through his hair, ears still catching the tunes playing in the basement.

“Dad, hey. Hey, what’s up?” Kenji leans in, slyly closing the door a little bit more, giving worried glances towards the glass elevator before giving his minute focus back towards his father. “How about that game tonight?” He plays dumb.

“Oh, thank God. You’re okay?” His father fusses.

“Yeah, you know. I’m good.” He allows a little bit more of his body to show that he really was good. “It was a tough battle. I’m a little sore, still recovering, but—”

Suddenly, a screech that Kenji knew was from the baby kaiju pierced through the air, making him reel back in defence behind the front door. His dad, the invader, moving a pace forward like a rook on a chess board made it easy for Kenji to spot the suspicion on his face.

“What was that?”

“Uh…” He needs to come up with something— “Uh, you know. It’s… Uh…” Suddenly, the lights behind him visibly changes. Green, blue, pink— 

“That’s the.. The party downstairs.” He jives along.

Kenji fails to notice the swift change, the quirk of his father’s eyebrows. “The most magnificent creature on Earth has died. The last of its kind.” With each word, his father’s words become more punctuated with anger, hands flailing along with it.

“And you throw a party!?” 

Red. For a brief second or two, Kenji’s mind, his thoughts, were clouded in red; an emotion quickly visible in his face and body. 

“That magnificent creature nearly took my head off, Dad.” 

This time, each word was not only punctuated in anger, but stomps that slowly but surely made his father back away from the shelter of Kenji’s patio, the rain dripping on the old man who could only recede and listen to his enraged son.

“I’ve barely seen you in twenty years. You chose this city and literal monsters over us.”

“No…”

“Then, you get hurt, can’t hack it anymore, and I get to come back and clean up the mess you made as…” Kenji raises his hands in mockery as he sings the branded tune the masses had placed upon his famous counterpart. “Da, da, da, da! Ultraman.”

“—Which I only did because Mom begged me.” Kenji pauses. “And you’re more worried about the monster. Classic.” 

With eyes that sheened in a way that scratches at Kenji’s nerves, his father chalks up a reply. “No… I only wanted to.. protect you.”

It claws in his chest, a familiar wall that’s repeatedly been torn again and again, by the same person; enough so that Kenji could still feel the recurring pain, but no longer does he break down from it.

“But you didn’t.” He says, eyes glassy. “You didn’t even pay attention.”

The furrow in his father’s eyes disappear, a notable change; cognizant of his actions.

Kenji continues.

“Be honest. When Mom disappeared, did you even look for her?”

~

“I stopped hearing it.”

“Stopped hearing what?”

“Do you think kaiju have a special way of communication?” Tadashi asks mindlessly, spinning on his desk chair.

“All animals do, now let me sleep.” Hiro replies, covering his head with a pillow to possibly drown out whatever his big brother could mutter.

But telepathically? 

Is there a possibility? Tadashi thinks, leaning on his elbows that rested on his knees, fingertips of his hands on each other.

And if he can hear it, why can’t Hiro?

Tadashi leans back on his desk chair with an audible sigh. If he were being honest, he didn’t know why he was suddenly so invested in the recent kaiju sighting. His eyes fixated on the smaller version of his whiteboard dedicated to his looking for you in the past three years hidden behind the shelves in his lab at Tokyo Tech. He often hides this side of him from Hiro. This side of him that’s… too dedicated in his search that definitely has been fruitless for years.

It’s simple. 

The scene of the incident, a huge gap in the wall of the building where your personal laboratory was; a trail of disaster followed right after. Like many other kaiju incidents, everyone suspected that it had walked from the sea. Considering that the building was situated on the seaside.

It was late at night when it happened, you went back to your office because you left something and… that’s it? 

You’re just.. gone? Now he has to grief over his sister who he had just spoken to an hour prior to your leaving asking if you wanted some ramen he was cooking because he was too busy studying for his exams and— Tadashi had to catch his breath even though he wasn’t speaking, feeling his heart beat a mile a minute.

They weren’t given much information past that. 

The authorities say that they were just unfortunate that a kaiju had attacked the facility; no security footage, considering that the building was crushed in half. But out of everyone, the guards, other leftover researchers, they were able to leave unscathed while your brothers had to deal with the loss of their pillar; their big sister. Unable to even confirm if you’re dead or not, hoping that you’ll come back, even injured, to them.

Tadashi ran his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that night.

Truthfully, he was about to give up. He was about to take off all the newspaper clippings, all the letters, all your bank records, any and all leads from his rolling whiteboard; erase all the theories, and maybe, just like his little brother always told him… to just.. move on.

But then, on the way home after Tadashi introduced Hiro to his friends at Tokyo Tech after getting arrested for that night when Hiro won one of many of his recurring bot fights, the invasive sounds of the oceans permeated through his mind; wrapping around it gently like a blanket of warmth, telling him, making him understand— that he had to go there. To you.

“Bioacoustics.” Tadashi snaps, getting his favourite cap off his desk as he runs down the door. A course set to Tokyo Tech.

He leaves, not knowing his little brother whose eyes blink open, a frown on his face.

~

We share the pain of her loss, Kenji. 

“Yeah, right.” Kenji mutters beneath his breath.

A few hours have passed since his dad visited and left, a few hours into the morning. He hadn’t gone down yet, choosing to just have the time to himself for at least once today. A box of donuts beside him as he slumped down lazily on his couch. The distant sound of thunder and the whining of the baby fills Kenji’s ears.

He sighs heavily. Kenji knew that he stepped a line earlier when he mentioned his mother to which his father solemnly left right after he said the same words that were stuck in his head amongst other things. It seems like there’s too many things getting stuck in his head recently, and just for this day alone. How did he even get into this mess?

He was so tired, yet he couldn’t sleep a wink.

Kenji would walk around aimlessly, every other time going to his room just to look at you from the doorframe; still and unmoving, your eyelashes resting easily on your now dry cheeks. From here, where your fins and scales were hidden by the combined efforts of your towel, hair, and his duvet; you absolutely looked human. Maybe part of the 0.1% because of your inhumanely beautiful hair. A princess would fit. You look like a resting princess to Kenji. And he, with his dishevelled hair, stained shirt, and day-old pants, would probably be the fucking peasant on your feet.

Kenji disregards the thought, the shrill whine of the baby reaching his ears. He groans, head drooping down as his hand slides from the frame. Walking towards the elevator after getting his donuts, he heads down to the basement.

Mina, in a slightly panicked tone, explains the baby’s neverending screeches that added on to Kenji’s inability to sleep.

“She settled down for a minute, then started right back up.”

“Yeah! I can hear it!” Kenji replies, exasperated.

“She’s still scared of you, Ken.” Mina explains as Kenji puts down his box of donuts on the floor.

“Ya think?” He gets sassier by the minute, Mina thinks.

Looking back at the shrieking baby, Kenji groans; before clapping his hand with faux energy, walking a little further back to try a little trick up his sleeve.

“Hey! Hey, hey.” He calls out, catching the baby’s attention. “Hiii!”

“Let’s try this.” Kenji mutters, the baby still frowned, faux cries coming from its little— big beak. Kenji motions to himself, “Beforeee.”

Then, he bumps his head as he transforms into his alter ego. “After!”

When the baby caught sight of her other sole parent, a smile was quickly seen on her face.

“Before,” She whines.

“After!” She smiles, chitters crooning from her throat, visibly pleased.

And it goes on like that for a minute, enough so that the baby, seeing her dad transform in and out of Ultraman form, give off a confused expression, still trying to put two and two together. Eventually, her chitters come when Kenji is in Kenji form.

Kenji sighs as he approaches the now happy baby. “You see? It’s me.” He explains, turning around and sitting next to his box of donuts once more.

And it wasn’t even two minutes in that the baby started whining again.

[...]

After tending to the baby that Kenji creatively decided to temporarily name ‘Baby,’ giving her a litter of fish for an early morning breakfast— considering it was probably 3 AM by then, Kenji fell asleep on the floor in front of Baby’s containment unit. 

And woke up to strange drops of liquid on his face.

“Eugh, what the…” His eyes, still squinted and opting for sleep, meets the hazy vision of the baby looking down at him, dripping drool. Drool on him, smelling strongly of fish and guts, and… and.. and drool!

Kenji rolls over quickly just before a fat drop falls directly on his face while his mouth was open.

“Oh, God.” He spits out, trying to wipe the substance off his face. “Ew! Ew!” 

He scowls in a second, transforming into his Ultra. Baby tries to reach for him, but Kenji was already on the verge of throwing up from the stench, his fingers pinch the nape of the baby’s neck like she was a kitten. A disgusting trail of spit follows the baby around and Kenji keeps trying not to gag at every moment when he pulls the baby off the edge of the containment unit.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting.” He shakes his head, hand reaching for the lid of the unit. “Oh, that smell.” He looks at the baby who was so happy in return; tummy full from the meal he haphazardly gave earlier. But then suddenly she burped and let out a glob of drool, enough to cover nearly half of his Ultra’s face, luckily turning a little so as not to swallow anything. He coughs, really about to throw up. Quickly putting the baby back to the bottom of the containment unit, he rasps out a few more gasps and Oh Gods before putting the lid back on where it belonged, not seeing the baby try to reach for him.

“It’s so bad.” Kenji coughs out.

Kenji stumbled back releasing his Ultra-form. Crouching a little as he groans out. “I shouldn’t have eaten all those donuts.” He gasps, brain actively fighting to ignore the horrid smell surrounding him when Mina suddenly approaches him.

“Ken, I know you’re exhausted. But you have a game today.” He has a what?

“After last night? There’s no way we’re gonna play.” He shakes his head.

Mina moves back to flash the holographic news of his coach declaring that despite the battle, the stadium is safe, and we will be playing the game. Oh, bullshit. He is not excited to even see that Yakult Swallows fucker.

“Of cooourse. Of course, we’re still gonna play.” Kenji says, frustration evident in his tone.

“What are we going to do about the baby and the woman, Ken?”

“We aren’t gonna do anything.” Ken replies, shrugging, a mechanical hand giving him his Giants jacket.

“You are gonna have to figure something out.” He continues, putting on his jacket backwards without thinking, walking towards the glass elevator. “Get creative, Mina. You are a state-of-the-art supercomputer.”

The hovering orb listens as she understands the orders given to her; turning back to flash a different kids show towards the baby.

“Studies suggest this isn’t healthy for children.” She states, upbeat music overtaking the basement as the baby immediately fell in fascination of the bright colours.

“Ah, TV, the ultimate babysitter. Just not all this crap all day, okay? I don’t want her getting hooked on that stupid song.”

When finally arriving upstairs, the sun has already risen, he opted to take a quick shower to get rid of all the nasty fish spit left on him by the baby. When entering his room right after to get some clothes, he finds you still fast asleep. Not a twitch, not a hair out of place.

A towel still wrapped around his waist, Kenji decides to approach you in quiet footsteps. If only to check if you were still breathing, and you were, he confirms, after placing his ear close to your face.

“I wonder what your name is,” He says lowly, sighing and sparing you one last look before going to change and leaving for today’s game.

~

⌈ And there’s another strike. Sato just looks exhausted. ⌋

⌈ And now it looks like there are words being exchanged between Sato and the Swallows catcher. Oh! Oh no. We haven’t seen a brawl like this in a long time. Both benches have cleared. They’re throwing punches… ⌋

Now, Kenji was watching this morning’s replay of his ruffle with that stupid Swallows catcher in the middle of his living room. Watching as he sees a pathetic version of himself, missing strike after strike. A litter of bruises and small cuts on his face, his knuckles a nasty mix of blue and purple from delivering similarly menacing blows because of his undiluted anger.

He doesn't sense the silent footsteps approaching him in the dark room, head too deep in the failures within his past two days and the injuries he’s incurred so far. A whine falls from his lips as he tries to appease the patched bruise on his temple with the premium canned drink that mockingly had his once flawless face plastered on.

It was only when you were standing right beside him, dipping your finger in the ice did Kenji fully comprehend that someone was in the room with him. He yelped, almost sitting up.

“H-hey.” Kenji exclaims. “You're awake. What are you—”

His words die down from his throat, words turning to a gulp, when the loose towel around you drops to the ground, exposing you to the man who had his mouth agape, taking it all in before he realises he should be darting his eyes away. 

You don't spare him a glance when you try to step in the tub, Kenji moving his feet to give you room, and really, to begin getting out of there.

I mean, he can't just bathe with you, can he? Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to take the indulgent step of bathing in the middle of the living room.

His efforts to go and step out are stopped when you gently place your soft hand on his rigid arm. You're quiet, voice unheard, but it seems like your sounds that blanket over Kenji's cortexes are working just fine. And it— you said: 

Stay.

Like a puppy, he felt compelled to stay. 

So he did. 

You stared at him, and he observed your movements, the cooled can from his hand had long been forgotten as you kneel between his legs, your ice-cold hands dragging along his. From his palm, to the space between his fingers, to his knuckles and… Up, up, up, following the veins that decorated his overworked arms, the ticklish sensation made him drop the can from his lightened grip.

All the while you looked at him so earnestly, and in this light, it's like there was a brief flash of the more natural hue of your features; the usual iridescence dialling down a notch, making Kenji, among the other things you were doing to him, hitch his breath for the subtle flicker in changes.

The moment was quiet, none of you talking as the volume of the video he watched on repeat had been dialled down in his head. All it was in this moment was your touch on his, every gentle, slow drag of the freezing tips of your fingers on his bruises and scratches left such a sensation. Like electric fire on water, but also ice on skin on the hottest summer days.

Whether it was a spark or from the cold, or from something else entirely, Kenji at this moment, didn't care to know. Because your hands finally reached his collarbones, thumb rubbing circles on his Adam’s apple, and if you weren't so… so delicate with your touch, he would have blamed you for making him feel so choked. Like he couldn't breathe, like he didn't want to breathe anything else but the addicting scent you were giving off. You’d have to have been in the ocean for so long. How come you smell like this? Not of salt or fish, or—

He cuts his own thoughts off as he hears a small hum from your throat, his eyes that he hadn't noticed to be so lowly lidded already, on the brink of closing from your light caresses, widens at the slightest hint of your voice.

Your hand traces up from his collarbone, up to his neck, until you're perusing your way to his bruised cheek and damp hair. When you decide to leave your hand on his injured cheek, pressing a little, Kenji involuntarily lets out a whimper, the pain from the punch of that stupid catcher unironically catching up to him.

But even with this, Kenji finds himself leaning to your touch, eyes instinctively closing when the pressure returns to a light careen, allowing himself to delve deeper into the abyss you were taking him into. His cheek where your hand lay felt cool, a separate feeling from the ice, like it's carefully taking his pain away. 

You move the slightest bit, hand pulling away; and Kenji's first instinct when his eyes shot open was to hold your wrist.

“Don't,” He whispers quietly, his cool breath fanning you who looked at him with your currently doe eyes in surprise. It seems that Kenji has a habit of not noticing things involving you. He didn't flinch from the closeness, a surprisingly welcome gesture for him. “Don't stop.”

For a brief moment, he forgets that you're half-kaiju, and that you haven't spoken a word at all since you two met. But when you rise from the water, bare chest seen for his eyes only, his other arm wraps itself on your waist subconsciously. Your legs and his tangle as he sits lower on the bathtub, allowing you to sit taller than him so he can bury his face on the curve of your neck and shoulder, dipping down to the valley of your soft breasts as he sighs in contentment, eyes closed all the while his arms wrap around your torso.

You were sitting on Kenji's navel, arms wrapped around his neck as your hands combed through his hair while you rested your cheek on his temple. It was quiet, not even the sound of the looping clip on the wall-to-wall TV was getting any of yours and Kenji's attention.

It's soothing, this feeling.

Kenji feels like you’re unravelling the knots on his physique, the pure sensation makes his fingers run along your slightly arched back in appreciation. 

With his eyes closed, trapped in your soft embrace, Kenji allows the time to pass by. Not seeing the slowly pulsing, bioluminescent glow of the once normal water of his ice bath. The cooling sensation wasn’t from the ice any longer, but from the conduction of your healing enzymes, your kaiju features coming out strong, the brief reprise of your earlier change in features disappearing, replaced back into its original state of prismatic disposition.

“Ken,” Mina’s slightly excited voice calls out and Ken snaps his eyes open, the once peaceful environment long gone. “We have something to show you.” He groans when the chirps from below reach his ears.

When he pulls away, he’s careful not to let you graze.. him. You only stared in curiosity, wondering why he was plucking himself away from you. Kenji makes a point to only stare at your eyes, and only your eyes despite quite literally using your chest as his pillow not only a few minutes earlier.

“Let’s get changed, okay? Close your eyes so I can get out.”

Kenji shouldn’t be surprised that you didn’t understand what he meant, so he lightly grabbed both your wrists, still pointedly ignoring the curve of your waist, disappearing into the icy bath, and how you were so soft cushioned on his comparatively hard stomach. Honestly… how did he look past all of this earlier?

“Here, cover.” He says, holding your hands over your eyes, the fingers leaving an undeniable gap, which he would close. “Cover tightly.”

When he made sure you weren’t leaving your arms loose, Kenji moved to get up from the tub, his only guiding light is the TV, he scampers for his towel, wrapping it quickly around his waist before turning around to fetch you yours. Only to see that your eyes were already set on him.

“Hey! I said cover!” Kenji exclaims, already feeling his skin growing red from the embarrassment.

“You’re actually a perv, aren’t you?” He asks, but you remain quiet, simply observant of his actions. When he leans down to grab your towel beside the tub, his eyes dart over to his knuckles that were once purple. Now, it was back to his original shade of skin. His brows furrow at this and he immediately moves to touch his once painful temple, cheek, and then arm— until he rotates his dominant shoulder.

The realisation dawns on him as he looks at you, still a little worse for wear, only tilting your head at his gaze.

“No way.” He mutters. Kenji turns on the lights to the room, making you squint and hiss. 

“Sorry.” Kenji offers you your towel, wrapping it around your shoulder. “Come on. Up, up.” He pats his arm for you to take.

[...]

 When he got downstairs, you in tow, Kenji had a little pep in his step. Briefly forgetting the other reason he came down. You were currently dressed in Kenji’s old Dodgers shirt and one of his old boxers; the only few that would fit you. He thought it would be a nightmare to dress you at first, but you were a quick learner. Kenji only had to show you how he got his own shirt first before you followed suit and things went from there; of course when he had to show you how to put on his old boxers, it was decidedly… too much to show you how he does it firsthand.

So, he opted to put on the rest of his clothes in his walk-in closet away from your tailing figure. Kenji decided that he was lucky that his Dodgers shirt was big on you, enough to cover a good portion of your lower half so that when he instructs you to put your feet on the holes of the only other clothes he had that fit you, he wouldn’t be staring it at the face.

“We’re definitely going to need a trip to the mall.”

When the baby caught sight of you and Kenji together, she chittered, the massive fins on either side of her head lightly twitching as she smiled. Kenji gives you a brief look as you grinned so brightly at the baby, your hand that once held on to Kenji’s arm was now set on the glass container as you met the baby face-to-face.

Kenji smiles. “Mina, I have some good news.”

“Wait, Ken. Baby has a surprise to show you, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Yes. What was it?”

When the music started playing, the baby started jumping, dancing along. But the foul odour took away the charm of the cute dance. So much so that even you reeled back, a scrunch on your nose.

“Oh, dear God, what is that smell?” Kenji exclaims, covering his nose with his arm.

“Ken, you cannot feed a 20-foot baby a half ton of fish and expect nothing but a giant pile of—” Shit.

Kenji’s gaze flitters to the green goo that the baby repeatedly stomped on in its little happy dance.

“Which brings me to something we need to discuss.” Mina continues. “Until I am able to find Kaiju Island, we’re going to need to raise her.”

The mention of Kaiju Island perked Kenji’s ears, he’d briefly forgotten how much he needed to send the baby back.

“And as for the woman…”

“No, no. We can’t send her back to Kaiju Island, she’s obviously not a monster.” Kenji stops. “But she does know Kaiju Island. She should, shouldn’t she?”

“It is a possibility.”

“Look, so far, she’s not acting wildly. She’s just a little…” Kenji watches as you peruse the shirt you’re wearing, seeing the peeks of scale glistering from your wounded legs. “New to all this. And she learns fast too.”

Your eyes catch on to Kenji’s and he waves at you lightly. You smile, all pearly white, at him.

“Ken, your heart rate seems to spike when you are around her.”

The statement makes Kenji reel back. “What?!”

The floating robot does not respond from her out-of-pocket statement however, opting to float towards you.

When Mina approaches you, you lean back, afraid of the foreign levitating ball. When the supercomputer emits the same cyan light, you run, all the way towards Kenji who huffs when you bump into him in your haste to avoid getting scanned. Your being scared was obvious as you hid behind Kenji’s back; you three were a little far from the baby now, mostly Kenji’s attempt to smell the stench less.

“What if she was a person before all of this, Mina?”

“There are no records or any news at all of cross-contaminating human DNA with kaiju DNA.”

“It would feel wrong to send someone that looks, acts,” not talks yet, but— “You get what I mean.”

“Then, we’ll just have to arrive at a compromise, Ken. Earlier I said that we must raise the baby,”

“Mina, I’ve got a whole season of baseball ahead of me.” Kenji digresses. “I.. I just can’t do it.” He turns around, about to leave and head upstairs.

For Ken, raising a baby was an entirely different responsibility than… teaching someone, he would reason in his brain. He wasn't going to raise you, he just needed to.. investigate.

You turn your head from the baby to Kenji.

“Ken, you brought her home and now she is your responsibility. I have observed that our other guest doesn’t mind helping you with her. In any case, she’s more experienced towards kaiju behaviour. So if you want to keep one of them, you’re keeping both of them.” Mina keeps going, and Ken can only stay quiet as he steps back with every self-effacing statement the robot made.

“They will both die if you don’t take care of them until they are ready to leave. Now, it won’t be easy, but I’ll do everything I can to help.” The bot asserts.

“We’ll have to continue feeding her, washing her, develop a strategy for taking her to potty.” This makes Kenji flinch, looking at the giant pink lizard who was giggling in the similarly giant glass container she was in.

“You’ll have to learn the five S’s.” Kenji trips back a little as he keeps walking backwards, back slowly to the containment unit. 

“Swaddle, side, shush, swing, suck.”

The sudden rumble of the surroundings makes Kenji and Mina look back, your tail swashing as you transform into your kaiju form; Kenji’s old shirt and boxers on the ground beside you.

~

The night ended rather quietly after Kenji finished cleaning up and with you humming a familiar tune to put the baby to sleep. Along with coming into terms that he basically had a kid starting then. Now, Kenji was walking to his room, ready for bed. The guest room was ready for you to sleep in, and even after Kenji pointed the bed there, you kept following him. He grunts.

“No. You sleep there,” He points again, and you dumbly look towards his finger pointing. However, he reels back when he realises you flinched in surprise at his sudden action.

A weird feeling of guilt overtakes him, and he sighs. “Why are you so clingy with me?” He whispers, mostly to himself, really.

As he went on though, he no longer stopped you from following him. Eventually, he was lying on his bed. You stand there, waiting.

“Come on. Lie down.” Kenji pats the space beside him. The change in disposition is so obvious, your glee spreading across the room and wrapping Kenji in unreposed warmth.

You jump on the extremely soft and fluffy mattress, diving beneath the covers like a bean. A bean that eventually found its place on his chest, grinning widely. Your whole body hid beneath the thick duvet, your face the only thing peeking out. The sight made Kenji breathe out a chuckle as his hand lands on your head, lightly patting it.

“Thank you…” Kenji starts, your chin resting on the middle of his chest, eyes fixated on him. “You know, for whatever you did. I feel better.”

You may not have understood him word for word, but the message seemed to have gone through, ending up with you simply humming and smiling up at him, before your cheek replaced your chin as you begin to get comfortable. 

For now, Kenji can allow this.

He closes his eyes, unknowingly basking in your warmth and the way your body seemed to melt into his.

Taglist: @moonjellyfishie @mochminnie @lovingyeet @vrxouei @secretyna

[theprisonerandthebeast]

Do you write poly marauders? if so could you write one where they all live in a cute little apartment together, but the boys have gone away for week (or however long) and reader (preferably fem) kind of loses herself. like she starts eating less or at irregular times, kinda lets apartment get messy, wears same clothes everyday and is over all sad. the boys come home and find what's happening and comfort/help her. Mega fluff?!

hope this is enough inspo!

love your writing!!!

thank you :))

I LOVE THIS! I’ve been wanting to write poly!marauders forever and now I have an excuse. A kiss for you, anon.

(I might edit to add more details to the ending later!!)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s just a week. We will be back soon, okay, Angel?” James coos to you, kissing you softly.

The boys are all heading out, bags in hand, saying their goodbyes.

“It’s actually 6 days, Jamie, not a week.” Sirius says, pointedly.

“Excuse me…” James says sarcastically to Sirius, then, turning to you, “6 days, then, Princess. Think you can make it without us that long?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” You say, giggling at James’ almost-overly-sensitive tone. He’s always babied you the most.

Remus says, exasperatedly, “I wouldn’t even be going to this Quidditch game if it wasn’t to make sure these idiots don’t fall off the stands, gorgeous girl, you know that, right?”

You giggle even harder at that, “Yes, I know. Now, go and have fun.”

You usher them out the door and into the hallway of your apartment. Luxurious, ceiling-high windows, a kitchen all of you could judge James’ latest experimental dish in, and a living room couch (made of clouds) facing the most expensive TV screen Sirius could afford.

What was originally Sirius’ apartment became Sirius and James’ apartment. Soon after, Remus moved in. Lastly, they asked you to move in once your relationship became more serious.

You walk around the suddenly too-quiet apartment. The cool floor feels more evident on your feet than before and a chill runs down your spine. You climb onto the couch, pull a blanket to your chin, and turn on a show for background noise. You fall asleep almost immediately.

The next morning, you wake up expecting the boys’ arms around you. Sirius snoring loudly, James spread out, pushing Remus off the bed- this was your normal morning routine. Waking up on the couch was never an option before. If you fell asleep on the couch, one of the boys, usually Sirius, would carry you to bed.

With nobody around to do that this morning (and no snoring to be heard from anywhere) you start to feel an empty, lonely feeling. Usually you or James or Remus would make breakfast but you didn’t feel like eating. You make yourself a cup of coffee and relax for the rest of the day. For dinner, you order a pizza and eat the whole thing. It was the only thing you had ate that day and told yourself tomorrow would be better.

That night, you fall asleep fitfully.

The days after are no better, in actuality, they were worse. One night you couldn’t sleep at all and at 3am you give up. You go to the living room, stare out the window at the city below and watch the cars light up the street. Even at 3am, cars are still going. You think too much about who’s in those cars and what they’re doing. Why are they driving at 3am? Some of them could be driving to the hospital right now. Some of them are just now getting off work. Some of them are teenagers who want to get away from their parents to smoke weed at the abandoned house on 7th Street.

You think about how out of all the people in the world, Remus, Sirius, and James chose you.

Suddenly, a thought hits you- there on the couch at damn near 4 in the morning. “They left me, they went on a trip to see someone else… They never chose me after all…”

You believe its true. You believe it so bad you go to sleep, crying, right there on the couch.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours (or was it days?) later you wake up to keys jingling outside the door. Panic hits you at first. You look around the living room and kitchen. Pizza boxes, McDonald's cheeseburger wrappers, and an old, door-dashed Starbucks drink, definitely growing mold by now, lay around you. And that’s not even counting the bedroom.

They walk in, bags in hand. Smiling at first, then immediately frowning when they see the state of the apartment; the state of you. Shame hits you like a brick. You think about the scene in Home Alone when the robber gets a iron smashed into his face. You think that might feel better.

James is the first to drop everything and coddle you, as usual. He rushes to you, thrusting himself in your arms. You immediately feel better.

“Are you okay? You look so sad, puppy.” He strokes your hair and you smile as the familiar James scent reaches you.

Remus and Sirius are hugging you moments after.

You cry but laugh. You feel silly for ever thinking they were visiting another person.

“What’s going on? You missed us?” Sirius says, pouting.

“Yes, I missed you!” you cry-laugh and throw a pillow from the couch at him.

Remus giggles when you miss.

You explain the situation to them and how you got a little insecure in their departure.

Sirius carries you to bed and Remus holds you while James makes you a proper dinner.

After, Remus runs you a bath, just how you like it. Sirius brushes and braids your hair.

While you were taking a bath, it seemed like the trash disappeared magically. You figured Remus had cleaned it.

Nobody mentions the mess, the boys are all just glad you're feeling better.

You fall asleep with all the boys cradled around you in your big bed. You only start to fall into a deep sleep when you hear Sirius snoring softly.

[wordsvomit101]

I would put him as a "sad old man" on my contact list if I were MC.

Sometimes I gotta be a bit petty for MC cause they don't do it for themself. Credits to @shyanimeboi and their friend on X: https://x.com/shyanimeboi/status/1795183592961655077/video/4

Warnings: Sexual content, complicated brainstorming about guilt and legacy.

Of course, you would say that- No but honestly, I would be pissed as hell if he said that to me directly, cause sir your brother lowkey put MC's parent on the news, made their friend see his ancestor temporarily, and then almost put them in the casket as well. It's a miracle that they do not blindly hate everything relating to angels at this point. (Although I'm glad that you at least find closure from it you dismal oldster ╮(─_─)╭)

It's a little heartwarming that he shows that he still loves his brothers a lot, given how he said: "traces that Gabriel is alive and well". It got me thinking about how it could very likely mean that he believes at some point in the future, either the other kings kill his brothers or Lucifer will have to choose between Hell (repentance) and his love for them when put in a corner he cannot back out, and with him being the Sin of Pride, I don't think he would either.

Also, if he is happy just by seeing the brand alone then his brothers either avoid attacking Paradise Lost personally or he didn't face them directly after he told off Michael more than 100 years ago and he did say that he "can no longer meet to ask how he is doing".

This first option seems like something Solomon would say. As his descendant, how MC presents themself in the daily chats and some of their options are probably the closest we get to see how Solomon would act when he was still around. An example would be how they question the goofy 3 rules policy in Paradise Lost that was set by the nobles, I will admit, I didn't think of that either. I was affected by the devoted behaviors of the nobles from both the event and the beginning of the prologue, in turn, I put Lucifer on an unreachable pedestal and I love that MC boldly questioned it and presented their opinions and rationale that bring Lucifer closer to the player and shows more air-headed sides to the nobles. They bring new perspectives and challenge the assumptions albeit in a small but significant way. I love it, I hope they do it more in the future.

He also finally said it, the holy words of every prideful bastard I know on media, "How dare you", it took 4 chats but we finally got here.

How he process his brothers' wrongdoings and his own? Very understandable and something, in my opinion, most victims would rather want to get from their offenders' family members, acceptance and acknowledgment of the issues and the damage that was done, and a genuine effort to do the right things. Familial love is very complicated, and it is… difficult to hate and condemn someone you come to love first naturally in your life. I think Lucifer, besides God (but also not really), first loves his brothers, probably the first angel to do so for their kind, and by reading the Seraphs’ comics it clearly shows how they either don’t care or hate each other guts yet still capable of loving Lucifer. He raised them, he's both their brother and their second parental figure, and he show them love outside of their devotion to God.

And how he addresses them in the chat, he calls each one of them a "child", he was being very quietly affectionate by focuses on their well-being when he saw the brand on MC. He also only does this with them and Gamigin, so it is clear how he sees them from a caretaker standpoint (the allegation of him being born in his 30s and raising his brothers is not so far-fetched now, honestly, he is the true dilf here, not God). He knows his brothers ruining other people's lives but when they turn around and love and treat him so dearly that it can feel like what they have done to others is an illusion.

When that illusion doesn't cloud his judgment and beliefs anymore? It will hurt and it can feel like his perception of his brothers are lie. It can be easy to deny the first time but since it happens again and again he has to accept the change and it ain't gonna feel great to realize how he is not the bystander here and directly or indirectly enable his brothers' atrocities (maybe join them in it too at some point, but this is just my thoughts). It gonna rewire how he views a lot of things and it gonna run back from the beginning to the current time, and with how long Lucifer lived? That's rough buddy.

Now, humans are insignificant in these guys' eyes and a single death is nothing to them in the vast universe, yes, but like Lucifer said, God made humans and with how he said it after that, humanity is a part of God's legacy. Legacy is fundamental to what it is to be human to many, something to be carved on their graves and will at the end of their time, it also helps people who live beyond them to remember and let their spirits or unconscious presence remain on the world. So despite humanity in the grand scheme of things, humans are still the work of God. By referring to God as "Our Father," besides asserting his connection, he also indirectly extends that connection to humans. It suggests a shared lineage and inherent value in all of God's creations.

If I interpret what Lucifer said correctly, then the duty of the Seraphim has always been to protect and care for all beings created by God, ensuring the preservation of His legacy. This duty encompasses all creations, whether great or small, beautiful or flawed. To destroy these creations and leave only themselves as His legacy would be a betrayal of their responsibility. A legacy, regardless of its nature, is not to be forcefully erased. Those who seek to erase it tarnish the very legacy they are meant to safeguard and were entrusted to honor.

So if they can't even accept all of God's legacy, no wonder why they can easily go hunt down every single child of one (1) man they are jealous of. Perhaps this is my speculation on what they did with Solomon, who seemed resigned to being forgotten by the devils in chapter 5. They sought to erase his entire bloodline, his descendants, and his legacy, ultimately aiming to make him extinct from the world (like how poachers do it toward endangered animals). For someone like Solomon, this, in my opinion, could be the most terrible fate for him. I honestly wouldn't put it past God's plan to make MC a part of this war for Solomon.

This option is more like the canon MC than the Solomon option from before. They felt more personal here in their anger.

The desensitization for guilt and emotional detachment is strong in this. Lucifer acknowledges the gravity and permanence of the sins he and his brothers have committed and accepts that he must coexist with his guilt and remorse, but how he goes around with it is mostly for himself. Lucifer mentions that he "voluntarily fell to Hell", a form of self-punishment despite his brothers' protests (but also calling Hell the starting point of sadness is wild cause honestly? Not that wrong, I can't see truly happy devils, and if there is, their development happened off-screen).

Lucifer’s remark that the MC is "not that meaningful enough yet" is his emotional detachment from others. His focus remains on his own internal experiences rather than on the perspectives or forgiveness of others. This detachment suggests that his pursuit of guilt is inward-focused, rather than being about seeking forgiveness or redemption through the eyes of others. Selfish and very prideful, very fitting for the Sin of Pride. The idea that Lucifer is almost addicted to the feeling of guilt points to a self-destructive aspect of his personality. It indicates that he may be using guilt as a way to continually punish himself or a way to keep feeling alive through suffering.

Now this leads to my next point:

Lucifer's search for guilt and remorse indicates a need for intense emotional experiences. Witnessing someone cry, especially if he has caused the tears, could provide a powerful emotional release or catharsis for him. This could momentarily alleviate his own feelings of guilt by transferring some of that emotional burden onto others.

Control. By inducing tears in others, he might be exerting a form of control that he lacks in his own life. This dynamic could satisfy a deep-seated need to reclaim some semblance of power over emotional outcomes.

Witnessing tears might serve as a mirror to his own inner turmoil. It externalizes the pain and suffering he feels internally, allowing him to confront it more tangibly. This externalization can create a twisted sense of connection or empathy, aligning with his need to constantly grapple with guilt.

Lucifer's enjoyment of seeing others cry could be intertwined with his own cycle of punishment and redemption. Inflicting emotional pain might be a way for him to project his self-loathing and need for atonement onto others. It creates a scenario where he can experience the aftermath of guilt without direct self-harm.

Causing others to cry could validate Lucifer's sense of guilt and reinforce his belief that he is deserving of punishment. This validation can be perversely satisfying, as it confirms his self-perception as someone who commits unforgivable sins.

Tears are often a sign of vulnerability. Seeing someone in a state of emotional rawness might create a sense of intimacy that Lucifer finds alluring. This intimacy could particularly appeal to someone who feels isolated by guilt and sins.