#to all the boys i’ve loved before quotes

[hellaephemeral]

atp i don’t trust anyone who’s read the bllk manga and not thought aNY of it (like not even one moment, one quote, one boy etc.) was fruity as hell

[crossbackpoke-check]

"This extra space next to me belongs to you. I know where I end now. I won't get lost." -- shoot me (metaphorically) and leave me for dead (metaphorically) why won't you. To make this about Dylan and maybe it's about Connor, maybe it's about Brinksy, maybe it's about any journeyman in the NHL. My brain screamed Chris Driedger and his memorable (to me) Players' Tribune article:

And how can you mention Dylan and Zach (Za-ach, the way Dylan says it) without me having a breakdown about them? You simply can't. And for the younger dudes, maybe it's a little Bords/Briss, not yet steady in The Show, a little bit of distance, a summer that tries to erase and make up all the memories they've made separately... and then a blurry insta story in Vegas. Just like old times but somewhere else. Maybe it's not the same bed, maybe it's not the same set of forks, but maybe it's the principle of the thing.

Anyway, goodbye. Sorry for this, your tag walls make me break out in imagined scenarios.

Much love. xxx

please never be sorry for sending me messages <3 i love reading them i love getting them i think they’re beautiful and i love them i���m!!!!! [🥹💕🦋🫧✨💘😭 <- the best approximation of what my heart is doing]

ok NOW i am taking this step by step because every narrative here kicked me straight in the knees (metaphorically) i am w e e p i n g (literally): i knew tangentially about chris driedger going to seattle but i had never read his players’ tribune love letter to seattle & all i can say is oh. oh. and with the part about trains delayed but still being right on time—

sometimes a dream is a truth your heart knows long before you do. the space that the city and the team made for him (“you’d be the only guy on the team”)🗣️🗣️🗣️ !!! but the way that chris talks about needing to put in the work & leo not letting him quit,,, that’s chris filling up the teakettle with twice as much water, crowding one side of the bed (falling asleep against a bus window dreaming), becoming unburdened by the idea of not being their guy, not having the fallback being their draft pick to content and settle himself with. that’s chris betting on a future. that’s the train coming down the tracks, right on time.

(i am feeling unhinged about it)

SECOND. i know i was the one that said zach and dylan to start so technically i brought this on myself but also i have been ktfo by the mere mention of the way that dylan says zach’s name different from everyone else, stealing an extra breath, stealing as much time as he can get with him, which reminded me of a poem i just read:

The Need Is So Great, Jim Moore

^^^dylan still in love with zach even as he’s leaving, can feel himself losing him, and taking every sliver of the love in his smile that he can get. even if he knows zach doesn’t still feel the same way he’s drawing out the long goodbye & saying i love you in a thousand ways without ever saying it out loud (“i have been asking for a time but in ways that have no words” because he doesn’t want to ask too much, to ask for love) in the hope that zach will say it back OKAY I’M LEAVING i can’t do this

that was a lie because THREE. “maybe it’s the principle of the thing” please insert the most ungodly screech how could you just (lovingly) come in straight with the steel chair and bean me upside the head with that l i n e i think this story has the potential for such tragedy in it but also the most tender domestic longing because bords & briss have known each other for a long time (i think) and guys do sometimes lose themselves when they first get to the nhl.

it’s a big scene, you’re with big name guys, you’re finally doing the thing you always dreamed about, you’re no longer necessarily the best because everyone’s the best, you’re not sure how you fit in, you can get lost in the glitz and the glamor of it but you can also literally get lost in it, the slog of the season and getting caught up and down between teams and leagues and endless airports and buses and travel and ice rinks, losing your phone (accidental) and having new people hound you for quotes and fame and connection so you lose your phone (on purpose) and i think where i’m trying to go is: this could play out as the tragedy of borde going to the california coastline and briss shipping off to the vegas strip and both of them getting a little lost.

maybe there’s someone else, maybe i am steadfastly not thinking about “a summer that tries to erase and make up all the memories they've made separately” as either a summer of them pretending things are ok after a year of barely speaking and now being completely different people they never were before OR a summer of them trying to pretend like they can forget about each other because maybe they didn’t think their relationship was the same thing, is all, when they were or weren’t together. maybe it’s nobody’s fault but for the fact that they were scared and tired and lonely trying to make it in the big times and didn’t know how to show it. and then borde shows up with takeout and plastic forks in vegas and it’s december and nothing like winter in ann arbor and still they fill up all the empty spaces in each other with the things they didn’t know they’d miss until they were gone and this is the real thing, not whatever they were trying too hard to be, to recreate their own nostalgia for the love in their memories. it’s the principle of the thing, is all, to always be true to the love they have right now & not what they think it should be.

sorry that i wrote you kind of an essay of an answer but i had so so so many thoughts because your ask was so lovely so thank you for sending it to me (you are always welcome to!! i love your imagined scenarios!!! cannot even explain how much!!!) & thank you for taking the time to read my walls of tags :))) <3

[queenmabsblog]

[novaursa]

What about one where the small folk of winterfell and the people of the castle make friendly, suggestive gossip from giggly women and knowing men about cregan and targ!reader. Their lord and lady are close with one another and it is often talked about and seen that they frequent the bed chamber (if yk what I mean 👀)

the folk of Winterfell feel at ease knowing their lord and lady seem to be in love, similar to the honeymoon period and young love.

You don’t have to use this quote i came up with, but it inspired me to ask for this idea “I’m sure our new lady will provide both Winterfell and our Lord with many Stark children. They are certainly not opposed to practicing their duty”

— 🐠

Winterfell's Warmth

- Summary: Cregan takes you to be his wife, a fire to his ice. And it's not long until smallfolk notice just how much Lord Stark is devoted to his Targaryen bride. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: This entire scene is from the perspective of the smallfolk.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

- A/N: This is the last request that I'll be posting today.

Winterfell bustles with the hum of daily life, as it always does—iron clanging in the forges, boots scuffing over the ancient stones, and the soft murmurs of the smallfolk as they go about their duties. But today, there's a special kind of lightness in the air, a sense of warmth despite the looming chill that clings to the North. The hearths burn brighter, and even the winds seem to whisper with a mischievous grin.

The reason for this subtle shift? You, Y/N, the new Lady of Winterfell, and your lord husband, Cregan Stark. Since your arrival, the inhabitants of the castle have grown accustomed to your frequent disappearances with their lord—disappearances that always lead back to your shared bedchamber. The smallfolk know, of course, as do the courtiers. They know very well what goes on behind those thick stone walls, and the knowledge brings them no small amount of amusement. 

In the courtyard, a group of washerwomen gossip while scrubbing linens in the cold, frothy water of a trough. Their fingers are red from the chill, but their spirits remain high.

“Have you heard?” one of them, a round-faced woman named Ellyn, leans in, lowering her voice despite the fact that no one important is nearby. “Our lady was seen entering the lord’s chambers again this morning, not long after the first bell rang.”

A younger girl, barely past sixteen, giggles and covers her mouth. “She didn’t leave until just before the midday meal yesterday, either!”

Another woman, older and seasoned from years of service, cocks an eyebrow but smiles knowingly. “Winterfell hasn’t been this alive since…well, since Lord Cregan’s own parents. I’d wager the bedchambers have seen more use in the past fortnight than in the last decade combined.”

The women burst into laughter, their voices carrying through the open courtyard. Ellyn smirks, leaning in even closer. “I’m sure our new lady will provide both Winterfell and our Lord with many Stark children. They are certainly not opposed to practicing their duty.”

The young girl flushes a little but can’t help but join in the giggling. "It's true, isn't it? They’ve only been married a moon’s turn, and yet I’ve never seen a man so... devoted to his wife."

“Well,” the older woman says with a playful shrug, “the Starks may be wolves, but it seems our Lord’s heart is well and truly claimed by a dragon.”

Across the courtyard, a pair of stable boys are equally enthralled with the ongoing rumors. One of them, tall and lanky, leans against the stall door, shaking his head.

"I swear by the old gods, I’ve never seen Lord Stark smile so much," the boy says, eyes wide with the incredulity of it all. "He used to be all serious, always about duty, honor, the needs of Winterfell. But now? Every time I see him, he’s got that daft look on his face, like he’s already back in the Lady’s arms."

The other stable boy, shorter and stockier, chuckles. "Aye, I noticed that too. You'd think a man so cold in demeanor wouldn’t be so… warm in his private affairs." He glances around, as if Lord Cregan himself might be lurking behind a pillar. "But gods, can you blame him? Our lady is like a flame. She’s got the blood of dragons in her veins, and it’s like he can’t resist her."

The tall boy laughs loudly. "Well, Winterfell is colder than the South, and a bit of fire in his bed can’t hurt, can it?"

Their laughter echoes through the stables, joining the chorus of quiet gossip that fills the castle.

In the kitchens, the cooks are no less entertained. An older man, grizzled and stern-faced, chops onions with a practiced hand. "It's a good thing they’re so taken with each other," he grumbles to a nearby scullery maid. "Winterfell needs strong heirs, and soon. Better they start early."

The maid, a cheerful woman with flushed cheeks from the heat of the ovens, snickers. "Aye, I doubt that'll be a problem. They’re always together, locked away for hours. If they keep at it, we’ll have a new little Stark running about before winter comes."

"I’ve heard they’re inseparable," another cook chimes in, stirring a pot of stew. "Lord Cregan hardly lets her out of his sight. It’s almost sweet, really."

"Sweet?" the old man scoffs, though there’s no real bite in his voice. "It’s practical, is what it is. They’re doing their duty, ensuring the Stark line continues. But," he adds with a chuckle, "it doesn’t hurt that they seem to enjoy it so much."

The scullery maid laughs. "Oh, they more than enjoy it! I was passing by their chamber the other night, and, well…" She lets the sentence hang, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let’s just say, they were not quiet."

The group erupts into laughter, and even the old man can’t suppress a grin.

And so it goes throughout Winterfell. From the servants who clean your chambers to the guards posted outside the great hall, everyone in the castle is aware of the affection that flows so freely between you and Cregan. Even in the great hall during the evening feasts, there are stolen glances and soft touches between you, enough for the smallfolk to notice.

At one such feast, a group of bannermen seated at a lower table murmur amongst themselves, casting knowing looks up at the high table where you sit beside your husband. Lord Cregan’s hand rests casually on your thigh beneath the table, his thumb tracing circles through the fabric of your gown. You lean toward him, whispering something that makes him laugh softly—a sound rare enough in these halls that it turns heads.

One of the bannermen, a grizzled old warrior with silver streaking his beard, nudges the man beside him. "See how he looks at her? Like she’s the only thing in the world that matters."

The younger man nods. "Aye, I’ve noticed. Seems our Lord is well and truly smitten."

"Better that than cold and distant, I say," the older man replies. "Winterfell’s seen enough hardship. It’s good for the people to know their Lord is happy. And with the lady he’s taken to bed, I’d say we’ll be seeing Stark children sooner rather than later."

The younger man grins. "Aye, and they’re certainly not opposed to practicing their duty."

As laughter ripples through the hall, you catch Cregan’s gaze, and in that moment, the world seems to fade away. His eyes, as grey as the Northern skies, are filled with a warmth reserved only for you. And though you are surrounded by the murmurs and laughter of your people, all you feel is the pull of his love, binding you to him as surely as the ancient stones of Winterfell bind the North.

The smallfolk can whisper all they like. Let them. Winterfell is at ease, and your love for Cregan is as fierce and unyielding as the North itself.

[foli-vora]

once again in your arms

joel miller x f!reader

A/N: mwahah, hello boys i’m baaack (10 points to whoever knows what movie that quote's from). took an unexpected break coz life, but i’m ready to get back on track. this was requested by a beautiful anon a while back (sorry for the wait angel), but i hope you enjoy! x

Request: hello! so this is kinda angsty: joel and the reader are married and have a baby (plus sarah, obviously). the day of the outbreak, reader and baby were in town and she couldnt call joel (or viceversa) cause the phone lines were down. they were separated for a few years until they arrives at the quarantine zone he's in, and he recognizes them in the crowd.

Word count: 4.5k-ish

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, birth and having a baby, domestic fluff, angst, pre and post outbreak, some spoilery things if you haven’t seen the show yet, heartbreak, loss of a child, apocalypse things, i sweat at the idea of caring for a baby during the end of the world, soft reunions, fluff, cameos of my fave oc’s made in a different series

It’s a fact you had learnt in the very early days of your relationship... the Miller men knew how to care for a lady. Whether it was Tommy sliding in to open the door for you before you could reach for the handle, or Joel draping you in blankets and taking on the responsibility of keeping your hot water bottle warm to fend off cramps for the evening, not a moment went by when you didn’t feel the constant reassurance of their care.

Especially now, fresh from the hospital and tender from your days of excruciating pain and an extensively long labour, Tommy quickly slaps the pillows into something plusher, hands gentle as they guide you down until you’re reclining into the armchair.

Joel keeps an eye on you from across the room, the brief wash of concern slipping away with the easy smile that grows along his lips when your eyes meet.

He rocks the wrapped bundle in his arms softly, a big hand dwarfing the small head that peaks from the blankets. His fingers brush through the light smattering of hair peeking out from the cotton burrito, his index running along the tiny peak of a nose and you feel your heart swell in your chest.

“Dad,” Sarah whines with an eager smile, shifting restlessly on the couch, “come on, I’ve been waiting all weekend.”

“Oh my god,” Joel drawls sarcastically, “all weekend? Baby girl, how are you survivin’ right now?”

“Shut up,” her grin widens, “give me my baby brother before I explode.”

“Well, we don’t want that mess all in the livin’ room,” Joel quips, stepping over your weekend bags tossed on the floor and closer to the couch, “ain’t treadin’ your brain all into the rug—thing was damn expensive.”

Sarah shrugs, readjusting her body to sit straighter and holding her arms out expectantly, “Least I have a brain.”

Tommy snorts in amusement, grinning at his brother's expense, “That’s true.”

“Are you still here?” Joel side eyes him, barely fighting the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

They bicker, throwing their little snippy sibling comments back and forth before Sarah clears her throat, her eyebrows rising in impatience.

“Alright, alright. Here, watch his head,” Joel instructs gently, a smile playing along his lips, “that’s it, baby, you got him.”

It’s a beautiful picture, Sarah carefully bringing the baby closer and tucking him carefully into her arms, and the sentiment is shared with Tommy as the flash and click of a camera goes off. He removes the polaroid sliding from the slot and sits it on the coffee table to develop before instructing Joel to slide in next to her and smile.

Both Joel and Sarah are oblivious to his instruction, lost in the bubble that has overcome them. You find peace watching them, warmth spreading along your limbs by the sweet tenderness of it all. The love is clear between the three of them cuddled on the couch, and it’s almost too much for your heart to bear.

Sarah beams down at her baby brother, cooing soft words and stroking a gentle finger down Matthew’s cheek. Joel throws an arm to rest on the top of the couch behind Sarah, turning into her and answering her questions quietly.

8 pounds, 3 ounces. Smaller than you. No, he didn’t cry at all—gave me and the docs a damn heart attack. She sure did a great job. 

Your Joel was never a man to wear his heart on his sleeve, but the emotion shines from his eyes, bleeds through the lines in his face and it’s enough to bring tears building along your lash line.

“You okay over there?”

His familiar drawl brings your attention to him, and you smile at him, tired and fully at peace. It’s bliss, despite the ache of birth still hanging in your limbs. M

“I’m fine,” you respond quietly, lids heavy with exhaustion, “I’m just so happy.”

He fucking beams. His grin creases his cheeks and he nods softly.

“Me too, honey,” he mutters, turning his attention back to his children and playing with a strand of Sarah’s hair as he gazes down at Matthew, “me too.”

—

Four months later.

Chaos.

Matthew wails against your chest, the deafening sounds of screams, bullets, sirens and explosions setting him off into hysterics. Your arms tighten around him, keeping his face tucked closely into your throat so your scent could hopefully provide him some reassurance.

You crouch beside cars, you run until your legs ache. You take cover in stores, the soles of your shoes crunching over broken glass of the shattered windows. Every phone you try gives nothing but a dull tone. Radios are filled with static and emergency broadcasts play on the view screens you run past in your effort to escape whatever the hell is happening.

Worry stirs along the edges of your mind. Is Joel okay? Sarah? Tommy? You can’t call him, you can only run and hope nothing takes you down in your effort to get back to your car. You pass people crouched over others, blood smearing along their lips as they tear unforgivingly into the flesh of another.

It’s a nightmare, and it’s everywhere you look.

Almost there.

You see the sign of the parking lot and it only makes you run that much faster, even though your legs threaten to give out at any minute. You pass an elderly man crouching beside a woman, blood flowing from the open gash on her throat, and the ache clutching your heart only increases when his pleas reach your ears over the mayhem.

“Gloria,” he mutters in an aged rasp, “up you get, love. You’re alright, come on now—”

You can’t help it.

Somewhere in your mind you can feel Joel screaming at you to keep running, to get yourself to safety and not give a damn about anyone other than Matthew, but the image of this man cradling his wife’s wrinkled, bloodied hand is enough to get you advancing to him before anyone could hurt him. 

“Sir—”

He ignores you, too busy with brushing the woman’s blood soaked white hair from her face.

“Sir, we have to move—”

You wrap your fingers around his shoulder and shake firmly. His head gives a shake of denial as he clutches his wife’s hand tighter.

“No… no, she’ll need help—she has a bad ankle.”

Shifting Matthew unsteadily onto your hip, your fingers wrap under his arm and tug him onto his feet. He fights you, bats your hold away with an infuriated expression at your rough handling of him.

“I’m so sorry, but she’s gone—we have to run. I—I have a car, please… just come with me, please!”

“I won’t leave her—”

“Please… they’re coming! I—would she want this for you? To die like this?”

He blinks, his frown softening ever so slightly before screams pierce the air, much closer than you anticipated, and terror claws up your throat until you feel you’ll vomit.

You hold out a hand, relieved when his own rough, calloused hand finally takes it, and then you’re running, albeit slower than before, but you make it to your car with no issues.

You dive into the driver's seat, passing Matthew over to the stranger when he makes an impatient gesture to hold him and then you’re tearing out of the lot, running down the few rabid looking beings that advance on you with bloodied expressions of hunger.

You don’t think you take a proper breath until you’re past a military barricade that had seemingly been destroyed in the attack, flying down the highway and around other panicked drivers with sweat slicking your skin. 

Taking a deep breath to slow the brutal pounding of your heart, you look at Matthew, now calmed and looking up at the stranger with an obvious shine of curiosity. The old man is clearly softened by the baby, letting his small hand wrap around his finger and wiggling it playfully in his hold.

“That’s Matthew,” you mutter shakily, meeting the eyes of the elderly man before gazing back out the windscreen. You take another breath before giving your own name, tears biting at your eyes when you utter the name Miller.

Do you still have a husband? A step daughter? A brother in law? The unknown scares you, outright fucking terrifies you. 

The man nods in your peripheral vision.

“Harold,” he finally says, voice rough and tired.

—

There are people everywhere, screaming, crying.

People run, shout, wail over family and friends.

Tears have long dried on his face, his head thumping relentlessly with the remnants of his heartbreak. Tommy’s grip is firm on him, tugging him out of the way of people tearing down in their direction, pulling him to where a makeshift table is thrust under a tent as a reception of sorts.

He doesn’t care about the people already there asking about their family and friends. He shoves them out of the way, hands shaking as they clutch the edge of the weak table.

“I’m lookin’ for a woman… she’d be with a baby boy, not even four months old—”

His voice shakes. He can’t get it to stop. He struggles to get out the detailed descriptions of you both down to the clothes you were wearing, speaking your names through trembling lips. His stomach jolts at the thought of you somewhere, lying helplessly on the floor with your flesh getting torn into while Matthew screams in his car seat.

He’s a damn baby. He wouldn’t know what’s happening, wouldn’t know why his mama’s not there with him—

The woman gives a small expression of sympathy over the thin surgical mask covering her mouth, “I’m sorry, sir. We’ve had no babies that young come through, and nothing like that has come in over the radios.”

He retches. 

His body heaves, almost as if it’s rejecting the mere idea that you weren’t somewhere safe waiting for him. He had failed. Failed to keep Sarah safe, failed to keep Matthew safe, you—the vows he had made now meant shit. He hadn’t been there for better or worse. He’d hadn’t done what a father should have and kept his kids free from harm.

Sarah had died, terrified and in agony, in his hold. Her bloodied handprints remain dry and caked on his arms. Matthew had died, not even making it to six months. A baby, still fresh to the world, only just able to hold his own head up. You had died, not knowing where he and Sarah were, if they were even safe.

Tommy hauls him to a close trash can, rubbing a firm hand up and down his back as he chokes on vomit, tears soon streaming down his cheeks when his body eventually has nothing left to give. His heart hammers in his chest, thundering against his ribs and filling his ears until he’s unaware of the noises around him. 

“They’re gone,” he whispers hoarsely, clutching at the rim of the trash can in an effort to keep himself up.

“Now we don’t know that—”

“God damn it, Tommy, you saw what it was like out there!” 

Tommy sighs, his own eyes filling with tears. “We gotta keep hope, Joel—”

“Hope?” Joel spits at his brother, “What good is hope against that shit out there? She would’ve been alone, you know as well as I Matthew only would’ve slowed her down. They were in the city. We couldn’t even keep safe out here! They’re—they’re gone. My wife… my baby boy, my baby girl—”

The sobs tear from his chest, harsh and painful. He mourns for hours, unseeing of the flurried movement still happening around him, his sorrow mixing with the flood of agony filling the makeshift safe zone with every new unhurt civilian looking for someone familiar.

Tommy doesn’t take his arms away from around his brother until dawn starts to pierce the horizon, 

—

Two years later.

He still fills your thoughts daily.

Your life, your old life, would flash behind your eyelids at night when sleep would finally claim you. You’d feel his touch, kiss his lips, touch his face. It all felt so normal. The dreams would be nothing but memories, and somehow, it made them feel more like nightmares.

Mornings making breakfast with Sarah, dancing to the music falling from the radio. Family game nights, watching Tommy and Joel get more and more competitive with each game. Grocery shopping with Joel, simply wandering down the aisles and relishing in his comforting touch warming your lower back. 

You could never quite make peace with the possibility that he was dead. It didn’t sit right. The idea that your Joel had been lost to the disaster that had claimed the world just seemed impossible. Your heart rejected the notion, refused to accept that its counterpart wasn’t somewhere out there, living, breathing, surviving,

Sarah and Tommy, too.

They had to be somewhere, holed up safely and keeping well. They had to.

“They’ve established a quarantine zone close by,” you say quietly, mindful of Matthew sleeping on your lap, “it’ll be a lot safer there than out here. I think we should give it a go… find a more secure place to live. I’ve heard they have work available, good flow of food and medicine…”

Harry snorts quietly, shifting under his old, thick jacket, “That doesn’t mean they’re happy giving it out. There’ll be a catch somewhere.”

You eye the long carved frown in his features and lean forward to fix the blanket covering his tired legs, “Don’t you think we should try at least?”

“Maybe they’ll put a bullet in me,” Harry grumbles moodily, “I’m old—I can’t work like they’ll want me to. Although, it’ll beat living through this bloody nightmare any longer.”

“Harold,” you chide softly, heart aching at the thought of losing the grumpy old man after spending so long by his side.

He’d quickly become a grandfather figure of sorts, to both you and Matthew. The little boy was obsessed with him, and had been since the day you had come together, and though he tried to hide it behind his usual icy facade, Harry was smitten, weak from the boy learning to call him pa.

“He’ll be safer in there,” Harry finally grumbles, gazing at the sleeping toddler. “This is no life for him out here. It’s getting worse and worse. Stability will do him good.”

“And you’ll come with us?”

He sighs sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine—I’ll come. But if they don’t kill me, I’ll be bloody upset with you.”

You snort in amusement, a grin curling your lips. “Fair enough. Now drink your soup.”

“I’m not hungry. You have it.”

He shoves it away, pushing it in your direction, as he usually does. It’s a daily fight—him refusing food in favour of giving you and Matthew more, ensuring you both never went hungry despite his own hunger and rapid weight loss due to the sudden lack of food.

You give him a playful frown and hold the small cup out to him.

“Don’t make me force feed you, old man, drink it.”

—

The walls of the Quarantine Zone are a lot more daunting than you had originally thought they would be. They tower high, and the barely there movement of soldiers along the front and top of it have nerves start to build in the pit of your stomach.

Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Surely they wouldn’t shoot without asking questions? Would they even give you a chance? What happens to you if the zone is full? Would they let you go on your merry little way?

God, you feel sick. 

The ice creeping along your skin doubles, and you tighten your grip on the baby carrier strapped to your chest. Matthew hums quietly against your back, his little fingers tracing random patterns along your shirt as he bounces with your each step. Harry walks somewhat steadily beside you, his cheeks reddening with the more distance you cover.

He gives you a reassuring nod when you look to him for guidance, and you continue forward, swallowing the lump building in your throat when you become aware of them yelling about your presence.

Their guns are raised when you eventually make it closer, and it’s automatic to throw your hands up in surrender.

“We’re not infected!” you shout, hoping they’d listen. 

A soldier steps forward. “On the ground, now!”

“Shit. Okay! Please, I—we’re not infected—”

“Get. On. The. Ground!”

“I have a kid! I have a—please, we’re not—”

“Get the kid out.”

Panic flares to life in your chest. You fight the tremble in your fingers as they raise to the clip across your chest, winding a supportive hand around to your back to keep Matthew from falling out of the carrier as it loosens from your torso.

After a bit of shifting, Matthew stands on shaky legs, his eyes darting between you and the few soldiers with their weapons raised.

“It’s okay, baby,” you soothe softly, “we gotta do what the man says, okay? Can you do that for mama?”

You continue to lower until your front hits the rubble covered ground, and you motion for Matthew to do the same, heart breaking as he cowers in fear and falls to his knees before copying your posture and hiding his face against the road.

More voices fill your ears, the obvious presence of more soldiers swarming from the gate causing your pulse to skyrocket as Harry lowers on the other side of the small toddler.

“Check ‘em.”

“Everything’s fine,” you murmur, keeping your gaze on Matthew and smiling when he peeks at you from between his fingers, “we’re okay. Keep your eyes on me, baby. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

It stings.

You automatically flinch away from the device someone holds at your neck, freezing when more weapons are raised in your direction. The device gives a small beep and the soldier gives a loud clear, before moving for Matthew.

He cries out at the pain, his chest heaving with his growing sobs. The guns move in his direction and you’re flying towards him before you can even think, yelping when arms pull you away from your baby before you can console him. His screams worsen. 

“Please,” you beg, “he’s just a baby—!”

The soldiers remain emotionless.

Another beep, another clear.

The fingers digging into your arms loosen and then you’re free, hurriedly crawling on all fours until Matthew’s in your arms, his tear stricken face pressing into your throat. You soothe him softly, murmuring how well he did and that he’s safe with you while the soldiers move their attention to Harry.

When the device gives a final clear, another soldier steps forward, a small smile stretching his lips.

“Sorry about that,” he says, stepping forward until he’s only a step away, “but we can’t be too careful.”

It’s surreal being around people again.

For the longest time, it’s just been you, Matthew and Harry. The people left after the event had turned cruel, desperate for any remaining resources and resulting to violence left, right and centre. It’d been sheer luck that you three had escaped some of the nastier characters you’d come across during your treks. Sure, you’d lost a few supplies every now and then, but you were thankful you all were still here at least.

The man leads you into an office of sorts, with rusted old chairs to sit on while he goes about ‘registering’ you. You’re surprised at the process of it all, confused when he says you’re in luck because after this morning, there are new rooms available. What does that mean? Had something happened to the occupants?

Your stomach turns, but you dare not dwell on it.

Safety for Matthew, that’s all that matters. That’s why you’re here.

It feels like hours before you’re stepping into the sun again, lead out onto a relatively normal looking street with written directions to your new accommodation. The door bangs loudly behind you, fully closing you from the horrors of the outside world, and you try not to focus on the looks of curiosity, borderline hostility, as you start to walk further into the QZ, the height of the wall casting a large shadow over your path.

There’s a main square of sorts, filled with small stations of people selling various items. Your stomach grumbles at the sight of shitty looking food, desperate to eat something other than the random old bits and pieces you’d find through your looting, but you’d have to begin work to even afford a single half burnt bread roll. The two ration cards you had received at your ‘registration’ wouldn’t make a dent in what you’d need to afford any of it.

You pass the sellers, sharing a sullen look with Harry as he too realises he wouldn’t have enough for any of it.

There’s crowds, and you try to keep to yourself as you move, but something catches your eye, as if your sight had been automatically pulled to that direction and you’re oblivious to the people bumping into your frame.

For a moment, you’re sure you’re dreaming.

Did they end up shooting you at the gate? This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be unfolding right before your very eyes. You feel alive. You feel your pulse, your breath. You feel Matthew shift in the carrier, you hear Harry making comments about the people and the surrounding buildings.

You can’t look away.

You’re pulled in his direction, certain with every bone in your body that it’s him. It’s him.

The man turns, and his eyes are meeting yours through the crowds before you can even brace for it, and you see the moment it hits him.

He freezes, his eyes unblinking as if they don’t want to risk losing the hallucination his mind had conjured. He steps forward, and again, and again, slow in his movements, cautious.

“Joel?” You breathe, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear you over the bustle of your surroundings and the distance between you, but he must see your lips mould his name because then he’s running, ducking through the people and heading straight your way.

You start to jog, careful not to disturb the carrier holding Matthew too much, and then he’s there. He’s there and he’s real and he’s saying your name so sweetly, a broken rasp of disbelief and a tremble taking over his hands as they raise to cup your cheeks.

You sob at his touch. 

The tears flow from your eyes and you grasp at whatever you can on him, your fingers tightening around the jacket hanging from his frame as you attempt to pour two years of loss into your embrace. He cradles the back of your head, keeps your face pressed tightly against the dirtied skin of his throat as he mutters brokenly about how he thought you were dead and that he’d missed you so damn much.

“Oh baby boy,” he rumbles, noticing the baby carrier and the toddler within it with tears filling his lash line, “look at you.”

You hurriedly unclip the harness and sweep Matthew out of it, bringing him into the middle of your embrace. Joel runs a hand along Matthew’s cheek before sweeping down and kissing him on the forehead, his tears dropping over the toddler’s cheeks in obvious relief and utter joy. 

“How—”

You shake your head, nuzzling into the rough hand holding your cheek. “Later. We’ll talk later about everything, I just—god, I’ve missed you so fucking much, Joel.”

His head lowers until his forehead is pressed against yours, and his eyes flutter closed. You feel it in the simple gesture, how much he had missed you, mourned for you. He gives a small nod, followed by a quiet okay, before another presence suddenly makes themselves known.

Your body jolts with the weight hitting your side, and you jump in fright before your eyes come across a slightly skinny looking Australian Shepherd desperate for attention.

His tongue lolls from his mouth as he attempts to lap at your cheek, and you chuckle through your stream of steady flowing tears at the cheerful dog.

“Chip,” Joel grunts in slight annoyance, shoving the fluffy beast away from where he tries to jump and sniff at Matthew’s cheeks, “down—down, boy!”

“You have a dog?” You ask in curiosity, reaching out to pet the animal. Your smile widens when he eagerly nuzzles into your touch with an excited whine.

“He was wanderin’ the QZ when I came in,” Joel replies, one of his hands leaving your waist to deliver a rough rub to the dogs head, “followed me home one night and hasn’t stopped botherin’ me since. Tommy said he’d be good for me.”

“Tommy’s here? And Sarah?” You perk immediately in excitement, your eyes flying past his shoulder to look for his brother and the other part of your heart that’s been missing for years. “I’m so glad they’re alright, where are they?”

You don’t notice how considerably quiet he’s gone until you look at him. He’s defeated, guarded, his dark eyes drawn to the floor. He can’t look at you. Why can’t he look at you? What’s happened?

“Joel?”

“Sarah… she—she—”

He struggles to finish the sentence, the words stick uncomfortably on his tongue. His features twist in clear anguish and you feel the world around you shatter. Sarah, she… she’s gone? When? How?

Your heart sinks, weak and broken by the unexpected news. Your mind struggles to wrap itself around the notion that you’d never see her again, that the last time you saw her was truly the last. 

Regret begins to build in the pit of your stomach. That last day… you should’ve hugged her tighter, kissed her forehead, told her how much she meant to you and how lucky you were to be in her life—

The tears begin again.

“Oh Joel, I-I’m so sorry,”

You both share the heartache, wrapped in each other's arms and breathing in the other. His tight hold doesn’t loosen for a second, and you attempt to put every ounce of energy in your tired body into returning it.

The world stands still, just like it did that cursed day.

How can you be so elated that he’s here, and yet be filled with so much pain at the same time? How long has he been lost, no doubt blaming himself for his baby girl not making it to where he is now? You mourn her, mourn him for being lost, stuck on a path of despair and believing he had lost everything for so long.

What had become of him? What had the pain done to him? Surely it would’ve been pure torture for the man who practically breathed family. 

Harry can wait. Introductions can wait. Food, drink, sleep—you care for none of it. Not now. All that matters is that Joel is here, truly here in the flesh, wrapped in your arms and holding the child he hasn’t seen for two years. All that matters is that you had found one another in the violent hellscape the world had become.

Peace, but that tranquillity will forever be tainted by loss, a void hanging in the midst of relief, never to be filled again.

-

tag list 1: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld,

tags that have continuously not worked will be deleted from my taglist soon x

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Do you think Harry could be scary at times? Like put actual fear into people? Because I think I remember some moments where Hermione was afraid of him or was a least kinda hesitant with him. Like this quote here from HP and the Deathly Hallows:

“You nev­er re­al­ly tried!” she said hot­ly. “I don’t get it, Har­ry – do you like hav­ing this spe­cial con­nec­tion or re­la­tion­ship or what – what­ev­er – “

She fal­tered un­der the look he gave her as he stood up.

“Like it?” he said qui­et­ly. “Would you like it?”

“I – no – I’m sor­ry, Har­ry. I just didn’t mean – “

He literally just looked at her, stood, and she was over there stuttering and backing down.

Yes! OMG, yes! Harry can and is scary when he wants to be and I love him for it!

A few more examples that popped into my head:

“I haven’t finished with you, boy!” “Get out of the way,” said Harry quietly. “You’re going to stay here and explain how my son —” “If you don’t get out of the way I’m going to jinx you,” said Harry, raising the wand. “You can’t pull that one on me!” snarled Uncle Vernon. “I know you’re not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!” “The madhouse has chucked me out,” said Harry. “So I can do whatever I like. You’ve got three seconds. One — two —”

(OotP, 45)

Uncle Vernon reacts to him with anger, which is his fear response. But Harry is talking quietly and deliberately, he isn't shouting and Vernon shuts up and listens, not cutting Harry off with his shouts. Harry actually cuts him off speaking quietly and Vernon lets him. And Vernon lashes out, as he always does when it comes to magic — because it scares him. Harry scares him.

“Well, it’s like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves,” said Hermione impatiently, “and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn’t usually show them to us before N.E.W.T. level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren’t they? The way some people can see them and some can’t! I wish I could.” “Do you?” Harry asked her quietly. She looked horrorstruck. “Oh Harry — I’m sorry — no, of course I don’t — that was a really stupid thing to say —”

(OotP, 450)

Hermione stutters around Harry quite a bit. I think she is, like, concerned about him at all times at the back of her head a bit since it takes very little from him to rattle her. I'm not copying it here but you see it too when Harry shouts at her and Ron at the beginning of OotP, Ron argues back a bit, but Hermione gets incredibly rattled. Hermione doesn't deal with Harry's anger well. There are more scenes like the one you mentioned as well.

I'm re-reading Deathly Hallows right now and came upon this scene:

Somehow her [Hermione's] panic seemed to clear Harry’s head. “Lock the door,” he told her, “and Ron, turn out the lights.” He looked down at the paralyzed Dolohov, thinking fast as the lock clicked and Ron used the Deluminator to plunge the caf into darkness. Harry could hear the men who had jeered at Hermione earlier, yelling at another girl in the distance. “What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.” Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head. “We just need to wipe their memories,” said Harry. “It’s better like that, it’ll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it’d be obvious we were here.” “You’re the boss,” said Ron, sounding profoundly relieved. “But I’ve never done a Memory Charm.”

(DH, 146)

That needs to be talked about more.

Some people like to point at Remus telling Harry that "the time for Expeliarmos is over" as proof Harry isn't willing to kill, but this isn't true. Harry isn't willing to kill Stan Shunpike, whom he considers innocent, Harry was the calmest of the trio and very much considered killing the Death Eaters and chose not to for completely tactical and cold reasons, not ones of ethics or qualms about murder. And I love the dynamic this short scene portrays with the trio a lot. Like, Harry is calm under pressure and calls the shots, Ron offers a way to deal with things, and then Hermione actually executes the memory charms. And here too, when Hermione stepped back, she was scared of Harry (and Ron a little). She doesn't for a second think he wouldn't kill them if he thought it was the right thing to do. She stepped back because she was scared Harry would kill them.

“...Thank you!” said Mundungus, snatching the goblet out of Ron’s hand and stuffing it back into the case. “Well, I’ll see you all — OUCH!” Harry had pinned Mundungus against the wall of the pub by the throat. Holding him fast with one hand, he pulled out his wand. “Harry!” squealed Hermione. “You took that from Sirius’s house,” said Harry, who was almost nose to nose with Mundungus and was breathing in an unpleasant smell of old tobacco and spirits. “That had the Black family crest on it.” “I — no — what — ?” spluttered Mundungus, who was slowly turning purple. “What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place?” snarled Harry. “I — no —” “Give it to me!”

(HBP, 245-246)

Harry lifts Mundungus and strangles him... and both Mundungus and Hermione are scared of him... because he is scary.

said Voldemort coldly, and though he could not see it, Harry pictured Bellatrix withdrawing a helpful hand. “The boy . . . Is he dead?” There was complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry, but he felt their concentrated gaze; it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger or an eyelid might twitch. “You,” said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.” Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined, but at the same time noting, small comfort though it was, that Voldemort was wary of approaching him, that Voldemort suspected that all had not gone to plan. . . .

(DH, 612)

Voldemort is outright scared of Harry and isn't willing to come near him to check if he's dead...

Like, I am not a fan of the weaker, softer fanon version of Harry James Potter that I see on occasion (obviously everyone can do what they want, I just personally don't like it much when he's portrayed as small and submissive as if Harry has ever submitted in his life). He is not as tall as Ron, but he isn't short either (the same height as James, so likely around 6 feet), he is physically capable of lifting Mundungus even without magic with a single hand and he is so magically capable (more than almost every other character, bar exceptions like Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Snape). No wonder he can be scary, both physically and magically. And yes, Hermione is outright scared of Harry at times. So are other characters.

So, yeah, I strongly agree, Harry can definitely scare people if he wants to, and sometimes even when he doesn't. He seems to have an intimidation factor he isn't fully aware of and therefore doesn't notice all that much.

[deadghosy]

☆BEING MATTHEO’S CHILDHOOD FRIEND TO LOVER☆ male version||female version

Can I just say he’s immediately the type of guy of a childhood friend to just be close to the point he would just walk in on you showering, bathing, or even pissing without even caring?

He’s literally walking in to tell you some guy he doesn’t like when he sees that you are glaring at him while sitting down pissing.

“Get the fuck out!” You yell ready to throw a toothbrush at him. Mattheo groaned as he grabbed your wrists. You look up at him as he frowns a bit at you already dismissing him. “Dude listen! Y’know that arse that keeps making fun of you?” You start to realize mattheo’s bruised knuckles. His knuckles looked spilt as you look up from the hands that clasp your wrists. That’s where you see that devilish smile of his on his face. “He’s not gonna bother you no more baby…”

One time you took a shower and covered yourself up quickly only for mattheo to say in quote, “I’ve seen your dick before when we were kids. Calm down.” As he brushes his teeth in the morning with you. It can be exhausting.

Bromance ass cuddles when he wants them. Draco could try to tease the riddle about how “gay” he is for you. And mattheo would be like “hell yeah!” Cause mattheo don’t give no fucks. You’re his friend. His friend that he only cares about fully.

When he’s drunk, he’s crying and whining about where his best friend is at. He literally dragged a dude’s shirt, threatening him if he doesn’t say where the last time you were at the party, he’s gonna chop his dick off. Mattheo soon found you and acted calm asf. Just silently drinking with his arm around your shoulder

He’s the type to immediately text you “I see you online bitch.” When you swore to him that you were gonna go to sleep. Please he’s gonna go into your dorm room and force you to sleep.

Brings up embarrassing moments you two had, mostly your moments when taking to people. It’s just for fun!!

Protective of you, doesn’t matter if you’re older or younger. This fucker is literally 10 toes behind you in every step. Doesn’t matter if you were the cause or not. He’s backing you up real quick.

One time punched a drunk guy for trying to get close to you. He seen you from afar away with a girl dancing on him, when all he seen was you getting a drunk asshole all up on you.

You moved away a little from this guy who smelt like straight alcohol. It dosed your nose terribly as you tried to get away only for him to get closer. As he got closer, mattheo pushed the girl off him and strutted towards you. His bawling up fists and sharp breathing was clear as people in the party made way. As you turn to see your dear friend. Mattheo socked the guy’s chin. The angered and protective Slytherin was going to beat his face in, until you dragged Mattheo away. “Calm down!” You hissed at Mattheo who only breathed heavy. He was spacing out in rage. His nose scrunched up as he took heavy breaths. He seemed to snap out when you told him to calm down. “I can’t calm down when he got too close to you!” Mattheo then cupped your face, pressing both of your heads together. Your lips were pressed into a thin line as Mattheo’s eyes were still blazing with anger.

It took a while, with some cuddling from you and you saying how you felt safe. Mattheo having his arms wrapped around you, your neck being occupied by his face and head. It’s something that people would assume you two were dating. You both would deny before you two actually started dating at the end.

Mattheo was still protective of you, Mattheo a little too much but still a good amount.

He always has his hands on you. Literally touching you to make sure you stay by his side at all means.

He loves his boy, you are the most handsomest thing that ever came across his life. And now he gets to cherish you.

[brunchable]

Movie Night | Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Fiance Bucky Barnes x f!reader Themes: FLUFF, FLUFF. IT'S SO FLUFFY IM GONNA DIE. BUCKY JUST BEING HAPPY AND IN LOVE. Summary: You come home exhausted from another day of work, not expecting Bucky to surprise you with a little heart-warming gesture to show you how much he appreciates you. A/N: Bucky is so baby boy in my heart <3 he deserves to be happy :')

You walked through the front door after a long day, the weight of the world seemingly sitting on your shoulders. You dropped your keys onto the table and toed off your shoes, ready to collapse on the couch and maybe watch some mindless TV when you noticed something odd. Your living room lights were off, but there was a soft, warm glow coming from inside... a fort?

You blinked, taking in the sight. There, in the middle of your living room, was a massive pillow fort. Cushions, blankets, and pillows of every kind were stacked together, forming walls and towers. Fairy lights were strung around the outside, casting a soft glow over the entire space. The entrance was a small gap, just wide enough for someone to crawl through. You smiled, already knowing who was behind this.

"Bucky?" you called, your voice filled with amusement.

From inside the fort, you heard a muffled, "Come in, if you dare."

Laughing, you crouched down and peeked inside. Bucky was lying on his back, surrounded by an array of snacks, blankets, and your favorite movies lined up on the tablet in front of him. He grinned up at you, his eyes soft and playful. 

"I built us the fortress of restorous," he said dramatically, holding up a bag of popcorn as if it were a prized treasure.

You crawled inside, the fort much bigger than you thought. It was like stepping into a cozy little world of your own. 

“You did all of this?” you asked, settling down beside him. The pillows were impossibly soft and you found your muscles relaxing and the stress from your work fading away.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the pride in his eyes gave him away. “I figured you could use a little break. Plus, it’s movie night.”

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “This is amazing, Buck.”

He turned toward you, propping his head on his hand as he gazed at you with that soft, thoughtful expression you loved. “You’ve been working so hard, lately. I just want you to know that you're amazing.”

Your heart melted at his words, the care and effort he’d put into this gesture. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

His cheeks flushed slightly, but he grinned as he handed you a bag of your favourite snacks. “Alright, pick a movie. I’ve got everything lined up.”

“DVDs? Where did you even get this? Let alone a DVD player?” You chuckled holding up the case for White Chicks (2004). 

“I bought them,” He paused a beat when he saw your brows starting to furrow, “With my money okay? Your fiancé is old fashioned, just in case your little noggin’ forgot.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you playfully nudged Bucky’s shoulder. "My fiancé, huh? Guess that means I'm stuck with you, old-fashioned DVDs and all," you teased, holding up the case for emphasis. "But seriously, this is kind of adorable. You with a DVD player? It's like a time capsule here."

Bucky grinned, his expression softening as he leaned back against the pillows. "Classic movies, cozy nights... maybe we’ll even get a record player next."

You smiled warmly at him, your heart felt full at how much thought he put into the evening. 

"You know," you said softly, "you always find a way to surprise me. And I love every bit of it." you paused, looking down at the DVD case in your hands before glancing back at him with a smirk. "But I’ll warn you, if you start quoting this movie word for word, you’ll owe me a lot more than just a cozy night in a pillow fort.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, matched with a raised brow.

You grinned, leaning in closer until your faces were only inches apart. “You’ll owe me... a whole day of doing whatever I want. No complaints, no arguing. Just you, me, and whatever ridiculous adventure I come up with.”

“Whatever you want, huh? You think you can handle me agreeing to anything without a fight?”

You laughed softly, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, I’m counting on it. I’ll make sure it’s something unforgettable.”

He smirked, “Alright, deal. But only if you can stay awake through the whole movie without falling asleep on my shoulder like last time.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand on your chest. “Excuse me, James Barnes, I did not fall asleep! I was just… resting my eyes.”

Bucky chuckled, pulling yor closer and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, baby.”

You spent the next few hours nestled in the little fort, watching silly comedies and adventure films, laughing so hard at times both of you almost cried. Every now and then, Bucky would nudge you with his shoulder, his playful side showing as he whispered sarcastic comments about the characters on screen.

But the real magic was in the quiet moments. The way Bucky's arm slowly found its way around your shoulders, pulling you closer until your head rested on his chest. The warmth of his body seeping into yours as the world outside the fort seemed to disappear. His hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm as you lay there, completely content in your cosy little world.

At some point during the night, after the third movie, you turned your head slightly to look up at him. He was staring at the screen, his face bathed in the soft glow of the fairy lights, a small smile tugging at his lips. You couldn’t help but admire how peaceful he looked. He deserves that more than anyone else.

Without thinking, you whispered, “I love you.”

The words slipped out so naturally, so effortlessly, that you didn’t even realise what you’d said until Bucky's head snapped down to look at you. For a moment, you panicked, your heart racing. But then, a soft smile spread across his face, and he leaned down to kiss your forehead gently.

“I love you too,” he murmured, his voice tender. “Always.”

You felt your heart swell, and you snuggled deeper into his arms, letting the warmth of his love and the comfort of the little fort wrap around you like a blanket. As the night grew later and the movies played on, you knew that no matter what, this moment – this simple, perfect moment in the pillow fort – was something you would treasure forever.

And as both of you drifted off to sleep, tangled up in each other and the fort Bucky had built, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, in your little fortress of love and warmth.

[pandapetals]

You Make Me Nervous

worst wolverine/logan x fem!reader - inspired by a quote i heard from a rom-com, fluff, cute, happy ending, wade being wade, no y/n used, no reader description

Wade gives Logan relationship advice to help win you back.

read on Ao3

Logan couldn’t believe he was sitting on the sofa, nursing a beer, and listening to Wade Wilson of all people giving him “love” advice. It was bad enough that he’d let the fact he was seeing someone slip in front of Wade a month ago—now he was stuck dealing with the consequences.

“You gotta tell her how you feel, peanut. She can’t read your mind—unless she can? Oh my God, is she a mutant?!” Wade gasped, his eyes widening as he dramatically clutched at his heart. “Please tell me she’s a mutant. Oh, is she telepathic? Does she know all your dirty little secrets already? Can she hear what I’m thinking right now?” He leaned in closer, whispering loudly, “Because I’m thinking about chimichangas and some other stuff I probably shouldn’t say in polite company.”

Logan groaned, his head falling back against the worn-out cushions of Wade’s sofa. He stared up at the ceiling, contemplating how quickly this conversation had spiraled out of control. “For the last time, Wade, she’s not a mutant.”

“Boring!” Wade shouted, throwing his hands up in the air before plopping down on the couch next to Logan. “So what’s the problem then? You messed it up, and now you’re sitting here all broody, which I gotta say—doesn’t look good on you. You’re like a sad puppy with claws. A wolv-puppy.”

Logan shot Wade a glare, though the threat was half-hearted at best. “It’s complicated,” he muttered, taking a long swig of his beer.

Wade gasped again, dramatically clutching his chest. “Complicated? No! Say it ain’t so! Two emotionally stunted, violence-prone badasses couldn’t figure out how to talk about their feelings. The horror! This is literally the plot of every rom-com I’ve ever watched, and trust me, I’ve watched all of them.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not,” Wade replied, winking and nudging Logan with his elbow. “Lemme guess—you didn’t tell her how you felt, she got tired of waiting, and now you’re here with me instead of—oh, I don’t know—being all naked and cuddly with your very hot, very human girlfriend.”

Logan growled, though there was no real anger behind it. Mostly just frustration. “Look, I don’t do the whole... talk about feelings thing. It ain’t me.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching into a smirk. “No shit, Sherlock. You’re emotionally constipated. But here’s the thing, bud—women? They like to hear how you feel. You can’t just brood in a corner and expect them to pick up on your ‘bad boy with a heart of gold’ vibe all the time. Sometimes, you actually have to say something.”

Logan took another swig of his beer, his jaw tightening. “I’m not good with words.”

“Oh, I noticed.” Wade leaned back, putting his feet up on the coffee table and crossing his arms behind his head like he had all the time in the world. “But you don’t have to be Shakespeare. Just be honest. Tell her she makes you nervous.”

Logan frowned, setting his beer down with a thud. “She doesn’t make me nervous.”

Wade gave him a look, half-amused and half-exasperated. “Okay, fine, you’re not nervous. You’re Wolverine, Mr. ‘I’ve lived a hundred lives and fought more people than I can count.’ But you wanna know why she walked out on you? Because you didn’t let her in. You didn’t tell her that maybe—just maybe—she’s the one thing in this world that doesn’t piss you off.”

Logan huffed, sinking further into the couch. He hated how Wade was actually making sense. That was the worst part of this—Wade being right.

Wade’s smirk grew, sensing Logan’s reluctance. “Look, just say what I’m telling you. Repeat after me: ‘You don’t annoy me, you make me nervous.’ Simple. Done. Boom. You’re back in her good graces and probably naked by the end of the night. Win-win.”

Logan shook his head, rubbing his temple like Wade was giving him an actual headache. “I’m not saying that.”

“Sure you are,” Wade shot back, his eyes gleaming. “You’re gonna walk up to her, all gruff and serious, give her that intense look you do, and say it. ‘You don’t annoy me, you make me nervous.’ Trust me, it’ll work like a charm. Then boom—kissy-face, maybe a little apology sex, and then you’ll be back to being all... domestic or whatever you do in your downtime.”

Logan groaned, running a hand through his already tousled hair. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of taking advice from Deadpool, but he was running out of options. It had been a month since you’d walked out, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since. The way you’d looked at him that night—hurt, disappointed—had stuck with him, gnawing at him like nothing else ever had.

“You know she left because you’re an emotional brick wall, right?” Wade added helpfully, flipping through the channels on his TV like this wasn’t the most serious conversation Logan had had in weeks.

Logan clenched his jaw. “Yeah, Wade, I got that.”

“Well, good. Acknowledging it is the first step. The second step is getting off your ass, going to her place, and saying the thing I told you. Preferably with some dramatic background music playing.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Wade. “I don’t need background music.”

“Oh, you absolutely do,” Wade replied, grinning as he finally landed on an 80s rom-com playing on TV. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow behind with a boombox if necessary. Now go get your girl back, Romeo.”

Logan stood up, finishing the rest of his beer in one gulp before tossing the empty bottle onto the coffee table. “If this backfires—”

“It won’t,” Wade interrupted, hopping up from the couch and clapping Logan on the back. “But if it does, we can always go with plan B: I woo her with my devastating charm and then hand her back to you as a peace offering. It’s the perfect plan.”

Logan shot him a warning look, and Wade held up his hands in mock surrender. “Kidding! Jeez. Relax, Wolvie. You’re way too uptight for someone with a healing factor.”

With one last exasperated sigh, Logan headed for the door, his mind already racing with what the hell he was going to say when he saw you. The thought of telling you how he felt—actually putting it into words—was harder than he cared to admit but the thought of losing you for good? That was something he couldn’t handle.

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Wade called after him, grinning as Logan disappeared into the night.

You hadn’t expected to see Logan. You weren’t sure if you expected to see him at all, to be honest. Yet, there he was, standing in your doorway, looking as rough and rugged as ever. His hair was a mess, his stubble heavier than usual, and his eyes—those deep, unreadable eyes—were locked onto you with an intensity that made your breath hitch in your throat.

“Logan,” you started, your voice softer than you intended.

“I need to talk,” he said, his voice gruff, almost hesitant. Logan was never hesitant. It caught you off guard.

You stepped aside, letting him in, the familiar scent of leather and smoke filling your space as he moved past you. He stood in the middle of your living room, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, looking like he was trying to decide where to start.

“You don’t annoy me,” he said suddenly, the words coming out fast and a little clumsy. “You... you make me nervous.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as you processed what he’d just said. Logan shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting away from yours like he wasn’t used to being this vulnerable.

“I didn’t... I didn’t tell you that before,” he continued, his voice softer now, almost grumbling. “And that’s why you left but I don’t want you to leave. Not again.”

There it was—raw, honest, and maybe not perfectly eloquent, but it was Logan. That was all you had wanted—needed.

“You make me nervous because I... I care. More than I’ve cared about anyone in a long time. And I don’t know how to say that. So I mess it up. But I’m not... I’m not ready to lose you.”

You stood there, your heart racing, the weight of his words sinking in. He might not have been good with feelings, but in this moment, he was giving you everything he had.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, your eyes softening as you reached for his hand. “You don’t have to be perfect, Logan,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his calloused palm. “I never expected you to be.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to where your hand met his, and for a moment, he just stood there, silent and still, like he was struggling to let himself take comfort in something so simple. You could see the storm of emotions behind those dark eyes—the anger, the frustration, the fear—but also the tenderness he tried so hard to hide.

“I know I’m not easy to be with,” Logan said, his voice rough but quieter now. “Hell, I’m barely around sometimes. And when I am, I don’t—” He paused, running a hand through his already messy hair, clearly frustrated with himself. “I don’t say things the way I should. But I’m here now. And I’m tryin’ to say it.”

His words hung in the air, raw and uncertain, but they were enough. You knew what it took for him to admit this, to let himself be vulnerable in a way he’d always fought against. For you, that effort—his trying—meant more than anything.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of him, your other hand resting on his chest. “I just need you to let me in. I don’t expect you to be someone you’re not, but I need to know that you care. That this matters to you.”

Logan’s eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, all the gruffness and bravado fell away, leaving just the man underneath. The man who, for all his rough edges and scars, cared more deeply than he ever let on.

“I do care,” Logan said, his voice a low rumble. “I just... I don’t know how to show it sometimes. But you’re not like the rest of ‘em. I don’t want you to be just another person I’ve lost.” He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “I’ve lost too many people. I don’t want you to be one of ‘em.”

Your heart squeezed at the rawness in his voice, the way he let those words hang heavy between you.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered, stepping even closer until your body was pressed against his, your hand resting over his heart.

Logan closed his eyes for a second, as if trying to steady himself, then let out a long breath. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly ease as he let you in—finally, fully.

“I’ll try,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take care of it... take care of us. Just... don’t walk away again.”

You let out a soft sigh of relief, your forehead resting against his chest as you felt the weight of the past month lift off your shoulders. “I didn’t want to leave, Logan. But I didn’t know if you’d ever let me in. You’re so used to doing everything alone...”

He pulled you tighter against him, his grip firm but not suffocating. “I’m not alone when I’ve got you,” he murmured, his breath warm against the top of your head.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and something undeniably Logan. For a moment, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside your door fading into the background.

“I guess Wade was right,” you said after a beat, your voice muffled against his chest.

Logan groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “He told you to say all that, didn’t he?”

Logan’s face twisted into a grimace, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah... don’t remind me.”

You chuckled, rising onto your toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “Well, it worked. So maybe you should give Wade a little credit.”

“I’m not giving that idiot anything,” Logan muttered, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips now. “He’s probably out there right now, planning some dumb stunt just to celebrate how ‘wise’ he is.”

“You know he’s never gonna let you live this down, right?” you teased, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

Logan groaned again, his head falling back for a second as if resigning himself to the fate of dealing with Wade’s inevitable gloating. “Yeah, I know. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss him again, slow and lingering. “Well, I think it’s worth it.”

Logan’s hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he deepened the kiss. When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice low and soft. “You’re worth it.”

Wade’s grin was almost as big as the ridiculous neon sign he’d stuck outside his apartment, flashing in obnoxious pink letters: "Wade Wilson: Love Doctor."

“So, how’d it go?” Wade asked, lounging on his couch with a bowl of popcorn like he was watching some kind of live soap opera.

Logan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking like he was five seconds away from strangling Wade. “You’re an idiot.”

Wade gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “An idiot who got you back with your super-hot girlfriend? I’ll take it.”

Logan glared at him, but the usual threat behind the look was missing. “You’re lucky I don’t gut you right here.”

Wade tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and caught it in his mouth, grinning. “Please, you love me. Admit it. I saved your romantic ass.”

Logan let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t save anything.”

Wade waggled his eyebrows, leaning forward. “So... did you say the line? Huh? Did you tell her she doesn’t annoy you, she makes you nervous? Was it super romantic? Did she melt? Were there fireworks? Wait—did you guys have apology sex?!”

Logan’s eye twitched. “Wade—”

“I mean, seriously, when do I get to meet her? We could totally do a double date! I’ll wear a tux, she’ll wear that leather jacket you’re always brooding in, it’ll be super cute—"

Logan growled. “You’re pushing it.”

Wade grinned, utterly unfazed. “Admit it. I’m a love genius. I’ve got a natural gift for this relationship stuff. Really, I should be writing books.”

Logan turned on his heel, already heading for the door. “I’m leaving before I do something we’ll both regret.”

“Bye, best friend!” Wade called after him, waving dramatically. “Tell your girlfriend I said hi! And that I want her number!”

Logan didn’t dignify that with a response, but as he stepped outside, he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Wade might have been the biggest pain in the ass in the universe, but... maybe he was right about one thing.

Some things really were worth it.

[munson-blurbs]

Summary: An evening in the Wheeler basement reveals what you've been trying to deny about your best friend, and longtime crush, Eddie.

WC: 827

Warnings: hurt/no comfort, unrequited love, mention of sex. You've been warned.

--

Eddie “Speak First, Think Later” Munson struck again. 

A rainy spring Saturday had the Hellfire Club gathered for an impromptu meeting in the Wheeler basement. Eddie whipped out a campaign that he’d been saving, somehow just as detail-rich as the ones he’d meticulously prepared for regular Friday sessions. It had gone on for hours until Dustin, the last player standing, rolled to cast a fireball and was met with utter failure. 

“Damn, and here I thought this was one of my weaker ones.” Eddie popped a sour cream and onion chip in his mouth, crunching down with a triumphant grin. “Looks like I’m unstoppable. Impenetrable. Invincible, even.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Gareth muttered, but there was no missing his own smile as he added, “tell that to Chrissy Cunningham.”

Chrissy Cunningham? Your stomach dropped at the mention of her name. You’d noticed him glancing over at her table in the cafeteria, and saw him at her locker a few times, but that didn’t mean…

Jeff snorted. “He can’t tell her anything without looking like a total moron. ‘H-Hey, Chrissy. Nice hair, um, thing.’” 

“I do not sound like that, asshole.”

“Dude, you said that exact sentence in algebra yesterday. It was a direct quote.”

Your throat was scratchy from shouting during the game, but you cleared it and forced yourself to speak. “What’s going on with Chrissy?”

Grant ignored the glare that Eddie preemptively gave the rest of the guys. “Our fearless leader is smitten with the Queen of Hawkins High,” he teased. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas all underscored his statement with obnoxious kissy noises. 

“Shut up!” Eddie yelled, but it only further spurred them on. 

“Don’t be shy,” Dustin said through his laughter. “Everyone knows you loooooove her!”

You didn’t. Okay, maybe a part of you did, but your optimism—or perhaps naivety—dismissed the idea. Because if he loved Chrissy, that meant he didn’t love you. It meant the long hugs and arms slung over your shoulder were platonic. That the deep conversations late into the night were simply between friends. 

“I don’t love her,” Eddie retorted, his pinkening cheeks giving him away. “I just think she’s cute, okay?”

“Cute?” Lucas said. He rolled his eyes. “Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. Babies are—”

“Fine, I think she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life!” Eddie snapped, but a soft smile tugged at the ends of his lips. “Are you idiots happy now?”

The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life. In his life. 

Happy? You were the farthest thing from happy. 

Your eyes blurred with tears, blinking them back and timing a sniffle with the crinkling of the chip bag as Mike passed it to Lucas. If you could pull yourself together, you could excuse yourself before you broke down completely. 

“Dude.” Jeff looked at Eddie, pulling his gaze to you despite your reluctance to even glance his way. “She’s a girl.”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie chuckled, snagging his Mountain Dew can from the snack table and taking an extended swig. “It’s not like I’m gonna have sex with my best friend, though.”

Gareth feigned a pout. “I thought I was your best friend.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not having sex with you either.”

You watched as Eddie finished his soda, crushing the can in his fist and tossing it at the drummer’s curly mop of hair. 

It’s not like I’m gonna have sex with my best friend. 

Not even a pause. Not a moment of consideration. Nothing close to the movie-esque scene where the boy realized that the girl of his dreams had been right in front of him the whole time. 

Mustering up a half-smile, you pushed yourself off of the couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’m pretty beat.”

Beat. Broken. Destroyed. Shattered. 

Eddie sat up, brushing Lays crumbs onto his jeans and leaving them shiny with oily residue. “Let me drive you,” he offered. 

You shook your head. “N-No, I wanna walk.” 

“It’s raining,” he protested. 

“It’s fine.”

That may have been the first time you’d declined the chance to spend time alone with him. You lived for the days you’d climb into the passenger seat of his van after Hellfire, resting your head against the window as it vibrated from the bass of the radio speakers. 

Eddie shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, turning his attention back to the guys. 

He didn’t come after you. You heard his laughter echoing around the basement as you ascended the stairs, barely managing to close the door before you burst into tears. 

Everything you wanted Eddie to feel for you, he felt for Chrissy. The thought of watching his eyes follow her around the cafeteria on Monday roiled a sickness within you. 

You wished you’d never showed up to the Wheelers’ today. Although it wouldn’t have changed Eddie’s love for Chrissy—or his lack of love for you—at least you could continue pretending that there was hope. 

Now, you had nothing but a broken heart.  

--

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Gladiator II - Thoughts (SPOILERS)

I was fortunate enough to watch Gladiator II at the Royal Global premiere at Leicester Square last night (Wednesday 13th November) and I NEED to share some thoughts but there are definitely some spoilers, so…

I cannot stress this enough:

THERE ❗️ ARE ❗️ SPOILERS ❗️ BELOW ❗️ THE ❗️ CUT ❗️

Once again

⚠️ DO NOT CLICK THE READ MORE IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS FOR GLADIATOR II ⚠️

There’s probably things I’m missing/forgetting right off the top of my head, and I might be paraphrasing/summarising some dialogue. I definitely need to rewatch it when I’m NOT super close to an IMAX cinema screen because I spent the whole movie with my neck craned backwards and my eyes darting everywhere because I was trying to take it all in.

Anyway, without further ado:

The opening credits were very beautiful, it recounted the plot of the original film but kind of like in the style of the opening credits of Pillars of the Earth? I don’t know if that makes sense 😭

If I remember correctly, Joseph is billed third behind Paul and Pedro, and Fred is billed fourth 🥹♥️

The film opens with a huge battle where the Roman army, led by Marcus Acacius, conquering the last free city of Africa (I think?), which is what Lucius and his wife are trying to defend

I cannot for the life of me remember what Lucius’ wife was called but she seemed nice, we only had her for a few minutes though before she got killed 😭

Okay so I’m going to start right off the bat by talking about the Emperors as they were the ones I was most looking forward to seeing, and I want to give them their own section!

We NEED to talk about Fred as Caracalla - this isn’t even me being biased, I’m being as unbiased as I can when I say that he was AMAZING

By the way, for months I’ve seen people talk shit about Fred, complaining about how they wish it was Barry Keoghan, whinging because “we could have had Joe and Barry” - to those people I say, shut the fuck up ☺️ I will NOT tolerate any hate for my boy Fred!

Fred actually had a much meatier part than Joe which was pleasantly surprising. I’m not saying Joe wasn’t unhinged or good, but he was way more sane than Fred’s character and you got the feeling that he was trying to hold their rule together and keep his brother from bringing down the whole empire

Caracalla surprised me because he was so much more softly spoken than I anticipated; in so many scenes he was childlike and almost pitiful to watch. For example, there were times where you could see him pouting or fidgeting like a bored toddler, at one point he essentially threw a tantrum and Geta had to hold him back from killing Acacius and Lucilla (and then in the background you could see him playfully swing the sword about like a child would with a toy) He would grin and get excited like a child whenever there was fighting or bloodshed, bouncing in his seat, he looked surprised and excited in the beginning when Geta handed him wine etc.

In the last coliseum fight scene, this was literally Caracalla getting excited when the fighting started - a literal child 😭

Honestly it was just fascinating to watch Caracalla because you could never tell if he was going to be childlike and almost-innocent or if he was going to start screaming and get violent

So apparently the reason that Caracalla is unhinged is because (to quote Geta) “the disease from his loins has spread to his head” (to paraphrase) which makes me think he’s got syphilis or something.

Also both of the emperors are briefly seen with concubines (as in the trailer), and Caracalla has both male and female ones hanging around him 😭 we love a bisexual Emperor!

Caracalla seems to have memory problems (probably as a result of his STI) because he doesn’t remember seeing Lucius fighting in front of them from just a couple of days ago at their party (the scene with the concubines) and Geta tries to remind him, “it’s the poet” but Caracalla just sits down and says he doesn’t remember

There’s a scene where Marcus and Lucilla are brought to the emperors in the middle of the night after being caught in a conspiracy to overthrow them, and you’ve got Geta in that red robe from the trailer whilst Caracalla is basically just wearing a fucking bedsheet toga style 😭 you know that shot in White Lotus where Fred/Quinn has a duvet around himself? Kind of like that

Contrary to that Letterboxd review calling the twins “BJ brothers”, there is NO incest in this film, and no hint of incest between the twins. I know a screenshot is circulating of Joe in the red robe where you could see what looked like the top/side of Fred’s head as if he’s on his knees, but they were absolutely NOT doing that 💀 the scene shows them both entering the room (Geta in his robe, hastily put on) and Fred in his bedsheet toga thing. I definitely didn’t get the vibe of incest at all, I got the vibe of “it’s the middle of the night and they’ve both been woken up because these two traitors (Marcus and Lucilla) were caught plotting against them”

I love that Caracalla’s weakness is Dondas (or Dundas? Different magazines are using different names so I’m so confused), his pet monkey (WE FUCKING LOVE CHERRY AND SO DOES FRED 😭♥️) Like he’s got Dondas/Dundas wearing a fucking dress and on a little chain lead, eating sweets from a bowl, and I have to applaud Fred for being able to act with a straight face while he had the monkey crawling over his shoulders, touching his hair, and at one point when the monkey moved the chain lead literally went right around/over his face

While there’s riots going on outside the palace, Caracalla is freaking out and has Dondas/Dundas the monkey on his shoulder, and Geta straight up threw wine at both of them before saying that maybe Dondas (or Dundas, whatever the fucking name is) go and calm down in another room 💀

There’s a scene where Macrinus finds Caracalla hiding under a table with the monkey and it made me think they were almost playing hide and seek 😭 truthfully I think he was just under there crying and hiding

It’s the fact that Macrinus was able to manipulate Caracalla into killing Geta by using his love of Dondas/Dundas against him; the people of Rome protest against their emperors, and Macrinus basically tells Caracalla that Geta is going to throw him to the plebs outside to be killed - and Dondas/Dundas. “Think about what they might do to Dondas” (or Dundas) - and that’s what pushes him over the edge.

NOT CARACALLA AND MACRINUS SAWING GETA’S FUCKING HEAD OFF LIKE THAT 😭 IT WAS STRAIGHT UP LIKE A HORROR FILM WITH MACRINUS COMING UP BEHIND CARACALLA AND HELPING?!?

Also Caracalla made the monkey a fucking consul of state (I think) after he killed Geta?!?! 😭 Absolutely fucking UNHINGED I TELL YOU

“ALL HAIL DONDAS! 😃” (or Dundas - again, someone please tell me the fucking monkey’s confirmed name)

They showed Geta’s head for WAY too long 😭 and Macrinus just showing it around like that?!? NASTY

Reeling over the fact they airbrushed out Geta’s head for the trailer because in this shot in the film Geta’s head is clearly visible on the table behind Denzel 💀

Sorry but Fred looked damn fine in that purple outfit near the end 😋

I feel like Caracalla had a little bit of a soft spot for Lucilla but the two sides of his personality were warring with each other: the sadistic bloodthirsty side wanted to murder both her and Marcus right away, but then near the end he whispers to Macrinus “must we kill Lucilla?” and he sounded a little hesitant or unsure which was interesting

Seeing Fred as Caracalla without Geta in that last coliseum battle scene? I can’t help but love him, Fred is seriously too good in this role. The shouting, the childlike excitement when the fighting started (see gif above)

Fred was definitely playing up the childlike side of Caracalla in his last scene when the people started revolting, he was literally curling up in his seat, snivelling and crying like a baby until Macrinus killed him from behind (he put something in his ear, i think he stuck a pin in his ear to impale his brain?) Truly pitiful end for Caracalla.

Once again: Fred Hechinger for Best Supporting Actor at the 97th Academy Awards campaign!! 😊↕️

Okay so now I’ve talked about the Emperors, I can talk about the rest of the film:

Ridley Scott truly said fuck historical accuracy in this film 😭 which is not surprising to be fair if you know him and his movies

This film was, expectedly, VERY bloody and violent from start to finish

NOT LUCIUS TAKING A BITE OUT OF THE BABOON 🤯

At one point where they’re bringing the slaves into Rome, they show statues of a wolf feeding two human children from her teat and Lucius recounts the story - this is obviously a reference to Romulus and Remus, twins raised by a wolf mother. This is actually really fitting because from earth on, Ridley AND Fred and Joe have mentioned the idea of the twins being based on this Romulus/Remus story?

DAMN, Paul Mescal was super beefy in this film like holy fucking shit dude

Honestly I adore Pedro but his role was way smaller than I thought it would be. His role is essentially to be Lucilla’s decent and loyal husband who also happened to lead the invasion that killed Lucius’ wife in the beginning of the film, something he did not want to do, hence why Lucius wants to kill him so badly (family drama, eh? 😭) and who is part of a plot to dethrone the twins

MATT LUCAS AS THE MASTER OF CEREMONIES?!? 😭 I won’t lie, at first it distracted me because I was like “why the fuck is Matt Lucas here” but he got a few laughs out of the cinema screening so his tiny parts added a little bit of humour to the film when it got tense

As I said above, there’s no incest shown - there is a MENTION, however, of a rumour that Lucius’ real father wasn’t Lucius Verus(?) but rather Commodus (obviously Lucilla’s brother/Lucius’ uncle from the first film). However, it’s not true because they make it very clear that Lucius’ father is Maximus. They do however briefly mention that Lucilla was a child bride at the age of 14 which is a bit fucked up

I was probably the only person in my screening who noticed this but at one point I saw graffiti on one of the walls on the outside/entrance to the coliseum that said something like “Irrumbo Imperators” - according to Google, that translates as “I attack the emperors”. However, it could have also been “Irrumabo Imperatores”, and if you ask Google to give you the Latin word for “fuck”? It’s “Irrumabo”. So essentially there was graffiti in the film that either said “attack the emperors” or “fuck the emperors” 💀

I thought that maybe Lucius had somehow forgotten that Lucilla was his mother despite being 12 when she sent him away but nope, he’s fully aware of who he actually is and who his mother is, he’s just angry at her for sending him away and never seeing him again 😭

NOT THAT SERVANT TATTLING ON LUCILLA AND MARCUS?!? 😤

They killed Marcus off WAY earlier than I thought they would by the way. The trailers give the impression that the final battle is Lucius vs Marcus but it’s actually Lucius vs Macrinus which is WILD to me

You know that scene in LOTR where the orcs shoot Boromir full of arrows? That is basically what happened in this film to General Acacius but with about 20 more arrows 💀 I had major Boromir flashbacks watching this scene

I’m glad that Lucilla and Lucius got to reconcile before the ending, given what ended up happening

“Because Emperor Caracalla is generous, he will allow Lucilla to have one Gladiator to fight to defend her” - ONE. ONE AGAINST ABOUT 30 TRAINED GUARDS 💀

I’m still reeling over the fact Derek Jacobi spoiled his own character’s death on the red carpet a mere hour before the film screening in front of THOUSANDS of people 😭 that man did NOT give a fuck quite frankly and I think that’s kind of hilarious of him

THE GASP THAT EVERYONE IN THE SCREENING COLLECTIVELY LET OUT WHEN MACRINUS KILLED LUCILLA BY SHOOTING HER IN THE CHEST?!? HE KILLED CARACALLA AND LUCILLA IN 60 SECONDS FLAT 😭

That said, this shot from the behind the scenes featurette about Ridley Scott is ten times funnier to me after watching the film and realising that not only is Ridley showing Denzel how to shoot the arrow that kills Lucilla, but Fred is also supposed to be dead in the chair at this point since Macrinus takes the bow and fires the arrow straight after killing Caracalla 😭

Poor Lucius has now seen his father, his mother, his uncle and his wife all die right in front of him, the man CANNOT catch a break 😫

That final battle between Lucius and Macrinus was GRUESOME 😳 Lucius cut off his hand and slashed him - I’m not sure if he actually cut him in half or if Macrinus just crumpled in the river in a heap but DAMN

This film used footage from the first Gladiator film so they gave the actor who played Lucius in the first film a credit which was nice!

That said, I know obviously it’s been 24 years since the original film so of course the child actor from the original is no longer 12 and so could not be in the flashback scenes showing young Lucius, but damn the difference was a little jarring to be honest, especially when it went from footage of the original film to new footage with the new child actor

Ridley Scott spoiled the ending of this fucking movie by saying he wanted to have Paul back to play Lucius again as the main character in Gladiator III 💀 so yeah, I already knew Lucius was surviving this film

Some final summary thoughts:

Let’s be honest, it would be impossible to top the first Gladiator and so while I loved Gladiator II and think it was amazing, it was obviously never going to quite reach the same level as the original

I know I just made the comment about nominating Fred for Best Supporting Actor but I have to be honest, I truly think Denzel deserves the nomination - if there’s only one actor from this film who gets that nomination, it has to be Denzel because he was by far the standout of the whole film. If I had to rank it personally I’d say Denzel and then Fred is a close second, then maybe Joseph and Pedro?

^ This isn’t me saying Joe and Pedro were bad at all, they were all really amazing, but this film just had so many characters and quite frankly Fred, Joe and Pedro had WAY less screentime than Denzel so they didn’t have nearly as much to work with as he did.

Again; I’m biased because I went in the most excited to see the Emperors, but I wish we’d had more of Caracalla and Geta. Fred and Joe did their best to work with what they were given, but they didn’t have that much and pretty much all of their scenes were shown in trailers or TV spots etc.

GIVE CHERRY THE MONKEY A FUCKING OSCAR

I obviously wasn’t expecting Paul Mescal to fight real baboons, rhinos and sharks but the CGI was… not great. It was quite obvious that it was CGI for the baboons and sharks, I think the rhino was slightly better though (Fred mentioned in an interview his first day involved “the mechanical rhino” so it was somewhat partly practical as well I suppose)

The pacing of this film was a little all over the place, if I’m being honest. I want to rewatch soon, from further back in the screen because, as I said, I was craning my head back the whole time and it ended up giving me a neck and headache so that probably added to me being uncomfortable (plus I’d had a long day and was thoroughly burned out by the time the screening started), but there were times where I was like “oh… we’re back here then 😐”

^ What I’m trying to say is that some of the storylines happened so fast and had very little build up (eg. The emperors in general) whilst other plots were so slow burn in comparison.

The music was so good! I know people are going to compare it unfavourable to Hans Zimmer’s original score from the first film, but I LOVE Harry Gregson-Williams (he did the soundtrack for the first two Narnia films so I’m biased 😅) and I thought he did a great job with the score here. The fact he had Hans Zimmer’s approval and praise made me confident the score would be great anyway

I feel like people are obviously going to compare Paul Mescal to Russell Crowe which… let’s be honest, has gotta suck for him because how the fuck do you live up to Russell Crowe?!? Some people have already said that they didn’t like Paul in this film, which… okay, fair enough. I honestly don’t think comparing him to Russell Crowe does him any favours. I enjoyed watching him personally, and I think given that this whole film rests on him, he did great. Not quite Russell Crowe but I have no complaints about his performance personally.

People are also going to compare Joe and Fred to Joaquin Phoenix’s Commodus, and I think they both did a great job given that they didn’t actually have nearly as much screen-time as Joaquin did in the original film. It’s almost unfair to compare them because in the first Gladiator, Commodus was the main antagonist - in this film, Macrinus is the main antagonist overall whilst the Emperors are more secondary antagonists that serve as obstacles for Macrinus’ rise to power. But they both did great with what they had.

Overall, my opinion of the film?

This film NEEDS to be seen on a big screen at the cinema! Go and watch it!

[hp-hcs]

i see your theo and mattheo are bottoms post so i ask of you BOTTOM 👏🏻 YANDERE 👏🏻 FICS 👏🏻 i'd go feral if you dropped any plsplspls 😭‼️

• smut • hook up boyfriend — yandere! switch! theodore nott x male! switch! toxic! reader

look at this little bottom bitch he’s mine back off

so, my boyfriend proofreads most of my works on here, and i gave him my rough draft for this ask. he then said, and i quote, "jesus christ, [hp-hcs]. you write smut like a nun." and then he took my phone from me. so basically, this is a long winded way of saying that my boyfriend helped me write all the smexy stuff. tell me if I should let him keep helping me or if he's a god awful smut writer who should not be allowed within a hundred feet of my tumblr, mkay?

INCREDIBLY TOXIC READER JFC WHYD I MAKE YOU SUCH A MANIPULATIVE BASTARD IDK

WARNINGS: SMUT MDNI, amab reader, switch reader, implied unprotected sex w/ multiple sexual partners (you’re not magic irl. wrap it before you tap it.), lot of power dynamic changes—traditional top dom/bottom sub but also some top sub/bottom dom stuff as well, toxic shit in general, lot of manipulation, pretty mild yandere from theo, degradation, praise

i’m of the opinion that theo would be a bottom/dom just so that he could save face for posterity

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“What do you mean I can’t hook up with him?”

“Because you’re already hooking up with me!”

“So? We’re not exclusive, Theodore.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Friends with benefits. That’s it. I’m not beholden to give you my loyalty and undivided attention, dipshit.”

Theo growls and runs a hand through his hair while he paces around his dorm. You lay back on his bed, watching him with a bored expression.

“But he’s my best friend, Y/n!”

“Mhm. He’s also a damn good fuck.”

“I don’t need to know that!”

“Why not? You seem to enjoy fucking your friends, no?” You shrug, stretching out across his bed without a single care. “Maybe you ought to add Matty to your hook up rotation.”

“Matty?”

“Yeah? I’ve got nicknames for all my partners, Teddy-Bear.”

“All?!” Theo splutters. “Well- well, tell me this. Does he even satisfy you? Do you ever think of me when he’s fucking you?”

“He’s the bottom, actually.”

“Wh- huh?”

“He’s the bottom,” you repeat. “Why are you shocked? You’re well aware I’m a switch, Theo. And everyone knows that Mattheo is a Bottom-with-a-capital-B.”

A flame of white-hot jealousy heats up Theo’s skin. He grits his teeth in barely-restrained anger; it’s as if just saying the wrong thing right now would cause him to snap and go hunt down Riddle to put his head on a pike.

“I could be your Bottom-with-a-capital-B. You don’t need Riddle. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Got that?”

You snort. “No offense, Teddy, but I couldn’t see you bottoming in a million years. You’re my top hook up. I’ve got bottom hook ups so that you don’t have to do that.”

He stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, maybe it’s high time you teach me how to bottom then. I don’t want you seeing other people. Especially if it’s just because they give you something I’m too chicken to.”

You blink. “Huh. That’s some weirdly endearing possessive dedication, love.”

“I aim to please,” he says dryly, those unnervingly dead eyes of his seeming like they could see inside your soul when he stares at you.

You consider the offer before a wicked grin slowly spreads across your face. “I bet you do, darling.”

~~~

"Sh-shit! Fuck! Y-Y/n, I-"

“You gonna cum, pretty boy? Hm? Already?” He whimpers and nods frantically, his fingers scrabbling for hold on your shoulders and leaving stinging nail-bitten marks across your back.

Your teasing relents a bit at the sight of his blissed-out expression. Theo’s mouth hangs open in ecstasy, his eyes shut tightly and his back arching up from the mattress.

You groan at the sight of him splayed out under you. You grip his cock, reveling in his whimpers, and quickly start jacking him off in time to your thrusts. “C’mon, baby. You can do it. Be a good boy for me.”

His entire body stiffens as he cums with a moan that would make even a Muggle porn star blush.

You groan and start to slow down, but before you can fully pull out, he locks his knees around your hips to keep you in place.

"D-don't you fucking dare. More.”

“More?” You tease gently, hesitant to continue despite his request. “What a fucking slut you are, Teddy-Bear. Insatiable.”

He growls at your hesitance, far too impatient for that kind of bullshit.

He grips your shoulders, his knees tightening around your hips again as he uses all of that hot boy quidditch strength to roll you both over.

You let out a tiny yelp of surprise as he flips you onto your back. He whimpers loudly and moans at the shift in position, having to tuck his face into your neck for a moment while he collects himself.

Your hand moves up to comb your fingers through his hair, but he knocks it away before you can.

He sits up, supporting his weight with his hands flat on your chest, and takes a shaky breath at the shift of positions. “Want you t’ cum too.”

Your hands find his hips and grip them firmly, your breath becoming uneven as he starts to grind back and forth.

You help him raise himself up then lower his body again, listening to his sweet moans. As he finds a steady rhythm, you watch as his thighs begin to tremble.

“Merlin- I’ll never complain about you getting tired while riding me ever again. This is a fucking workout.”

“You’ll be fine. You’re not on the quidditch team for nothing.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

His face darkens.

Maybe he just doesn’t like me bringing up his teammates while we’re literally fucking, you consider. Maybe he-

“How good of a fuck is Riddle anyways, huh? Could he ever ride you like this?”

Ah.

Fuck.

Mattheo’s on the quidditch team as well.

Theo starts moving with passion, roughly slamming down on you. “I asked you a question.”

“G-god- Theo!” You gasp, caught off guard by the sudden influx of sensations.

“Answer me.”

You whine and scratch your short fingernails over his abs, marveling at the pink and red lines that bloom at the surface a half-second later. “C-could never be as good as you, love. Shit- you’re perfect.”

He shivers at the sensation and grins slyly. “Perfect, huh?”

“Perfect,” you repeat, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him in for a slow kiss.

He sighs against your lips, returning the kiss. The sweet moment is cut off by you suddenly jerking your hips up into him and cursing loudly.

“Fuck- you feel so fucking good, babe-”

He gasps and his fingers claw frantically at your shoulders for any kind of support. “Merlin- I’m gonna-”

You watch as Theo’s second orgasm hits him and he goes practically boneless, slumping over on top of you.

He’s spasming around you like mad, and you can’t help but moan loudly when you cum just seconds later.

You both lay there in silence for a moment, trying to catch your breaths. Theo slowly eases himself off of your dick and rolls over to lay beside you.

“What‘s the final verdict?” You grin cheekily after a moment. “You a pillow prince now or nah?”

“Mmm…nah. I think I can settle for the label of switch though.”

“Aha! Welcome to the dark side!”

“Yeah, yeah. Shush. Now, roll over, I’m on top this time.”

~~~

“I heard you’re going steady with someone now.”

“Mm…mhm,” Theo hums an affirmative around the cigarette in his mouth, one hand cupped around the flame of his lighter as he lit it.

“Who’s the lucky fella?”

“Your ex-fuckbuddy.”

“Which one?”

“Y/n.”

Mattheo’s brow furrows. “Y/n? Y/n and I have never slept together.”

Theo suddenly launches into a coughing fit as he chokes on his lungful of smoke. “What?”

“Now, don’t get me wrong. I’d hit that in a heartbeat if he offered. But, I’m also like ninety percent sure that you’d kill me if I did that, and I rather enjoy being not-murdered, believe it or not. He is incredibly hot though.”

Theo just stared, his mouth hanging open.

You never slept with Mattheo?

What?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

• standalone!! •

i will not be writing a part two!!

[bubblergoespop]

My Top Damien Quotes

i want him to chuck a water bottle at me ♥︎

“You are a person that is overflowing with love to give, and that is not too much, that is fucking beautiful.”

“I’m not going to get mad, I just want to know who did this to you.”

“My fire is a part of me.”

“I can do good. That’s all I want to do. I want to help.”

“Now who whimpers?”

“Well if you four would stop teasing me, I could stop doing my best impression of a furnace.”

“I have never felt more flaccid in my entire life.”

“Oh, he thinks I’m funny when I’m mad? Huxley has no idea what I look like when I’m mad.”

“C’mon nature boy, let’s get natural.”

“Handsome man [he’s saying this with a :3 on his face you can’t convince me otherwise]”

“Huxley, I need you.”

“I want all this anger to mean something.”

“I can walk.”

“You’re always so gentle with me. With everything. I-I’m not used to that.”

“Body like yours needs a little worship, you know?”

“Yeah. I’m fine… I’m freaking out.”

“A-are you gonna serve, or what? [he’s too busy gawking at Huxley’s muscles to realise he’s holding the ball himself, not Hux]”

“The rolls aren’t aerodynamic enough. I can’t get enough speed behind them.”

“Huxley seems to think threats are a way I express love.”

“Who. Was. It?”

“I’ve gotten pretty good at screaming at walls.”

“You remember that positive outlook when you’re ripping out your happy trail trying to get dried cum out of it.”

“I spent a lot of nights thinking about all the stuff this body of yours could do.”

“Hey. I don’t just care about it as a morally wrong action for the sake of it. I care about you. You’re my friend. A good one. And my friend is hurting, and I can do something about it, so I’m going to.”

“You are the person I choose. And I’m so fucking grateful that you’ve chosen me.”

“He [Huxley] does make it hard to get mad at him, even when he is doing something asinine. It’s like trying to stay mad at a puppy. Just doesn’t feel right.”

“The bear’s cute… For the record though, you’re the only teddy bear I need.”

“I’m made of tough stuff too Hux… and I like it rough…”

“All I can think about is worshipping this incredible body of yours.”

“It’s all yours.”

“God I love how big your hands are.”

“I don’t whimper [proceeds to whimper]… only with you.”

“Pick me up. Turn us around. Press me into the wall. And fuck me.”

“Yeah we’ll see how great you think I look when I set your hair on fire.”

“Just because I usually want you to top, doesn’t mean I don’t love your ass.”

“I wanna feel every fucking inch of this monster.”

“Ugh I laid down on your cum and I’m pretty sure we’re glued together now.”

“All mine huh?”

“Huxley. Fuck me. I wanna cum with your cock buried inside me all the way to the base.”

“I’ll trade you goofballs.”

“Cute glasses.”

Honourable Mentions (Non-Canon)

“I’ve had friends before. I’ve never had a friend that I felt as close to as I do to you.”

“You feel good. Except your hair’s trying to go up my nose.”

“Fuck. God, you drive me crazy with just a touch. Just a look, honestly.”

“Now gimme.”

“If you wanna know which one I’d prefer, ask me. Directly.”

“Do you think this is what they meant when they say ‘Light a fire under your ass’?”

“Yes, I’d say my fire likes you very much.”

[minkdelovely]

catharsis

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“we are more

than our disguises,

we are more

than just the pain.”

Alastor x Lucifer ; RadioApple ; MDNI 18+

tags/warnings: angst (w/a happy ending), established relationship, hurt/comfort, crying, mentions/allusions of abuse, mentions of death from illness, sexual content (biting, blood/blood play, kissing, palming)

word count: 2.5k

author’s note: guess who’s writing angst again?? this kinda hit me out of nowhere, but is fully inspired by @sunlit-mess / SOL 1 x 1 (on twitter) recent works (linked HERE and HERE) with alastor seeking luci’s comfort. seeing these back-to-back just set something off in my mind and i couldn’t rest until it was out. a special thanks and shoutout to our darling @fraugwinska for helping me get a title on this baby — without her y’all would have been reading ‘untitled’ 😂💖 quote is from twin flame by weyes blood. without further ado, buckle up and dive in; i hope you enjoy 😌 (also posted on my ao3 if that’s your preference)

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It was surprising, even to himself.

Alastor couldn’t recall the last time he had cried, much less in front of a witness. Composure and a display of strength were hard-won attributes he had built upon himself. Each unpleasant memory in his mind was a brick in his fortification; the tears he denied himself to shed the mortar between them.

He hadn’t always followed his own code of conduct and taken the ugliness of life on the chin. Before he had found his own strength, he could admit to being swayed by the will of others. Alastor found words to be harsher than the switch and was more than familiar with the sting of both. Though the switch was a boy’s punishment… A closed fist was more suitable for raising a man.

Or so his father had thought.

Mama’s boy… Just my luck. I got me a mama’s boy... C’mere you little pansy!

The repulsion in his father’s words hadn’t lost any of its potency, even after all this time. Alastor recalled them with more clarity than the face of the man they came from, which only served to plunge him further in his despair. Hadn’t he proven his resilience? Not only in body, but in mind and spirit? Perhaps not as much as he thought, with the way he was sobbing. If his father could see him now — bereft of stoicism and drenched in tears, drool, and mucus — he’d have been absolutely disgusted. Alastor loathed how much that bothered him. The fear of inadequacy lurching in his gut like a bad tonic.

Hot, angry tears flowed down the streaks that shame had carved on his face. Not that Lucifer would be able tell the difference with the way Alastor had burrowed into his chest. It was merely a fresh bout for the candy-striped vest to soak up. The saline fabric was beginning to chafe Alastor’s face, but he didn’t feel ready to surface; arms tightening around his lover’s waist as his hands gripped Lucifer with a desperation he assumed was buried long ago with his innocence.

Stop hidin’ behind your mama and come take your whoopin’ like a man!

Alastor choked on another sob and gasped for breath, heaving in Lucifer’s arms as the angel held him firmly. Gloved hands petting red hair and anguished, downcast ears. Hushed words of comfort spoken into the crown of Alastor’s head to soothe in tandem as they both shook from the force of the demon’s sorrow.

“I’ve got you. Shh, honey, I’ve got you.”

So much love conveyed in so few words. Alastor still grappled with accepting it. Evidenced by more tears fighting their way through his clenched eyes and a muffled, heart-wrenching cry into Lucifer’s chest. The pain of it went straight through the King’s heart as he pressed a firm kiss to Alastor’s head, feeling the distress on his face as he did so. How he wished to unburden the demon of his suffering. More than anyone, Lucifer could understand what it was like to be wracked with such melancholy.

If only Alastor could remember what had set him off, if he had, in fact, been triggered at all. He had just woken up this morning feeling low. Why was he dwelling so much on things that were better left to the past? Unbeknownst to either of them, they were sharing the same thought. And both knew that dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed did nothing other than inflict harm. Must they be plagued by the ignorance and rejection of their fathers for eternity? The cost of the scorn they’d endured seemed to grow ever higher some days.

That was one of the first things they had bonded over, sharing self-deprecating laughter to hide from their aching wounds. When love is built on a foundation of hurt, it’s only a matter of time before the walls crumble. Most times they were Lucifer’s, and sad as it was, it felt much easier to navigate. The angel was much more comfortable wearing his feelings, after all, and he’d had millennia of experience weathering his storms. Alastor was no stranger to being the shoulder to cry on. If anything, it came to him too naturally; a trait he couldn’t be sure was born in him or a side-effect of the wall he had built.

When Alastor buckled under the weight of his grief, it was devastating. He repressed himself for such long bouts of time that the force of his woe had the impact of an avalanche. Sadness, anger, shame, and regret cascading through his lithe frame until he was utterly hollowed out. Lucifer’s task of mending him was only beginning, he knew. It would be days before Alastor returned to himself, but he was more than willing to put in the work. Stitching his love back together with his needle of assurance and thread of devotion.

It was impossible to tell how long they spent this way. Alastor kneeling on the floor between Lucifer’s legs, knees sore and body aching, face still smothered in the drenched clothes donning the angel’s chest. Lucifer on the sofa in their bedroom, comforting the demon with every ounce of strength he could muster.

Until finally the tears stopped, replaced with uneven, sometimes stuttering breaths and hiccups. And soon enough those were gone too. Lucifer’s right hand rubbing Alastor’s back as his left cradled Alastor’s head. Before long, the demon was stirring. Sniffling a bit as he nuzzled his face into the mess of fluids he had left on the King’s vest and shirt. Lucifer didn’t mind, knowing that he could have it all gone with a snap of his fingers, but it wouldn’t do any good for Alastor to try wiping his face on his clothes in the state they were in.

“Let me clean your face, love. You’ll get a rash if you stay there,” Lucifer chided softly, manifesting a warm, damp handkerchief as he bent down to kiss Alastor's forehead for good measure.

It wasn’t a very convincing threat, both of them knowing that if Alastor did suffer a rash Lucifer would heal it in an instant. But Alastor conceded, and gingerly peeled himself away from the safety of the angel’s chest. His poor face was raw from tears, eyelids chapped red with irritation; dried salt crusted his cheeks like the vestiges of sea foam on the shore.

Alastor knew he looked awful. He could see himself reflected in Lucifer’s eyes proving as much. Every bit of moisture his body had was soaked into Lucifer’s chest, and he could feel the headache promised by dehydration blooming in his forehead. He was wrung out and exhausted but nearly began crying again, too moved by the tender act as Lucifer gently wiped his face. His Sire hushed him, voice calm and gaze full of adoration. Not even bothering to clean himself up before ensuring that Alastor was taken care of first.

The swell of affection Alastor felt in that moment was overwhelming, and he swallowed thickly as he closed his eyes, succumbing to the comfort of his lover’s hands tending to him. His father’s cruel words fading into darkness with every soft swipe of the warm cloth.

You’ll find someone special someday, mon amour.

Alastor was grateful for his mother’s memory, and wondered — not for the first time — what she would think of Lucifer. She had been a God-fearing woman, after all. A fear that she did not pass down to her son, choice of partner aside. He had turned his back on God long before his eyes had set their sight on the fallen angel. If she could see him from Heaven, he hoped that she would be happy. The Devil wasn’t all he was made out to be, if the way he cherished Alastor wasn’t proof enough.

His mother never pestered him about settling down, but worried for him deeply when they realized that she was sick and wouldn’t be getting better. Alastor was self-sufficient by then, with a year of working at the local radio station under his belt. Not that he didn’t take her concern to heart. If anything, when it came to her, he took things all too seriously. He wasn’t weighed down by the need for partnership or marriage, especially not when his career still had traction to gain. Alastor would try to tell her as much, assure her that she had nothing to worry about, and they would drop the subject and speak of other things. But he never left the sanatorium without receiving her prayers; his large, warm hands looking almost comical in her frail, cold grasp. Her hold on him was as fervent as the words and wishes she spoke to someone Alastor knew wasn’t listening. Though that didn’t make the act any less sincere or appreciated.

It was a brand of care Alastor thought he would never know again after his mother finally succumbed to her illness. The near-decade that passed after this had only cemented that fact. He didn’t seek companionship nor did he deny it when the mood struck. But beyond his small circle of friends, Alastor was content with his solitary life. Besides, a partner or spouse would have only made his nighttime affairs much harder to juggle — if not damn near impossible — and having the reputation of an elusive bachelor only helped with his fan base when it came to his radio segment.

It wasn’t until Lucifer had broken through his defenses that Alastor understood how he had barricaded himself from the world. And that he wanted support and comfort and understanding more than he cared to admit.

There are things you need that you can’t take care of on your own.

Basked in the warmth of Lucifer’s affection and his mother’s memory, Alastor hummed and opened his eyes, a tired smile curling his lips. Lucifer smiled back at him, expression benevolent and soft as his hands found their way back into Alastor’s hair to resume their petting. And grateful as he was, Alastor couldn’t ignore that Lucifer had yet to address the mess setting into his clothes. He fought against the pain as he uncurled his fingers, stiff from the grip on Lucifer’s waist, and silently began unbuttoning the candy-striped vest he had come to adore as the angel’s signature.

“Hey, you don’t have to —”

Alastor stopped him with a kiss, his fingers continuing their work as Lucifer sighed against his lips. The tension in both their bodies deflating as they shared hungry pecks and inhaled each other’s breath. All the while, Alastor’s hands remained busy with the undoing of buttons. First on the vest, then on the white shirt beneath it. Each open button providing relief like the snapping of a taut string.

Perhaps it was the musician in Alastor subconsciously rising to the task, but Lucifer would never cease to be caught flat-footed by the demon’s impeccable timing. How Alastor’s fingers managed to perfectly sync with his kisses was a feat Lucifer could only describe as divine. As if the acts were always meant to be one, never separate. It made the golden blood in his body turn molten; roiling through his veins as he sighed and chased every touch with relish. He was not often given these affections without needing to ask, whether with a look or an outright plea. Games that Lucifer was content to play, knowing that anticipation and a good tease left them both more than satiated.

With the collar of Lucifer’s shirt loosened, Alastor straightened his back and bent his neck to suckle and kiss down the angel’s pristine throat. The demon took his time with this, hoping to convey his gratitude and desire with every press of his lips against the milky skin beneath them. When Alastor made it to the junction between neck and shoulder, he was unable to resist the urge to sink his teeth in; the flesh yielding to his fangs like a ripened peach, and the nectar that soon coated his tongue was a gift in itself.

Lucifer hissed through the bite, hips jerking in space between them as Alastor groaned and languidly sucked and licked the blood rising from the wound. With his hands free from buttons, Alastor let them explore. How he adored the feeling of Lucifer’s small frame beneath them. Endlessly fascinated by the twitches and sounds he could elicit from the angel with little more than the slightest drag of his claws against sensitive skin.

Alastor released himself from Lucifer’s neck with a salacious pop and licked his lips for good measure. The whine that escaped Lucifer from the action had Alastor’s ears and groin at attention. The low creaking sound of antlers branching out mingled with their shallow breath. Alastor’s crimson eyes drank in the almost bashful look on Lucifer’s face, accented by a golden flush that made his abdomen tight with hunger.

How lucky he was, truly.

The silver lining of Lucifer’s descent was heavily in Alastor’s favor. Had Lucifer remained God’s favorite, he’d be in Heaven — a place Alastor had never planned to be. In truth, he never intended to be in Hell either, which is where luck came into play. He wasn’t destined for mortal companionship, but for something transcendent. Not a god to worship, but a sin. A king.

An angel.

“I’m unworthy of your benevolence,” Alastor lamented, desperately kissing and kneading the supple skin of Lucifer’s chest. “But I’m devoted to you, always.”

It was a sentiment he had expressed before, feeling much like Mary Magdalene washing Jesus’ feet with her tears. But it made Lucifer’s heart jump all the same; its rapid beat calling to Alastor like a siren from under skin and bone as his teeth latched to Lucifer’s breast. Their pleasured moans harmonized as Lucifer cupped the back of Alastor's head, encouraging him to continue with a whisper of his name. Alastor happily obliged. Tongue lapping at the pert nipple, hot and fervent, as his mouth and teeth provided a deliciously sharp suction, drawing out the ambrosia in Lucifer’s veins.

Lucifer struggled to remain cognisant, lost and overwhelmed as Alastor’s mouth peppered a trail of kisses from right to left. Alastor shifted slightly between Lucifer’s legs as teeth sunk into the top of his left pectoral just as Alastor’s left hand palmed his groin. The wanton cry that echoed off the walls of their bedroom only served to make Alastor desperate for more. Eagerly succumbing to his need to worship the angel, the agony he had suffered earlier behind him but not forgotten.

An offering of gratitude and declaration of fidelity in a language they shared when words failed. When adoration was beyond articulation and the only thing strong enough to quell their aching hearts was propinquity. The evening had started with Alastor falling apart in Lucifer’s lap… but it would end with Lucifer falling apart in Alastor’s hands.

And they would wake in the morning with tangled hair in wrinkled sheets. Sharing hushed jokes and lazy kisses as the early morning sun colored their room in a hazy, pink glow.

Healing each other one day at a time.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmiccandydreamer, @hyperfixations-keep-me-going, @cherry-cola-100, @wonderlandangelsposts, @catticora, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth, @reath-solia, @junieshohoho, @cxrsedwxrlds, @littlebluefishtail, @hazelfoureyes, @sugoi-writes, @nxcxllxsevens, @swagkittybear

[drak3n]

THE NEMESIS

ꨄ. SYNOPSIS: love and hate are so close to each other for a reason.

ꨄ. CONTENT WARNINGS: slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, friends to strangers to lovers, neglectful parents, love triangles, high school drama, fights, swift mention of a bloody & bruised nose, reader was a misunderstood bully, makeup sex, breeding kink, unprotected sex

ꨄ. SENA'S NOTE: sorry for my inactivity y'all, a lot has been happening lately. anyways, this is over 5k words long so enjoy!

bold italic quotes = letter excerpts

PROLOGUE. | SERIES MASTERLIST.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“it’s embarrassing to admit this, really. after all this time we’ve been apart from each other.”

atsumu and you didn’t always hate each other.

truthfully, you had started off getting along really well, even better than you’d gotten along with osamu. it was something no one could explain, until it all fell apart.

your story went all the way back to your second year of middle school, where the miyas had to move due to the twins’ mother having found a job on the other side of the prefecture. that meant the twins had to transfer schools as well.

it wasn’t like either of the two had difficulties at adapting to their new environments, given that they were quite popular because of their athleticism and their looks. even at their new school, their talent for volleyball made them climb up the ladder of fame in no time.

this is where you came in. a mean, popular girl who had no qualms about making other kids feel worse about themselves. everyone was careful not to cross paths with you or get on your bad side, afraid of your wrath.

the twins had been warned about your presence that lingered like a devil on the school grounds. “she hates boys who are loud and eccentric,” a classmate had told the two, and the younger twin shot a pointed look at the older, which made him glare back at him.

“the hell are ya starin’ at me for, samu!?”

“nothin’.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“you were the first person to approach me, although you knew what others thought of me. we were kids back then, but i haven’t forgotten.”

it was both a blessing and a curse to be avoided by everyone. you had your peace and no one was there to mess with you, but at times, it was really boring.

lunch breaks had to be the worst. if you ate your lunch at the hall, everyone would avoid you like the pest. you’d have a table that ten students could use, for yourself.

it was cold outside today, but you still sat on the bench in the yard, ignoring your growling stomach. your mother hadn’t been packing you lunch in a while, and you couldn’t find anything to shove into your bag last minute in the morning.

counting the coins you found in the pockets of your thin coat, you determined with a frown that it was nowhere near enough to buy even a cereal bar.

you could just bully some of the juniors into giving you money or their lunch. before you could stand up and march towards an innocent group of schoolkids playing tag on the other side of the yard, someone sat next to you.

your eyes narrowed at the sight of one of the new kids. you had no idea which of the two it was, given that you couldn’t distinguish a difference between them, and frankly, you didn’t really care. neither of the two shared a class with you anyway.

“hi, i’m atsumu, the older and cool twin!” he introduced himself, running a chubby hand through his thick, brown hair parted on the right. come to think of it, their hair was parted on different sides.

“whad’ya have for lunch? wanna swap? you can have my vegetables and cheese sandwich.” your eyes wandered down to the open box in his lap, filled with delicious bread and vegetables that made your mouth water. you haven’t even had breakfast this morning.

“why are you talking to me?” big, brown eyes widened at you dismissing him, when other girls would die for his attention. “i’ve already eaten.”

the loud growling of your stomach made you clutch your upper body, cheeks flaring in shame as the brunette grinned.

“liar! ya can have mine, y’know. here ya go.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“you were so obnoxious and insufferable to most, but i didn’t see that. i couldn’t care less about what you were like, when you were so nice to me.”

it hadn’t taken you too long to finally notice other differences between the twins. because sometimes when standing in front of either of them, you couldn’t quite tell if the part was on the left or right.

osamu’s eyes were a dark gray, while atsumu’s were brown, like molten chocolate. atsumu would always sound excited, his voice distinguishable from miles away, while osamu was more reserved and preferred calmness.

except for when the two were together, of course. atsumu was quite against introducing you to him, complaining to you that people always ended up liking his brother more, much to his chagrin.

but you were so alone all the time, so he dragged you along to watch him practice one day.

“hey… is that that girl?”

your body language was tense, the discomfort written all over your face as you gazed holes into the floors of the gym, where teammates of the twins were whispering among each other.

“i don’t think they want me here.” you didn’t look sad when you said it, nor did you look upset, it seemed like you’d already accepted it. atsumu had known you for weeks, and osamu had just met you, but it was the first time the two stepped up to defend someone instead of bickering at each other like they did all the time.

“hey, ya pricks! are ya not ashamed to be pickin’ on a girl?”

it had resulted in a fight, with the other members of the volleyball team complaining loudly about how atsumu was such a loudmouth despite being new, telling him to shut up.

it was the wrong timing perhaps, because punches started being thrown, but as you intervened and kicked the boys who dared to lay a hand on either of the twins, a feeling of fuzzy warmth spread inside of you as you could only think of the boy who shared his lunches with you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“sometimes, i wish i could go back to relive those days. what i wouldn’t do to have you share one of your lunchboxes with me or have you include me in your life one more time.”

middle school seemed to pass in a blur, and you three graduated together, already knowing you’d be attending the same high school.

neither of you had the best grades or the best reputation, but at the end of the day, you happily held the certificates in your hands, having the twins’ parents snap photos of you three. one of those photos that had been taken that day, with atsumu and you shyly standing next to each other, would soon be framed and placed on your nightstand.

your parents didn’t attend. the sight of all students being hugged, kissed and celebrated by their families, while you were on your own chipped away at your heart.

“hey!” atsumu’s loud voice pulled you out of your train of thoughts, and he pointed at his parents looking through osamu’s report while smiling. “what’re ya bein’ so gloomy for? my parents are waitin’!”

with furrowed brows, you stared at the brunette, not quite understanding what he meant by that. you were going to head home, why would mr. and mrs. miya be waiting for you?

“we’re goin’ to this great barbecue place at the mall!” atsumu had told you about it before, the miyas had a tradition of going there for birthdays or other celebrations. it almost made you envious, because you didn’t have that.

“is that so?” you smiled at him, “have fun, tsumu. i’ll see you after the holidays.”

before you could turn around and leave, the boy tugged at your sleeve, pulling you back and towards his parents. you were stunned.

“i saved up all year to pay for yer meal! made my parents reserve an extra seat for you!”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“it all went to hell when my pride got in the way. when you started hanging out with that girl, and i felt threatened by her.”

it was in your second year of high school when things had started shifting between you two. you were more than used to the fans who went crazy for the two, which progressively started getting unbearable at some point.

flooded lockers with letters and chocolates they’d share with you, countless confessions you’d hear and see, and girls bombarding you with favors of getting them closer to either of the twins.

you could live with that. after all, they weren’t popular for no reason. they were handsome, very much so, and they were volleyball prodigies, scoring countless points for inarizaki at each game.

there was one girl who had gotten atsumu’s attention as much as he had gotten hers. they were in the same class, too. it was osamu who told you they had started hanging out when you were surprised about them going to get lunch together, with him nudging her side and making her chuckle.

you had woken up half an hour earlier just to prepare a lunchbox you could share with the blonde. but at the end of the day, you sullenly sat at the same table with osamu and the rest of the team, staring at the untouched food. the atmosphere was awkward, and the boys exchanged glances, clueless as to if they should speak up and ask you what’s wrong.

“that looks really good.” of course suna was the first to talk, narrow eyes peering over at your lunch. “why aren’t ya eatin’ it?”

aran shook his head at the middle blocker’s directness, and osamu frowned when you shoved the pink box towards suna, no more having an appetite after watching atsumu and that girl sitting together. “you can have it.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“jealousy is truly an ugly thing. so is love. it makes you do questionable things. but all i wanted was to protect you from heartbreak, even if it was at the expense of my own heart.”

the more time atsumu spent with her, the more worried you got. especially since there was some sort of sixth sense telling you that she was bad news.

you hated her for taking atsumu away from you, yes. but if she had been good for him, you would’ve accepted it, no matter how difficult. it was just that you knew she was no good.

“‘samu, i heard her talking to her girl friends in the dressing rooms after P.E.” you had bolted to osamu’s desk before the class would start, hair disheveled from the former class, and you were out of breath.

the younger miya quirked a thick brow at your words, “emma, you mean?” you nodded frantically, “she’s just using him for popularity. said she wants to dump him when he gets famous after high school, and she does too.”

osamu wasn’t really interested in entertaining any drama, especially when it came to his annoying brother. he could see how concerned you were for him though, and he couldn’t blame you for it. atsumu was very important to you, after all.

“are ya sure?” it wasn’t like he didn’t believe you. he just thought it might be a stretch. how was emma going to lead atsumu on for over a year, and how could she be so sure that he was going to be famous after high school?

“maybe she was just kiddin’. are ya sure you’re not just jealous?”

you were biting your lip, looking truly troubled. you did not want to ruin things, but you had to help atsumu get away from that bitch. you could not allow her to ruin him.

“‘samu, i—”

“atsumu is 17. neither of us should have t’tell him what to do. he has to learn himself.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“i had never planned on taking osamu’s advice from the second i heard it. in my mind, the only reasonable thing was to make her stay away from you.”

it was exactly a week later after gym class that you cornered the same girl against the lockers. no one else was around, and with a hand against her mouth, you made sure she didn’t call for any help.

“what are you—” a surprised squeal left her lips when you slammed her back against the locker one more time, to make her shut up. with wide eyes, she looked into yours that were void of any emotion.

she knew who you were. the twin’s childhood friend, atsumu’s close friend. too close for the brunette’s liking.

“listen,” you warned her, glowering at her like she was your worst enemy, “i know what you’re plannin’. i will tell you this this just this once: stay away from him.”

you thought it would have been enough to seperate those two, to keep atsumu safe. to have him back.

of course it wouldn’t be. you couldn’t have known. it wasn’t until the very next day that it all backfired. when you entered the school grounds in the morning, school bag thrown over your shoulder and lunch prepared in hopes of getting to spend time with atsumu today after a long time, you soon noticed that something was off.

everyone was staring at you, whispering and gossiping. it was an all-too familiar sight to you, it was nothing new. ignoring it all, you proceeded to your locker that was next to atsumu’s. just to be greeted by emma leaning against yours, arms crossed in front of her chest as she wore a hoodie you’d recognize anywhere. it belonged to atsumu.

“move,” you gritted your teeth as you forced your eyes away from the hoodie, ready to shove her aside. “or what?” she feigned a pout, kicking against the locker to get everyone’s attention on you two, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “gonna threaten and hurt me again to get what ya want? because you can’t handle that he never wanted you?”

everything around you got quiet, students looking at each other in disbelief, and your hands clenched into tight fists. still, you kept quiet, knowing it would be bad if you caved in first.

“oh wait, could it be?” she suddenly clapped her hands together, chuckling while you deadpanned at her, seemingly unaffected by her attitude, when in reality, you were boiling from the inside out. “did you really think he’d choose you over me? he would never stoop so low! in fact, he actually told me you were not—”

everything happened fast after that. she was on the floor before she could blink, screaming as your enraged self was on top of her, seeing red. it was when you were at the principal’s office with cotton up your bleeding and bruised nose, and the scratches on your cheeks from when emma’s friends had dragged you off of her, that you finally realized what you’d done.

it only filled you with regret when atsumu came to cradle a crying, hurt emma in his arms, yelling at you to never, ever look at either of the two again.

maybe you should have listened to osamu, after all.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“school after that was hell for me, understandably. i couldn’t blame anyone for not talking to me anymore, most of all, you. i didn’t have the right to be hurt by you taking emma to that barbecue place with your parents after high school graduation… but i cried a lot that day.”

osamu had tried to get atsumu to talk to you again. to not be so mad at you. but the blonde was blind to the eyes and deaf to whatever his brother would tell him, so he eventually gave up on that, too.

you were too prideful and hurt to approach atsumu either, pretending that you hated him for having done this to you. he was the cause that you were a loser again. that you lost the only people you had in your life.

couldn’t he just have treasured you more?

it was on the day of your high school graduation that you asked the younger twin to talk for just a minute. gray-haired boy looked down at you, round eyes blinking multiple times as you offered him a small smile.

“i just wanted to let you know that i’m moving to tokyo for college.” he just stared at you, knowing very damn well you weren’t in the mood to smile like you were doing right now. “i heard you’re opening a shop soon. maybe our paths will cross again one day.”

when osamu didn’t say anything, you took it as a hue to leave, again having neither of your parents to share your success of having graduated with you. you rummaged in your bag before you could leave though, holding a letter in your hand that your fingers were itching to hand to him. “can you just give this to—”

actually, no. it didn’t matter.

with glassy eyes, you dropped the envelope back into your bag, zipping it shut. “forget it. take care, ‘samu.”

you cried on your entire way home, until you went to sleep that night.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“i regret not having given osamu that letter to this day, even years later. i’ve just recently added these paragraphs, because i’ve made up my mind to make this letter reach you anyway.”

the volleyball match playing on the tv served as background noise while you went through the cleaned kitchen at the hotel restaurant you’d worked at. everyone else had left already, and all that was done was to check the inventory and make sure everything was where it should be.

while checking off certain tasks you had to make sure were done, you halfway listened to the interviews after the match was over. it hadn’t even dawned on you that it was his team that had played today.

“is there anything you want to tell your fans after the great victory today, miya-san?”

your entire body froze, pen dropping on the list as your tired eyes wandered to the television. he looked breathtaking as ever, even when he was covered in sweat.

“i wanna say somethin’ to a certain someone, actually.” his grin made your heart stop, baring his pearly whites as his voice was slightly hoarse from all the yelling on the court. “i’m sure she’s watchin’ this right now.”

the reporter looked at atsumu with a curious, bright smile as she waited for him to continue, microphone right below his panting mouth. “who’s the lucky woman?” she questioned, which made him beam at the cameras.

you didn’t feel addressed, too certain that he had another lover he wanted to say something to. about to turn the tv off and announce your work as done for the night, you were stopped when he opened his mouth again.

“my nemesis, you could say,” he took a deep breath after answering the shorter woman’s question, “i got your letter. you know where i’ll be!”

this couldn’t be a coincidence. you had missed today’s airing of TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE, and they had confirmed that atsumu had gotten the letter. it had to be you, there was no way he meant someone else.

after a quick research, you found out that the match was indeed aired live and had taken place in hyogo, where both of you had grown up in. where you had moved back to after college, because tokyo wasn’t your home, hyogo was.

you knew exactly which place atsumu hinted at, and like a flash, you passed by the hotel lobby to speed towards the location.

it hadn’t even taken you ten minutes to arrive at the school gates of inarizaki high school. it had been a stupid pinky promises between you two while you were still on talking term; to meet where things ended, shall they ever end.

standing at that spot made your gut churn with negative and positive feelings. things had ended indeed, heartbreakingly so. but perhaps this was a chance to make up again. to start from zero.

you waited for at least an hour, you were sure. time didn’t seem to pass like this, and the more you grew aware that it didn’t, the more agitated you became.

what if he didn’t show up?

what if he showed up, just to tell you to go fuck yourself?

“what am i even doing?” you laughed breathlessly, fiddling with the car keys in your pocket. you should just leave. this was absolutely stupid and delusional of you, to actually hope you were going to make up.

“hey.”

stopping in your tracks, you grew aware of the person dressed in black, standing in front of you. they were wearing a mask and had a hood over their head, and they could’ve just been a criminal about to rob you of your money, but you’d recognize those eyes and that voice from anywhere.

this time, you didn’t wait. you didn’t let your pride hold you back as you ran into his arms, dwarfed up by his massive body that had just gotten even bigger over the years. his arms caged you in his form, swallowing all your sobs and cries in his fluffy, black hoodie as he stood still, rubbing the back of your head in soothing circles.

he was there. atsumu actually came. he came to see you. he didn’t hate you anymore.

“i’m so sorry,” you cried for the fiftieth time in five minutes, barely able to pull away as snot and tears ran down your exhausted face. his heart broke at the sight, his own eyes blurring with a wave of tears. “i’m sorry for everything, ‘tsumu. please, please forgive—”

with gentle, warm hands placed on your damp cheeks, tracing over the scars that had been left on you from that fight, he shushed you. “it’s okay.” you hated the mask for muffling his beautiful voice, and you felt your heart crack when a tear slid down his eye, disappearing under the mask. “i’m the one who should be sorry. i was the worst to you. you didn’t deserve any of it.”

he started sniffling, and your mind went blank, eyes wide as you grabbed onto his hands, shaking him softly. “no, no,” you begged him, “i don’t want you to cry. please don’t cry. i made a mistake, i messed it up, not you!”

the setter found himself melting at your touches, letting you pull off his hood and pull down his mask to reveal his face under the night sky. his lips wobbled, nose and cheeks reddening as tears fell from his big, brown hues.

“i deserved your hatred, ‘tsumu.” your hands were cold on his skin as you wiped his tears the second you saw them. he shook his head, “don’t say that. how could i ever hate you?”

with your fingers interlaced, both of you still in a daze, squeezing each other’s hand so tightly to realize that this was real, you took him to your place. because neither of you wanted to let go.

atsumu could cry when he saw the picture of you two from your middle school graduation in one of your cupboards on the wall next to the tv in your living room. what did make him break down was seeing that one hairpin he’d gifted you on your 13th birthday right in front of the framed picture.

“‘samu never stopped talking about you and how sad you looked at our high school graduation.” his reddened eyes didn’t leave the picture even when you stood next to him, almost as if he was too ashamed to look at you. “i’m really sorry. i truly am.”

you smiled up at him nostalgically, like you’d always do back then. he caught it from his peripheral, and it made his heart skip a beat. “we were teenagers, ‘tsumu,” you assured him while your hand traced over his broad shoulders. “things happen. i think i had to lose you to grow up and realize things.”

his body finally turned to you to face you. his hair was a softer, lighter blonde now, nearly white. it looked fluffier, too. his cheekbones were more sculpted, and you could feel the slightest stubble on his chin.

no matter how many years would pass, you’d always be in love with each and every version of atsumu.

“realize what?” his features were soft, thick eyebrows raising in question while you looked away bashfully. you’d written it in the letter. he just wanted you to say it out loud, because he was dying to hear you say it.

“atsumu, i…” you started, playing with the collar of his hoodie. he stopped breathing. “i’ve been in love with you since forever. since the very first time you shared your lunch with me.”

the cat was out of the bag. you exhaled a shaky breath, and before you could muster up the courage to look back at the now professional athlete, he beat you to it. atsumu was always bold. he took what he wanted, with no shame. he made you realize this once again when he planted his lips on you immediately after tilting your face up.

one short kiss was enough for you to ask more. now that you had him in your arms again, you wanted all of him. you had waited so long for the impossible to happen. and now that you finally had it…

“‘tsumu. kiss me again, please.”

so he did. again and again. to show you how sorry he was, to show you that he hadn’t meant any of the crap he had pulled on you years ago. he was a dumb prick, and he won’t ever forgive himself for what he’d done. he had missed out on so much with you, and he saw that one more time when you were seated on his lap in the dim living room, hovering above him needily.

you were all he ever needed. it felt like now he had you back again, a gap had been filled inside of him. one that nothing and no one was able to fill. no one could ever replace you, no emma, no girl, no one.

every kiss and touch was followed by him muttering apologies into your skin, worshipping your skin like it was holy. handling you with utmost care like you were made out of porcelain. he watched you fall apart from him just fondling you through your clothes.

“p—please, i need—” you sucked in a breath when you felt his bulge pressing through his sweatpants, prodding at your slacks. “need you, please. want to be yours.”

atsumu hummed into your neck as his strong hands carefully took off your blouse, revealing your bra-clad chest. “y’look so sexy in these clothes,” he mumbled, admiring the sight of you shakily unbuttoning your pants. “wanna see you in them every day when you go to work and when you come home.”

you whined at his lowly spoken words, letting him help you take off your pants. your clammy hands tugged at his hoodie and sweatpants that were soon gone as well, pooling at the floor.

atsumu’s body looked absolutely gorgeous. the second it was revealed to you, you traced your fingers over every ridge and cranny of his arms and upper body, sucking marks on and kissing his supple, firm skin that was still so soft.

“baby,” atsumu huffed, feeling his cock twitching at every single movement of yours. you were driving him crazy. “lemme do the rest, kay? i want tonight t’be all about you.”

nodding softly, you waited with bated breath as atsumu unclasped your bra and let it thud to the floor, joining the rest of your clothes. the way he licked his lips and groaned made you soak through your panties. moans and whimpers freely spilled from your glossy mouth once he latched his soft lips onto one of the mounds, while his hand paid attention to the other, twirling your hardened nipple between warm fingers.

“perfect tits,” he panted into your chest, looking up to meet your gaze as he licked his wet lips. “yer perfect, darlin’. everything about you is.” stammering pleas for atsumu to continue while you ran your fingers through his soft strands, you shuddered upon his unoccupied hand wandering down your stomach, until it settled at the hem of your lace panties.

“want me to go on, baby?”

his eyes were blown wide in lust and desire, fingers digging into your skin enough to leave marks. you bit your lip, whimpering through your teeth as you nodded. “yes, please, atsumu...”

atsumu knew you were wet from how you’d soaked the front of his light gray boxers, but actually feeling how aroused you were made him utter curses. it was so much, and you produced even more slick with just a single touch. how fucking adorable.

“so, so wet,” he groaned as one of his fingers slipped inside your clenching hole so easily, “fuck, so tight n’ warm. yer gonna make me cum, princess. fuck…”

he couldn’t wait to feel you around his cock. couldn’t wait to be engulfed by your warmth, to feel all of you. with big, wide eyes, he watched as you came undone on his fingers in just a minute, clutching his bare, sculpted shoulders while you creamed on his long digits. it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, and he wanted more.

“‘tsumu—” your thighs were shaking, and you kissed his jaw sloppily. “wan’ me to suck you off?” you couldn’t be serious. atsumu was literally seconds from creaming in his boxers, and you offered a blowjob to him so sweetly? he had to physically keep you in place to stop your hips from moving.

“no, i wanna feel your pretty pussy ‘round my dick,” he panted, and you obediently reached your deft fingers to pull at the waistband of his boxers. despite both of you being very desperate and impatient, you still took the time to take off each other’s underwear.

it was the need to be connected without anything disrupting you, rather than to ravage each other. although you were aware that if atsumu wasn’t going to dick you down in this very moment, you were going to explode.

you saw a glimpse of atsumu’s girthy and gorgeous cock before it started disappearing inside of your awaiting cunt. his hands gripped your hips tightly, keeping you still, while you mewled and sighed into his neck.

“how d’ya feel, angel?” atsumu’s voice was serene, calm, as he enjoyed the warmth he was buried inside of to the hilt. he was never going to let you go again, ever. “f—feels… so full,” you whined, raising your head from his shoulder to look into his eyes. “y’re so big, ‘tsumu. so warm. love it.”

leaning back against the back of the couch, the blonde started a sensual and slow pace, and you felt so overwhelmed that you didn’t know any better than to kiss him. moving your hips back and forth with his hands guiding you, you swallowed each other’s moans of passion and love, tongues clashing and lips molding together and becoming one.

atsumu and you were made for each other. you were made to be with him. you were each other’s destiny.

“i love you,” you started crying when the sensation started building inside of your gut, threatening to snap. “love you s’much, ‘tsumu. i love you so much.” atsumu kissed your tears away, listening to you babbling confessions and apologies as you kept clenching around him as if you wanted him inside of you forever.

“i love you too,” he grunted, punctuating his words with harder and faster snaps of his hips against your heat. the sounds of squelches and moans echoed across your apartment that had been empty and devoid of life and love for years. “will never let you go again. i’m so sorry.”

atsumu knew he was nearing his release, and his eyes frantically looked for yours, sweat clinging to his forehead and body as his hair stuck to his face. you were cross-eyed, digging your nails into his shoulders as if you wanted him even closer.

“need t’cum inside of you, angel,” atsumu hissed the more you tightened around him, nearly trapping him inside of you. “can i fill you up? please, please…”

nodding mindlessly, you wrapped your arms around atsumu’s neck, working you both towards a release. you were the first to cave in, hips stilling as you let out a high-pitched moan while waves of white came crashing down.

with a slack jaw and eyes rolled back into his skull, atsumu started releasing spurts of his warm seed into your womb, cock twitching until his balls were empty while you relished in his warmth he had shared with you.

neither of you moved, not even minutes later, feeling like you have melted into one body. the silence in the apartment finally felt peaceful instead of haunting, the second pair of eyes in it filling you with a sense of home.

atsumu’s fingers combed through your damp hair while you laid your head on his built chest, listening to his calming heartbeat. it was a matter of time till this tranquil moment was going to vanish.

“i must say, thinking about you having fought for me is really hot—” you cut him off by pinching the tender skin on his chest, which made him yelp. “ow!”

“i hate you, atsumu.”

you knew damn well you didn’t.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

[ghast1yghosts]

rockstar eddie munson hires an escort after a handful of failed attempts of nightly outings, misunderstandings, and calamities. it’s under the guise he might need a plus one to some event, but he knows it’s a boldfaced lie.

steve shows up to some big-name-hotshot’s apartment with a bag stuffed with anything and everything. only to be met with the most big doe eyed, pathetic wet dog of a human, who invites him in for coffee (it’s 8pm) or tea.. or whatever he drinks.

following eddie’s lead, they end up just talking for awhile. he scooches closer and steve remains lax, arms up on the back of the couch, inviting. eddie still asks if it’s okay, what he’s not sure, but steve’s fine with whatever.

what he’s not expecting though, is eddie tucking himself in close to his side, resting his head on his shoulder. and when steve puts his arm down over eddie’s shoulders, he doesn’t expect the man to take his hand and begin fiddle with it.

that’s the most climatic part of the evening.

whatever fantasy eddie had set out to do was set aside. put off by a bad day, he just wanted company. said so himself.

and steve, suddenly realized, maybe the note that was next to the client details, wasn’t just a polite way to ask for a sexual escapade.

he asks the next morning; nothing too upfront, he’s not trying to make the guy uncomfortable.

steve pads out of the bathroom, still in his sleep pants, to see eddie making coffee (at a normal hour thank god). as he pours it into two cups, steve throws the question, “if you’d been up for it, what would’ve you asked for?” it’s broad enough, it could be made to be about anything, he could brush it off too.

all it does it create a line of tension along eddie’s back.

“what do you mean?” eddie chuckles and sips at his drink.

“you know what i mean,” there’s really no beating around the bush here. there’s one reason a stranger invited another stranger into his apartment with a deposit already made. and he’d would be lying if he’s not slightly disappointed he wasn’t able to touch and feel this beautiful stranger, the way he anticipated. sue him, he’s curious now.

breaking off the eye contact, eddie looks down almost in shame. steve’s in front of him, can’t stand it for a second. he knows what in that message box, there’s no shame in it if it’s true.

“hey,” steve says, tucking a stray hair behind eddie’s ear, from the mop of bed head. “whatever it was, i can assure you i’ve probably heard far worse.” it makes eddie laugh a bit—he’s got a nice laugh.

“it’s not *bad.* just- *embarrassing,*” eddie covers his face with his hands.

steve pulls his hands away, “again, i’ve heard far worse, i’m sure.” eddie doesn’t seem convinced, so steve elaborates, “unless it’s some blood magic cult fantasy, and even then, it’s probably not that bad.”

eddie throws his head back with a laugh, thank god.

when steve pulls him into his chest, eddie’s hands find their place on his neck. eddie takes a deep breath before dropping his head again, like steve will give him some sort of grotesque look.

“i-“

“you don’t have to tell me. you can save it for next time.” eddie snorts.

“i was hoping to, and i quote, *make love.*” eddie says it so distastefully, spitting it out like it’s gross.

“and that’s… embarrassing?”

“it’s just kinda pathetic, man.”

“it’s really not, actually.”

“i’m sure you say that to all the pretty boys.”

“i’d say that to anyone, but especially pretty boys, yes.” steve’s looking into those big eyes again as they search for whatever in his own—analyzing, maybe, if he’s being genuine.

“sorry.”

hold on, back the fuck up, why is this man apologizing?

“why are you sorry? you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

“it’s just. lame…? and we didn’t even do anything…? like i’m sure there were more exciting things to do than cuddle me on the couch and in bed last night.”

“you want me to be honest?” he nods. “it was great.” aaaand steve’s made him confused again. somehow. it’s not intentional. but he can’t lie that it’s not kinda cute.

“there’s other ways to be intimate. just because, what? you didn’t feel up to being intimate in a different way, it wasn’t fun for me?”

“don’t make me feel dumb about this,” eddie says.

“i’m not trying to,” steve replies.

eddie pulls back, looks at the clock and sighs, “i suppose i shouldn’t keep you….”

“oh, you can keep me,” steve makes that smile appear again.

“i really shouldn’t.”

“next time then.”

“sure,” eddie smiles, something soft.

“next time,” steve steps back into his space, “i might take you up on that offer.”

“hm,” eddie raises an eyebrow, “and what ‘offer’ was that?”

steve ducks down to whisper in his ear.

“the offer to make love to you.”

eddie’s keeps the pink in his cheeks the entirety of the time steve grabs his things, but he’s definitely feeling less off than last night, thankfully.

and though eddie’s disappointed to see him go, he does give steve a little peck on his check for the road. and sending him off with a goofy eyebrow wiggle.