#I hated the finale so I had to write something

[willowrites]

𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 ᥫ᭡ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 & 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. you couldn’t have just one, could you?

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. can you pls write something like reader is dating matt but always catches chris staring or vice versa and they go behind matt’s back on the down low — anon

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. smut, threesome, cheating, name calling (slut, pretty girl), sub!reader, dom!matt, dom!chris, oral male/matt!receiving ..

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. finally got a matt & chris req kinda !! im so sorry it took so long, had huge writers block w this one for some reason (i hate all of it) enjoy!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. to be counted.

you had been dating matt for about a year so far and it was amazing. you both knew you had a connection the minute you two met. you were inseparable. being inseparable from him on the other hand also meant being inseparable from his triplet brothers, chris and nick.

you and nick got along like two peas in a pod. he was your best friend. you guys would hang out just you two going to the mall or watching a movie. you were also his model for photography whenever he wanted to try out new photos or take portrait shots.

you and chris though, even though you spent practically every day together — you weren’t that close. you tried to talk to and connect with him like you did with his brothers but he kept the conversations short. however, even though he seemed disinterested, you always caught his lingering stare from across the room. like when you and matt were on the couch watching a movie — hugging and cuddling, his eyes were always on you.

you told yourself, maybe he just wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship. that was until one night while you and matt had been making out and sharing an intimate moment, you caught his stare.

that night you and matt had accidentally left the door unlocked so when he opened it to ask matt a question about his pc he only saw the shocking scene of matt’s fingers buried deep inside you as you were leaning back against the headboard with your hands in his hair.

you probably should’ve yelped and said something to matt, but no, you just sat there being stimulated by matt’s fingers while his brother was staring right at you. as you reached your orgasm you couldn’t hold his eye contact and longer. your eyes started to flutter shut when you felt your impending wave of pleasure hit you like a freight train.

that was a week ago. ever since then, the stares had been frequent and held more tension than you ever noticed. you couldn’t help but take a couple of glances toward him when you could and caught yourself staring at him on multiple accounts.

“you okay?” matt’s spoke up out of the blue. he had caught you staring at chris as he was on his phone, one hand behind his head. he was dressed in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants.

you quickly looked toward matt a bit embarrassed. “y-yeah, i’m fine. why?”

he narrowed his eyes. he knew you had an attraction toward chris even before you would find out on your own. “no reason.” he shrugged.

he moved his eyes toward chris who was already looking at you once you looked back to the tv. matt’s jaw clenched, he knew the attraction was mutual.

that night while matt was out to get some more milk and snacks, you had been sitting on the couch alone just scrolling through tiktok when you heard heavy footsteps making their way downstairs. you looked up meeting chris’s gaze.

the tension between you two filled the room clouding your mind and judgement. you looked back to your phone not even paying attention to the entertainment being displayed.

you heard chris chuckle under his breath. your head snapped up. “something funny?” you asked as he made his way closer to you. he stopped with his hands in his pockets.

he looked you up and down. you felt small when he was staring down at you like he was now. your own eyes scanned him. he had those damn gray sweatpants on that left nothing to the imagination. “mm, nothing. just how you can’t keep a second of eye contact with me.”

his comment caught you off guard, not prepared to be called out like that. “i.. i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

he had a stupid smile plastered on his face. he loved how as soon as he mentioned it you started fidgeting and acting defensive. “oh.. no?” he challenged taking a step forward. he towered over before squatting down and placing his hands on your knees. “look at me.” he demanded, feeling his hands slowly start to inch your legs apart.

what is he doing? you thought to yourself. matt could walk in at any moment but you didn’t have the strength to move.

chris then went to kneel down in front of you, his face getting inches closer by the second. “look at me.” he whispered, now centimeters apart. you felt his breath on your lips. you had still been looking down at your lap but now you had been drawn to his eyes. as soon as you looked at him, his eyes flitted down to your lips before licking his bottom one and leaning forward.

he captured your lips on his molding them to yours. you didn’t kiss back at first a billion thoughts going through your brain. how could i do this to matt? im betraying him, with his own brother. how could i be so horrible to him. regardless of all those thoughts, you hesitated but eventually started kissing back.

as soon as you started to reciprocate his own actions he pushed up against you grabbing onto your hips. your legs wrapped around his waist by default and sooner than later you felt his hardness poke against you. you let out a gasp at the feeling not expecting him to grind up against you like how he’d started to. he moved his mouth down to your neck kissing and slightly sucking.

you knew it was wrong but it felt so good. he eventually pulled away and started moving further down your body, looking up at you through his lashes. he was full-on prepared to remove your pajama pants when you both heard the front door open. matt walked into the room and stopped once he saw what was going on.

you quickly shoved chris off of you causing him to fall backwards. he was able to land back onto his hands propping himself up. matt’s eyes moved to chris who was no doubt turned on but why had been previously happening and then he moved his gaze to you. widened eyes, puffy lips, tousled hair — he knew what the both of you were up to and even though his blood was boiling, he didn’t say a word. he simply set the bags down on the counter, put the stuff he’d bought away, and then went upstairs like nothing ever happened.

your heart dropped as you watched him move. he was so fucking pissed. “fuck!” you whisper-yelled to yourself. “i’m a fucking idiot.”

you heard a breathy laugh come from chris. you lifted up your head narrowing your eyes at him. “what the fuck are you laughing at? do you think this is funny? we both just fucked up.” you hissed at the man. you rested your head in your hands wondering what the fuck came over you.

chris scoffed, “you’re being dramatic.” he stood up adjusting his sweats. “acting like you didn’t want me to kiss you..” he walked away.

you didn’t know what to say. he was right, no matter what, you did want the kiss. you enjoyed it. you stood up dumbfounded. you had to talk to matt.

you hurriedly walked to your shared room, chris following behind you quietly. you entered, seeing matt had changed into his pajamas. “m-matt?” you called out, not prepared for the conversation lying ahead.

he slowly turned, his gaze strong and hard. his jaw was clenched shut. “so how long have you wanted to fuck him, huh?” he questioned, crossing his arms.

you shook your head immediately. “no.. no we didn’t…” you took a deep breath. “i never … fuck — there’s no excuse okay. i’m sorry.” you apologized. you had a look of embarrassment on your face until you saw matt’s lips press together as he held back a grin. he then poked his tongue against his cheek. he wasn’t smiling out of happiness. he was smiling because of events that took place before he left for the store.

like it was mentioned earlier, matt was aware of the mutual attraction between you and chris, so before he left for the store, he and chris had a small chat.

before matt went to the store …

“you want me to… to try to get your girlfriend to kiss me?” chris asked, very confused at the sudden challenge.

matt nodded quickly. “yeah, i always catch her staring and i wanna see if she’d actually do something.” he shrugged.

chris licked his lips. “and if she does?” chris didn’t want his brother to hold it against him.

“then i’ll punish her and show her who she belongs to.”

matt slowly walked forward toward you. the room was silent. you felt intimidated like you were prey being hunted. “tell me, was it not enough to have me… you just had to be a greedy slut and have my brother too?”

you stood there, humiliated. you were too stunned to speak. “i-i…” you stuttered. a million thoughts running through your head.

he laughed humorously at you. “c’mon spit it out, yeah?” his eyes scanned your face. he was moving closer and closer to you, admiring the look of fear and shame you had on. he brought his hand up to move your messy hair out of your face.

even though his blood ran hot at the thought of his own brother having you the way he would… he knew deep down — you’d always love him. you’d always only want him.

he grabbed your face with both of his hands and pulled you toward his, connecting your lips together. he kissed you with so much passion, that his hands made their way to your waist clutching you hard like he planned to never let you go. you were caught off guard by the kiss but promptly kissed him back with equal emotion.

he took the initiative to move you around and back you up against the bed. he stopped you before you could lose your balance. "gonna sit on my lap like a good girl, mkay?" he cooed, moving around the right side of the bed before sitting right in the middle.

you crawled toward him, hypnotized by his soft velvety voice. you settled on his lap feeling his hard-on poking your ass. his hands moved your hair to one shoulder before peppering your neck with kisses. he marked you shamelessly with lovebites. "you're mine." he stated while beginning to remove your bottoms leaving you in your lacy underwear.

his fingers went to your sex, beginning to move onto your clit. "no one will ever make you feel this way." he whispered. your legs began to spread allowing him access to more of you. he moved his fingers in circular motions every now and then moving toward your entrance to gather your arousal.

he painted your clit with your own juices, smoothly stimulating you. you let out quiet little moans as the sensation grew more powerful. your head fell back against his shoulder. "you heard me? c'mon, tell me who this pretty pussy belongs to?" he questioned as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"you.. only you matt." you moaned in between staggered breaths. your legs began to shake and your eyebrows began to furrow.

"say it again." his hand increased its pace. "say it. tell how much you love me and how good i make you feel."

you pressed your lips together to suppress your whimpers and gasps. your eyes squinted shut as you spoke. "mm - i love you matt. so fucking much and.. and you make me feel so soo good." your hands were clutching the sheets as you were nearly about to come undone when you heard matt chuckle behind you.

his hand grabbed your chin holding it still before speaking. "open your eyes, baby, you've got company."

your eyes fluttered open and the first thing you saw was chris staring at you, again. his dick print pressing against his sweatpants. he was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, his muscles prominent.

chris couldn't help the way he felt. he couldn't help the way he longed to please you, to be inside you, to hear you screaming his name. he didn't have a desire for anything else but, just for you to be writhing beneath him.

he moved his gaze from you to matt. matt was smart, he could tell his brother was itching to have you. he knew all chris wanted was to make you feel good and that’s where they both had the same goal.

matt’s fingers slowed on your clit, keeping you at the same tortuous spot. edging you, so that you couldn't quite reach that sense of release. "wanna be a good girl for chris too, baby?" your chest was moving up and down, that uncomfortable feeling in your abdomen the only thing on your mind. slowly but hesitantly you nodded your head.

chris was surprised that matt had basically given him permission. there was some sort of brotherly exchange of looks between them before chris entered the room and closed the door behind him. he slowly stalked toward you, eyes never leaving your face.

matt moved you off of him, turning you to face him, and guided you to rest on your knees. "gonna please us both, baby?" you said nothing as you pouted clenching your thighs to try to relieve some of the tension. “oh pretty girl, so needy.”

the way he spoke to you had you just about ready to deep-throat him right then and there. “i’ll be so good for you and chris, please.. just need to cum.” you leaned forward and placed your hands on matt’s thighs.

he grinned before looking at chris. “gonna take me in your mouth while chris takes you, alright? that okay with you?” his hand caressed your cheek. you nodded starting to reach for the waistband of matt’s pajama pants. he lifted his hips allowing you to pull them down a bit revealing his boxers. you then reached and pulled out his hard dick, mouth-watering in the process.

you clenched your legs as you slowly stroked him once earning a small moan. as you were about to place your mouth on his tip you felt chris’s hands meet your naked waist. you gasped, forgetting this was actually happening, that your boyfriend and his brother were here and ready.

chris’s hand trailed down to between your legs, touching your sensitive skin. you let out a shaky exhale. his fingers were soft… similar yet so different. he circled his finger in your hole gathering your arousal before slowly massaging your clit. you let out a hum. “yess…” you whispered.

matt tilted your head up to look at him. “god.. you’re so beautiful.” the praising made you wetter by the second. you leaned forward trying to kiss matt but chris’s grip on your waist tightened pulling you back.

you looked back at him as his grip loosened. “don’t move.” he murmured before inching a finger inside you. you clenched around him, whining because you wanted matt’s lips on yours. “quit whining ma, i’ll make you feel good, promise.”

you pushed back against chris’s hand wanting more. you bit your lip before turning back to matt. you tried to please him, to show him how good you could make him feel. you leaned down taking his tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue over him. his right hand making its way through your hair. “such a good girl for me and my brother huh? this what you always wanted, baby? both of our attention on you?” you pushed your head up and down guiding you to take him in your mouth.

you felt him hit the back of your throat moaning around him sending vibrations down your shaft. “mhm… just like that. taking me so fucking well.” he grunted holding up your hair for you. you bobbed your head up and down, saliva pooling on the side of your lips. you hollowed out your cheeks and just as you were about to try to take all of him in once again, you felt chris’s tip nudge at your entrance.

you sharply inhaled, waiting for his next step. “cannot wait to be inside you.” chris muttered, moving his tip up and down your folds. you let out a noise trying to push toward him so that he’d hurry up. “so impatient…” he tutted.

matt stroked his cock that had the absence of your mouth. when you noticed you took him back in your mouth anticipating chris’s dick to push into you at any moment. your heart was racing, excited about the impending fullness you’d soon receive.

while you waited, you took matt in your mouth continuing your actions from earlier. your eyes rolled back as matt took control of your head. he pushed you down, making sure you took every inch of him. “such a good fucking girl.” he tilted his head to watch as he disappeared in your mouth. “those pretty lips were made to be wrapped around me, huh baby?”

you tried to nod in response to his words but you had been busy being fucked in the mouth. “look at you. you love when i make a mess out of you with my cock, yeah? i know you do.” he sucked on his teeth. matt was getting close to his orgasm so he slowed you down a bit, wanting to savor you as much as possible.

you had been so distracted by matt that when you felt chris inch inside you your eyes widened. you pulled your mouth off matt to let out the most shaken string of whimpers. “finally.. oh god.” you clenched your teeth as chris bottomed out right away nudging your sensitive spot. he clutched your hips before thrusting out and back in.

you heard a rough moan come from chris’s mouth. “so tight but so wet… fuck.” his eyes were closed at the sensation of finally having you wrapped around him. your head fell down as you were in doggy style being fucked from behind by chris. you tried your best to keep yourself up but the way chris hit every part of you had your trembling.

matt once again lifted up your chin. “c’mon baby, show me how much you love and appreciate me. show him how good my girl is.” his cock was red and hard waiting for more of your touch. you nodded promptly taking him in your mouth. you carried on to please him, moving your tongue around him while stroking the rest of him that wasn’t in your mouth with your hand.

the room was being filled with all three of your moans of pleasure. you had sweat dripping down your body and your hair was a mess while you were receiving attention from matt and chris. chris picked up his pace when he noticed how hard you had been trying to please matt. the moan that you had been letting out was caused by chris’s rough thrusts inside you. he rolled his hips, the only thing on his mind being to make you cum.. and make you cum hard. to guarantee you’d enjoy yourself he brought a hand down and massage to massage your clit.

you wanted to scream but with matt in your mouth, you had to keep your cheeks hollow. matt’s bit his lip as he felt himself right at the edge. “that’s right.. that’s my good girl. fuck — always making me feel soo good and treating me so well.” he tilted his head back. “gonna cum, baby. keep going just like that.” he commended.

soon enough matt shot his cum to the back of your throat which you swallowed proudly. you sucked him off like a lolly pop before coming more to your senses. you became fully conscious of chris and how good he had been making you feel. you pressed your lips together trying to stifle your whimpers.

you felt your impending orgasm nearing because of the double stimulation you had been receiving. you clutched matt’s thighs for support. you could tell chris was close too by the way his pace faltered before he picked it up.

before you knew it your body seized up as your orgasm crashed into you. you involuntarily let out a string of moans and whimpers, your thighs shaking with every second that passed.

chris moaned stilling inside you. you didn’t feel his cum paint your walls assuming he used a condom but he stood inside you for a few seconds hands glued to your waist. you soon collapsed on top of matt, causing him to hold you by your underarms before pulling you toward him and hugging you. your head rested on his shoulder followed by small kisses from his lips.

after a minute he whispered, “did so good. did you enjoy yourself?” you did nothing but nod, still exhausted.

chris had a huge smile on his face as he clothed himself back to before. he and matt shared a look before he walked out giving you both your privacy.

you both sat there in silence, just holding each other. you then spoke up, “i love you matt and … regardless of what happened tonight i always will love you.”

he kissed your cheek. “i know, baby. just felt like giving you what you wanted which just happened to be my brother.”

“yes i wanted him but i need you. you know that right?” you reassured him.

he bowed his head with a smile. “mhm.. i know.”

© willowrites

[mischievousmoony]

Omg I love ur James fics. You think you could do one where reader finally feels comfortable getting drunk while going out with their group because she knows James is there to take care of her. Ur drunk reader x James interactions are too cute. I feel like I always have a hard time letting go cause I’m afraid I’ll need to take care of my other friends haha. Love your work!

thank u love! i have fun writing them, i just know james would be so caring! ps thank you for being patient ik this request came in a while ago

𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

⟢ james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: intoxication (i think that’s it but lmk if i missed any pls)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"But what if Sirius tries to get a new tattoo again?" you ask, twisting back and forth with a steady squeak, squeak, squeak of your barstool.

James clasps his hand on your shoulder, turning you one last time to face him. "Remus is watching him."

"What if Marlene tries to go on another one of her adventures?"

Marlene has a knack for getting herself into precarious situations when she gets drunk, which she likes to call her “little adventures.” Usually, this means going home with a stranger, whether it’s for a hookup or to steal their lightbulbs because they looked at her wrong.

"Lily’s got her.”

"What if I do something stupid?" you ask, now swinging your legs. The nerves eating away at you just won’t let you sit still.

James puts his other hand on your knee, soothing you with a gentle squeeze. "I'm watching you," he says. After thinking it over for a moment, he adds, “And I don't think you'll do anything stupid. Even if you do, I'll do something more stupid so that nobody notices."

This earns him a giggle from you, and he’s happy to see you smiling. He picks up your glass, which is now covered in beads of water, plenty of time having passed for condensation to run its course. He dries what he can with a napkin because he knows you hate when the droplets land in your lap.

You once asked him why it happened, even though you knew the answer. He simply told you it was science.

“Science is stupid,” you had said, eyes fixating on several small spots of water soaking into your jeans.

Now, James wraps your glasses with napkins. He holds out your drink, a black napkin enveloped around it, as he asks, “You want to do this, right?”

You peek into the glass and watch the dwindling ice cubes swirl around in a vodka cran; a drink that James had called “beginner friendly.”

“Yeah,” you answer shyly.

James frowns. “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

You chew your bottom lip, thinking it over. A part of you wants to forget it, but another part of you knows you’d be disappointed in yourself for chickening out again.

You wrap your hand around the glass, cringing at the squish of the soggy napkin beneath your fingertips. You don’t know what’s worse: this feeling or the water dripping all over you. But James’ attempts to help make you feel warm inside, so you don’t complain.

“No, I still want to do this.”

“Then I’m here for you. Promise.” James gives your knee another squeeze.

You cast a look toward your friends. For years, you've nominated yourself as the designated driver. Or you've claimed to have early morning obligations. You've always felt better knowing someone sober was around to deliver plenty of water and carb-rich snacks to your incapacitated friends.

That was your excuse, anyway. Not that it isn't one of your concerns, but truthfully, something about drinking makes you feel uneasy. You always knew your friends were safe because you've been there, ready to hold back anyone's hair or stray them away from bad decisions. If you drank too, how could you be sure your friends would have someone to depend on? How could you be sure you would have someone to depend on?

Then, you started dating James, and you found a level of trust you never knew was possible. You know you can depend on him for anything.

When you admitted to him why you never drink when you go out, he swore up and down that he would be there for you.

Remembering his promise summons a wave of courage. You shoot James a nervous smile, and take your first sip, scrunching your nose as it burns your tongue.

"This is kind of gross."

James barks a laugh, "We can try to find something you'd like better next round. That is, if you decide to have another."

Feeling brave, you do have another. That's when you discovered something called the Cosmic Lemon Fizz; a drink that sparkles with edible glitter and manages to be blue, green, and yellow all at once. You laughed when you saw it, not knowing how in for it you were.

"Jamie!" you exclaim after taking a sip of your third Cosmic Lemon Fizz. "This tastes like happy feels!" you gasp as if the thought had just occurred to you, despite this being the fourth time you tell him.

"I bet it does!" James cheers. His eyes wrinkle in the corners as he beams at you.

"You should try one!" you declare, and immediately try to flag over the bartender.

James smoothly takes your hand, stopping you as he says, "No can do. Made a promise to a pretty girl that I wouldn't have a drop tonight."

You whip your head around. "Who!?" you ask, eyes wide.

"Who do you think, pretty girl," he says, poking you in the side.

Giggles escape you and you swat his hand away. He doesn't go far, lifting his arm to brush some stray hairs out of your face. His hand lingers on the side of your face, soothing the pad of his thumb against your cheek.

You lean into his touch, gazing up at him with an affectionate glaze in your eyes; a look that gives him butterflies.

"Wowww," you say dreamily. "You're handsome."

James feels his heart flip in his chest. "Thank you, love," he says, a soft smile playing at his lips.

"Hey," Sirius says, appearing out of nowhere as he lazily throws an arm over your shoulders, "How's it going over here?"

While you're distracted with Sirius, James waves over the bartender and replaces your drink with water. The next time you reach for your glass, you hesitate.

"Where's my cosmo magic fizzy thingy?" you ask, an eyebrow raised as you glance at James.

"You must've finished it," he shrugs, acting clueless.

"That's like the oldest trick in the book. You replaced it with water and now you're trying to be sneaky!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," James feigns innocence.

You giggle, bringing the straw to your lips. "I knew you'd take care of me. I love you," you say, happily sipping your water.

James feels another eye-wrinkling smile break out on his face. "I love you too, pretty girl."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[hyunebunx]

Wow I’m stupid I pressed send way too fast 🩵 with Lee Know??

˖˙ ᰋ ── 🩵 - kissing in the rain with Minho

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: a teeny tiny amount of angst but it has a happy ending

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: thank you sm for requesting!!! <3 i had soo many ways of writing this in my head that i struggled lol. i really hope you like what i came up with. it's loosely (very) based on the rain scene in pride and prejudice so enjoy!! <33

Arguments were not a usual occurrence in your relationship. Most of the time you managed to settle any disagreement before it could escalate to such heights, the perfectly communicating couple all of your friends couldn’t help but feel a little envious of.

Now was not one of those times; your stress and emotions were getting the best of both you and Minho in the most unpleasant way. You hated arguing with him, getting angry and unable to see the other’s point of view, clouded by the desire to be right and make each other understand where you were coming from.

“You don’t get it.” Minho shakes his head with a sigh, forearms resting on the wheel as the rain poured outside your safe haven, hitting the windshield at an alarming pace and preventing you from seeing anything, even with the headlights on.

“Explain it to me, then!” You bite back, body facing his in the heated passenger seat that was keeping you warm and cozy despite the chill outside. Even when arguing you could admit Minho was the most considerate person alive – you didn’t ask him to turn on the heat, he must have done it when he noticed you trembling like a leaf after getting in.

He surprised you after work, dropping by and driving directly to one of your favorite restaurants just in time for dinner and a well deserved date night. Everything was perfect, the location, the food, and especially the company, laughing and having a great time with the love of your life.

Until things turned sour on your drive home, and what started as a silly disagreement turned into a full-on argument about something you didn’t find significant enough even to remember.

“That’s what I’ve been doing for the past ten minutes but it seems you don’t want to listen!”

You’ve been walking (or driving) in circles, with him getting frustrated and you following right on his tail until the car came to a stop right in front of your apartment building.

It’s not like you didn’t want to listen or care to hear him out, it’s just that Minho seemed to make something out of nothing, insisting and pushing forth the same idea like you were nothing more than a child who lacked basic comprehension. It was frustrating and exhausting, especially after the long day you’ve had.

“Min, I’ve been listening.” You try to smooth things over, warm hand landing on his thigh comfortingly. “Just because I’m not giving you the answers you want doesn’t mean I’m not hearing you.”

Minho remains silent, head turned the other way to stare out the window and not acknowledge your presence. When the silence stretches on, you give up with a sigh and retract your hand, reaching for your purse in the backseat and opening the car door in the same breath.

“What are you – “ You close it right before he can finish the sentence, set on getting inside with or without him to finally take the bubble bath you’ve been daydreaming about all day at work.

“Kitten!” His voice follows a moment later, the sound of the car door slamming louder than him amongst the deafening rain. “Y/n!”

Despite yourself and the insanity of spending even one more minute in this storm, you stop and allow him to catch up, not protesting as his warm hands land on your shoulders and turn you around almost desperately.

“Where are you going? We are not done talking.” He states, dark hair and clothes getting soaked at an alarming pace as the rain spares neither of you.

“But I am!” You exhale, the chill settling into your bones. “We won’t reach an agreement like this so let’s just stop!”

His eyes widen as he pulls you closer, chest to chest, figures illuminated by the bright headlights almost blinding. “Baby, wait – “

“I hate fighting with you, Min.” Without meaning to, you interrupt him once again, reaching up to cup his face and drag him closer. “I’m sorry, okay? We can talk this over calmly inside after we cool down. Just not like this, please, I can’t do it anymore.”

He nods instantly, agreeing without a doubt and most likely seeing his faults too, and not only yours. Then, when you expect him to let go and finally follow you in, Minho surprises you the second time tonight by leaning over and connecting your lips in a kiss full of passion and love, reminding you once again that the heart in his chest beats first and foremost for you. His upper limbs cling to your body just like your clothes, hugging you tightly while your hands squeeze his face affectionately, a smile sneaking past and pulling one from him as well, on the verge of beaming into the kiss.

The rain seems to disappear, the cold too, like you weren’t bothered by either in the first place. Minho has that effect on you, helping you see the good in every situation. Sure, the location was not ideal – nothing could be less romantic than a barely lit parking lot – but as always, the company mattered more. And the message he was trying to send. When words failed you, actions worked better, speaking louder and getting your point across without much effort.

Sure, the argument wasn’t resolved but you both managed to make the other understand what mattered the most. You might be disagreeing now, momentarily stuck in a small pothole along the way, but you still loved each other, you would get over it and be okay in the end.

Because that’s what true love meant. Getting through things together and continuing to walk down your joined paths, hand in hand, no matter how many potholes or rough patches you encounter. A small setback won’t ever erase your feelings for each other, or make you forget all the beautiful moments you’ve shared.

And maybe, just maybe, a kiss was all you needed to finally understand Minho’s point when you sat down and resolved things that night. He, on the other hand, needed a few more to be satisfied.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Omg Ivy I love how well you write your marauders fics! You’re amazing! Specially your wolfstar x reader!!!

Could you write another one, please? Like, reader is Remus’s best friend but she hates Sirius (he’s dating Remus), or she thinks she does, but in reality she’s jealous of him because he gets to touch Remus like she has always wanted to. And consequently Sirius thinks he hates her too, but in fact he’s just trying to hide the fact he’s on his feet for her as well. One day Remus is done with both of them and lock the three of them in a room and spill to them he is in love with both of them and can’t have them fighting anymore. And after that reader and Sirius end up confessing their own feelings for each other and they start dating after many kisses.

thank you so much for the request!! and the idea was so fun to write 💕 ps. i suck at summaries

𝟷.𝟿𝚔 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You thought you were jealous of Sirius for stealing away Remus's attention but maybe you just needed to admit your feelings for both of them.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Wolfstar x Reader

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with life, as usual, but it felt distant to you. You sat slumped on the couch, tapping your quill impatiently against your parchment, though not a single word had been written in the last half hour.

It was him. It was always him. Sirius Black, with his annoying smirk, his too-cool-for-school attitude, and the way he seemed to monopolize every moment of Remus’ time.

It was infuriating.

Remus was your best friend. You’d been through thick and thin together, shared secrets, laughed until your stomachs hurt. Yet now, whenever you were around him, Sirius was there too. The two of them always seemed to be in some intimate conversation or worse—touching. A hand on Remus’ shoulder, Sirius’ fingers threading casually through Remus’ hair. It was like a constant, silent reminder that you were on the outside looking in.

And you hated it. Hated how much Sirius made you feel like you didn’t belong, like you weren’t enough for Remus anymore.

“You know, glaring holes into parchment isn’t going to make it write itself.”

That voice. Smooth, low, with that aggravating lilt of arrogance. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“Go away, Black,” you muttered, still staring at the blank parchment.

Sirius flopped onto the couch opposite you, arms spread wide like he owned the place. “Come on, I’m just trying to be helpful. Your brooding is becoming a bit of a spectacle.”

You finally looked up, your eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’m sure my brooding is nothing compared to the grand theatrics you put on every time you walk into a room.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the verbal sparring. “Theatrics? Or natural charm? It’s a fine line.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Actually,” he leaned in with a smirk, “it’s Remus that helps me sleep at night.”

Your stomach twisted at that, the reminder of their relationship hitting harder than it should have. You hated that it hurt, hated that Sirius knew exactly how to push your buttons. But instead of backing down, you crossed your arms and fired back, “You mean, he puts up with you at night. Big difference.”

Sirius chuckled darkly, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You’re hilarious, you know that?”

“And you’re unbearable.”

“Can’t handle a bit of competition?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly masked it with a sneer. “You? Competition? Please.”

“Oh, but I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Sirius said, his voice lowering. “You don’t hate me, do you? You just can’t stand the fact that I’m the one who gets to touch him.”

You didn't want to admit it, but maybe he was right.

The common room is quiet once again, save for the soft crackling of the fireplace and the occasional creak of floorboards as you shift uncomfortably in your chair. You're supposed to be studying, but your mind drifts far from textbooks and quills. Instead, it wanders to Remus who has somehow slipped from your grasp and into the arms of Sirius Black. Sirius bloody Black.

A sigh escapes your lips, frustration bubbling up inside you. It makes no sense. You’ve never particularly liked him. Sure, he’s handsome in an annoying, arrogant sort of way. With his dark hair that constantly falls into his grey eyes, he has the ability to make anyone—especially you—seethe with irritation. But it’s not just that. It's the way he has Remus.

You throw down your quill in irritation, glaring at your dorm room door. Any second now, Remus will walk in with Sirius at his side, and they'll sit together, talking quietly while you pretend not to care. It’s always like this. The three of you, but somehow, you always feel like the third wheel.

Your dorm door opens, and as if summoned by your thoughts, in walk Remus and Sirius. They're laughing at something you can't hear, and a pang shoots through your chest. You try to swallow it down, but the resentment lingers.

"Hey," Remus greets, his warm smile easing the tension in your shoulders just a little. He's the only person who can do that. The only person who has always been there for you.

"Hi," you manage, avoiding Sirius' gaze.

Sirius flops down onto the bed beside Remus, far too close for your liking. His arm brushes against Remus' casually, and you clench your jaw. He glances at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, his lips twitch, as if he’s about to say something, but he remains silent.

It's like this every time. You can't stand being around them when they're together, but you can't stand the idea of not being around Remus either. The tension builds with each passing day, and it's driving you insane. Especially because you don’t know what to make of the flutter in your stomach whenever Sirius speaks to you.

"Are you alright?" Remus asks, his eyes filled with concern. Of course, he notices.

"I'm fine," you say, a little too quickly. "Just tired."

Sirius snorts from his side of the bed, and you shoot him a glare.

"What's your problem?" you snap.

"My problem?" He raises an eyebrow, giving you that signature Sirius Black smirk that makes you want to smack him and… kiss him? You mentally slap yourself. No. No way.

"You’re being a brat," he says casually, leaning back with his arms behind his head, as though he owns the room.

"You're insufferable, Black," you spit out. Remus looks between the two of you, his brow furrowing. He’s always been the mediator between you and Sirius. But lately, even he seems to be getting tired of the constant bickering.

"Okay, enough," Remus says, his voice tight with frustration. He stands, looking between you and Sirius, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I’m done."

You blink, startled by the sudden change in his demeanor. "What are you talking about?"

"You two," Remus snaps, his eyes flashing. "This—this constant fighting. I can't take it anymore."

Your heart skips a beat as Sirius sits up, his smug expression fading.

"Moony—" Sirius starts, but Remus cuts him off.

"No. Both of you listen." He runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "I can't… I can't do this anymore. I'm in love with both of you, and it’s tearing me apart to see you two at each other's throats all the time."

The silence that follows is suffocating. Your heart is racing, pounding in your chest so loudly you're sure everyone in the room can hear it. Did you hear him right?

"What?" you whisper, barely able to get the word out.

Remus looks at you, his expression softer now but still pained. "I love you both. And I can't stand the thought of choosing between you."

Sirius looks just as shocked as you feel. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. For once, Sirius Black is speechless.

You stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "You—you love us both?" Your mind is spinning. This can’t be real.

Remus nods, his eyes locked on yours. "Yes. But you both… you hate each other."

Your chest tightens at the way he says that. Does he think you truly hate Sirius? Do you even hate him? You glance at Sirius, and for the first time, you catch a flicker of something in his eyes—something vulnerable.

"I don’t…" you start, your voice wavering. "I don’t hate him."

The room feels like it’s closing in on you. All those moments of frustration and anger, all the times you’ve snapped at Sirius, all the snide remarks—it wasn’t hate. It was jealousy. Jealousy because he got to be with Remus in a way you never could. And maybe, just maybe, because you’ve been denying your own feelings for Sirius all along.

Sirius stands, his grey eyes locked on yours. "I don't hate you either," he admits quietly, his usual cockiness gone. "I… I’ve been lying to myself. Trying to pretend I didn’t… want you."

The air between the three of you shifts, the weight of the confession hanging heavy in the room. You feel dizzy, your heart racing as you try to process what’s happening.

"Remus," you breathe, looking back at him. "I… I love you too. I always have."

His face softens, and he steps closer to you, but before he can say anything, Sirius speaks again.

"And I… I love you too," Sirius says, his voice low but filled with emotion. "But it's not just Remus. It's you. I’ve been a coward about it. I didn’t want to admit it."

You stare at him, your breath catching in your throat. His words hang in the air, and suddenly, everything falls into place. The fighting, the tension, the way your heart flips every time Sirius speaks or even looks at you. You weren’t fighting because you hated him. You were fighting because you were terrified of what you felt for him.

"I…" You struggle to find the words, your emotions a tangled mess inside you. But before you can say anything, Sirius takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your cheek. His touch is soft, careful, as though he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into his touch, your breath hitching in your throat as you look up at him. His eyes are softer now, the usual arrogance replaced with something raw, something real.

And then, before you can think, before you can process what’s happening, Sirius leans in and kisses you. It’s tentative at first, a question in the way his lips brush against yours. But when you don’t pull away, when you kiss him back, he deepens the kiss, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he pulls you closer.

Your heart is racing, your mind spinning. This is Sirius. Sirius Black. The boy you thought you hated. The boy you thought you could never stand. But now, all you can think about is how right this feels.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, and you look over to Remus, who’s watching with a small smile on his face. He steps forward, pulling you into his arms, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"I love you both," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "And I don’t want to lose either of you."

Tears prick your eyes as you lean into him, your heart swelling with love for both of them. You’re not sure how this will work, or what it means for the future, but in this moment, with Remus’ arms around you and Sirius by your side, it feels right.

You pull back slightly, glancing between the two of them, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "Well," you say, wiping at your eyes. "I guess we’re going to have to figure this out."

Sirius grins, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "I think we’ll manage," he says, leaning in to kiss you again, this time slower, more confident.

[thebiggerbear]

when were you going to tell me

Summary: After finding out you concealed something from him on a hunt, Dean is not happy with you and he definitely does not appreciate your attempts at humor on the subject.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Hunter!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting. Just dipping back into the writing pool from time to time, one toe each round. This is what popped into my head when I read the prompt. All unbeta'd.

Prompt Line: "When were you going to tell me that you have a hole in your body?"

Warnings: language; mentioned gun violence/injury; implied sex; implications; Reader (really me) being a perv

Word Count: 1787

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown; @ladysparkles78

Dean Winchester Taglist: @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @mariahoedt; @solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007; @onlyangel-444; @globetrotter28

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx; @lyarr24; @rebel-paladin; @deans-spinster-witch; @bts24; @roseblue373; @nancymcl; @c1gs-coffee; @peachhiz; @kickingitwithkirk; @fanfic-n-tabulous; @illicithallways; @mentallyillandgae; @ladykitana90; @roseblue373; @radioactivatedspider

Supernaural Taglist: @just-levyy

Dean was super pissed at you. No, not pissed — pissed.

“When were you going to tell me that you have a hole in your body?” He snapped.

You attempted to give him a smile from your seat on the edge of the bed. “Uh, the third date?”

His jaw tightened and his glare immediately transferred from you to his younger brother who had snorted in amusement and was currently attempting to smother a grin. “Don’t encourage her.” Sam threw his hands up in placation but you snickered.

“At least Samsquatch thinks I’m funny.” You winced and sucked in air through your teeth as you tried to peel the right arm of your jacket off. Dean was suddenly there, taking over and gently moving the material away from your wound. “Serves you right,” he muttered. As he studied the bullet you’d taken on the hunt you all just returned from, you studied him — marveling at him in fact. Fury emanated off of him in waves and yet his touch was as gentle as could be. His expression was severe and yet his eyes had a softened edge to them as he tended to you. 

“Sammy, get the med kit out of my bag and bring it over here,” he ordered before briefly turning a fresh glare on you.

You let out a small sigh. “Dean, I get that you’re mad but how was I to know one of them was armed? I mean, what kind of a werewolf carries a gun anyway? Bitch move, if you ask me.”

“The kind that wants to get away at any cost. You’re lucky they only popped you in the shoulder. Now maybe next time you’ll actually listen to me and stay close.” He angrily snatched the proffered gauze from Sam’s hand, refusing to look up at you as he opened the package. “You should have told me.” 

Concern laced his harsh tone and had you wishing you could put both arms around him to pull him close. Instead, you pressed your lips together; you knew he was right. You should have let him and Sam know you had been shot the moment you regrouped where the Impala was parked but considering the alpha had gotten away in the melee, you all were desperate to get out of there and hunt him down. One dead alpha later thanks to Dean’s silver bullets, you still hadn’t told either Winchester and you gritted your teeth at the pain. You were being stupid, you knew you were being stupid, but you just couldn’t push yourself to admit that Dean had been right and you had been wrong. You had butted heads before; you could take care of yourself and Dean wanted you to use the safety of numbers. Needless to say when you were finally forced to admit what happened once you all got back to the motel thanks to Sam accidentally knocking into you forcing you to let out a loud curse, Dean had been harsh and unforgiving, always being a few words away from ‘I told you so’. And while you hated it, you knew you deserved the ass-chewing you were getting. But you would take everything he had to throw at you and more if it meant you wouldn’t have to see the look on his face that you were seeing right now. You’d scared him, terrified him even, and he hadn’t known in the moment that he’d been a heartbeat away from losing you. A fact that was then reiterated by him gruffing out, “If his aim had been a few centimeters to the right…”

You could feel a lump forming in your throat at the pain now clouding his gaze as he pressed the gauze to your wound. You snuck a look over at Sam who gave you an understanding nod, grabbed the ice bucket, and left the room without a word.

You gently covered Dean’s hands with your left one, urging him to look at you. It took him a moment but he reluctantly lifted his eyes to meet yours. Even more pain swirled in those green depths and it broke your heart. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” you whispered. “I should have told you. And I will never go off on my own again or scare you like that. I promise.”

He watched you for a moment and when he determined you meant what you were telling him, he capitulated with a nod and went back to focusing on your wound. You moved your hand to one of his wrists and briefly squeezed before letting him go.

After a minute, you decided to lighten things up a little while you still could. He was going to have to dig the bullet out since it didn’t go through. As much pain as you’d been in for the past two hours, you were bound to be in a hell of a lot more in the next few minutes so you only had a short window. You got a good look at the wound when he pulled the bloody gauze away and gave it an approving nod. “So, whaddya say after you fix this hole, I can show you what other holes I have that might need tending to, hmm?” His gaze snapped to you and you gave him your best seductive smirk, arching an eyebrow in meaning.

As expected, Dean rolled his eyes and he thrust a half-finished bottle of whiskey at you. “I never thought I’d say this to a girl but you are banned from referring to your…other holes like that. For forever. Especially in front of Sam.”

“Oh come on, you know you love it when I do,” you teased, taking a swig of the amber liquid.

“I know I love you,” he suddenly replied, his tone serious yet ever so quiet, and his focus now on the kit in front of him.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. In all of the time you’d been doing the no pants dance on a semi-regular basis, not once had Dean uttered the L-word. Sure, you knew how much he loved your ass and how his hands seemed to be super-glued to the area whenever Sam wasn’t looking, how much he loved it when when you did that thing with your tongue and throat at the same time that made him bite into the side of his fist to keep quiet, and how much he loved when you fucked him. But never had he ever in all of this time told you that he loved you.   

He hesitantly met your gaze and when he saw your smile, he seemed to relax slightly and clear his throat. “You should drink a little more of that before I start digging the bullet out.”

When he took the bottle from you, you used your free hand to gently tug on his flannel. “Me too, you know.” When he glanced over at you, you whispered, “I love you, too.”

His features softened a little in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He fought to keep a smile off of his handsome face and seemed determined to remember he was still mad at you, but the light in his eyes remained. “Okay.” A simple okay — as if okay, that’s decided and that’s it. Very simple and matter of fact. When your grin grew, he shyly looked away before snapping back into focus, intent on switching into a medic role. “This is going to hurt.” His expression was then completely apologetic.

“I know. It’s okay,” you reassured him. “Not my first gunshot wound.” At the furrowing of his brows and his eyes roaming all over you, you dug your fingers into his jeans to distract him and gave him a nod. You could tell him all about that later; besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the scar on your leg at some point.

The distraction having succeeded, Dean let it go for now and poured the whiskey on the open wound. You nearly screamed from the pain, tightening your grip on him.

His lips were immediately lingering against the skin of your forehead. “I’m sorry, baby,” you thought you heard him murmur to you but you were in so much agony you couldn’t be sure. When the sting began to fade into the steady throb you had grown used to, you heard him tease, “So, third date, huh?”

You gave a tiny shrug of your one good shoulder, wincing. “Date, hunt, whatever.” Sam and the world didn’t need to know exactly when you and Dean had made the beast with two backs. Third, first — it was all the same to you.

You’d known Sam and Dean back in the day and when you found yourselves accidentally on the same hunt years later, Dean may have given you a second look which you more than eagerly returned (you’d had a crush on him for years when you were younger) and when you used his last-night-on-Earth line on him at a local dive bar later on… You bit your bottom lip to keep at bay the memories of the creaking of the Impala, your moans from his lips trailing everywhere, and his deep groans of “Fuck” in your ear as he tightly held onto you from that night. Damn, if you weren’t shot right now, you might ask him to recreate that particularly explosive night, especially since you both were sharing a room with Sam on this trip. Perhaps once Dean was through and you were all bandaged up, you could convince him to go for a drive so you could show him just what your good arm could still do. Sure, you were a natural righty, but you could get creative. Not to mention you were shot in the shoulder, not your lower half, and it certainly wouldn’t keep your jaw from working.

Dean chuckled, pulling you from your dirty thoughts about said man who tenderly kissed your hairline before searching for the forceps in his kit. “Right.” He poured some alcohol over the tool and gave you one more kiss before focusing on your shoulder. “You ready?”

“One sec.” You grunted as you lifted up slightly to plant a kiss to his stubbled jaw. He turned to look at you and you shot him a smirk. “Hurry the fuck up, Winchester, and get to work getting this bullet out of me so we can go for a drive and I can show you how ambidextrous I can be.”

You watched his throat bob up and down as he swallowed and then a smirk crawled onto his face to mirror yours, his eyes darkening to an all-too familiar shade. “Yes, ma’am.”

And he got straight to work.

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[choiuikawa]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ Rainy Days

CONTENT: it's just you and your boyfriend Kuroo Tetsurou on a rainy day.

WARNINGS: fluff, GN reader, smitten Kuroo, reader hated rainy days, college AU, they both live in the same apartment, lowkey corny, OOC.

author's note: HI! this is my first post on this account, im not good at writing but I do hope you enjoy! ^_^

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

You have always despised rainy days, but your boyfriend? He was the complete opposite. He loves it when it rains, especially on weekends. Whenever it rains and he has practice, he usually comes back home drenched in rain. She doesn't particularly mind, despite the fact that he ends up having fever.

Today was a dreary day, indicating rainfall. You groaned in frustration as it was supposed to be a good day today. You were expecting to go on a date with your boyfriend at a local cafe that has recently opened. Sadly, those expectations were broken down once it started dripping. As the both of you went home, you seemed dejected since you were really looking forward to heading over to that local cafe.

"Why the gloomy look baby? are you okay?" A low pitched voice stops you from getting farther into your headspace.

"Yeah I'm okay." You can't just hide how you actually feel, but being upset over a rainy day because you can't go and head over to a cafe for a date when you could literally just go the next day? You feel stupid.

"Don't hide how you feel. I can obviously tell that something is on your mind. Now tell me, what's wrong?" His voice was tender and gentle towards you, reassuring you that he was there to listen to you.

You hesitate for a few seconds then finally respond to him. "The rain ruined our date today, and I was really looking forward to it. Especially since that cafe has just recently opened.. Including the fact that I've heard that their pastries and coffee's are amazing!" You ranted out towards him with sincerity in your voice.

He looks at you for a moment then his face immediately softens. "Baby, we can just have a date at home. And, we can make good food just like the food and coffee in the cafe. Plus, it's just the both of us. So cheer up okay?" he plants a kiss on your cheek, and your entire mood changes within seconds.

The moment the both of you got home, you had both changed into better clothing and started to brew up your own coffee and bake some delicious pastries. In the process of baking, the both of you messed up the batter since he couldn't stop laughing at the way the batter sort of splashed everywhere while using the mixer. They had both shared laughter and joy together while baking. In the end, it turned out.. decent.. I guess? they both gagged.

After all that has passed, night has fallen upon the day. Currently, it was still raining. Both bodies sprawled onto the couch, her body hugging his while their attention was on the TV in front of them since they were binge watching their favorite shows that they have both shared interest in. The notebook

He turned his attention to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek which caught her attention. "mm? What is it Tetsu?" you giggled.

"Jus' wanted my beautiful lovely partner's attention." he muttered out, purely toned with love and adoration towards you.

You returned back the kiss on his lips, pulling away a few moments later. Your lips had a lingering feel on his, he felt butterflies in his stomach. Sure, it isn't the first time you have kissed, but he was always smiling and looking at you with the most smitten and lovey eyes you could imagine. You never fail to make him fall in love with you again and again.

"I know you don't like rainy days, but this was my favorite day." he proudly says while nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

And there, you realize. maybe,

rainy days aren't so bad after all...

when its with him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

© @cupidsfavors — DO NOT COPY OR REPOST. Reblogs are appreciated!

[ghouldtime]

Tomorrow. (An "Alone. Truly Alone." Drabble)

Wrote this because I was getting stumped on Chapter three. Have a little tiny Ghoap moment ;3

I love him so much look at him!! What a guy!! (Also being able to actually see him in motion has helped me so much trying to figure out how to write him)

Mwah I wanna kiss his face

CW: Mentions of blood, death and dying. Nothing too graphic but it's still very much there! It's angsty too

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Tomorrow.

Oh, how he loathed that one, single, simple wretched word uttered carelessly without as so much as a second thought by so many. How he hated tomorrow. 

Tomorrow stood as an uncertain promise held aloft every evening as the sands of time trickled through their limitless hourglass, slowly emptying into the chalice that soon would turn as the earth once again shone a different face to the sun. Tomorrow wasn’t something anyone could truly count on when the tides could shift in an instance, changing everything you knew. Simon Riley knew that better than anyone.

Serving years slaving away in arid deserts and frozen tundras alike with nothing but the weighty gear on his back and a gun in his hand meant he knew better than any other that tomorrow was a measure of time, nothing more. No matter how many times tomorrow had been said, promised, spoken so truly imbued with intent already plotted on its horizon, it didn’t change fate. It didn’t change whether you were going to make it to then or not. The world didn’t care if you made it through or to tomorrow. It only made tomorrow happen.

How many tomorrows had passed since he had been trapped in this washed-out, colorless hell surrounded by walls damning him to eternal solitary confinement with no promise of escape was something he couldn’t answer.  The sun had long since ceased warming him with its golden rays in the morning and the moon had made itself scarce, never showing when it hung in the twinkling night sky. A being damned to purgatory didn’t deserve such warmth or beauty. Every wall encasing him determined such a thing would be true as long as he lived in his unliving state. Cold and unfeeling, nothing he did could change the immovable fate that shackled him down and buried him alive in the cement cage.

That didn't stop him from etching the passage of everything he loosely guessed was a day into the walls. Keeping track of something, as minute as it may be, at least kept him saner than he would be with nothing else. Carving into the walls with the few tiny metallic medical tools that had been abandoned and left to rot, the same as him, stood as the only form of retribution against his prison that he could manage.

Each nick, dig, and mark struck against it stood in a silent testament to say that he lived despite death itself having clasped its frigid, clammy hands around his neck as it choked him out until his lifeforce faded. Every insignificantly significant tiny white line marring the concrete stood in testament that even if he was trapped, the bitter taste of defeat still remained foreign on his decaying tongues. His normal body may have long been forgotten and replaced with too many twisted limbs and cerberic heads, but he was still Simon; the very same Simon that would fight with all of his too many teeth and blackened nails until his true final breath.

Though his life had been forced from his mortal shell with the reaper's digging claws until it was pulled from his body, he still somehow lived. How fitting of an "end" for someone like Simon, someone who couldn't even catch a breath when the dark angel came calling his name, only to turn him back to the world as it took a part of him with it. True peace was never fitting for him, he supposed. When all of his life was spent dedicating to fighting, it's only expected he would go toe to toe with his own mortality too.

Yet this pathetic existence hardly classified as what he could call living. He breathed, yes, air filled his lungs but it served no function. Nor did the existence of his heart or any of his organs that were little more than placeholders these days. It was a blessing to be some form of alive and to still have his brain perfectly functioning, but being trapped in this shell stood as an eternal, tormenting curse. Punishment for escaping death one too many times, endlessly taunting it as he dodged all too many bullets, is often how it seemed.

Death would've been the preferable option than staying trapped in the decaying government facility alone and the body that held him prisoner to match.

How he wished he could be permanently buried in the dirt, his eyes closed in a true state of rest. The waking world was a poor imitation of what he hoped death's true embrace would feel like as it came calling his name once more and beckoned a single, crooked skeletal finger. Thin, yellowing sheets that covered the dusty hospital beds where he lay each night offered little comfort for the constant numbness surrounding him in a static void.

Every physical sensation that brushed against his poor-excuse for flesh drowned in the barrier of his unalive state before it could reach him. Heat, cold, pain, pleasure, hunger, thirst - none of those things mattered to a being who could no longer feel in such a corporeal sense.

The same couldn't be said for his feelings. Now that the pesky things such as normal human bodily needs abandoned his form, his heart and mind made up for their absence tenfold as they held him down and forced him to feel everything and anything in between in the murkiest depths of his soul. Like a twisting, red-hot blade they relentlessly engraved their grievances on chunks of his very essence, permanently scorching his soul as they scarred far deeper than any of the hundreds of weapons that had been turned against him ever could hope to.

Despite the stillness of his heart and the absence of what used to be a steady, rhythmic beat, his heart still burned as if it were thrown into the deepest depths of hell whenever he turned his gaze and locked eyes at the tiny picture on his nightstand of him and Soap together, blacked out in tactical gear. He should've thrown an arm around him and made their last picture together more memorable - but it was too late for that. Should've was already too late. He was too late.

The extra heads forced together by sinewy webbing never were much help when it came to focusing with his already clouded vision. Straining to look as he brought the picture closer to his faces, to truly see through all of his eyes, was minor inconvenience he could bare. For it meant that his eyes were graced with three sets, three times, the visage seared into his memory of the one who took on the world for him. The same one who fought for the world, his world, and so readily gave it up for him without a second of a hesitation. He deserved that at the very least - to be seen, recognized, admired. Johnny deserved that and the world itself.

Pouring pure alcohol into his veins and setting it alight would hurt less than the pang of primal agony that rippled through him, shredding his heart and spitting its venom into his soul, whenever he set the picture down and glanced at his left size where an arm - Johnny’s arm, lay fused to his own. Taught skin webbed between it and where his own original arm stood long before he became an abomination and a product of science going too far. The strong fingers that had cradled his hand so gently throughout some nights when the other thought he was asleep, the hand that strangled, shot, and killed for him - now usually clung to the tattoos that inked up his flesh as if afraid to let it go once more even in this harrowing state.

The single limb agonizingly sacrificed to him remained the only one didn’t have perfect control over. It never fully listened, much like the man it came from. No matter the orders he barked at the sergeant, he wasn't one to heed with his head alone. Sometimes that noble, brave heart of his that let him charge up the ranks so fast took the reigns before he could do anything about it.

Stand down, Johnny.

Get out of there, MacTavish.

Don't you dare, Johnny. It's not worth it. Not for me.

....

The longer he lived with the errant limb and dealt with the non-compliance, and the usual near constant grip on his forearm, in a twisted way, he didn’t want things to change. He didn't want it to listen. That wouldn't be Johnny's arm - that wouldn't be Johnny if it did. It wouldn't be the last solid reminder he had if it complied, even if it was connected to his consciousness now.

For now, it was something he could cling onto like a starving dog lapping up scraps of meat outside the back of a butcher shop. Deep down, he knew that he was feeding the delusions as he blindly clawed for anything he could cling onto as a reminder, but bringing himself to care enough to stop wasn't an option (as unhealthy as it might be). Living with the miniscule fantasy served as a balm to his gouged soul that bled out more and more as the seasons marched on and days tumbled forward into one another. It was enough for a man like him who would scavenge for anything his many hands could get ahold of, clinging to any threads as if they could carry him out of the abyss until they inevitably crumbled to dust under the crushing weight of him.

Some nights as he lay on the creaky hospital bed staring up at the same blank ceiling that matched the same gray that covered his senses in a blinding fog, he could almost pretend that Johnny was still here, still talking to him in the thick brogue that was so distinctly him, still smelling of the scotch he loved so much tinged with gunpowder from all the explosives he had set up.

If he closed all six of his milky eyes, the phantom sensation of Johnny's warm form beside him as he imagined him close once more nearly caused him to feel something along his sensationless form. Those deft fingers that worked along intricate wires of dangerous weapons never followed the same pattern twice as he traced his tattoos in the same routine he had many nights before as they lay near one another underneath a flimsy tarp deep in enemy territory, the uncertainty of their own mortal lives continuing for another sunrise strung along the stressful line of their work.

And sometimes if he truly shut off his brain, his mind could truly run wild as it conjured up the words he’d heard so many times before. The same point of contention uttered once more that Johnny always circled back to as he marveled the black lines marbling Simon's skin, “You really should let me color ‘em, LT.” He’d breathe, voice so quiet it could be lost on a breeze as he stared at them with the softest look he had seen on the sergeant’s face, a quiet contemplation written in the furrow of his brows.

If confronted, he knew it would be played off as a joke and nothing more. But the way the roughened pads of his fingers traced the whorls permanently etched into his skin spoke otherwise, echoing words and feelings that ran deep that neither dared to voice. Every moment he lay there alone in his new "life", regret sank its fangs into the vulnerable underbelly of his heart, the heavy feeling settling like molten lead in his stomach as he berated himself for not touching him back, even if it was a tentative hand smoothing a thumb over the back of his.

No matter how many nights and countless times Johnny fell into the routine of tracing his tattoos, Simon's dark gaze would fall right back over the other to trace the tired lines on the other's face and the stubble of his jaw with his eyes. His fingers always twitched restlessly as they lay folded on his chest, aching to feel something aside from the fabric underneath. Yet the ugly, grating voice of doubt pestered him until he hesitated, never letting him the courage to reach up and caress him, even for a second.

His turmoil was obvious to anyone who knew him like Johnny did. The tension in his body, the near constant movement of his fingers, the unblinking look in his eyes as he couldn't help but to stare. But Johnny was smart, significantly smarter than many gave him credit for. He knew better than to point it out with his voice alone but the small upward twitch of his lips spoke a thousand words as he shifted closer, closer.

“Add a little more color to your life. Things can’t always be black and white.” Johnny always insisted as he leaned further in, the weight of his body sinking in, nurturing the warmth blooming in his chest.

Breathing had never been harder as those blue eyes peered up at him through dark lashes. All air left his lungs in a flash, his heart halting as he stared into those eyes, helplessly held captive by those beautiful blues that would put the finest aquamarine gems to shame.

How he wished he listened.

What he wouldn't give to go back to that moment, if only for a fraction of a second, to get lost in those expressive pools of his newfound favorite color.

No amount of time nor disease would pry that memory from him as he lingered in the stagnant, abandoned base. The warmth he felt that night bloomed within his chest even now, even when hindered and reduced to nothing more than a faint fuzzy feeling tickling his chest.

Not even the fusion of the two heads on the side of his could even hope to gnaw it away with their own plaguing whispers and intrusive thoughts that bit through his skull as they tried to worm their way into his brain like the parasites that they were. But he wouldn’t let them. Nothing could.

No, nothing could make him forget Johnny. Not even the end of his world as he knew it. Death may have taken him temporarily into his clutches, dangling him between the precipice of life, but that wasn't enough. Because his world didn't end when he died, no. That was insignificant. His world ended not when he rasped his last breath, endless rivers of crimson spilling onto the operating table. It ended when he used the last of his energy to tilt his head to take one last look at Johnny, knowing that he would never see him again.

...

Endless amounts of tomorrows could add up in the gouges of more tally marks and scores into the wall, covering every nano angstrom of the base and he still would loathe them with all the contempt his heart could well up until it sat in a venomous soaked vat of his festering rage.

He hated tomorrows because each mark was another reminder of the tomorrow that wasn't to come, the tomorrow swiped from underneath his feet by fate's cruel hand, the tomorrow he promised, the tomorrow that would never be - the tomorrow with Johnny.

[aboringredmop]

k still don't know how im gonna post the videos (YouTube? unlisted?someone please help) but I can't sleep so I thought it'd write down whatever I remember happening!

(edit: here's the full recording! )

Becky and Joe walked on stage wearing sunglasses and red leather jackets and threw 3 of the trio plushies into the crowd. didn't get one unfortunately but it's really cool some people got free plushies :)

they made this robot child called the Inspiration Child, who's clearly meant to be a nod to ai (can learn from our show and generate it's own content!)

they explained how they met (and had some dodgy animated retelling), and how they started with small projects like commercials and music videos, until they came up with designs of the trio (and a mysterious fourth fella)

they made the designs first, then made the set, then the song and finally wrote the script for creativity. red guy was just a red mop head with legs at first ("alien squid thing") but Joe put the red guy head on for shits and giggles once and Becky thought it was hilarious so they kept it in the show

they were really not expecting it to blow up, and when Sundance called because they wanted to show creativity Becky thought it was a scam caller lol

they talked about the kickstarter and the credit card fraud kid. the mailed him saying "hey maybe dont do that" but the kid didnt know how to undo it cuz he just found a website full of credit card information and went ham, so Becky and Joe had to contact kickstarter because people were pulling out of the funding because they thought the project was overfunded (kickstarter was very difficult to contact)

they also made (lighthearted) fun of nsfw fluffybird art ((no padlock 😔) "using OUR characters to act out their SICK FANTASIES" - Becky) and theorists, especially because most if not all of the webseries is just them fucking around.

Inspiration Child also says something along the lines of "wow what a cool show with a great message of how corrupt the media is. I hate the media!"

Becky and Joe had these rules to make the show as vague as possible (no pop culture references, no names, no swearing and way too much detail put into small things)(the duck guy drag queen absolutely obliterates the no swearing rule lol)

they talk about the pilot, how they focused too much on the story because they felt like they had to due to it being on the big screen now, and how it ended up ruining the atmosphere and such of the pilot. they did show the entire thing sped up but my phone sucks ass so I could not get it to focus correctly. I'll see what I can salvage so you people can dissect frames of your blorbo you're Legally Not Allowed To See (which is also the official reason we don't get the pilot)

also pilot concept art showed that Mean Steve is in fact just called Key

they showed a whole post-it wall full of ideas for the tv show. don't know how much I got on footage, but what stood out most to me were 2 episodes called Money and Christmas. Joe mentioned "clock in a wheelchair" specifically

also really fun fact. Becky made the Lesley suit during covid, and pretty much threatened Baker into writing a human character into the show to wear it. concept art also shows Lesley with a mask made out of the same fabric, don't know if this was part of the original suit tho

they showed Warrens old models (?). he was gonna be a wayy more ugly looking silicone pug-worm thing y'all got lucky with the bald fuck

lily and todney were directly based off of some cancelled show about two porcelain doll children with panda parents. do not for the life of me remember what it was called but Becky and Joe were very enthousiastic about it (UPDATE: Candy and Andy!)

international release of the show soon!

Inspiration Child talks about what he's learned and sings a little song, then generates his own dhmis inspired content of a cult meeting in a forest at night. the dhmis Discord server called this "potential new content" but I doubt it

3 cultists walk on stage, face the screen backs to the crowd, drop their cloaks and boom! drag queens!!!

they were not mentioned on the site or during earlier parts of the show at all so they were a complete surprise. I asked Becky about it later during the night and she said she really wanted them there, so she asked and they were excited to! hope this means more official content with them soon I love them

they dance to There's Three Of Us, then Duck lipsings the shredder song which turns into a techno remix while Red and Yellow dance during the background

then Duck and Yellow make out while Red tries to undress to the instrumentals of the Fucked Up Part of Creativity but can't get out of his suit on time before the song ends

the drag queens, Becky and Joe and the Inspiration Child walk around during the meet and greet later and I got signatures from all of them! except inspiration child he didn't have thumbs

the drag queens were so fucking funny. Duck adopted inspiration child and loudly yelled at everyone to "GET AWAY FROM MY FUCKING CHILD" (their duck voice is sooo good). yellow stood in a corner staring at a wall for like 10 minutes and red was constantly awkwardly hovering just outside the frames of pictures (and also could not see shit lmao)

Becky liked my shirt! (the one with the melting trio heads) said she handdrew it

I'll post the signatures and some more stuff tomorrow because it is. 5 am

edit Heres the signatures! yellow guys is Italian I think? and means hi I love you :)

(the liyskaen is duck trying to spell my name. they got pretty close)

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Howl I'm thinking about Nightmare's gang being a cult again.

Just how fucked up is it that Killer had to go through that twice? First with the Something New Player rewiring how his brain works entirely, while Chara meticulously breaks down his boundaries and reworking his identity until only they could decide who he is. Only for Nightmare to do exactly the same once Killer finally killed them.

And not only that, but now he has to watch as the same exact thing happens to others. And Stage 2 can push for apathy as much as they want to try and protect them from that crushing realization, but eventually it's gonna hit. Eventually Killer's brain is gonna let its thoughts wander in that direction because boredom is always gonna be the greatest threat for it. And then Killer will wish he'd never done that, because this whole time he's kinda been complicit in their indoctrination.

But, then again, by then he doesn't really know another way to live. He knows that once he broke free of Chara's very similar conditioning, but he doesn't have a concrete idea of what could come next. He doesn't know what life outside a cultish structure looks like and that makes the prospect of ever leaving terrifying.

I think Color coming in and showing him that there is a possible future out there for him is the saving grace he needed all along. And also the push he'll need to get the others out too. Because he's definitely not gonna let them leave for as long as he doesn't see an exit. Whether they hate him or not for it.

It is extremely fucked up. And that’s why I’ll keep saying that Something New is a psychological horror until someone eventually starts writing a fic about it. /lh

And the realization that hits is still very likely going to be tinged with that deep seated apathy that chara reinforced. I can’t see killer breaking out of his belief that he’s emotionless, that emotions are signs of being weak and that attachments are threats to his autonomy and independence, for many many years, with a lot of set backs, and I can’t see it happening when he’s under nightmare.

I don’t really think killer has broken free from chara’s conditioning—despite how much he’d like to claim he is free now that they’re dead. Because they cant be dead when their voice still rings in his mind, and their eyes still watch him everywhere he goes. A constant lurking shadow.

Chara never died, killer never escaped. they just became more elusive.

I think there’s still a lot going on in killer mind he doesn’t realize is conditioning, such as his belief in his emotionlessness. His kill or be killed, controlled or be controlled mentality. Even the reason why he turned on chara was still within the confines of what they taught him—the most determined decides fate, the strongest controls the weakest, and he had no need for them anymore. and so he will make them suffer.

with nightmare, i do think he wont even realize or care what’s happening to the others—because its just how things work. not until color comes along, showing him that things don’t have to be like that. before that, i can see killer helping only in ways that would benefit or amuse him, or whenever nightmare tells him to help someone—because he doesn’t think theyd ever willingly help him if it came down to it.

but if he realized somehow before color comes along—because he definitely wouldn’t take into consideration anything horror, murder, or cross have to say about it because they are apart of the weak/the controlled and they’re just struggling to realize that. it is inevitable, and it’s pointless to try and change it. or at least that’s his justification for avoiding any responsibility.

but i can see any attempts to “help” them being tainted by his worldview and what he’s been taught; such as teaching them how and when to avoid upsetting nightmare, teaching them the rules of the place, trying to teach them when to go to limp and stop resisting, how to learn how to enjoy the pain of themselves or of others. best ways to torture others, and how to “go away inside” if they truly can’t handle it.

and he definitely wouldn’t let them leave unless nightmare says so, which is unlikely. In his mind this place in castle can be learned and then eventually become predictable, they’d struggle outside of the castle because of who they are and what they do. that’s really the only kindness he knows how to give.

..i can definitely see spiting the Chara in his head for being a huge motivation for certain more “merciful” or “kinder” things. just to prove to himself they don’t have control over him anymore, and to spite them even beyond the grave.

{ @stellocchia }

[lightlycareless]

The perfect girl by mareux = Naoya and y/n

( if you listen to the lyrics you’ll understand !!🤭)

Hi!!!

First of all, I'm so sorry it took me a while to get back to you! Between answering other asks and writing snippets here and there... well, I got busy. But I will always do my best to respond to all!!!! And now, here I am. Moving on...

Omg this song I heard it everywhere but I never really gave it much attention—AND NOW, IT FITS NAOYA AND Y/N VERY WELL.

Now following the lyrics and song itself, I get a sense of being so irrevocably in love/obsessed with said girl that’s being sung about—just about the words I’d use to describe what Naoya feels for you haha.

warnings: fluff. a bit of highschool au. in my mind, that's how they officially met.

I always believed that the reason why Naoya fell so hard for you is because you were completely different from his world. And somehow the sentence strange girl takes me back to when you and Naoya first met.

Naoya obviously knew that once the year ended, they’d be a bunch of new students gracing the school grounds. Nothing that he would’ve normally cared for outside of observing if there were any girls that might catch his interest, but this time around he was forced to be attentive all thanks to your annoying siblings who had made such a big deal about your enrollment.

“Another idiot to join their shenanigans. Great!” He’d say, just about the usual harsh words he’d use towards them, because he hated them.

Kind of. Mostly. Depending on the context. He did not get along with them, at all; yet again, nobody did.

But then, when the fated day finally comes and he gets a glimpse of you… all preconceived notions were promptly thrown out the window, becoming immediately smitten by you.

He just… couldn’t peel his eyes away from the strange girl that honored the hallways with her hypnotizing presence. There was something so intoxicating about your appearance, a sense of purity that showed you had remained largely ignorant of the cruelties of life. Or at least those that are usually bestowed to members of the jujutsu community.

And that just made you stranger before his eyes; odd that someone like you, part of a somewhat important family, was still capable of being cheerful, with both yourself and others.

But as unusual as it was… Naoya was still enveloped with a grave urge to protect you. Shelter that same innocence he had been unwittingly stripped away from, while hoping he’d keep getting that same gentle demeanor you’ve always bestowed upon him when possible:

The way you were always so eager to tell him about your endeavors, whatever mission or school assignment you were tasked with—either to complain, or seek advice, he didn’t care for what as long as you went to him—always considering him above others it seemed, when the rest wouldn’t even bother to look at his direction if not to seek advantage of his title, or simply avoid him…

The way you’d softly call his name, imprinting the moment it happened the first time in the back of his mind: the tone of your voice, the look in your face… like you were happy to see him! When was the last time he could say that about anyone? Not even his own father…

The way you’d compliment his work; a sincere appreciation that didn’t come from recited words out of fear of reprehension or interest in obtaining favors. You saw what he was capable of and took interest in it with hopes of improving yourself, or to simply encourage him.

And of course, the way you took your time to get to know him. Not the heir, not the talented sorcerer, but the man himself; Naoya. Having little no to interest in his family outside of comparing lifestyles, see if he too grew tired of pestering elders and overbearing parents, or if he even got along with his siblings.

…

Naoya felt human for the first time in his life with you, your words filling a void he could never satisfy with the empty gestures of his surroundings… So how did you not expect him to fall in love?

“You’re a strange girl, Y/N.” He’d disclose to you one day, the moment he finally came to terms with his feelings for you, much to your horror.

“Oh, is that—is that a good thing?” you fret, for such adjective was rarely used in positive prospect.

But to Naoya, that word only meant you were beyond good.

You were perfect.

I'm sure Y/N did most of the approaching and Naoya just stood there like the tsundere I always envisioned him to be; it's not until he grows comfortable that he becomes the suave, teasing guy we all know and love (I mean, in my mind hahahaha) but yeah... it's safe to say that to him you were a strange little thing that he ended up falling in love with 🥺

Hnnnnnggggg this was so sweet to write, though the song kind of went more into a dark aspect ngl, or so that's how I felt it 🤣

Anyways, thank you so much for your patience!!! I really love it when I get sent songs that reminds y'all of Naoya and YN, ajgkhasjkghajksgas it adds depth to their relationship you know?

Now, take care and hope to see you soon!!

[oliviablancmom]

"Enemies - Pablo Gavi (Part IV)"

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x OC!reader

A/N: And finally, we have the fourth part. I hope you enjoy it. It’s so hard to write them, but I feel so happy seeing the path they take. I hope you like it.

Gavi realized he still hated the cameras, and the media side of football was something he had carried with him since he was just a kid. Yes, he was only 17 years old, and as he grew, people always said that his shyness around cameras would eventually pass, but it wasn’t. He still got embarrassed during interviews, felt equally uncomfortable in photo shoots, and, above all, it was still strange to see his name in newspapers and gossip pages. That’s why he had mentally cursed the person responsible for the chaos he had been dealing with in the past weeks.

Journalists kept speculating about the nature of his relationship with her, weeks after the confusion during El Clásico. He had hoped it would have blown over, but on the contrary, people loved talking and making things up. What comforted him was that maybe she was also suffering from the incident, as she had locked her Instagram account, which was previously public.

"What are you thinking about?" Pedri asked. Gavi looked up at his friend, who had an inquisitive look on his face. That was another thing he had to deal with—Pedri had been a little annoying lately, especially when the subject involved the Madrileña.

"Don't you think this should have blown over by now?" Gavi asked. "I’ve already made it clear that I was just helping her, and people keep making things up. It’s annoying," Gavi huffed.

"Well, it’s a hot topic—‘Barcelona’s son and Madrid’s daughter,’" Pedri said dramatically, referencing a magazine headline. Gavi's scowl was immediate as if the title itself had struck him. He hated the way those words sounded like they were trying to tie something between him and Florence. It was ridiculous and infuriating. Not just because it was a media invention, but because there was something uncomfortably real about how people insisted on placing him next to the girl. Gavi huffed, frustrated with himself.

"Why do I care so much about this?" he asked almost unconsciously. It was just a stupid phrase from a magazine, but his mind kept returning to his interactions with Florence as if trying to decipher something beyond his understanding.

"So, what’s your thing with her, anyway?" Pedri pressed.

"There’s no thing," Gavi said quickly.

"That’s not what it looks like. You get all worked up about her," Pedri pushed further.

"I don’t!" His voice came out louder than he intended, but he couldn’t let Pedri think he was right. Not when even he didn’t fully understand what was going on. The silence that followed made his stomach twist. He glanced at Pedri, who had raised his eyebrows.

"Your reaction proves my point," Pedri laughed, and Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Why are you being so annoying about this?" Gavi asked defensively.

"I’m just worried. You get too affected by what she says." Gavi abruptly stopped his workout, his mind flashing back to a similar accusation Florence herself had made.

He didn’t care that much about what she said; she was just... Boring, and someone had to tell her. Now that he knew who she was, she probably didn’t hear it enough. So, if the task fell to him, he would make sure she knew.

"If it were just a back-and-forth of insults, I wouldn’t be worried. But the problem is, it bothers you. I’m concerned it might start affecting your game," Pedri said with honest concern. Gavi swallowed hard. To him, Pedri’s worry was exaggerated. He didn’t care about what she said, quite the opposite, so he didn’t see how it could affect his performance. "I think you should ignore it if you want my advice."

Gavi thought about it and suppressed the urge to say he didn’t want the advice, but he didn’t want to be rude to Pedri. He understood his friend’s concern, but it was unwarranted. He wasn’t affected, and he wouldn’t let it impact his performance on the field.

"Yeah, I think I’ll just ignore it," Gavi said, avoiding Pedri's attentive gaze. Gavi remained silent for the rest of the training, lost in his thoughts.

******************************************

Florence used to love parties and gala dinners. Since she was a child, she was used to attending these events with her grandfather. They were her playground, where her favorite characters—football players from all over—were the main stars. She was always walking around, paying attention to conversations and taking photos.

But since her grandfather had turned it into a professional obligation, the events had become dull. Especially now, Florence felt he was still punishing her for the mess she had caused during the last El Clásico, which had drawn the kind of attention Florentino hated.

The King was hosting a special dinner for the Spanish national team, a sort of good luck in advance for the Nations League finals.

Florence was accompanying Carvajal, the Real Madrid player who had been called up. Both were greeting the royal family and had engaged in conversation. Florence listened carefully to what the princess was saying, but she wasn’t paying attention. There was something about her that got on her nerves, though she couldn’t explain what it was. That’s why she internally celebrated when others approached, allowing her to step aside.

"A little more of your visible irritation with the royal family, and I think we’d be kicked out," Carvajal whispered as they sat at their assigned table. "Princess rivalries," he joked, and Florence laughed.

"I’m not in the mood to be social tonight," Florence shrugged.

"Is your grandfather still making your life difficult?" He asked with concern, knowing well the expectations the man placed on his heir. Florence shrugged, choosing not to respond so the conversation would end quickly. She didn’t want to be there, and she didn’t want to talk about her grandfather.

Carvajal started a conversation with other players sitting at the same table, and Florence looked around the room, noticing a few important people. Her grandfather always said these events were about being noticed and building connections, and she was sure that when he saw her, he would ask for a summary, so that's why she walked gracefully around the room, greeting some important people.

But before she could venture further into the hall, she stopped as some speeches began, including one from the king. The man and his family loved sports and were always present when the Spanish national team was playing, so there was always a higher level of formality. Florence sighed in boredom; at other times, she would have loved all of this. As she watched the king’s speech intently, she felt an irritatingly familiar presence beside her and didn’t suppress the urge to roll her eyes. As if she had developed a sixth sense for noticing the player’s presence, she could use that to avoid running into him. After all, Florence was furious; because of him, she was at odds with her grandfather and had to deal with stupid, baseless rumors.

Gavi stopped next to the girl, and though she didn’t bother to look at him, the way she took a deep breath showed that she had noticed his presence.

"Is your mood bad because your team is doing poorly this season?" Gavi teased, and she finally looked at him.

"We’ll eventually find our way back, unlike you guys, who start well and then it’s a complete disaster." Gavi’s expression hardened, and a smile appeared on the girl’s face as he rolled his eyes and looked forward again.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Gavi looked at her again, his brows furrowed.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"The last time I saw you, you had that same confused look on your face. Have you figured out what it was?" She asked with a shrug, and Gavi’s mouth dropped in surprise at how well she had read him. Gavi quickly glanced back, seeing that Pedri had a watchful eye on him. Gavi gave a small smile to his friend and turned his attention back to the girl beside him, ignoring the memory of the conversation he had with Pedri.

"No," she concluded, turning to face forward with a smug smile.

"It wasn’t anything important." Gavi replied, trying not to lose face, and she looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You seemed really bothered," she insisted.

"Oh, querida, is this concern for me?" Gavi joked, watching Florence grimace.

"Never," the girl quickly retorted. Gavi nodded with a smug smile, raising his glass to his mouth.

"Why aren’t you over there with your girlfriend?" Gavi choked on the liquid he was drinking, drawing attention from a few people, and felt his face heat up. He looked up at the girl in front of him, eyebrows raised and an amused smile on her face.

"What are you talking about?" Gavi asked, clearing his throat. Florence tilted her head in a direction, and Gavi followed it, seeing the king and his family in the distance. This time, Gavi's face twisted into a grimace.

"Your fans attacked me for days, claiming I was ruining their couple," Florence said humorously, remembering the numerous hateful messages she received after the confusion in the last El Clásico. Gavi had seen some fan pages sharing things along those lines—it was funny. The player looked at Florence, who remained focused on the royal family’s table, and then looked back at him.

"Would you leave your career for her?" Gavi resisted the urge to choke on his air.

"What are you talking about?" He asked indignantly.

"For you to date someone from the royal family, you wouldn’t be able to be a football player anymore. Because of all the rules they have to follow and everything," Florence explained. Gavi scanned the girl’s face for any sign of mockery, but she was serious. For the first time, they were having more than just teasing conversations, and it stirred an odd sensation deep in his stomach.

"I’m not going to stop being a football player," Gavi said impatiently, just thinking about it gave him a headache. Florence tilted her head, analyzing him.

"So how are you going to be with your princess?" Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Stop it," he said, feeling frustrated, his face heat up. A mocking smile appeared on Florence's face.

"Or, she’d have to stop being a princess to be with you, which honestly would be a mistake. Imagine, giving up being a princess for you." Florence looked him up and down, and the action deeply infuriates Gavi.

"Have you stopped being a disappointment to your grandfather?" Gavi asked all at once. The words flew out of his mouth so quickly that even he was surprised. Here's the thing: she pushed a nerve in him, something that drove him crazy, something he only felt at the height of adrenaline in a tight game. Gavi had seen that her grandfather’s approval was important to her, and the silent, hidden crying he had also witnessed, told him that he had hit a sensitive topic. The girl looked at him in shock, her eyes wide for a moment as if he had just struck an exposed nerve. Anger flashed across her face, hardening her expression. For a moment, her lips trembled as if she were about to say something, but the words failed to come out. Instead, Florence clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and with a sharp motion, she pushed Gavi. She spun on her heels, her legs rigid as she marched toward the exit, each step echoing on the floor like a relentless beat. Involuntarily, Gavi found himself following her.

"Leave me alone," Florence said over her shoulder, visible irritation in her voice.

"You’re losing your talent for insulting me," Gavi said, more annoyed than he wanted to admit. Florence turned to face him.

"Don’t worry about that. You’re an idiot, a terrible player, with a huge ego," Florence said all at once, and Gavi laughed.

"If I’m such a terrible player and I still beat your team, what does that make them?" Gavi asked humorously, and Florence rolled her eyes.

"You got lucky. You can’t rely on luck forever, Pablo," she said with a shrug, and Gavi was a bit shocked because up until then, she had never mentioned his name.

"Oh sure, when you lose it’s the other team’s luck, but when you win, you’re extraordinary, practically a Renaissance masterpiece," Florence furrowed her brows and let out a small laugh at the insult but quickly tried to hide it, turning away and continuing her escape from the hall. Gavi promptly continued following her to a distant area. On the way, they bumped into someone. An older man, accompanied by what was probably his family, looked familiar—some director of one of the leagues or something like that, Gavi couldn’t quite remember.

"Miss Perez, your grandfather hasn’t replied to my emails," the man said bluntly. Florence took a step back, bumping into Gavi, visibly uncomfortable.

"He’s busy," Florence said simply, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand, and then he turned his attention to the player.

"Gavi, you’re having a brilliant season."

"Thank you, sir," Gavi replied, returning the gesture. The player couldn’t see Florence’s expression clearly, but he was sure she was rolling her eyes.

"My daughter is a fan, Charlotte," the man turned to the shy girl behind him, who took a step forward. Gavi extended his hand to greet the girl, who blushed. Florence rolled her eyes—seriously, what was it with girls and their fascination with him? Florence impatiently poked him, and the player quickly turned, seeing a disapproving look on Florence’s face.

"Oh, so the rumors are true," the man pointed to the two of them. "I thought Florentino Perez would never allow it, but it’s good for the new generations to understand that rivalry is only on the field." Gavi frowned, trying to decipher the director’s words. Gavi turned his attention back to the man, visibly confused by the direction of the conversation. "A beautiful couple."

"Yes, we have to go," Florence quickly interrupted, grabbing Gavi’s arm and dragging him away from the conversation before he could process what was happening.

"What was that?" Gavi asked, his voice filled with irritation and confusion. "You just implied we’re together. Have you lost your mind?"

Florence gave him an impassive look. "He was going to ask for a picture, and believe me, you don’t want to be associated with that man. I did you a favor."

"Favor? You’re just making everything more complicated," Gavi shot back, his eyes fixed on Florence, searching for an explanation. There was something more behind that gesture, something he couldn’t quite grasp but that made him uncomfortable.

Before he could press her further, Pedri appeared beside them, a mischievous smile on his face. "Hey, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?" He asked, clearly curious about the tension between them.

Gavi averted his gaze from Florence, his blood boiling with frustration. "No, she’s leaving," he responded brusquely, his tone colder than he intended.

Florence raised an eyebrow, defiant. "I’m not. Nice to meet you, I’m Flo..." She extended her hand to Pedri, but before she could finish the introduction, Gavi grabbed her hand and dragged her away, his touch firm and decisive.

As they moved away from Pedri, Gavi led her to the table where a player from her club was sitting, but when they got there, he hesitated. There was a palpable tension in the air, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to break. Florence looked at him, perplexed, her expression shifting between confusion and frustration.

Gavi abruptly let go of her hand, the warmth of the contact still pulsing on his skin. "Why do you feel the need to disrupt my life?" he muttered, more to himself than to her, but Florence heard him.

She took a step closer, narrowing the distance between them, her eyes shining with an intensity that made him hold his breath. "Isn't that what we both do?" she replied quietly, her voice laced with something deeper, something Gavi wasn’t ready to face. "Why are you so upset about this?" Her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

Gavi stared at her for a long moment, lost in the intensity of that gaze. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words failed him. The strange sensation in his stomach that he had felt earlier was now almost unbearable. He knew he should say something, anything, but all he could do was shake his head and walk away, leaving Florence behind, unsure if he was running from her or himself.

Gavi walked away, the feeling of disorientation growing with each step. As he moved further, he realized that contrary to what he had imagined, Florence's presence still lingered in his mind, like a persistent echo. He tried to convince himself that the discomfort was just irritation, but the image of her intense gaze wouldn't leave his thoughts, her voice was imprinted deep in his mind. It was deafening and maddening, the space she had occupied in his head, and he couldn’t understand or control the effects she had on him.

**********************************************

Gavi walked quickly through the hallway leading to the box where his family was. For the past few weeks, he had been avoiding the people who knew him so well, especially his sister, who could read his mind with just one look. With the mess inside his head, he decided he didn’t want to face them, which is why he hadn’t been going to his family house. Instead, he hid away in his apartment in the city center, so he could be alone with his confusion without anyone asking him about it.

He hugged his family quickly and exchanged a few words, a slight discomfort hanging in the air. Then he said goodbye just as quickly, but not before his sister Aurora stepped in front of him and looked at him intently.

“What’s going on?” she asked directly. Gavi frowned and grimaced.

“Nothing, Aurorita.” Gavi forced a smile and saw the frown deepen on his sister’s face.

“You only call me that when you want something or are hiding something from me,” she concluded.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Gavi shrugged.

“But something is going on. You’ve been avoiding us, you look exhausted, and according to your friends, you’re more annoying than usual.” His sister looked at him with concern. Gavi swallowed hard, feeling the anger rising within him, but he knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on his own family.

“I swear, it’s not—” Gavi didn’t finish his sentence, because the voice he heard echoing from the hallway caught his attention. He looked back so fast he felt a strain in his neck, but there was no one there. Great, that damned voice was stuck in his head.

He turned his attention back to his sister, who was watching him curiously, but before he could continue speaking, the voice echoed again, this time louder. “I have to go,” he said quickly, kissing his sister on the cheek before pulling away.

He walked fast down the corridor, but his steps were cautious, once again that feeling that a monster might jump at him at any moment crept in. In an involuntary gesture, Gavi clenched his fists, a growing anger, a strange sensation burning in his chest. As he rounded the corner in the hallway, he saw the monster that had been haunting his mind.

She was leaning against the wall, her phone pressed to her ear, one hand on her hip. Florence’s eyes were closed as she listened attentively to the voice on the other end of the line. She seemed completely absorbed in the conversation, her face drawn in visible frustration. Gavi, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, watched the scene with a sick satisfaction. Seeing her suffer comforted him in a way he refused to admit. It was a relief to know that, like him, she was also under pressure.

“What do you want me to do?” she said in a louder tone, breaking the bubble of concentration she was in. Gavi narrowed his eyes, realizing she hadn’t yet noticed his presence. A sly smile formed on his lips as he impulsively decided he wanted to interrupt whatever was happening.

“You’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said casually, not caring if the person on the other end of the line could hear him. And there it was, big blue eyes, looking straight at him. Florence’s response was an eye roll as if his presence was insignificant.

“No, I’m not,” she said into the phone, completely ignoring Gavi, which instantly irritated him.

.“I can’t do that, and I won’t,” she continued, her eyes now fixed on his. He saw impatience growing in her, but he also noticed something deeper, something he rarely saw: her eyes began to shine with a repressed emotion. She was becoming emotional, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

Without thinking twice, Gavi crossed the hallway with firm steps, snatching the phone from Florence’s hand and ending the call without ceremony. The gesture was brusque and impulsive, but seeing the surprise and anger in her eyes made him feel... Something.

“What did you do?” Florence practically shouted, her voice filled with disbelief. Gavi froze for a second, only then realizing what he had done. Her expression grew even more perplexed when, out of pure reflex, he covered her mouth with one hand.

“I already told you, you’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said quickly, trying to maintain control. She frowned, and with a swift movement, pushed his hands away, her blue eyes sparkling with fury. Gavi felt a current of electricity run through his body at the brief contact, and he hated how that kept happening. His eyes locked on hers for a second longer than necessary, and he found himself wondering if she felt it too.

“Have you gone mad? He’s going to be furious,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, which only increased the tension. Florence made a desperate attempt to retrieve her phone, but Gavi lifted it out of her reach.

She grunted, frustrated and visibly exhausted. “Can you stop being so annoying?” she asked, almost in exasperation. For a brief moment, Gavi let his eyes wander over her face, and suddenly he understood. The weight of the conversation. It was about her grandfather. Of course it was about him.

Florence rarely showed vulnerability, especially not in front of him. But whenever her grandfather was involved, it was like an invisible wall came crashing down around her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice lower now, but still full of tension. Gavi frowned, confused.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her body in a gesture of self-protection. Gavi noticed the movement. It was subtle but clear. A barrier. He knew that gesture; he had seen it many times. Maybe she wasn’t as impenetrable as she wanted to seem. And knowing that made him feel a mix of power and discomfort.

“I don’t pity you,” he replied, letting out a short laugh. She rolled her eyes again, but this time, without the same force. When she didn’t throw a quick retort, he decided to press her. “Quite the opposite... I’m just making sure you behave. Like I said, you’re not at home.”

“Thank God I’m not,” Florence shot back. “I’d be extremely upset if this were my house.”

Gavi narrowed his eyes. “Are you ready to lose?” he asked, his voice dripping with provocation.

“Vinicius is going to destroy you today,” she replied confidently, making Gavi laugh out loud.

“You wish, querida,” he said with disdain. At that moment, Florence’s phone vibrated in his hand, and without thinking, Gavi glanced at the screen. The sight of a photo of Florence with the other player, he felt anger someway...

“Of course...” he muttered to himself before tossing the phone back to her, his irritation now evident.

Florence caught it in the air and looked at him for a moment before shaking her head, clearly exhausted from the exchange. Gavi, on the other hand, felt something shift inside him. He was eager for the game, not just because it would be the last El Clásico at Camp Nou before the stadium renovations, but because, somehow, something else was consuming him from within. Something he couldn’t name.

When the ball started rolling, Gavi played with unmatched intensity. He was truly having the game of his life, but his teammates didn’t seem to keep up with his pace. Misplaced passes, missed goals—it all piled up. He was furious.

"You need to tone down your intensity, or you’ll end up getting sent off," Xavi warned during the halftime break.

Gavi let out a sarcastic chuckle. "If the rest of the team was playing, I wouldn’t have to," he muttered. The locker room fell silent for a brief moment. He waited for some reaction, but nothing came. Xavi kept talking, and everyone started getting ready for the second half.

As he put on his jersey, he felt Pedri’s gaze on his back, watching his every move.

“What?” Gavi asked, frustrated.

“I thought we agreed you’d ignore her,” said Pedri, reminding him of the last conversation they had. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“I am,” he replied, frowning.

“Then why did Aurora text me asking what you had with her?” Pedri turned his phone, showing a picture of Gavi and Florence in the hallway.

“Aurora are being nosy. And so are you,” Gavi said, his patience running thin. “And why are you so interested? Are you interested in her?”

Pedri laughed. “As if you’d let that happen.”

That phrase hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It bothered him deeply. “Man, I’m not trying to push your buttons,” Pedri started, but Gavi cut him off.

“Then don’t,” he shot back, his voice cold. “You’re annoying me with this. Nothing is going on, so stop getting involved.”

Pedri raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. But Gavi was already at his limit. He stormed out of the locker room, bursting with pent-up energy.

In the second half, his intensity only grew. The frustration with Pedri, the confusion about Florence, the team’s mediocre performance—all of it boiled inside him. When Vinicius Jr. ran down the left side of the field. Gavi didn’t think. He slid in, taking the player down aggressively.

Chaos ensued. Real Madrid players rushed at him, and Gavi, of course, didn’t back down. He shoved Benzema, who was yelling in his face until the referee intervened. Vinicius got up with a mocking smile, and Gavi tried to go at him again, only to be held back by his teammates.

The red card was inevitable.

Laughing in disdain, he walked off the field. His eyes drifted toward the box seats as if trying to spot Florence. The anger boiled inside him. As he shrugged off Xavi, who was both trying to confront and reprimand him, he headed straight for the locker room, ignoring everything and everyone.

When he turned the corner, there she was, sitting on a bench. He huffed, frustrated.

He huffed, frustrated. "Not now, Florence. I’m not in the mood for your provocations." His words came out harsher than he intended, but it was the truth. Her presence stirred something in him that he didn’t know how to deal with. She slowly raised her gaze from her phone, with an expression he couldn’t read. The air between them suddenly felt heavier, as if something unspoken hung in the space between them.

"Not everything I do is about you, querido." Florence shot back, but this time, there was no teasing. The absence of mockery in her tone threw him off. It was rare to see her like this, without her usual wall of sarcasm. And for a second, he felt an opening, a crack in the wall she kept so high. "But if you want some advice..."

"I don’t," Gavi said sharply. What was it with the people close to him today wanting to give him advice and tell him what to do? Florence stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Gavi felt his throat go dry at the sudden closeness. His eyes ran over her face—there was no sign of irony, no sign of irritation, but still, Gavi could see that lingering glimmer in her eyes, the one he had promised himself he would strip away so he could see it more clearly.

"Your intensity and provocation on the field will be appreciated up to a certain point. But at some point, it’s going to get annoying, to the point where even your fans will start to hate it," she said in a surprisingly calm tone. That caught him off guard. Florence rarely spoke with such gentleness. She looked him straight in the eyes, and Gavi felt a discomfort growing in his chest.

That was new, and he didn’t know how to handle it. His mind immediately went back to when he saw her at the gala dinner hosted by the king, and she stopped him from taking pictures with a guest, someone Gavi later realized wouldn’t have been a good association. He looked at her, confused.

Florence raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Could she be right? The doubt appeared quickly and annoyingly, but he pushed it away. No. He was playing well, and giving it his all. There was nothing wrong with that. Still, the uneasiness grew.

Ignoring how he felt, he turned his back on her and headed for the locker room. But no matter how hard he tried, her words echoed in his head. The discomfort increased. Why was this bothering him so much? Maybe she wasn’t wrong. Maybe he was so surprised by the calm and honest tone that he didn’t know how to react. That wasn’t her, that wasn’t them. The player stopped on his heel and turned back. Immediately, a smirk appeared on the girl's face.

"You know what, I don’t need your advice. You can’t just sit on your pedestal and think you have any superiority to talk to me." Gavi snapped, completely annoyed.

“Okay...” she replied with amusement. “I told you I wasn’t your good luck charm.” She raised her brows. Gavi furrowed his, confused, and then his mind recalled when he had made that connection. There it was—the provocation, the irony. That he could handle, that he could push back against. Gavi chose not to respond, so he turned and continued on his way without saying another word.

Gavi had declined his usual ride with Pedri, still embarrassed by the way he had treated his friend. He also didn’t want to go with his family because they would ask questions about his mood and his expulsion, especially his sister, who would bombard him with comments, and the last thing he wanted was to be rude to yet another person that night.

So now he was with his friend Chris, about to enter his friend’s girlfriend’s house. It was funny how Chris had a key to her parents’ house and everything, for someone who swore the relationship wasn’t serious, it was at quite an advanced stage.

“Baby,” Danielle said as soon as Chris walked in, kissing and hugging him. Gavi quickly looked away from the scene, feeling awkward for a few minutes. “Oh, you brought company,” Danielle said, stepping away from her boyfriend and greeting Gavi with a quick hug.

“You're okay with it, right?” Chris asked, and Gavi wanted to kill him because he had sworn he had already talked to her.

“Yeah, it’s just... well, I had to bring someone too,” Danielle said, somewhat hesitant.

“Oh, it’s fine, it’s not like we’re short on rooms. If it’s a cute girl, they could even share a room, and Gavi could finally get out of his rut.” Gavi flipped his friend off while Danielle let out an overly loud and awkward laugh. Chris looked at her, confused.

“They’d kill each other before that happens...” she muttered under her breath, but Gavi heard it, which confused him until he heard footsteps coming from the stairs and a familiar voice that had been haunting him everywhere.

“Dani, are these the only towels you have?” Silence fell when the figure appeared at the top of the stairs, distracted by something on her phone, not even bothering to look up. Danielle quickly glanced between her boyfriend and Gavi.

“Florence, darling, I told you we don’t have 500-thread Egyptian cotton towels or anything like that. We’re mere mortals. My mom was hoping you’d bring some so she could steal them from you,” Danielle said, walking toward what Gavi now realized was her friend. The girl finally lifted her eyes to her friend and then noticed there were more people there.

“Oh, hi, Chris...” She came down the last step and then got a full view of Gavi. “You’ve got to be kidding me...” she said, shocked. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“Oh, right,” Chris said, finally catching on. “You guys are enemies and all that,” he said, moving to stand next to his girlfriend. Gavi was in his bubble of shock. He quickly glanced around and realized that Danielle’s house was the same one where Chris had hosted his last party, where he had also ended up running into Florence. Gavi had always wanted to ask how his friend knew Florence but had never had the chance—or needed to.

Florence crossed her arms in front of her body and raised an eyebrow at Gavi. If she expected him to greet her, she could keep waiting. All he wanted was to end the night in peace; she had already disturbed his life enough that day. He must have seriously offended the universe with how it was playing tricks on him. With the distance between Madrid and Barcelona, and considering the teams only had four Clásicos that year, their encounters were becoming strangely frequent.

It was almost as if his hatred for her had the power to transport her directly into his reality.

Gavi looked at his friend and saw him whispering something to Danielle, who was watching the scene, concerned. Before anyone could say anything, the doorbell rang.

“Thank God...” Danielle exhaled. “It must be the pizza.” She laughed awkwardly and walked past everyone to the door. Before Gavi could see who it was, he noticed Florence’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in shock, which made him turn quickly, seeing a tall man dressed in a suit.

“I’m not going back,” she said, her voice rising, with something Gavi couldn’t identify as anger or disappointment.

“Come on, Florence, your grandfather told me not to leave here without you. And if necessary, to carry you.” The man sounded impatient. Gavi looked back at Florence; her eyes were bright, and her face was turning red. That strange feeling inside Gavi returned.

“Well, tell him you didn’t find me,” Florence said simply.

“Your grandfather knows this is the only place you’d come. He asked me to remind you that you’re still a minor, and he’s responsible for you when your parents aren’t around.” The man continued. Florence let out a bitter laugh.

“Well, you’ll have to carry me then because I’m not going voluntarily,” Florence retorted, defiant. Gavi glanced at the man by the door. Despite his cold posture, Gavi could sense worry and hesitation in his face.

“He said if you don’t come with me, he’ll disinherit you, and you’re fired from your club duties.” Silence fell over the room to the point where even breathing could no longer be heard. Gavi lowered his eyes to the floor, somewhat shocked by the direction the conversation had taken, and also refused to look at Florence because he knew if he did, that strange feeling inside him would return to haunt him.

“Incredible,” she said with a shaky breath, and it was impossible not to look at her. She swallowed hard, her eyes briefly falling on Gavi’s, and he saw her face turn red again. Gavi wanted to make some sarcastic comment, maybe smirk at the situation, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to; he just kept his eyes on hers.

“Florence, your grandfather will disinherit you when he finds out about this,” the man said more firmly, noticing the exchange of looks between the two. Gavi looked at him, confused about what he was referring to. Florence sighed heavily and walked past everyone, grabbing the bag that was on the couch. She quickly hugged Danielle.

“I’ll see you in Madrid,” she said, kissing her friend on the cheek and heading out the door, bumping into the driver.

Danielle quickly closed the door and then turned to Gavi.

“I know you love provoking her, but if you tell anyone about this or use it against her, I’ll kill you myself,” she said firmly to Gavi, who widened his eyes. He didn’t know if he was more shocked by the way she had spoken to him or by the fact that Florence had talked about him with someone and even blamed him for their situation. If it was her who provoked him, ironically, Danielle’s words had no effect, as Gavi couldn’t suppress the internal laugh at the thought that he now had something to continue his exchange with Florence.

**********************************************

a/n: I hope you guys have like this one, let me know... We probably won't have the same scheme as it was with pedriii, with three chapters, and bonus ones.

[cynthiav06]

With Percy, we know that he hates going to school and his goals don’t really line up with Annabeth’s, but Annabeth is kind of forcing him to do it with her because he can’t say no to her. Say Rick didn’t make Annabeth Percy’s entire personality, what do you think he would’ve done in the mortal world rather than go to university?

I was checking my drafts cause I am trying to catch up on all the asks in my inbox ( as I said in one of my earlier posts I was in middle of a medical situation so I have at least a month of backlog) and found this draft.

The funny thing is I had already written most of the post in the draft version, and this ask wasn't even being displayed in my inbox, so I was very confused as to when it was from.

But it's such a good prompt and a sort of controversial question in the fandom, so I wanted to post it asap.

Percy doesn't like studies, but he knows the importance of it, so I am sure he will finish his initial college, probably either in the science or arts section. We know at one point he got better grades than Annabeth at one point so he certainly isn't quitting studies and doing way better than what people expect. He also wouldn't like just staying at home and doing nothing (I am looking at certain Percabeth stans here), so he definitely would be doing one job or another.

1.

I don't think he would study marine biology like most believe. After a conversation I had with someone who had taken the course, I am convinced Percy wouldn't like it. It's heavily based on chemistry, and we know how much Percy is affected by sea creatures being mistreated or caged, so having to study marine biology wouldn't really be something he would choose.

2.

An interesting twist would be if he chose to be a writer like his mother.

We all know that Percy writes or at least dictates and narrates the first five books, which are written and narrated entirely from his perspective. Moreover, there are books on Percy just narrating his own sarcastic takes on Greek gods and Greek heroes. What if he did actually catalogue his own adventures in those books as a sort of manual for other demigods on how to deal with certain monsters and gods and such.

Through Percy's thoughts, even as 12 years old, we can certainly say he has advanced vocabulary despite being dyslexic and given how much he admires Sally, why wouldn't he be interested in following her footsteps. Sure, he has trouble reading, but that's not to say he wouldn't love expressing his thoughts through humorous retelling of his own adventures which he can pass as fiction to normal readers but actual experiences in demigod world. Who doesn't want to know the exploits of Percy Jackson?

Plus, it's a good money hack. And don't for a second tell me he wouldn't. Sally petrified Gabe, and then they sold his statute to a museum as a sculpture and earned money off of that. So Sally would definitely encourage it, and Percy would even follow through on it just for shits and giggles and the added benefit of helping demigods and earning money.

[I literally want this to happen just for the Godly reactions. I am all for god slander, especially Zeus slander. Poseidon would be half laughing at the book and half worried cause of the sheer catastrophes his son seems to fall into almost on a daily basis.

Apollo would be having a grand time, and Hermes will be half depressed and half impressed throughout. Overall, it would be hilarious all around, and it might finally make the gods feel a bit more accountable . It's literally the Reading Percy Jackson Series trope, and that's always fun.]

3.

One other option is that Percy will get into environmental preservation, specifically the protection of Rivers and Seas from pollution by actively involving himself and others in its cleanliness and purification. He would also run Beach cleanliness programs.

I think he and Grover would become environmental activists and would definitely get into preserving forest areas and other places where nature spirits dwell frequently. I can see them doing it a lot, long-term wise, too.

4.

I think he would kind of like marine explorations, but that might cause his powers to be somewhat exposed, so he might not do that, but it's a possibility.

That's all I can think of. I would like to hear everyone else's opinions on this.

[mangohobbit]

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Authors Note: Hello to anyone this reaches (this feels like a message in a bottle) For over a year now I've writing both a storyline and drabbles of my Call of Duty OC with the 141 boys. I just love her so much, and I've been having a blast writing her and the boys. This is me finally getting the courage to post her story. Maybe my style of writing isn't for everyone, and I'm not a great writer or anything, but it's my story and character that I've grown very attached to. I did try my best to research how the military works from different parts of the world. Not gonna lie when I say it can get very overwhelming with the information. But I'm here for the fun times so inaccuracies will happen but I don't think they detract from the story or the characters as a whole. So I hope you enjoy :)

Story Note: When I tell you this is a slow burn...this is a SSSLLOOWWW BBUUURRRNN. The first story is simply for you to get to know Daniela (my OC) and learn how she got recruited to the 141. I want you guys to care for her story and struggles throughout her journey with the 141. Her relationship with each of the boys is purely platonic and each dynamic with them is different. The romance will come later I PROMISE!

*please be nice with me! I tried editing as much as possible! (Being bilingual makes me dumb sometimes)

Tigger warning? Well there is a kidnapping and your regular warfare violence but not in this chapter.

Word Count : 2938

Harpia and the 141 part 1: The Boys and the Bird

Chapter 1: The Harpy and her cake

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

The fireworks went off as the last of the set of military groups passed the line as their anthem faded into another marching band song. Streamers filled the sky along with stray balloons floated all around from children's slippery fingers. As a special anniversary of some hundred year old treaty to allied forces from long forgotten war, the militaries from all around the world were invited to show off in the hosting country. This time it was in Paris, France. The streets were littered with thousands of parade watchers and hundreds of military personnel showing off their fancy parade outfits. Shiny black boots stepped on fallen streamers and confetti as some sixty different countrymen and women advertised themselves to the civilians who decided to come out and enjoy the merriment.

“Come on Ghost, get into the spirit of it,” Soap waved a small Scottish flag in front of his friend's face. 

“I hate these things,” Ghost gruffed.

“It’s a beautiful spring day in Paris. How can you hate it?” Gaz nudged on his comrades crossed arms. 

“Because it’s annoying and loud,” Simon huffed. 

“You just have to get into the spirit,” Soap fiddled his flag at Simon’s face. 

“Soap, if you value that shit little flag then get it away or I snap it in half. Make a choice,” Ghost threatened. 

Soap glared at his party pooping lieutenant, who always had a hard time in crowds. 

“Haven’t been to one of these in awhile,” Gaz waved the U.K flag. “Have either you ever participated in one of these?” he asked. 

“Once,” Soap and Ghost responded at the same time, though in different tones. Soap in a happy way and Ghost in an annoyed way. 

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you hated it Simon?” Gaz chuckled.

“Got a free meal afterwards for it so whatever,” Simon huffed.

“I got to wear a fancy kilt and sash,” Johnny remembered the event fondly. 

“Come on boys!” Captain Price called out for his boys from behind. “Let's get something to eat that, for once, we don’t have to pay for.”

The rest of the 141 followed behind the captain. Winding through the crowd they were curious as to why Price had brought them to the parade in the first place. This morning they were in their regular base across the English canal and by the afternoon they were surrounded by people while the music of marching bands pounded into their ears. 

Soap moved up to Price’s side. “So are you goin’ to tell us why we’re here. Captain?”

“Not yet MacTavish. Let’s get some grub first then I'll get you in on it,” Price replied. 

“You don’t know either do you?” Ghost spoke up. 

“Something like that,” Price confessed. 

When the group went around the corner of the street, a familiar face looked up to them. “Boys?” It was Laswell standing in front of the entrance to a giant white tent where parade performers were walking into. 

“Kate,” Gaz was the first to come up to his mentor with a handshake and a smile. 

“Good to see you again boys,” she grinned back at them. “Come on in and grab a bite while I talk with your captain,” she gestured for them to follow her. Before walking into the tent through a separate line, Kate flashed a laminated badge to the two security guards standing watch. They nodded to the agent for her to go with the 141. 

Soap, Gaz, and Soap did as they were told by Kate. They were pretty hungry from all the walking and endless standing in the heat of the day. The three filled their plates to the brim with all kinds of good stuff while Price went to talk to Laswell on the side. 

“So why did you need me here on such short notice?” the captain of the 141 asked. 

Without saying another word Kate handed John a manila folder which only meant one thing. Although, with Kate that’s what most of their meets up and conversations were about; assignments and favors. Which would it be this time? 

“Who is in need of saving this time Kate?” Price grinned sarcastically. As he opened the folder the first thing he noticed was the family photo as it was on top of the pile. Just a family of three; a father, mother, and daughter (a young woman) lined up together in front of some historic looking building. All three were smiling happily for the shot. 

“She’s been taken,” Laswell said, then sipped on some champagne. 

“And her importance? Price asked. 

“The man is Juan Carlos Morena. He’s an environmentalist recently elected as mayor to a town in the south of Colombia. He's become infamous in the conservation sphere. And with him being elected as a mayor only made him more famous. It’s given other activists hope that people want change to happen in the region.”

“But?” Price looked to Laswell finding the “but” in this topic. 

“Climate activists in Colombia have always been targeted by a number of greedy people. They are the disruptors to their illegal operations so it’s common for activists like this guy to be killed. Only this time instead of just killing him off his daughter has been taken by a confirmed cartel group operating in the area.”

“How is it confirmed?” Price asked. 

“To make a statement they kidnapped her in daylight in front of people. It was filmed,” Kate took out her phone from her pocket and played the video on silent. It was a shaky shot but it was definitely a video of a young woman being shoved into a car while fighting for her life.

“How do you know it’s not some staged act? Daddy’s girl wanted to get away from parents?”

“I asked the same question but she’s also just as giving to the community as her parents are. She’s a lawyer and leader of her own organization of helping women leave their abusive households. She’s active in the community so trust me when I say she doesn’t seem like a spoiled, rich girl that got into the wrong crowd.”

“Christ,” Price flipped through the pages. “You said a confirmed cartel as well? How do we know that?”

“The symbol on the jeep is the symbol used by this particular organization. They’ve been within our radar for some time so it was recognizable. Not much has been done on our part to suppress them but this could finally be our chance.”

“So moving drugs and inciting violence is one thing but you finally draw the line at kidnapping a major figure of the community?” Price looked at Kate in suspicion. 

“There have been plenty of stories that have come to me about these guys, Price,” she got defensive. “But stories weren't enough. Now we have footage and a kidnapping. It's a chance to finally put these guys down once and for all. And you and your boys are the best in the business for this kind of job. So what do you say?”

Price kept glaring at his old friend. Although she tried to hide it, Kate had a look of desperation and concern. Price gave in with a heavy sigh. “What are our villains' names?”

“They call themselves “The Jungle” or in Spanish it would be “La Jungla”,” Kate revealed in a rough accent. “They used to be a small sect connected to the Medellin cartel but have operated for the past twenty years as their own separate organization. These are dangerous people John. And the civilians of this region could use one less threat to their lives,” Laswell put the now empty glass onto a passing tray. Price stayed silent for a moment looking over the rest of the files. “You don’t have to accept this but the squad that’s being formed by their own military could use some people like you and your boys.”

The captain looked at the family photo one last time. Those smiles cut deep into the soldiers heart in thinking how scared they all must be. Her family weren’t the only one’s in pain. This was a whole community of people trying to make their lives better and it only keeps being interrupted by vile people like this cartel. 

“Well, alright then,” John closed the folder and handed it back to his friend. 

“Your support will be very appreciated, John,” Laswell grinned. 

“How did you even hear about this mess?”

“Through the grapevine kind of situation. A friend, of a friend, of a friend contacted me.”

“Looks like you’re the most popular kid in the schoolyard Kate,” John chuckled with Kate following along with him as she found the comment humorous as well. 

“There is one slight problem John.”

“And that is?”

“You and your boys have no experience in this region or a landscape like this and only you and Gaz know Spanish that’s passable at best. This is a region where English speakers are rare and communication will be a key,” Kate explained. “There could also be encounters with non Spanish speakers as well.”

“So what are you saying?” John crossed his arms.

“Your team is being loaned a new recruit. But don’t worry they have plenty of experience for this kind of stuff,” Laswell looked to her left and gestured for a man some feet away from them to come join her and Price. The man came up and greeted Price with a firm handshake. He was dressed in a formal military uniform with the flag of Peru patch on his left arm. “John, this is Colonel Alvarez of the Peruvian Air Force.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Price,” the man nodded.

“Pleasure is all mine, Colonel. It’s not you who will be joining me for the mission will it?” John didn’t want to be rude but the man had some years on him to be doing a mission like the one he just accepted. 

“No, no captain, I have recommended someone to Laswell for you to take on the mission. She is a very valuable asset to the air force and will be very helpful in this situation.”

“What does the Peruvian military have to do with the affairs of the remote region of Colombia?” John asked. 

“That we share many common enemies and most notably…we share the Amazon,” the colonel noted. “It is not uncommon for military troops from different nations that share a border to assist one another on missions like this.”

“I’m going to take a guess and say you’re the friend of a friend Laswell was implying about?”

“Indeed,” the colonel nodded. “This is who will be joining your team captain,” the Peruvian man handed Price another manila folder with the name “Harpia” in the front. 

John skimmed over the impressive resume of the recruit. Kate was right about her experience even though she had only been in the military for the past five years. “She’s quite the academic,” John noticed the bachelor's degree in her education side of the file along with a number of certifications. Then there was a list under the languages section that left him surprised. “What are all these?”

“Your recruit is an expert in indigenous languages, captain,” the colonel explained. “Where you are going, not everyone speaks Spanish. Not many military personnel have her knowledge and even fewer civilians have her experience and clearance for this kind of mission.”

“Alright, so we meet her over there?” John accepted the outcome. 

“Not necessarily John, she was in the parade and is right here,” Kate said. 

“She would be right over…” the colonel scanned the area of the dining tent. “There she is,” the colonel pointed to a young woman holding a small plate with a half eaten slice of cake.  

“Does she know about all this?” Price asked. 

“Indeed she does,” the colonel nodded. “You can go and meet her now if you like.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me,” Price nodded to the two higher ranking agents as he went off to the side and meet his new temp. 

Not one for sneaking, John came up to the young woman directly. She was dressed in a dark green coat and knee length skirt in the same color and some low square heels. She had a fancy sash across her chest and a spiffy looking hat that lay on top of her neatly slicked back hair that was tied on a braided low bun. She was fully decked out as much as the other parade performers. 

The young woman saw the captain make his way towards her and she put down her plate immediately. There was a cheery grin on her face once John was finally in front of her; towering over her frame. “Captain Price?” the decorated woman asked. 

“That would be me,” John smiled at her. The most notable thing about the lady was her small stature. She seemed to be even shorter than Farah. Her cheekbones were high and sharp but also maintained a very round face. There was something very unique about her face but then he remembered the list of languages she knew. 

“It’s an honor to meet you Captain,” she shook Price's hand enthusiastically. “I am Lieutenant Daniela Huari of the Peruvian Air Force.”

“Aka Harpia,” John added. “What’s that stand for?”

“The harpy, like in Greek mythology but in this case it’s after the harpy eagle of South America,” Daniela explained. 

“Can’t wait to find out how you got that one,” John chuckled. “So you’re the one who’s joining me and my boys?”

“It would seem so,” Daniela nodded.

“You know what you’re walking into, right?” John had his concern dad tone switched on.

“I do,” the lieutenant nodded a yes to the captain. 

“Good,” John smiled at her eagerness. “I mean clearly you more than qualified for this,” he held up her file. “Very impressive stuff in here.”

“Thank you Captain Price,” Daniela grinned at the praise. 

“Alright lieutenant, you meet us on the base at 18:00 hours. There isn’t any more time to waste here.”

“Si, capitan,” Daniela saluted the higher ranking officer.

“Meet ya there Harpia,” John grinned once more to the young woman and made his way back to his boys who were stuffing themselves with all sorts of stuff on their plates. “Come on lads we have some packing and explaining to do,” Price waved for the other three men to follow him out of the tent. 

“Who were you talking to Cap’?” Soap asked while taking one last bit out of his dessert. 

“Who was that with Laswell?” Gaz then questioned as well.

“And who was the shrimp you talked to next?” Ghost added to the list of questions to his captain. 

“Let’s talk about this at the base boys. There’s a lot to unpack here,” Price led his task force back to the base on the outskirts of the city. 

Task Force 141 made their way to their assigned aircraft that would be crossing them over the Atlantic all the way to a base in Venezuela. Price was right about unpacking a great deal of information to the other three men. The mayor, the mayor's daughter, her kidnapping, the cartel, there was much for the boys to intake. 

“A rescue mission and taking down a cartel. This’ll be fun,” Soap laid a friendly soft punch on Ghost’s shoulder. 

“Just dandy, Soap,” Simon gruffed. 

With heavy bags on their shoulders they finally found the lot for their transport. The loading dock door was fully open, ready for them to load in. But as they turned to go up the ramp all three men stopped dead in their tracks at someone already strapping in their own bags. 

“Who the hell are you?” Ghost partially yelled at the woman. 

Daniela bounced in her turn to the 141 crew members as she didn’t hear them come from behind her. “Oh you’re here, great,” she walked up to the men who towered over her. 

“Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Garrick, Sergeant MacTavish, it’s a pleasure to meet you boys. I’ll be working with you on this mission,” she extended her hand for one of them to shake but all three of them just looked at her confusingly. 

“Boys! Be nice,” Price came from behind them. “This is lieutenant Daniela Huari. She is joining us as a pilot, guide, translator and interpreter, and survival expert,” Price came up to Daniela and gave her upper back a quick pat. “She’s on loan to us from the Peruvian Air Force so play nice with her. I want a good report about us from her when all this is over.”

“Survival expert?” Soap asked.

“The biggest disadvantage we have is that neither of us have ever been to this type of region. We’ve been to the country before but the place isn’t the streets of Bogota. This is the Amazon, a hostile environment we’ve never been to. Even though we’ll be assisting a military squadron from Colombia, I was informed that she will be needed.”

“For what?” Ghost asked.

“To make sure you don’t wipe your ass with a poisonous plant,” Daniela teased. 

Gaz and Soap couldn’t help but snicker at the comment. Even Price couldn’t hold in a soft scoff to his chest. “Alright soldiers, let’s get going. We have a whole ass ocean to cross.”

Johnny laughed quietly to Simon. “She’s a lieutenant and you called her a shrimp.”

“Shut up,” Ghost rumbled beneath his breath.

——The captain meeting Daniela Huari

[loveless-fairy]

Evan Buckley and why the writing choices for him in the season finale were crap

This is my take on Evan Buckley, and it's a long one.

I have to start to say that yes, I am a Buddie shipper, but also I think it’s fair to say that before that, I am an Evan Buckley truer. So my take comes from my love for the character, rather than my hopes for the ship.

With that out of the way, let’s get into it.

I have a lot to say about the season finale, but I’ll concentrate my thoughts on Evan Buckley and how this show managed to give us development and no growth at all, all at the same time.

It’s really important to remember that last night’s episode was meant to be a series finale. They made this episode with the thought of “this is the last time” on their heads.

This was a send-off, and as such, it was quite awful.

Maddie’s and Chim’s closure was fine, Athena and Bobby's was perfect because they finally get to have their honeymoon, and without telling anyone. Very on brand. Hen and Karen was a happy note, but it left me wondering, why now? I mean, it’s been a while since we saw this storyline and it kinda came out of the blue. A surprise if you will. A good one though. Karen and Hen deserve the world. The thing is that seemed rushed.

The lack of Ravi. I’m gonna just leave it at that.

Eddie. I have to be honest, this felt weird and also out of the blue. Just like people on Twitter were asking. Where did he get her number? That entire scene felt off. But that’s an analysis that I’m whiling to do another day. For now, let’s just say that it was a no for me. That’s how we were supposed to say goodbye to Edmundo Diaz? I’m sorry but no. He deserves better. We deserved better.

Now, let’s talk about Buck. It’s gonna be quite a ride, so bear with me. As I see it Evan Buckley is a very complex character and sometimes I get the feeling that even the writers and showrunner of the show don’t fully understand how deep they can dig, so it’s understandable that fans feel underwhelmed with the decisions regarding Buck. As viewers, we tend to analyze everything. As fans, we like to see different sides of our favorite characters and we pay attention to everything. We keep track and sometimes, and not just with Buck, I feel that we do a better job at knowing the characters than the writers do.

With that said. We had Buck dying at the beginning of the second part of the season. It was quite a shock for the 118 and in my opinion, it was very well done. The emotional aspect of it was painfully good, so I had my hopes up for true growth for Evan Buckley. And we were heading that way until we weren’t.

I feel that after everything he went through, having to say goodbye to Evan Buckley with him getting involved with someone he just met and without really addressing his trauma was lazy writing. Plain and simple.

One of the things that always bothered me about how the show decides to write Buck is that he never truly faced his traumas.

Let’s see. Since he joined the 118 he got a truck landing on his leg, a pulmonary embolism, found himself in the middle of a tsunami with Christopher and he even thought the little guy was dead for several hours. He had to watch his best friend get shot in front of him, and for the second time, he feared for Eddie’s life. Just like Maddie said, just another trauma to add to the pile.

He almost died in a factory fire and was struck by lighting. Not to mention he was in an overpass collapse with his entire team. I know I left a few things out, but you get the idea.

And all of this is just since he joined the 118.

Let’s talk about his life before coming to Los Angeles.

I am a firm believer that Evan Buckley doesn’t really know what love looks like and what to do with it.

True. Growing up he had Maddie, and she did as much as she could with the few emotional tools she had. She was a kid herself. We know she raised him, and she did a fantastic job, but at the end of the day, she was his sister. The sister who had to step up into the mom role, even when their own mother was living under the same roof.

Buck grew up feeling that his parents didn’t really want him. Now we know why but can you imagine how confusing and painful must have been growing up like that?

They were his parents. They were the ones who should have loved him no matter what. They were supposed to be his safety net, the one place where he could feel safe. But they weren’t.

How damaged a kid had to be for him to realize by himself that only when he gets hurt he can get his parent's attention? Let that sink in for a minute.

As Taylor Swift said: “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love. The slowest way is never loving them enough”.

And that’s what they did. They never loved him enough.

So, no. Evan Buckley doesn’t really know what healthy and unconditional love looks like. He had Maddie but the ones who were supposed to do the job and show him and teach him about love didn’t.

Not having that growing up leaves you with scars that will haunt you for years and years. And trust me, I know what I’m talking about. On a good note, he’s surrounded by love at the 118. And we’ve seen him learn about love right in front of our eyes. But the trauma doesn’t go away. That’s not how it works.

We’ve seen him being left behind, and jokingly doubting if the members of his chosen family will come for him when needed - which they did. His self-worth was on the freaking ground, but slowly but surely has been getting better.

So, yes. After him realizing why his parents never loved him enough (Love me anyway), and finally letting Taylor go, I thought we were going to see a new side of Evan Buckley. And with the couch analogy coming to life, I really thought we were going to get a growth storyline, especially after they decided to kill him.

Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against Natalia, and I understand why he felt like she ignited a spark in him. I really do. But I also thought he was going to realize it was a temporary thing, because overall having someone fetishizing your death is not really attractive.

As I said before, even after years of being surrounded by love, the trauma and the psychological scars of not being loved enough as a kid will haunt you to adulthood, especially if you don’t go to therapy to deal with it.

And they showed us just that at the beginning of the second half of the season.

As someone who wants love and loves so fully, when the same love is given back, Buck doesn’t know what to do with it.

I see it like this. When someone didn’t have physical affection growing up, as an adult is more likely to have an aversion to touch. But what happens when that person craves a hug, when that person knows it needs a hug but has no idea how to ask? And if it gets one, what happens then? It doesn’t know how to react and what to do.

After being struck by lightning we saw a parade of people worried about him and whiling to be there during his recovery and Buck was done. One would think he will take advantage of the situation and will let them shower him with affection, but it was quite the opposite. The concept of this kind of love made him uncomfortable.

And then he had people reminding him that he actually died –for 3 minutes and 17 seconds, mind you- when he clearly was trying to downplay what happened.

So yeah, Natalia really ignited something new in him, because since the lightning she was the first one who looked at him without worries and fear. Quite the contrary, she was fascinated by the fact that he died. She literally was the getaway car for these traumas, so he saw an opportunity and took it.

I wasn’t really that surprised when he said to Eddie that she really sees him, because from his point of view that may be true. But the thing is that she’s only seeing what he wanted to show, which is this version of him that’s running away from his trauma. Meanwhile, the people in his life who are a constant will see that too but also, eventually, will dig deeper and will force him to see and face what he is purposely avoiding.

At the end of the day, he was looking for validation that what happened wasn’t that bad and that it was not worth the fuss, and he found that with Natalia.

So, sure. Being with her was easy for about 2 seconds. Then she runs away, pretty much in the same way Taylor did. Because people are right, is not hard to see the parallels between how Taylor and Natalia happened. Both after major trauma.

In my head, I could see Natalia coming back so they can give it another shot, but Buck will have realized by then that he reached out in the first place for all the wrong reasons. He would have to face his mortality and grow from it. Maybe he would work on himself and put his energy into growing at the job since he was having doubts before, and rightfully so.

I’m serious when I say that I’m in charge of pushing the Evan Buckley lieutenant-era agenda.

And with the couch metaphor, what can I say? In my perfect fantasy world, Buck would have realized the couch was Eddie and then we would have had Buddie canon. But since that’s virtually impossible as long as Kristen Reidel is the showrunner of 911, I thought the season was gonna end up with Buck buying the damn couch by himself since he realized his own worth, and that he as “just Buck” is enough and him knowing himself and seeing himself for what he is, is the most important relationship he has. An open and hopeful ending. A full circle with the moment back at the beginning of the season when he realized what the couch represented in his life.

What a send-off.

And maybe, in another season that now we know is a sure thing, after the trauma and growth, he can reconnect with Natalia and really see if he wanted to be with her because of how she treated his death or because there was something real there after all.

But no, they decided to go with the safe route and have him ignore his trauma and have him dive into a romantic relationship, which according to 911 is the cure for everything.

I was mad at the beginning of the second half of season 6 because I felt they made him forgive his parents way too easily. I know they went to therapy together, but it felt like all the damage and the hurt were overlooked in favor of giving the Buckleys the redemption arc they didn’t deserve. It was the show invalidating Buck’s trauma and that didn’t sit well with me.

And also, when I saw the promo for the finale I thought they were going to do the full circle thing with Buck taking charge at the scene and proving that he can act as interim captain. The parallel between the first episode of the season and the last would have been beautiful. Him buying the couch by himself and acting in charge at the house meanwhile Bobby is getting better.

That would have been a great way to say goodbye to Evan Buckley. Showing us he is more than his relationships. He, by himself, is more than enough.

What did I say before? Lazy writing.

I still can't wrap my head around the fact that they have him delivering “his baby”, which is not really his, and having him act all professional even when we saw the moment he broke his own heart for a second there right before he passed the baby to Cameron, and they still managed to left us with the feeling that there was no growth for the character.

One step forward and 150 steps back.

Anyway, I really hope next season something change with the showrunner or in the writing room, because we’re going in circles with Buck and people are getting tired.

My takeaway from the season is that Evan Buckley died for 3 minutes and 17 seconds and didn’t learn a damn thing.

Give that man a breakdown and have him go to a therapist. He desperately needs therapy.

Finally, I hate to think they had the opportunity of a lifetime to give closure to a character as complex as Evan Buckley and they decided to reduce him to a romantic interest.

Thank god that wasn’t the last episode of 911.

There’s still room for redemption.

On another note, Eddie realizing that Pepa was wrong and that in order to be happy you don’t need a romantic relationship; that would have been a good ending too. I understand where she’s coming from, but in this day and age, being alone is not a sad and pathetic thing as she made it look.

[crownedwille]

.

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | red dress, white dress

After Cael picks up a new hobby relating to your latest work, the two of you discuss weddings and wedding dresses. It ends with a proposal, from you to him.

1.8k, set after qixi [+ some spoilers for his whisper], romantic fluff + super self-indulgent, reader is mc, sequel to this cael fic [but you don't have to read it in order], series: none

IN THE TIME SINCE THE night of the QIxi festival, Cael has discovered an amusing new hobby with which to occupy himself with, when he's with you.

The words that the painter and the spirit speak—particularly towards end of your oneshot—are, evidently, not unrelated to your relationship with him. That much is obvious. And it'd be rather difficult to claim otherwise, given the faces they wear.

You haven't tried to, either.

Between the two of you, there is an acknowledgment, implicit, that they are a reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires. That they are the kind of daydreams that even someone eloquent as him would find difficult to describe, domestic and loving—just tumultuous enough to describe their standing, with the sort of fairytale ending most would wish for. That they are memories, transformed only in setting and time—only this time, they are not newly acquainted or on a time limit.

He thinks of the quaint little moment where the painter promises to make sure that no one will bother his lover. Had he not done the same for you, once, long ago?

He remembers the casual affection the spirit showers upon her love too, the way she finds herself with her head on his lap underneath the wisterias, and if that ever stops feeling familiar, it must be because he's lost his mind.

After all, you've always been an affectionate person. How can he miss it when the evidence remains in the lingering heat left by your touch? Through the way you so easily take his hand, or throw your arms around him—

When your lovesick gaze isn't boring holes into his body, that is.

He's no better in that regard. In some ways, he thinks he might be worse, with the way his loving gaze seems incapable of following anyone but you. But you might turn it into a competition if he brings it up, so Cael—well aware it won't end well for him—keeps his mouth shut.

Still, it's clear that you never expected him to start quoting your dialogue back at you.

It reminds him of one of the first times he'd properly let his mask down. The way the gears turned in your head, your deer-in-headlights expression betraying your panic before he'd clarified his joke. You'd stared at him—half-relieved, half-surprised, sitting in the silence a bit longer before you laughed.

Today, when you stare at him, there is a hint of defiance peeking through from underneath your flustered mien.

You're dressed casually, in a yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt with one of your favorite cartoon characters. Jagged lines run across the drawing, signaling its age. Some parts of the design have entirely vanished, but it remains one of your most faithful companions still.

With your head on his lap and legs thrown over the armrest, you're sprawled across the couch. In your hand is your phone, and before he dropped his line of the day on you, you'd been showing him a red dress that you really liked—one you intended to buy with your next paycheck.

"Thank you." The effect of your haughty tone is greatly lessened by the scarlet hue painting your cheeks. You clear your throat. "Does that mean you'd like to see me in a red dress?"

Cael chuckles, brushing your hair gently. "To me, it seems like you're the one who wants to be seen in a red dress."

"Of course, I do," you reply, your hand reaching out to play with his hair. "But red or white, it's not the dress that matters. As long as there's a certain someone waiting for me at the end."

For a moment, his quick-thinking mind betrays him, offering him nothing but static. He puts down the book in his hand down and carefully adjust the bookmark until it looks neat. His attention had left its crisp pages when you'd sat down beside him, but it remained in his hand still.

Occasionally, he would flip to the next page, then remember that he had absorbed none of the words on the previous page. So, he would go back, a fact that had not escaped your keen gaze—you'd teased him plenty for it, and who was he to stop you?

"I wonder who that certain someone is," he murmurs.

"I think he knows who he is," you answer, holding onto the end of his now braided strands. After a moment of digging around in your pockets, and the sofa as well, you managed to find a hair tie. "Or, he should, by this point."

"Indeed," Cael says, earning himself a wry smile from you. "It would be difficult to miss."

Enamored by your smile, he sifts through his memories, searching for the line that had left every single reader in desperate search of their own painter.

You'd been rather pleased when you went scrolling through the comments, with a smile so big it bordered on evil. So pleased, in fact, that you made sure to show him every such comment. The underlying meaning to your words was clear—you'd already found your painter, after all.

You'd have a big ego if you were dating someone so pretty too, you'd said, when he'd commented offhandedly on it.

He remembers responding with:

Then I'm certain I have the biggest ego out of anyone.

Though, his words ended up only disarming you for a brief second. It wasn't long before you were throwing your arms around him and calling him a liar ". But for the time being, the comment section was forgotten, and it was just you and him—and Beanie, watching you both from his favorite spot underneath the round table in the corner, seemingly miffed at being excluded.

He had snuck in a few extra treats for him.

Then, all was well in their relationship once more.

"'If that day ever comes, no matter what you want—'" Cael smiles helplessly, remembering the way you'd so easily captured his expression on the painter's face. "'I'll do everything in my power to bring you the most elegant wedding in the entire world.' Though you said the dress itself doesn't matter..."

You inhale sharply, seemingly forgetting—for a moment—that you're in the middle of braiding another section of his hair. When you look back at him, having looked away, your eyes are shining with poorly-disguised affection and your voice is painfully soft.

"When," you correct. "When that day comes. That's what I should've written down."

Letting go of his hair, you pull yourself off his lap and draw your knees closer to your chest. You rest your head on his shoulder. And as loose dark hair begins to tickle his cheek, his hand seeks out yours, pinky finger brushing against the back of your hand.

"When that day comes, we'll get married."

His gaze softens when he looks at you, in the midst of murmuring his agreement. Your wedding is something he's thought about often—his own is not. But now, the groom at the altar is no longer a blurry figure, devoid of any recognizable qualities and having only an aura of happiness that befits a day so celebrated.

It is something he'll ponder over until the day comes, all so that you're the happiest bride to ever live, whether on Earth or any other world.

"Good." You squeeze his hand gently. "Consider it a proposal then."

"It's the first time I've ever been proposed to," he comments offhandedly.

"Really?" For some reason, you sound surprised. And though your words sound like they could pass for a joke, the thoughtful note to them makes it clear that they are not. "Alright, I'm taking it back. I'll make sure to come back with a ring next time."

Cael smiles helplessly at you. "I'm not sure if you can take something like that back so easily."

His breath catches in his throat when you lift your head slightly to meet his gaze. Because in that moment, you're smiling at him brightly, It is blinding. While he's distracted, you lean in close and steal a quick kiss from his lips.

"Temporary measure," you respond, squinting at him in faux annoyance. "You're not getting rid of me so easily."

In a voice so soft that he's half certain you'll miss it, he says, sincerely, "I would never dream of it."

Judging by the way your smile widens into a grin, you don't miss it at all.

+extra

"YOU KNOW, YOU MISSED IT BEFORE," you point out unexpectedly, long after they've moved on from the topic of weddings and wedding dresses.

Cael catches onto the context immediately.

It's past dinner time now. The dirty dishes in the sink wait for you and your yellow rubber gloves patiently for their turn. He'd been the one to make dinner, something quick and easy, per your request. Your wish for the day had been "a lazy day together", so your initial intention was to order to takeout.

But halfway through the day, you began to crave his cooking.

Once he'd made sure the ingredients were there, getting them both out of a trip to the supermarket, you had no reason to refuse his offer. So you'd scrapped your plans and followed him into the kitchen to help.

"I'm not sure it would've been very appropriate to point out," he says, from where he sits at the dining table.

He'd expected nothing to come out of it, so he simply never brought it up. There were more important things to worry about at the time—your presence in Godheim, and all that came after that. His heart aches at the memory of your tears, particularly because he'd been the one to cause them.

They'd never properly spoken of it—of the day Peter Pan understood, but could not bring himself to make peace with, the fact that Wendy would have to leave him one day.

"After all, you were a teenager," Cael adds, remembering what he'd told your friend Natalie. "It would be no different than taking advantage of you."

His words, however, go in one ear and go out the other. You're rather specific about what you choose to pick out from his words, your next words discarding all but the subtext.

"So, you did know about my crush on you."

Though your words are undeniably a conclusion, a statement and not a question, they carry with them an expectation of a response. You crane your neck to fix him with an equally expectant stare, as if the weight behind your words isn't enough.

"Yes, I knew about your crush on me," Cael admits wryly. A helpless sigh accompanies his words. "What brought this on?"

You hum strainedly, returning to your dishes. "Nothing."

For the time being, he leaves it at that.

It is only when the two of you happen to encounter Lars while on a date that he discovers the truth, after some coaxing on his part. That you'd been under the impression that your crush on him was a secret kept carefully under wraps. That it'd been Lars who'd guessed otherwise—after some advice on how to handle Cael's new hobby—and subsequently been proven correct, leaving you to sulk on your own.

Unsurprisingly, Cael does not manage to stifle his laughter before you notice.