#yeah there's zero contest here

[aquareegia]

i really didn't want to say anything about esc but twitter and tiktok have been flooded by news since yesterday and i'm actually so pissed! the hypocrisy and double standard in favour of a certain country is astounding! ebu has been shit but they've really proven to be a bunch of absolutely spineless and untrustworthy clowns.

stop yapping about how it's not a political event, the whole fucking concept is political at it's core.

[kalosian-woods]

hey, synchro anon here!

actually pretty curious about the rest of ash's pokemon during the bond business arc, like they definitely must've witnessed some stuff in some way. same thing with the rest of the kalos gang(except they witnessed the whole thing)

That's a pretty good question!! I feel like a large proportion of that would depend on how their (whoever it is + Greninja/Ash) relationship would've been prior to the whole thing, because it did start with an evolution and a split-second chance in some village no one else has ever seen. Going by AU rules for this, because geez barely anyone was out for Ash-Greninja ngl.

At the start, I don't think a lot of them would react? The birds (Hawlu and Talonflame) are probably more concerned with whatever Noibat is doing, and Serena with her group are dealing with the end of the Showcase season and Eevee herself while Bonnie is poking around places with Squishy and having fun (Clemont is doing Clemont things dw about it :P). Pikachu is the only one apart from Ash that has an inkling as to what's on the horizon and is the only mon that is constantly watching this, but is kind of powerless to stop their folie à deux, so to speak (that's definitely going to be a fic name btw). Tbf, Greninja is becoming Ash, right? Ash wants this. That's their strength, and Pikachu should be is comfortable in his own strength. Soon enough they'll grow out of their facination and become better. They have to. (I think deep down, Pikachu hates it. Not because Ash isn't his anymore, but because Ash isn't Ash. Isn't the one he chose, isn't the one he grew up with, isn't the one he travelled with. This Ash is a stranger. This Ash is leaving them all behind. All that's left is dust and smoke.)

Now that I think about it, wasn't Talonflame out there for the Anistar Gym Battle? While it wasn't there for the actual prophecy itself, bro must've felt the power in the battle and the way everyone held themselves throughout their time there. The focus that even the Professor was having. Talonflame would've definitely picked at Frogadier until he got a short answer, but left it out of his mind after hearing it. Great power in the future? That's called evolving, dummy!

Hawlucha is really going to have his metaphorical hands full with Noibat/Noivern, but I'm sure he's going to notice the difference, especially since he has trained with Greninja before. He knows how stubborn the frog can be, but seeing the way that they're both getting more crazier about the bond without any care for themselves is... not good, to say the least. He's a bit more softer now, so a lot less bickering would happen, but Hawlu wouldn't sit by and do nothing for long. At some point, even the best need to rest to continue on. Noivern has absolutely no idea what's going on but can sense how Ash (and Greninja) are more intense now. It's a bit unsettling, but then again have you seen Talonflame? Maybe it's just the way they express their feelings in battle. In the end, that's still her friends and family!

With the people themselves, Clemont was purely interested in it from a scientific point of view. Recording data of their transformations and documenting it will go a long way in understanding the bonds between people and Pokemon, and also a long way in solving the mystery that is Ash himself. This could be the key to a world where both people and Pokemon can live together! ...But the tent is always empty at night. And why does his own heart hurt when he sees the signal split? And why does he understand Wulfric when he shakes his head at Ash and tell him that he isn't ready yet? Wasn't Ash the ideal (in battling and with Pokemon and with courage most of all)?

Quilladin at first thinks it's cool but then goes on to think it's stupid, but he's probably jealous (...and maybe misses his friend) (and his Trainer's friend too, of course). Luxray thinks it's stupid too but that's their decision, and as long as Clemont isn't doing the same that's not her problem. Bunnelby gives no comment.

Serena has a bit more clarity and confidence with her intuitive nature at this point, or at least after Showcases, and feels very worried for Ash as a result. He used to train a lot before, it's true, but now he's going overboard. Greninja too. They're barely around, and they're getting hurt in ways that people and Pokemon do not get hurt. They're changing in ways... she doesn't like. And maybe it's because she lost the Master Class afterwards when it really hits her that she knows, utterly, that feeling of losing and not wanting to lose. To do anything to prevent that (her aching wrist is a reminder). Maybe... when they finally reach Snowbelle. Maybe that's a good place to talk. After the Gym Battle, he'll totally be a bit more calmer, right?

Braixen was just warming up to Frogadier when he goes back to being a prick as Greninja, so she thinks it's a resurgence of the Froakie mindset™. Pancham totally doesn't care but would not be opposed to oh, I don't know, Greninja actually being free to talk once in a while. Sylveon is just bombarded with feelings all around and just prefers to not be around them, thanks, but can and will step up to the plate later on in her own arc because enough is enough :(

Basically, it's a whole mess with the group lol. No matter how this AU goes, just know that everyone will have very loud opinions on the Bond but will find themselves hard-pressed to find the right moment to address it, because Squishy is gone and oh, no, we need another Princess Key and we lost Noibat to another strong wind, rip, and don't forget the invention about to explode in 0.01 seconds. And also Team Rocket.

[gabseyoo]

FIFTEEN SECONDS — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: female reader, friends to lovers, love confession, fluff, bit of comedy. word count: 1,2k.

note: here’s a little something for valentine’s day, hope you like it!

What should I say?

“Here.” No, too dry.

“Here, it’s for you.” Shit, still too dry.

“I bought this for you, I hope you like it.” Okay, that one wasn’t so bad. 

For the past ten minutes, Kiyoomi had been locked in a brutal staring contest with the small black box sitting on the café table. The thing wasn’t even looking at him, and yet he was the one losing.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

He had bought the damn gift two weeks ago. Two weeks of overthinking, of waiting for the perfect moment, of nearly shoving it to the back of his closet out of sheer nerves. But then Valentine’s Day crept up on him, and he thought—maybe this was fate giving him a chance.

Or setting him up for humiliating rejection.

Kiyoomi had rehearsed this moment in his head. And still, here he was, breaking into a nervous sweat over a bracelet. What if you didn’t like it? What if you thought it was stupid? What if you liked someone else?

Then, in the middle of his internal crisis, a familiar voice nearly made him jump.

“Hey, Kiyoomi.”

He looked up so fast he almost knocked the gift off the table. There you were, standing in front of him with that impossibly pretty smile, your presence alone enough to make his pulse go haywire.

“Did you already order, or should I—?” You asked as you sat down in front of him. 

“I already did.” He forced his voice to stay steady. “Iced latte with two shots of vanilla, right?”

Your smile grew. “You know me so well.”

Yeah, because I’m hopelessly in love with you.

The words were right there. On the tip of his tongue.

Relax, Kiyoomi. Ease into it.

That was the smart thing to do. You didn’t just shove a confession at someone out of nowhere—there should be a conversation first, something natural.

“So, uh…” He wracked his brain for something—anything—normal to say. “How’s work?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “It’s fine?”

What the hell was that, Kiyoomi? It was comical how his calm and collected personality seemed to disappear at this moment when he needed it most. Was love always this complicated? Or was it because it was about you?

You tilted your head. “Are you okay?”

No. No, he was absolutely not okay. His fingers tapped anxiously against the small box. The longer he waited, the worse this was getting. His nerves were eating him alive. He could already feel the impending doom of chickening out.

Screw it.

With zero transition or warning, he grabbed the box and shoved it across the table. “Here.”

Goddamn it. 

You blinked in surprise. “For me?”

A stiff nod. This was fine. You’d open it, love it, and then he’d tell you. Smooth. Simple. Foolproof.

Except…

You were taking your sweet time untying the ribbon.

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to do it for you. Why were you so slow? Was this some kind of test? Did you already know he was panicking and just wanted to see him suffer?

Finally, you lifted the lid. Your lips parted as you took out the delicate silver bracelet, the small star charm catching the café’s warm light.

“Oh, Kiyoomi…” You breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

His fingers twitched under the table as your eyes widened slightly. “Wait… this is—”

Kiyoomi looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the café menu on the wall. “Yeah.”

Your fingers traced the charm, realization dawning. “This is the bracelet from that shop at the mall, isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

You turned to him, eyes suspiciously bright. “You went back for it?”

Kiyoomi picked up his coffee, taking a slow sip as if that would somehow make this moment less humiliating. “You wouldn’t stop staring at it.”

“I looked at it for like, five seconds.”

“It was at least fifteen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

This was it. The perfect moment.

He took a breath, preparing to say the words that had been stuck in his chest for way too long.

“I—” He began, but the words he had rehearsed for days were interrupted when a waiter appeared at the table.

“Here’s your order! One vanilla iced latte and one black coffee.”

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might crack a tooth. Not now, man. 

He nodded stiffly as you thanked the waiter. Okay, fine. Minor setback. 

“What were you saying?” You asked after the guy turned around, taking a sip from your drink.

His heart was about to beat out of his chest. Now. Now is the time. Just say it: I like you.

Kiyoomi opened his mouth, determined to do it, but then— 

“Do you need any sugar?”

Oh my god.

Kiyoomi glared at the waiter. Who was back. Did this man have a vendetta against his love life?

He mumbled a half-hearted, “No, thanks.”

“Cream?”

“No, thanks.”

“Any appetizer? We have a special red velvet cake because of Valentine's Day.”

Was this a joke?

“We’re fine.”

“Actually, I want a slice of cake.” You said.

Before the waiter could leave, Kiyoomi muttered, “Make that two.”

The guy finally left, and he was beginning to get irritated by his bad luck.

Just do it now! He scrambled at himself mentally. 

“Y/N, I bought–” He hurried to say, but then the loud hiss from the blender machine drowned out his voice.

Was this the universe making fun of him? 

By now, he was one more interruption away from actually losing it. So, ignoring the annoying noise, he decided to just keep going, “I bought this because–”

“Oh! Look at that dog outside.”

Kiyoomi stopped mid-sentence as you turned to the window, grinning at a fluffy golden retriever wagging its tail on the sidewalk. Are you serious?

But, when he turned back to you, you were watching him with amusement.

You two made eye contact for a few seconds, he blinked, you blinked, and then— you laughed.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

You smirked. “Kiyoomi, don’t be so shy.”

His stomach dropped.

“I like you too.”

For a full three seconds, his brain just ceased to function.

You… what?

His ears burned. His grip tightened on his cup. His entire soul left his body. “You knew?”

You giggled, tapping his hand lightly. “Of course. I actually got something for you too.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small gift box, setting it on the table in front of him. Kiyoomi tried—really tried—not to look too eager as he picked it up and carefully lifted the lid.

Inside was a watch. The watch. The one he had lingered on in the mall that day.

“You looked at it for at least fifteen seconds.” You teased, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

Kiyoomi froze. His fingers tightened around the box as the realization sank in.

You had noticed. Just like he had noticed you staring at the bracelet. You both had thought of each other.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight, his chest oddly warm. He looked up at you, something soft, something real in his gaze.

“This is—”

“Here they are! Two slices of red velvet cake!”

Kiyoomi visibly twitched.

Oh, come on!

[g0dlyunsub]

for the night.

the flight back from a case gets delayed and the team’s forced to book rooms for the night. what a coincidence that you’re paired with spencer.

pairing :: s5!spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: fluff, flustered spencer, this is literally just an excuse to write about spencer with crutches

word count :: 1.7k

author’s note :: one of my favorite tropes asfdfafssfsd we all know where this is going right ;)

accompanying song :: let’s fall in love for the night by finneas

“i have to admit, i am quite surprised. engine failures are extremely rare — statistically, they only occur once every 1.4 million flight hours.”

“uh-huh, very interesting.” you roll your eyes, but the smile that tempts to play on your lips is too overpowering to withhold. 

“it is!” spencer excitedly flashes you a smile. “we’re actually incredibly lucky to avoid an in-flight shutdown, which typically happens once per million flight hours-”

“reid, i think our luck might be running dry here. it’s 1 a.m., the jet’s engines are acting up, and we can’t leave portland.”

you take both of his crutches in your hands with an exasperated sigh. it’s not his fault, and you know better than to project your annoyance at him, but the disappointment of not being able to enjoy a nice, hot shower in the walls of your home has you uptight.

with an apologetic smile, you extend your shoulder to spencer; slowly, he places his hand on you, and you help him carefully descend the jet’s stairs.

the two of you are the last to join the rest of the group on the ground, and hotch sends an acknowledging nod in your direction once he sees that you’ve been assisting spencer. 

“l/n, reid, you guys okay with rooming together for the night?”

the words don’t initially register, and it’s only until spencer speaks up that you realize hotch isn’t asking – he’s confirming.

“we’re rooming in pairs?”

hotch nods, and his sidelong stare roams over spencer’s face like he’s challenging him to continue, to contest his proposal.

“emily? jj?” you pipe up this time, sending a pleading glance at both of them. they look back at you with sheepish smiles. 

“it looked like you guys were having a really good conversation back there. didn’t want to disturb you,” emily returns, slowly raising her shoulders and mouthing sorry.

spencer clears his throat and leans into your ear. “i can probably book a room at another place-”

you widen your eyes and immediately shake your head. “no, that’s not necessary, i’m completely fine with it! unless you’re… not?”

this time, spencer’s the one shaking his head fervently. “oh no, i’m entirely comfortable, perfectly content, uh- sharing a room with you.”

you display an awkward grin. “alright then, perfect.”

—

“i’ll set your bag on the table, is that okay?”

“yeah, thanks a lot.”

you heave a sigh of relief as you close the door behind you and rest spencer’s bookbag on the wooden table. spencer slowly lowers himself into a chair, and you gently lean his crutches against the walls near the door. 

you’re pleasantly surprised by the room’s decor; its soft carpet floor and mahogany picture frames hanging from the walls easily exceed your expectations for a traditional hotel room.

you’re about to make a comment commending the room’s quality when your eyes zero in on a terrifying sight.

there’s only one bed.

you do a double take, circling around the bedroom once more to check if there’s an extra mattress lying around somewhere – at this point, you really wouldn’t mind if the bed has a trundle.

“fuck me.”

“what?” 

spencer’s eyes immediately divert to you, and he stifles his reaction to your comment with a hasty cough.

you point to the bed, which prompts spencer to crane his neck to get a better view. 

“there’s only one bed.”

spencer’s eyes widen, and his gaze snaps up to your face so fast you wonder if you’ve just made a grave mistake of telling him. 

he was bound to find out anyway.

“it’s okay, i’ll take-” you start, but he cuts you off short.

“the floor? not a chance.”

you press your lips together tightly and gesture to his leg. “please, take the bed. your leg… you’re injured.”

spencer looks down at the floor briefly, a light shade of pink spreading across his face. “no, we can… we can share the bed.”

you feel your cheeks grow hot at his suggestion, but a refusal fails to surface on your lips. 

moving your hands to your hips, you nod slowly. “only because you’re insisting,” you murmur.

a brief silence veils the air, and the two of you have utterly no idea what to do next — neither of you wants to be the one to crawl into bed first.

but the clock’s hour hand had just moved past the two, and you know your eyelids aren’t going to stay open for much longer.

with a weary sigh, you gesture towards the lightswitch. “do you mind if we dimmed the lights a little?”

spencer turns, almost hobbling on his leg, and flips the switch for you. the room turns dark almost instantly, but a faint light emanates from a lamp on the nightstand.

“are you, um, going to sleep soon?”

you hate to be the first one to bring it up, but you have to — you can practically feel the tiredness tempting you like a fuzzy blanket.

“uh yeah, we should sleep.” 

you watch as spencer grabs a pillow from his side of the bed and positions it near the edge of the mattress. you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he props himself onto the bed and rests his leg on top of the pillow, elevating his casted knee.

oh. as the realization hits you, you reach for your own pillow and gently place it next to his head. “here, use this.”

“that’s your pillow.” 

“i know.”

a soft chuckle sounds from his throat as spencer raises his head ever so slightly, allowing you to tuck the pillow beneath him.

“thanks,” he murmurs, and pats at the space next to him, urging you to join him on the bed.

once you’ve slipped your feet into the blanket, spencer stretches his arm to turn off the lamp and moves back to whisper a hushed good night into your ear.

you turn to say it back. “good n-”

his hand gently starts to wedge under your neck, and as he moves, strands of your hair coil around his fingers. 

he’s offering his arm as a pillow.

you lie frozen, your breath hitched in your throat, as his arm extends fully beneath you. 

“spence,” you exhale, caught off-guard by the sudden move.

“it’s okay. don’t worry about me,” he softly whispers, inclining his head towards your face.

you smile, though you doubt he can see your face in the pitch-black darkness. 

“sweet dreams,” you hum, and close your eyes to let sleep overtake you.

—

you wake up not to the sound of your alarm, not to the birds usually perched on the tree outside your window, but to the sound of spencer clearing his throat.

you think it’s a dream at first, but you can feel everything — the vibrations coming from his throat like he’s talking to you, his hands stroking a pattern on your back, his breaths tickling your hair.

you open your eyes to see spencer staring back at you with flustered cheeks, his eyes flickering back and forth between your face and… 

you follow his gaze and look down, only to see that your leg’s wrapped casually around his hips, anchoring him to the bed. with a panicked yelp, you immediately retract your leg and leap out of the bed, frantically apologizing to him over and over again.

“i’m so sorry about that, d-did i hurt you?”

your voice sounds scratchy from your parched throat, but how you sound right now is the least of your concerns.

spencer chuckles softly before slowly sitting up. “no, you didn’t do anything.”

you let out a relieved sigh at his response.

spencer grunts as he lifts himself up, tenderly listening to your continued apologies with a warm smile.

“by the way,” he starts, fixing his tie and reaching for his suit jacket, “we're a little late.”

“what?” you gasp, hurriedly tucking your dress shirt into your trousers, “fuck. how late?”

a pause, and then: “five minutes and twenty seconds.”

“oh my god,” you squeal as you fling your and spencer’s bag over your shoulders, “they’re probably all waiting for us.”

quickly turning the doorknob and making way for spencer’s crutches to move past the door, you rush to the elevator and hit the juddering call button.

“next time, you’re-“ you cough out as you try to catch your breath, “-you’re welcome to just push me off the bed. it’s guaranteed to wake me up instantly.”

spencer looks at you questioningly, a small grin spreading across his lips. “next time?”

you clasp a hand over your mouth. “wait no, i meant – hopefully we’ll never have to sleep in a room together ever again, but i’m saying in case-“

spencer tilts his head and lets out an amused laugh. thankfully, the elevator doors open just in time, and you’re spared the trouble of having to explain yourself further.

you bite your lips as the image of his lopsided grin lingers in the back of your mind, and the fresh regret of your words burns your face like a hot fever.

the embarrassment doesn’t end, however, as the doors open once again to reveal your team standing right outside. when the elevator’s chime echoes throughout the lobby, everyone’s heads turn to you and spencer.

you walk out with nervous steps, grimacing when hotch merely nods and announces that the plane is ready for takeoff. spencer makes his way over to derek, who tousles his hair teasingly.

“so, how’d you sleep last night?”

you freeze when rossi’s husky voice drifts into your ears.

you force out a smile. “i definitely could’ve slept better.”

“really?” he hums with a smirk, “i slept like a baby.”

“yeah, you upgraded your room, we get it, you’re rich,” you sigh, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the older agent.

once seated in your usual seat on the jet, you’re accompanied by spencer and morgan, who slump into their seats across from you.

you watch suspiciously as morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you and nudges his elbow into spencer’s sides. “so, late night, huh?”

spencer looks at you briefly, flushed cheeks failing to suppress the smile splaying across his face. 

“shut up.”

[paisleypens]

idk if youve done something like this, but a you posted that with y/n and spencer and theyre having fun but theres an old tweet about how spencer likes y/n!! hope this makes sense <3

winter break stirred up some writing motivation, sorry to everyone who has expected more lol. this is a GENIUS idea anon, tysm <3

yeah, i posted that... | spencer agnew x reader

gender neutral reader, second person, embarrassed spence, real tweets from the boys!!

~~~

You were all in for another shoot on the Smosh Pit set, and today was no ordinary one. The much-anticipated episode of "You Posted That?" featuring Spencer Agnew, Shayne Topp, and you, Y/N, had been scheduled for months. You’d joined Smosh not too long ago after building a successful career as a standalone YouTuber, and this was your first time competing on the popular show. Ian Hecox, as the host, was already hyping up the event with his usual mix of sarcasm and self-deprecating humor.

“Welcome to another episode of ‘You Posted That?’” Ian announced dramatically. “Today, we’ve got three contestants who are about to question their own digital footprint. Please welcome Shayne Topp, Spencer Agnew, and Y/N L/N!”

The small audience on set cheered, and you waved nervously. Spencer, seated next to you, leaned over. “You’re going down,” he teased, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Big words from someone whose tweets are probably all queerbaiting jokes,” you shot back, earning a laugh from Shayne.

“Let’s get started with Round One: ‘You Posted That?’” Ian said with the same exaggerated cadence. “Here’s how it works: we’ll show you one of your posts with a few keywords blanked out. If you can guess the missing words correctly, you get five points. If not, zero points. Got it?”

The first round began with Spencer. The tweet displayed read: “I've had the _____ ____ ___ stuck in my head all day, but only the part where ___ _________ says "___ _ ___ _ ______".” After laughter rang out and a few moments of squirming, it clicked and he guessed “Naked Mole Rat” "Ron Stoppable" and “can I get a booyah” Ian grinned. “Correct!” he exclaimed, as Spencer let out a celebratory “YES!”

Next up was Shayne, whose post read, “______ _____________ > Everything else” Shayne furrowed his brow. “It doesn't fit but... Raisin' Canes?” he guessed, earning howls of laughter when Ian revealed the actual tweet: “Nature Documentaries” Spencer groaned, “Next time just go outside and scream 'I'm smarter than you.”

Then it was your turn. The screen showed, “Me: 'I’m going to bed early tonight.' Also me at 2 AM: Watching _ _____ ______ _ ____ _____” After some thought, you guessed “a woman eating a live squid,” earning you a solid five points. “Weird, but correct!” Ian cheered, as Spencer gave you a playful side-eye. “Real quirky to watch mukbangs,” he muttered. "Look at the year posted!" You laughed back.

The second round of guesses brought even more chaos. Spencer’s next tweet read: “If you _____ ____ _____ while working from home alone, you are a cop” He confidently guessed “wash your hands,” but Ian burst out laughing as he revealed the true answer: “brush your teeth.” Spencer buried his face in his hands as Shayne and you doubled over.

Shayne’s second tweet was equally absurd: “there's no "I" in ____________” He guessed “Unfunny,” but the actual word, “peamupbubber,” had everyone in stitches at the duality.

When it was your turn again, Ian read out: “Why do my plants thrive but not my ______ ______? Asking for a friend.”

"To be clear, this was cute in 2016," and after some embarrassed sighs, you guessed “social life,” earning another five points. Spencer groaned. “Stop being good at this!” he joked.

Then came the final round of tweets. Spencer’s face turned pale as his last post appeared on screen. It read: “If ______ ever gave me a chance, I’d drop everything. Just saying.” The room went quieter, and all eyes turned to him.

“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath.

“Spencer,” Ian said, barely containing his grin. “Care to fill in the blanks?”

Shayne burst out laughing "Dude, don't die on this show of all of them", and you stared at Spencer, your jaw dropping. “Spencer, what is it?” you demanded, though you couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up.

“It was a long time ago! Before you joined Smosh! I didn’t think it would ever come up... its Y/N.” Spencer stammered, his face turning bright red.

“Wait, so you had a little crush on me, huh?” you teased, unable to resist.

“Little is an understatement,” Shayne chimed in, wiping away tears of laughter.

“Well,” Ian said, looking at Spencer with a playful smile, “5 points!”

The room erupted into cheers as Spencer laughed it off, but the embarrassment was clear as day. You kept looking at him, trying to give him the hint, but anytime he saw your bright smile, he turned crimson.

The shoot wrapped up fairly quickly after that, with your other posts being just as recognizable to you. Being the rightful winner you walked out happily, nearly skipping back to your desk next to the games pod. You saw Spencer awkwardly approach your desks before you had a chance to sit down.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about that. I had no idea that tweet even existed anymore... it was just- I don't know. I just hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," He apologized.

You quickly rebutted, "No no not at all, Spence. It was really sweet actually. I have never told you this but I felt the same way when I first joined."

"Wait really?" Spencer looked up at you with surprise and unbelievable relief.

"Might still feel that way now. If you do too?"

"Yes! I mean, yes, I do. I never got over it."

"Your crush on me?"

"Yeah, I posted that for a reason."

[lizthewriter]

like snow on the beach / theodore nott

PAIRING  theodore nott x bubbly!fem!reader

SUMMARY  christmas is your absolute favorite time of the year! the tree, the lights, the music, the food . . . however, to you, the most important thing about christmas is spending it with your loved ones.

your world falls apart when you find out you can't go home for the holidays. you're stuck at hogwarts with a bunch of stuffy professors and zero loved ones. however, you make an unlikely friend who also happens to be stuck at hogwarts for the holidays . . . and you find out he despises christmas. you make it your mission to prove him wrong.

TAGS  theodore nott x bubbly!fem!reader, christmas, holiday cheer, the power of belief, reader loves christmas, this is soooo dash and lily coded, inspired by dash & lily's book of dares, grumpy!theodore nott, simp!theodore nott, i'm a slut for pathetic men 😩

QUOTE  "i've never seen someone so lit from within, / blurring out my periphery, / my smile is like i won a contest, / and to hide that would be so dishonest," - snow on the beach by taylor swift, featuring lana del rey

WORD COUNT  5.7K

WRITTEN  12.4.2023

You shoved your hands in your pockets - despite the fact that you were wearing gloves in this freezing weather, you could still feel the harsh wind nipping at your skin. Here you stood at Hogsmeade station, your friends boarding the train as you watched in discontent. They were all going home for the holidays this year, but you were going to be stuck at Hogwarts. No Christmas tree, no baking gingerbread cookies, no sipping on hot chocolate while snuggled in a warm blanket, no watching holiday movies. Just the freezing cold and your own company.

You plastered a grin on your face when the train began to move and waved to your friends. They bid you their last goodbye from their compartment window. Once the train disappeared from your sight, you trudged your way back up the path to Hogwarts. Well, the sight of the castle was beautiful, in the very least. You could see snow capping the towers and covering the shingles. But even then, it was just another reminder that you were here and not there, at home, with your family. There was only one thing to cheer you up.

-

"Afternoon Madame Pince," you greeted softly as you walked into the library. She sent you a stiff nod in return. While she didn't really like anyone in paticular, she was at least kinder to you than other students.

You knew exactly which books you wanted to cozy up with by a warm, crackling fire. Dashing across the library, you ammassed an entire stack of books, one that was tall enough to obstruct your vision. You waddled through another row, searching the shelves for one paticular title. Spotting it on a high shelf, you found a rolling stool and pushed it with your foot until it was directly under the book you seeked. You tried to place your pile of books somewhere, but it wouldn't fit on the sheleves and you couldn't plop them onto the floor without angering Pince. Stupidly, you decided to step up onto the stool, carrying the pile of books under one arm all while reaching for the desired book. Of course, you should have expected what came after.

You lost your balance, the books tumbling backward out of your arm, the weight of them pulling you down too. You fell off of the stool and expected your head to meet the bookcase behind you, but in your suprise felt someone catch you as your books loudly clattered to the ground.

It took you a moment to catch your breath, to let the adrenaline and fear run it's course before you turned towards your savior. He was tall, devilishly handsome, but with oddly dead eyes. He had an odd way about him - devastatingly beautiful, yet there was this aura of melancholy around him. It was unusually attractive.

"You all right?" He asked, his tone short and gruff.

"Yeah . . . sorry about that. Should've just put my books down somewhere, I suppose."

"What is all this noise?" Madame Pince's striking voice ring throughout the library, her footsteps approaching rapidly. Soon enough, she turned around the corner and let out the most horrified gasp, hand flying to her mouth. She glanced at the two of you with a dark, murderous glare. You suddenly became aware of the fact that his hands were on your shoulders and your back was resting against his chest. "You two! Out of the library at once! I will not have you diabolic teenagers destroying the sanctity of this library! Out! Out!"

She shooed the both of you out of the library and slammed the door in your faces. Now there you were, banned from the library, with no means of proper entertainment. Of course.

Bah humbug, you thought.

"Great," said the boy sarcastically. "As if I have anything else to do now." He sighed and turned around, bumping his head against the wall.

"I'm so sorry!" You squeaked, a blush rising to your cheeks.

"Don't be," he responded, turning back around. "It's not your fault."

Realization struck just then - you recognized him. "Wait . . . you're Theodore Nott, right?"

"You've been stalking me, have you?" His tone was always one of solemnity, so it really wasn't your fault that you couldn't tell he was joking.

"No, of course not, I've just seen you in a few of my classes is all," you responded, quite defensively, but mostly out of embarrassment. "You're in Malfoy's gagle of friends . . . shouldn't you be at home with your family?"

"Shouldn't you?" He returns swiftly.

"Point well taken," you respond with a grimace. He didn't respond and neither did you - what was there to say? You had never really had to interact with him, you weren't friends . . . yet you felt some sort of pull towards him. Like an invisible string that kept you hooked. He did save you from falling to possible death after all. "Well, you know, now that neither of us have anything to do, we could . . . I don't know, hang out or something?"

"Why?"

You arched a brow at him. "You got anything better to do?"

A flash of a smile flitted across his face. "Point well taken."

-

You were once again snuggled in a large coat, a knit hat atop your head and a large wool scarf pooling out of your jacket. Theodore's hands were shoved into the pockets of his thick, plaid trench coat. His hair billowed in the wind as the two of you wandered the ground, snow falling around you.

"So!" You jumped in front of him and began to walk backwards, keeping the same pace as before. "What is your absolute, favorite part about Christmas?"

Theo simply shrugged. "I don't have one." Your jaw almost dropped to the floor - how could he not have a favorite part about Christmas? Christmas, to you, represented love, family, and compassion. You loved everything about it: the tree, the lights, the music, the food, the presents. In fact, there wasn't one thing you could pick as your favorite because you adored all of Christmas too much.

Your shocked expression didn't seem to suprise Theodore in the slightest. "You don't have one?" You reiterated in disbelief, stopping. He jolted when you stopped walking, the two of you damn near as close as you were in the library. "But it's Christmas?" Theodore shrugged again. "You don't like Christmas?"

"No, truthfully . . . my family doesn't really do Christmas," he responded begrudgingly, glancing out at the Forbidden Forest as though he were disinterested. Really, he just didn't want to get into detail about his personal matters.

"Oh," you could only respond. Now that you thought of it, you could only imagine what Nott had to deal with at home, being a pureblood and all that. You knew that a lot of pureblood families were abusive and strict.

Suddenly, everything became clear. His family may not do Christmas, but you certainly do . . . you want him to feel the Christmas spirit that you do. Doesn't he deserve to understand exactly what the holidays are all about?

He tilted his head in curiosity as a grin spread across your rosy cheeks. Your eyes glittered with excitement and something akin to child-like wonder. "You know what? No. I'm going to prove to you that Christmas is the best time of the year."

Nott let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He kicked at the snow, staring down at the ground as he shook his head. "I don't think you can."

"Do I hear Theodore Nott turning down a challenge?" You asked, cupping your ear with a mock judgemental expression. "Are you scared that I'm right, is that what it is?"

Nott sighed, biting back a grin as he finally met your eyes. "Fine. But I'm telling you now, it's not going to work."

"Oh, we'll see."

-

Theodore would be lying if he said he hasn't had his eye on you. How could he not? How could anyone not? You were quite literally the most outgoing person in your year. You were friends with mostly everyone, give a select few, and participated in many different student organizations. You were modest yet brash, kind yet firm, intelligent yet open-minded. You weren't afraid to speak your mind, even if it made you unpopular with certain crowds. He admired that about you.

So admittedly, the main reason he had gone to the library was in hopes that you'd be there. He's trying building up the courage to talk to you in the past, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Must be the reason why he's not a Gryffindor.

He felt an odd feeling in his chest when he saw you - as if he were so light he could float away, but also regurgitate his lunch all over the hundreds-year old carpet. He built himself up in his head and finally followed you into the rows of bookcases. When he saw you struggling with your pile of books, he froze, insecurities clouding his mind like a thunderstorm hurtling through his head. But when you were about to fall down, he instantly forgot whatever he had been thinking about and jumped to your rescue. Catching you, feeling you pressed against his chest, his nose burrowed in your sweet-smelling hair, he couldn't help but feel his heart beating incredibly fast and hard.

Finally, when the two of you were outside touring the grounds and you had so optimistically wanted to prove to him that Christmas was the best time of the year . . . he couldn't help but want you to prove him wrong.

That's why he was fussing over his hair as he stared in the bathroom mirror, tilting his head back and forth. It took him a whole ten minutes before he decided his hair would never comply and threw on his favorite plaid trench coat. You hadn't told him where the two of you were going, but he trusted that you weren't trying to pull anything funny.

You turned around as he exited the Slytherin dorm, the portrait slamming close behind him. He felt his stomach twist nervously as he looked at you - you were dressed rather festively, wearing a short green and red plaid skirt along with a mahogany turtleneck. Mini ornament earrings hung from your hears, gently bobbing as you turned to face him with an excited smile.

"Ready? Wonderful!" You exclaimed. "Come on, let's go!" He joined your side as you began walking at a brisk pace up the stairs. You lead him outside, chattering about holiday traditions you and your family had. He couldn't help but be enraptured by you - the way your eyes twinkled with joy and your hands gestured feverishly. Your bright rosy cheeks and how your scarf made them look plump and adorable.

"Oh, sorry, I've been rambling on so much you haven't even been able to get a word in!" You said, chuckling nervously, hoping that he wasn't annoyed with you.

"No, I like listening to you talk," he assured you pointedly. "Go on."

"But -"

"Honestly. I don't mind."

He could see your shoulder visibly sag with relief and you continued to explain to him as you walked down stone steps towards a small little hut next to the forest.

"What's that?" He asked you, gesturing to the hut.

"You'll see," you replied with a secretive smile. Once you were standing on the front steps of the house, the sound of a dog barking resonated from within. You knocked on the door with force, three times.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'!" A gruff voice responded from within. "Oi Fang, back! Get back, you mangy mutt!" Suddenly, the door swung open and Theodore was taken aback. Before him was a man towering at eight and half feet, a long, gangly beard running down his front, and a rather excited dog at his heel. "Ah right! You told me you were coming down today - and you've brought a friend I see!" The giant man turned towards Theodore with a friendly smile. "Rubeus Hagrid - I be the Groundskeeper. Ah! Don't want to keep you two out here in the cold - come, inside! Inside!"

He ushered the both of you into his hut, which was rather quaint. While Theo's eyes danced across the hut, you were already removing your coat and making yourself comfortable. His eyes fell upon a pine tree sitting in the corner, as well as a pile of boxes sitting next to it. He glanced back towards you and found you placing a kettle on the gas stove and setting out three teacups.

"I thought we'd start with one of my most favorite traditions - decorating the tree. Hagrid keeps a tree in his hut and he's asked me to help him decorate this year!"

"Them boxes over there are filled with ornaments!" Hagrid told them, gesturing to the boxes. Theodore noticed that the dog (Fang, he supposed it's name was) had approached you with a wagging tail and you had bent down to pepper kisses all over it's face. "I really appreciate youse two's help! Tha's why I made some of my famous rock cakes for ya to take back up wit' ya to the castle!"

"Thanks Hagrid, that's really nice of you!" Hagrid handed you a large, bulky package wrapped in a floral tablecloth. You placed it inside the bag you had brought with you. All the while Theodore watched as Hagrid slung some kind of bag around his shoulder and called Fang to join him by the door.

"O' course! Just remember to eat them while they're fresh!" He exclaimed with a chuckle. "Don' want 'em too hard. Ah, anyways, must get going. I've got to do my rounds about the grounds with Fang. You two young'uns have fun."

"Bye Hagrid!" You said as he closed the door behind him, offering a cheery wave. Once Hagrid left, you went back into the kitchen to remove the whistling kettle from the stove and pour the two of you some tea. "Here you go," you said slowly, more focused on not spilling the tea you were handing to Theo than what you were saying.

He took a sip of the tea, swallowed it, and then stared down at the yellowed water. You watched him in amusement, holding back your laughter. "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it."

He placed the cup back down on the table. "That is absolutely abominable," he told you with a sour look, pushing the cup towards you. You laughed, placing down your cup as well.

"It's not the most delicious thing I've ever tasted, but Hagrid found these incredibly rare plants in the forest with healing properties! So he's been using them for tea."

"How did you come about to be friends with the Groundskeeper, I wonder." Theodore pulled out one of the kitchen stools, rather large in comparison to himself. It wasn't easy to sit atop it, but in the end he triumphed over the chair.

You shrugged in response, taking another sip of your tea. "Well, Harry, Ron, and Hermione have known him for ages so they introduced me as well. People are kind of - I don't know - weird about him, but he's honestly lovely and gentle. He's not anything like he seems at first glance." Moving on from that topic, you clapped your hands together excitedly and ran over to the pile of ornament boxes. You separated and opened each and every box, displaying all the different ornaments. Theo approached, scrutinizing the glass balls with the tilt of his head.

"Some of these are . . . interesting, I must say." He grabbed an ornament of a brown bear and turned it around in his hand. You plucked the bear from his hand, placing it back in the box. In your other hand was a long string of tinsel.

"There are a few rules to decorating the tree," you started, walking backwards towards the mantle over the fireplace. You flipped on the radio, Celestina Warbeck's "Nothing Like a Holiday Spell," softly playing in the background. "First, you must listen to Christmas music. Second -" You held up the tinsel in your hand. "- you always do the lights and/or tinsel first. Okay? So, I'm going to need help wrapping this around the tree. I'll stand on one side and wrap it around my half, then I'll hand it to you so you can wrap around your half and you give it back to me, all right? Sound good?"

Theo nodded - this didn't seem too hard, nor unenjoyable. You didn't notice, too caught up in your jolly Christmas spirit to notice the way Nott was fondly watching you humming under your breath, tinsel trailing on the ground behind you as you stood on the opposite side of the tree. Standing on your tip-toes, you leaned up to wrap the tinsel around the top branch but struggled. When he noticed you were getting nothing out of your efforts, Theo walked behind you and grabbed the tinsel out of your hand. His chest was pressed against your back as he reached up with ease and wrapped the tinsel around the first branch.

You froze when he had come up behind you, a blush painting your cheeks. It wasn't your fault he had decided to come so close and that he was so damn attractive. You did your best to hide how flustered you suddenly felt, no matter how dimly veiled.

He didn't seem to notice, preoccupied with wrapping the tinsel around the top area of the tree that you were too short to reach. "Uh, thanks. Just, um, when you're wrapping the tinsel, make sure you don't wrap it too tight or too close to another row, okay?"

"I'll keep that in mind," he responded absent-mindedly, brows furrowed as he gave his task the upmost attention. He wanted to make the tree look perfect, just for you. He was trying to figure out how he should space the rows - as of now, are they too close together or too far apart? Maybe he should separate them a little.

"Don't think too much about it. It's not supposed to be perfect," you said, as though reading his thoughts. You grabbed the tinsel and began to wrap it around again. You handed it to Nott, who wrapped it around his side of the tree and handed it back to you. "It's supposed to look imperfect and wonky and unusual - that's what makes it your Christmas tree. Trying to make it look perfect takes all the fun out of it."

"So . . . the uniqueness is what makes it special?" he asked as he took the tinsel from you yet again. You were pretty special . . . unique. You stood out from your peers. Maybe that's why he was attracted to you - all his life, he was pushed for excellence. He was pushed to be perfect all the time and finding someone like you, so free-spirited and imperfect, well . . . he couldn't help but admire you.

"Yeah, exactly!" When you handed him the tinsel again, you said, "well, we're getting near the bottom. Just hand me the - yeah, the tinsel." You took the tinsel again and bent down as you wrapped it around the bottom of the tree. He followed you to the other side of the tree, preparing to finish the job once you passed the tinsel to him. "And I'll just finish this - oh!"

He hadn't realized you were planning on finishing the tinsel yourself and the two of you walked straight into each other. Your noses accidentally brushed together, your lips only centimeters away from his. You noticed an odd sort of glance in his eyes. It disappeared only a second later, but you were certain you saw it. A hunger, a longing. Like he wanted to kiss you.

"Sorry," he mumbled, not moving from where he was bending down.

"Yeah," you said breathlessly, quickly standing straight and clearing your throat. It must have been a flicker of light - there was no way the Theodore Nott liked someone like you. He was prim and proper, you were disorganized and eccentric. Not exactly a match made in heaven, especially in the eyes of his parents. "Sorry . . ."

-

You couldn't think clearly after that - all that was on your mind was a tall, quiet, brown-haired Slytherin boy who hated Christmas. But his especially those lips of his. Pink, full, just begging for a moment of your attention. Scenes in your mind played our what could have happened if either of you had made a move. Many ended with both of you in rather interesting positions.

Maybe it had just been you. Or maybe there was a spark there. You hoped, you dreamed, that he was feeling exactly how you were. You held onto this hope as you left your common room and rushed down the Grand Stairs to the Great Hall. You had another grand adventure in mind.

"What is on the roster for today?" Theodore had asked when you met him by the tall, oak doors of the Great Hall. The two of you set off towards the courtyard path.

"It's a suprise, silly!"

"Ah, suprises."

"What, you don't like suprises?"

"I didn't say that."

"How can you not like suprises?"

-

"If you don't mind me asking . . . why aren't you home for the holiday break?" Theodore asked as you slowly made your descent into Hogsmeade. He was kicking at the snow with his feet, secretly nervous. "You're not usually here."

"You've been stalking me, have you?" You replied with a wicked grin, remembering your first encounter. Theo flushed a bright red, his ears turning an especially poinsettia-like red. "I'm just joking." You sighed, your grin turning to a dismal frown. "Yeah, usually I'm at home for the holi's, but my parents are both away on buisness for work . . . so I had to stay here this year."

"You don't want to," he stated simply. You grimaced, shaking your head.

"Nope. I just want to sleep in my bed, my real bed, and wake up home on Christmas morning, surrounded by my family. But I'm stuck here." You sighed - talking about this didn't make you feel much better. You decided to brighten things up, sending a grin Theo's way. "At least I have you, Nott."

He stopped you. "Theo," he said, staring at you with those dark, alluring hazel eyes. "It's what all my friends call me," he added sheepishly.

The corners of your lips curled up, your heart fluttering like a fall leaf in the wind. "Theo," you repeated softly. "Well, Theo . . . perfect timing. We're here." You looked towards the shop on your right, the exterior wood painted a forest green with faded lettering. The window was frosted over, Hamilton depicting the festive scene inside. Warm fairy lights floated around the window, a variety of holiday-themed presents and objects on display not three inches from their eyes. "Holiday store. Perfect for getting gifts and getting in the holiday cheer."

"This was here all this time?" Theo asked.

You made a grand gesture towards the entire road you were standing upon. "I like to call this the Forgotten District. Great stores, but only the locals come here really. A fair few students know of it, but not many. Let's go inside."

You swung open the door, keeping it open with your foot as you entered so that Theo could enter right behind you. Though the ceilings were low and the room was so filled with whimsical trinkets and do-dads that it did feel a bit tight inside. "Hi Fred, how're you doing?"

"Good, good, and you?" Replied the man standing at the registers. He was a rosy-cheeked, middle-aged man with a round belly who looked rather friendly indeed. Almost like Saint Nicholas come to life.

"Great! This is my friend Theo! I'm introducing him to Christmas."

"Introducing him?" Fred responded in disbelief, looking towards Theo as though he were a puppy that had been ran over by a car. "My dear boy, you must have a look around. Take any one item you'd like with you, for free, I insist."

"Thank you, sir." As Theo gradually made his way into the shop, scrutinizing every little object, whether it was a spinning top or a rocking chair. You sent Fred a wide grin behind Theo's back, gesturing towards him with excitement. When Theo turned around, you stopped and quickly made your way to his side.

"Find anything eye-catching?" You asked, your exuberant mood quite obvious to all who could see you. You were grinning, watching Theo with that child-like wonder, standing on the balls of your feet while you took a good look at the place. You let out a gasp and grabbed a cute snowman mug. "Look at this! This is cute. You know, Mrs. Weasley would probably love this."

While you began to chatter on, grabbing various items and displaying them to him with starry-eyes, he couldn't help but watch with a sense of fondness. At some point, you realized he was staring at you oddly and paused. "What?" You asked with an awkward laugh, wiping your mouth with edge of your sleeve. "Is there something on my face?"

Unsure how to recover from having so blatantly worn his heart on his chest, looks away from you, his gaze void of any emotion now. "Nothing."

-

With each passing day, his fondness and adoration for you grew. You were so bright and exuberant, so careless in the way you bestowed that angelic smile of yours upon anyone. He felt honored, still, that he was a receptor of one.

You had begun to spend a lot of time together. Sneaking into the library and nabbing plenty of reading material, wandering about the castle and grounds, stealing food from the kitchens. However, whatever else you had planned to convince him that Christmas was indeed, gay with yuletide cheer, had not yet occurred.

You both were spread along couches by the fire in the Slytherin Common room, void of people except for the both of you. You laughed and talked until your lungs couldn't handle the action anymore - he was the first to fill the silence.

"My mother . . . she had loved Christmas," Theo said softly, his head still hanging off the couch. "As soon as November 1st came around, she would pull the decorations out of the cellar and start putting them up. Father insisted that she let the house elves do it, but she was firm in the belief that decorating was a holiday tradition that we should all celebrate together. It was her favorite time of year."

His tone sounded almost . . . sad. You pushed yourself onto your elbows and watched him. His eyes were just glazed over, water bubbling at the edges of his vision. "Your mother -"

"She's dead," he said in an empty tone of voice. Suddenly, as though realizing himself, he wiped his eyes and sat up. "Sorry, I don't really talk about that with anyone. I shouldn't have -"

"No, no, it's okay," you assured him with a kind smile. "I don't mind. Tell me more about your mom, she sounds really cool."

He hesitated, fidgeting with his fingers, before he ran his hand through his hair and leaned back on the couch. "One year when I was a young boy, she got me Fiabe italiane a cara di Italo Calvino for Christmas, or Italian Folklores by Italo Calvino. She would read it to me every night. After my mother . . . died, my father tried to erase everything that reminded him of her. Including that book."

"Oh no," you whispered, a hand hovering over your mouth.

He gave you a grimaced smile. "Yeah, but it's been so many years . . . I don't really care that much anymore, it's not a big deal."

To you, however, it seemed like a very big deal.

-

On Christmas morning, you woke up extra early and gathered your presents. You knew you looked ridiculous - hair frizzy and wild, still dressed in pajamas, presents flying in the air behind you. Finally, you entered the Slytherin common room and clambered up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, finding Theo's room.

Your pounding upon the door startled him awake and he practically ran to the door to yell at whoever decided to wake him at this ungodly hour. Instead, he found someone he didn't expect to be there at all - you.

"Merry Christmas Theo!" You shouted in excitement, throwing your arms around his neck. In your fervor, your focus was drawn away from the hovering presents and they soon clattered to the floor. He swung an arm around you, envolping himself in you, but you pulled away too soon to look back at your presents. "Oops."

"Merry Christmas," he responded, quite late due to the fact thatft he had just woken up. He opened the door wide so you could enter, and you sauntered inside with your presents hovering behind you once more. You say down on the floor, placing your presents gracefully down in front of you. He closed the door and turned to see you watching him expectantly.

He hadn't opened presents with anyone before, at least, not since his mother was alive. He had thought at first that he would be upset, you falling into his life and pushing him back into the world of Christmas . . . but he found that he actually enjoyed your company. More than he liked to admit. "Do you . . . want to open presents together?"

You flashed him a toothy grin. "Why else did you think I came over here, silly? Come on!" You patted the ground in front of you.

He shuffled over, gathering the small cluster of presents by his bed next to yours, and seating himself on the ground. "You go first."

"All right then." You grabbed an oddly-shaped parcel that looked like a lump of under-cooked bread. You unwrapped it with care, making sure not to tear the packaging. You pulled out a forest green sweater with the initial of your name and a container filled with mince pies. "It's from Mrs. Weasley! She knits sweaters every year for all her kids and their friends." You raised it to your nose with a content sigh. "Smells like her cooking too. All right, now you go on!"

Theod can't remember the last time he had recieved a homeade present, from someone so kind and motherly. He pulled a neatly-wrapped parcel towards him and unwrapped it, revealing a set of books he'd been wanting for a while. From Blaise. Don't go reading it all at once :)

"See? Opening presents can be fun!" The two of you continued to unwrap presents, chatting about what you had gotten. Finally, a wrapped present sat in front of you - both of you stared at it.

"You're not going to open it?" Theo asked. You shook your head with a knowing smile, pushing it towards him bashfully.

"Actually . . . it's for you," you said slowly with a nod of your head. Nervously, you glanced at him, trying to read his expression. He looked rather . . . confused.

"You didn't have to get me anything," he said, pulling the present into his lap. He stared down at it stubbornly, because he felt too guilty accepting a present from you.

"Oh go on, open it!" You encouraged, nudging him. He couldn't help but smile at your excitement, nothing the way you fidgeting in anticipation.

"All right, all right," he responded, raising his hands in mock defense. He untied the ribbon and gently unwrapped the present, making sure not to tear the paper. He froze once he saw what was sitting in his lap, staring up at him.

You watched him with trepidation. You didn't go to far, did you? You hoped that - well, you weren't sure what you hoped, but you wanted him to treasure the gift. You wanted him to say something, but didn't dare question him. You were afraid of his reaction.

"Fiabe italiane," he spoke softly, running his fingers along the spine of the book. It didn't have the weathered grooves his mother's copy had, but it felt like home. He turned towards you with an expression of disbelief. "How - you didn't have too -"

You offered a sheepsih shrug. "I wanted too. You sounded so . . . happy when you talked about your mother. But also sad, so I thought this might cheer you up. Brighten up Christmas a bit."

Theo kept staring at you with an odd expression - you weren't sure what to expect from him. You certainly didn't expect his lips to smash against yours, resting his hand on your thigh. The suddenness of the kiss left you in shock, unable to move. He took this as a sign that you were uncomfortable and unreceptive. But, as soon as he pulled away, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and tender. You couldn't help but smile as you pulled away and you noticed that his eyes had lost that melancholic darkness and was instead replaced with something much more merry.

"I think I'm starting to like Christmas."

You giggled, bringing a wide grin to his usually stoic face. "C'mere," you said, pulling him into a cuddle. "As long as I'm here, I will make sure that every Christmas you have is filled with love and comfort. All right?"

He glanced up from where you had buried his face in your shoulder. "You're amazing, you know that?" He asked, starry-eyed.

You offered a mock uncaring shrug. "I know." You were both silent before you burst out into laughter. "I'm not." As Theo started to protest, you interrupted him. "No really! I'm not, I'm just showing you what a caring relationship is like."

"I still think you're amazing." He paused. "I'm glad we ran into each other."

You glanced down at him and brushed the hair out his face, pecking him on the nose. "Me too."

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XXIV/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et @aliciax3

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, trauma (the Holocaust), mentions of death

A/N: apologies for leaving y'all hanging with the last chapter my darlings, that was NOT supposed to be a cliffhanger, but this fic really be doing what this fic wants. Anyway, enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Webster pushed the door open, hesitant, sneaking an unsure glance over his shoulder to me. The room was silent; the warm daylight had forsaken the place, casting long shadows across the walls.

To my surprise, Skinny stood by the window, his arms crossed, watching the sun set on the horizon. Not too far from the brunette, Joe sat at the edge of a table, one boot propped up on a chair; his head snapped up at the footsteps, impatient eyes locking on Webster first, then narrowing as he registered me standing behind him.

"What's this?" Joe's hostile inquiry brought Skinny's attention toward us, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

"Thought I'd bring someone along." Webster said weakly, trying to keep the tension from boiling over too soon.

"You're in this too?" I zeroed in on Skinny, pointing at both Joe and Web.

Sisk pushed himself off the windowsill, mouth open like he was about to give some kind of explanation. Joe didn't give him a chance to do so.

"The hell is she doing here?"

"Talk some sense into you." My response was immediate and cutting, almost second nature after going down the same road for nearly three years.

Joe scoffed, turning his head away. "You gotta be kiddin' me." No one got a word in before he jolted off the table's edge, his boots stomping on Webster's direction. Luckily, Skinny seemed to be as worried as I was about drawing unnecessary attention to the four of us, and caught Joe's bicep before he could go too far. "What'd you do, run to her like some rat?"

Webster flinched, but stood his ground. "I didn't want this in my conscience."

"In your conscience. In your f—" Joe snapped out of Skinny's grip, making the latter curse under his breath and turn away from the scene while the translator stalked in Webster's direction.

I rushed to move between them, placing a firm hand against Joe's chest to hold him back without meeting his glare. "Don't even think about it."

I felt him burn a hole into me before he shook me off, his jaw tightening as he backtracked. "You think you can just barge in here and—"

"I didn't barge in." My palm was still up, not trusting Joe's volatility to stay back.

"Yeah, right. My bad. This bitch got you in." A double look at Webster was enough for him to retaliate. My hand crashed with his chest again, feeling his hammering heartbeat for a split second before Skinny's grasp yanked him back.

"Calm. Down." Sisk urged his friend in a concerned whisper.

"Fuck you." He slapped Skinny's had away, making him pinch his nose in resignation. "You shouldn't be here," Joe walked back to me, shortening the distance without getting too close. "so why don't you get the hell out?"

"No one's getting out." I uttered, gaze unyielding while meeting him head-on.

Joe's nostrils flared, one of his hands rubbing his forehead as if I was a headache he was desperate to get rid of. "This isn't your business, okay? You don't understand—"

"I don't understand?" My voice rose, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Quit acting like you were the only one who set a foot on that damn camp!" It was louder than I intended, but backing out would mean giving him the upper hand. "'Cause that's what this is about, isn't it?"

"It's not about the fucking camp."

"You're making this personal." Webster joined in, attempting to one-up Joe's temper with a higher moral ground. The wrong thing to do.

"Web, stay out of—"

"I'm not making shit personal." Joe interrupted me, trying to get past me again, which earned him a push that backed him half a step. Anger flared behind his pupils. "Fuckin' push me again." He challenged me, wound up too tight to think clearly. "C'mon, sweetheart, try me."

"No, you try me!" I snapped. "You think I have the time and patience to play nurse with you? Sneaking out on these half-assed missions—”

"It's not sneaking if I got orders." Joe shot back, his voice rising to match mine.

"Cut the bullshit." I said, stepping closer, daring him to deny it. Joe’s eyes darted away, and I chose another subject to shoot the interrogation at. "Sisk, whose orders? Don't look at him." I warned, seeing him search for Joe's silent approval. "Whose orders."

Webster shifted uneasy; Skinny craned his neck to scan the man behind me before carefully speaking up. "Look, maybe we should—"

"Shut the fuck up, Skinny." Joe snapped, his focus back on me. "What's your angle here, Y/n?"

"My angle is that it's not up to you to play judge, jury, and executioner with every fucking Nazi in Europe." I spat, doing my best to keep both my temper and apprehension at bay. "We're talking war crimes here, Joe."

He snickered, lacking amusement. "You think I haven't done worse?"

"You think you've done worse? Really?" I retorted, my voice quieter but no less forceful. "And you're carrying this around—" my pointer looped on the chain around his neck to give the charm a tug. "like it's a— what? A trophy?"

Joe's hand smacked mine away from his dog tags, making them dangle over his chest. "Don't touch me." looked away, his jaw tight, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You don't get it."

"Then make me get it!" I yelled, my frustration spilling over. "Explain to me why you think this is your job and not the MP's."

There was no answer for it; at least not one that would justify his actions, fueled by a kind of rage and grief I would never fully understand.

"Lieb," Skinny broke the painful silence, almost soft in his worry. "Y/n's got a point. Why don't we sit down for a minute and—"

Joe didn't wait to hear it. Didn't want to. He bumped my shoulder and walked past me. With a frustrated huff, I yanked the collar of his jacket and deliberately put myself back in his path. "You're not going."

"I said don't touch me."

"And I said you're not going."

"The hell I'm not." Joe fought to move forward, but my grip was tight on his clothes.

"It's a fucking order." I sternly stated through gritted teeth. "This is an actual order, by the way. So stand down."

The weight of my rank hung heavy among the four of us. His lips pressed into a thin line, his chest heaving with barely contained vexation.

"You're really gonna pull rank on me?" he asked, his voice constrained with something dangerously close to betrayal.

"If that's what it takes to keep you out of it, yes, I am." I held his glare, unwavering, burying the apologies under a pile of detachment.

For a moment, it felt like the room would implode under the sheer weight of the tension. Joe's eyes bored into mine, a storm of emotions raving just beneath the surface.

"Fuck this." He gave in, turning heel to grab his cartridge belt from the chair, slinging it over his shoulder as he turned toward the door. "You're never gonna learn to mind your own fuckin' business." He muttered just for me to hear, and walked out into the hall.

The air felt uneasy.

Webster let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a while, glancing at me with a mix of relief and guilt. "Thank you." he murmured.

I shook my head, waving vaguely at the entrance's general direction. "Go get some rest."

He didn't need to be told twice. Skinny followed Webster, but vacillated right before exiting the room. I caught the ominous hesitation, and braced for whatever he had to say.

"Speirs." He stated, clicking the door shut and turning to me. "He gave the order. Found the man, tracked him down. Told Lieb to grab a couple of soldiers."

I plopped down on the nearest chair, my breath catching in my throat. "He had direct orders?" My voice was considerably weaker, almost panicked. "Did you just let me bypass an officer?" Breath in. Breath out. I buried my face in my hands.

Did I just bypass Speirs?

"No, he—" Skinny rubbed the back of his neck. "He had direct orders the first time. Now he's just... doing it. I don't know if Speirs knows. I didn't wanna ask."

My jaw dropped at the confession. "What the fuck, Skinny?"

"I thought... I don't know, Y/n. I thought he needed this." He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It got out of hand." He didn't seem to find it in himself to look at me in the eye. "I didn't want you to get dragged into it."

The explaination was easily read like an apology—one I didn't expect nor deserved. I simply tilted my head at the door as a dismissal, and he took the cue quietly and without a goodbye.

I was left on my own, with my hands covering my face and my mind buzzing, wondering who had given me the right to intervene at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wasn't looking for Joe when we crossed each other in the dark hallway with my wristwatch nearly striking midnight. After three days of receiving the silent treatment, it would have been a stupid move to go after him. But there he was—shoulders stiff when he purposefully bumped me on his way to the stairs.

He didn't spare me a single glance. Yet, I found myself asking, "Where are you going?" A wary whisper, careful not to wake anyone. He didn't slow down, blatantly pretending not to hear me. "Joe, c'mon."

"Can't even go for a walk without you giving me the third degree now?" he muttered, more venom than volume.

Right.

I unconsciously stepped after him. "Don't you get I was trying to help you?"

That stopped him. Slowly, he spun, hands in his pocket and a half puzzled, half offended, as I he was taking umbrage at my inquiry.

"Fuck you and your help."

The words hit like a slap. I felt the sting behind my ribs, where guilt had already been making a home.

"Fuck me?" I repeated, trying to catch up to the moment. "I get you out of trouble and all I get is a 'fuck you'?"

"What, you want a thank you?"

"I want you to think things through for once."

He stormed back toward me in three long strides, heat radiating off him. His face was inches from mine, and though he kept his voice low, it still managed to shake something loose in me.

“You think I didn't? You think I was going on a whim? You saw what they did," he hissed. "You saw it. All of it. The women's camp, those girls. The kids. My fucking people, Y/n."

"Webster's right," I pointed out the obvious, hoping for him to listen to me. "you made it personal."

"I had every right to make it fucking personal."

"I didn't say you didn't." I clarified, struggling to keep my hands from fidgeting.

"And you pull that move," he pointed his index at me, puncturing my chest with it to emphasize his words, "like you got some kind of moral high ground over me. Like I'm some kid you gotta scold."

I took a breath to center myself despite the racing of my heart and the weight of everything I hadn't said pressing down on my tongue.

"It's not—" sigh. "I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean?" His eyes gleamed with something sharp that promised pain. "Which part? 'Cause you said a lot of shit. But now that we're alone, I'm sure you didn't mean any of it, right?" His voice wavered with sarcasm; the kind that hid pain like a trap hid teeth.

I folded my arms over my chest—a way to guard myself in case the argument took a turn towards that dark corner in my heart I couldn't afford acknowledging. "What exactly are we talking about here?"

"Nothing. We're talking 'bout nothing. Like always, right?" He let out a single laugh, humorless and gone, and stepped back just enough to make it worse. "Is this the part when we go to your room and I fuck you 'till you forget you're supposed to hate me?"

I froze, his careless words cutting deeper than I had expected. My mouth opened, but the thoughts tangled. "That's not funny." I managed, throat tight with fear and pain.

Joe stared at me, something hollow in his eyes threatening to swallow us both. "Wasn't trying to be."

I shook my head, barely. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I overstepped. But if you thought I'd just let you go around killing people—"

"Killing Nazis," he corrected, voice like flint.

"Killing people, Joe."

My forced calmness struck a nerve harder than any remark would. He came closer again, until I could see the red bleeding into his tired eyes.

"You call them people," he said, barely breathing the words, "I call them fucking monsters. How can you even— you f…" He paused, scanning the hallway to make sure we were completely alone. "You fucking held me through it," he whispered, voice breaking in a different way. "You know what it did to me, and now you're—what? What are you doing? Pretending they're just soldiers like you and me? Acting like—"

"I'm trying not to lose you to a war that's already over!" My voice shattered on the last word, and a lump burned in my throat. Something inside me broke right down the center, and neither of us had time to name it before a tear slipped down my cheek.

I wiped it fast.

He saw it anyway.

"You can't lose what you don't fucking have, alright?" He sentenced, cold and final. "You gotta learn to stay in your damn lane, Y/n."

And just like that, he walked away.

I stood there, arms crossed tight across my chest, the lump still lodged in my throat, fighting to pretend this had been just another spat with a guy who knew too well how to get under my skin. Nothing more. Nothing worth breaking over.

[wcbblife]

You & Me

a/n: finally finished my pazzi draft yall... hope you enjoy

Warnings: kinda nsfw at the end so read at your own risk.

Summary: Paige can't help but get a little a jealous when she sees Azzi with another man. So, she decides to talk to her.

_

Paige knew it wasn’t her place. It really wasn’t.

But she couldn't suppress the ugly feeling tugging at her heart as she watched Azzi double over in laughter while talking to someone—a freshman—from the men’s team. The way Azzi's fingers lightly caressed his bicep to stop the flow of jokes spilling from his lips. The way he smiled at her, letting his other hand land on top of hers.

It was only when Aubrey nudged her shoulder and whispered, "You’re staring too hard, bro," that Paige finally broke out of her trance.

She knew she shouldn’t storm up to them and separate them with a nasty shove to the guy. She knew she should just sit tight and look pretty while the cameras were likely pointed toward her or the dancers in front of her. The nails on her hands were digging into her arm, no doubt leaving marks. She just couldn't tear her eyes away, no matter how hard she tried.

“What?” Paige cleared her throat, suddenly feeling shy. Her tough exterior would only get her so far with her best friend, who knew her too well.

“I said the three-point contest is about to start.” Aubrey snickered, walking away to join the blue team.

“Shut up,” Paige murmured, following closely behind. By the time she got together with her team, Azzi was lost in the sea of white and dark blue, and Paige had no way of knowing if the man was still close to her. She didn’t get any time to sit and think about it, being whisked around to get ready for the contest.

Almost immediately, she hears the sounds of the net swishing and the basketballs hitting the rims. After a bit, her eyes land on none other than Azzi. She watches closely as Azzi makes shot after shot with little to no problem, much to the amusement of the crowd. The smile on Azzi’s face after releasing the last ball makes Paige swoon, and she glances around, hoping that it would help the blood pooling in her cheeks to dissipate.

The only problem is that she sees Azzi moving back to let the next participant go, the man steps up to her, nudging her shoulder, and leaning down due to their significant height difference to whisper something. Paige knows it's a compliment or something along the lines of “I could never do that,” as she watches Azzi’s dimples just barely show.

The feeling gnaws even harder at Paige, causing her to drum her fingers impatiently against her thighs and her jaw to tighten. She can't help but notice how Azzi never moves away, and how they seem to brush against each other every time they sway side to side while waiting for the contest to finish.

Caroline walks up to them and starts a conversation, which—much to Paige’s relief—causes him to move away a bit. Azzi’s eyes move between the two before finally locking onto Paige, who is still staring. Azzi smiles at something Caroline says, licking her lips and fixing her pants, still zeroed in on Paige. This causes Paige’s heart to thrum uncontrollably in her ribcage, even when Azzi’s eyes go back to Caroline and the guy.

It knocks what little patience and focus Paige had straight out of her body.

“Dude! Seriously, how many times do I have to call you to stop gawking?” Aubrey stands in front of her with an incredulous smile. “Make it at least a bit less obvious, will ya?”

Paige lets out a breathy laugh, scratching her head. “I need to get outta here, bro.”

“Tell me about it,” Aubrey jokes back. “Might just walk right on out.”

“Yeah, right. And let Geno scream at us next practice? No thanks.”

Aubrey chuckles. “Hey, I’m not the one desperate to get outta here for their girl—” Paige cuts her off with a light nudge, causing Aubrey to burst into laughter.

“Stop it, dude.” Paige sulks, looking around for Azzi again, feeling her stomach drop at seeing her absent from her last spot.

“Relax. We’ll be done in a bit.”

Paige knew better. She knew it was in her best interest to heed Azzi’s warning of “don’t be so obvious in public.” She knew she should be on her best behavior with so many eyes on them, acting like they were nothing more than friends.

She also knew she shouldn’t feel so stupidly useless and jealous when Azzi talked to someone else because they weren’t officially a thing. They hadn’t slapped a title on it yet.

Ugh, she thought, as she smiled prettily for the group picture, wrapping a friendly arm around her teammates. Paige made a mental note to bring it up at a better time.

“Alrighty everybody,” a woman in the middle of the court chirped, “We’ve officially ended the first night! Make sure you exit in an orderly manner and we hope to see you next year.” The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and applause as the athletes started making their way out of the court and into the tunnels.

Paige made a beeline to her locker room, hoping to catch Azzi alone, but once she arrived, she found herself alone. One by one, her teammates trickled into the room—courtesy of Nika texting in their chat to meet there—and it wasn’t until Paige actually got up to search for Azzi that she found herself face-to-face with her.

Azzi was giggling when she entered, and Paige let out a breath of relief. Her hands fidgeted, muscles twitching under her skin to reach forward toward Azzi once she met her big brown eyes, but like she had done all night, she held herself back.

Instead, she walked wordlessly into the team huddle, her breath catching a bit as Azzi slotted herself right next to her, wrapping her hands around Paige’s waist. She tuned out the remainder of Geno’s speech as Azzi found the audacity to toy with the stretch band of her shorts, pulling on it. She slipped a finger into the edge of them, and when Paige looked over at her, she was smiling cheekily.

“Alright, now get out of here. I'm tired,” Geno ended his speech, and the girls screamed. Azzi dragged Paige into the team where they all did a short chant before finally walking out of the room.

Finally, they reached a quieter part of the complex. Azzi pulled Paige into an empty room, away from prying eyes.

As they made their way through the tunnels, Paige’s heart raced. The crowded hallways buzzed, and she tried to keep her cool.

Azzi stayed close, their fingers brushing every now and then, sending shivers down Paige’s spine.

She couldn’t wait to get a moment alone with her.

“Azzi,” Paige muttered.

“Yeah?” Azzi's eyes fluttered, looking up at Paige.

“We gotta talk.”

Azzi smirked, “We do?” she teased, stepping closer, her hand grazing Paige's arm. “What about?”

Paige's breath hitched. “You know what about.”

Azzi chuckled softly, leaning in until her lips were mere inches from Paige’s. “You always get so serious,” she whispered, her breath warm against Paige's skin. “Maybe I like seeing you like this.”

Paige's heart pounded, her resolve weakening by the second. “Azzi, please…”

“Please, what?” Azzi’s voice was low, almost a purr. She backed Paige against the wall, her hands sliding up Paige’s sides, sending shivers down her spine. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop?”

Paige swallowed hard, her mind racing. “We need to figure this out,” she managed to say, though her voice wavered.

Azzi’s eyes softened for a moment before the teasing glint returned. “Okay, let’s figure it out,” she said, her tone playful. “But maybe we start with this.”

Azzi pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against Paige’s. “We’ll talk,” she promised, her voice a soft murmur. “But right now, let’s just enjoy this.”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi closed the distance, capturing Paige’s lips in a slow, tantalizing kiss. Paige's world tilted, the kiss overwhelming her senses completely as she melted into Azzi, her hands finally finding their way to Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer.

Paige nodded, her heart racing almost painfully in her chest. “Yeah,” she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s enjoy this.”

Azzi grinned, her fingers trailing lightly up and down Paige’s arms, knowing the blonde liked it a little too much. “You’re so cute when you’re trying to be serious,” she teased. “I can’t help but want to mess with you a little.”

Paige felt a blush creep up her neck. “Azzi, come on…”

Azzi’s smile widened. “What? I’m just having a bit of fun. You like it, don’t you?” She leaned in, her lips brushing against Paige’s ear. “Admit it.” Her fingers slip under the hem of Paige’s shirt, tracing patterns on her skin.

Paige’s eyes fluttered shut, her head tilting back. “Maybe,” she admitted reluctantly.

Azzi’s laughter was soft and warm. “Thought so.” She moved even closer, her body pressing against Paige’s.

Paige tried to steady her breath. “I didn’t like seeing you with that freshman,” She confessed softly, looking away.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what this is about? You were jealous?”

Paige's blush deepened. “Maybe.”

Azzi chuckled, her breath warm against Paige’s neck. “You don’t have to worry about him. He’s just a kid.” Her lips brushed Paige’s ear again. “Besides, I only have eyes for you.”

Paige's heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

“Really,” Azzi whispered, her lips trailing down to Paige’s collarbone. “You’re the one I want, Paige. Always have been.”

Paige’s breath got caught as Azzi’s lips met hers again, more passionately this time. The jealousy, the confusion, it all melted away. This was what she wanted, what she needed. And finally, they were on the same page.

Azzi, feeling the effect she had over Paige, decided to push a little further. “You know,” she murmured against Paige’s lips, “seeing you all worked up was kind of a turn-on.”

Paige’s eyes widened. “Azzi…”

“What?” Azzi’s grin was wicked at this point. “I like knowing no one else can have this kind of effect on you but me.”

Paige’s breath came faster, her pulse pounding in her ears. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi’s hand slid lower, making Paige gasp. “Admit it. You love it when I tease you.”

She could barely form words, her thoughts were a mush of everything. “I… I do,” she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper.

"Good girl.”

Paige was helpless to resist, surrendering completely to Azzi. 

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Tongue-Tied- Damian Priest x BlackOC

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Authors Note: I- I don't even know where this came from LMAO

“Hey, Damian.” Destiny Anderson smiled at Damien as she walked past him and his group members. She wiggled her fingers at him and gave him a wink as she kept walking past them. 

“Damn, we invisible or something?” He heard Carlito ask but Damian paid him no mind as his eyes followed Destiny as she walked by. Destiny had an extra pep in her step as she felt The World Heavyweight Champion's eyes on her. 

“Oy! Damien” Finn snapped his fingers in front of his face breaking Damian out of his trance. “You alright mate?” He asked, trying not to laugh at Damian’s lust-stricken expression

Damian blinked rapidly, tearing his gaze away from Destiny's retreating figure. "Yeah.” He cleared his throat, focusing his gaze back on his stable mates. “ I'm good," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. 

Finn chuckled, clearly enjoying Damian’s flustered state. “I’ve never seen you blush like this Damian.” 

Damian pushed Finn away from him. “Go to hell.” Damian chuckled “Can we get back on topic please?” 

Destiny bit her lip as she watched Damian talk to Jey Uso before their scheduled backstage promo. She so badly wanted to go over and join their conversation but as soon as she looked at Damian she got tongue-tied and could barely form any coherent thoughts, so she did the next best thing, what she was good at, flirting. 

Her heart pounded as she considered her next move. The mere thought of having an actual conversation with Damian made her want to throw up.  Taking a deep breath, Destiny stood up straighter and as confidently as she could she walked over to Jey and Damian. 

“Hey, Jey.” Destiny said as she stopped in front of the par. Her eyes flickered up to Damian and she was pleased to see that his eyes were already on her, checking her out in her ring attire. “Damian.” 

“Wus good Des.” Jey smiled back pulling her into a hug. “This new?” He asked eyes trailing over her body. Jey missed the way Damian’s eyes narrowed at him, but Destiny saw and it sent a thrill down her spine. 

“Mmhm.” She hummed with a small nod. “You like?” She asked giving a little 360, not missing the slight groan Damiam let out. She bit her lip, trying to mask her smile. 

“It looks good,” Damian replied. 

“Thank you.” Destiny beamed. It was now her turn to eye him. She bit her lip again as her eyes zeroed in on his World Heavyweight Championship that was around his waist. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been so jealous of a title before.” She muttered, her left hand coming up and toying with the top of the title. 

Jey and Damian’s eyes followed her hand. Jey smirked as Damian made a choking noise in his throat. 

“Goddam.” Jey snickered. “Imma catch u later Uce,” Jey said to Damian, still laughing as he left the pair there, staring at each other. 

Damian cleared his throat, his eyes flickering between Destiny's hand on his title and her face. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice low and husky. Destiny’s eyebrow arched up, this was the first time he flirted back. She quickly schooled her features and cleared the shock look off her face. 

Destiny nodded, her fingers still tracing the edge of the championship belt. "Mhmm," she hummed. "It gets to be so close to you all the time." She looked up at him through her lashes, her heart racing at her own boldness. 

“Well –”

“Damian! We’ve been looking all over for you!” Damina broke his and Destiny’s staring contest and looked over at big-headed ass McDonagh who was making his way over to them. “Finn wants to go over everything one more time. You haven’t been answering your phone.” 

Damian's jaw clenched as he turned back to Destiny, frustration evident in his eyes. "I have to go," he said, his voice tinged with regret.

Destiny's hand fell away from the championship belt, disappointment washing over her. She nodded, trying to keep her composure. "Of course.” She said forcing a smile on her face “Bye Damian.” She waved, as he walked away with McDonagh. She sighed and was about to continue her path towards the catering area but was stopped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She smiled before turning around thinking it was Damian, her smile dropped though when she saw it was JD instead. 

“Stay away from Damian.” What the fuck?! Destiny’s jaw dropped open in shock. “He doesn’t need you distracting him.” 

Destiny's shock quickly turned to anger. Who did McDonagh think he was to tell her what to do? She narrowed her eyes at him, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she replied, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were Damian's keeper."

“Funny” He rolled his eyes. “Listen, sweetheart. Damian's got a lot on his plate right now. He doesn't need some rookie trying to get in his pants and messing with his head. Stay away or else.” JD finished off by glaring at Destiny before turning and walking away from her. 

Destiny let out a scoff and watched JD walk away. The fuck was his problem?

Look! The first part of my Damian mini-series LOL

Mr Priest has me in a chokehold 🫣🫢 (still a Jey girlie at heart tho!)

🏷️: @paigereeder @harmshake @empressdede @theninthwonder @jaethaone

@black-yn @mzv11 @shantinextdoor @sheydnni @thatone-girly

@xmonetsworld @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @alyyaanna

@li-da-savage @kill-the-artiste @trashbin-nie @adoreesun @shayaaaaaaa

@bebesobrielo @bookuce @rianasixx @kat3457 @queeny23

@privateeyed95 @cyberdejos2 @justazzi @jstarr86 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

@vampygomez @msbigredmachine @askyknee @callmekayd @yana3sworld

@romansthrone @alichesmi @amandairene88 @scarlettnoir01

[lisalamona]

Average Midnight Water Break (Poseidon)

Notes: Just a thought that somehow spiraled into whatever the hell this is

Something for you all to munch on while laylom gets finished

You woke up with the unbearable dryness of your throat scratching like sandpaper. You opened and closed your mouth in a futile attempt to summon even the faintest hint of moisture, but it was useless.

Rolling onto your side, you weighed your options. Was it really worth dragging yourself out of bed and into the freezing air just for a sip of water?

Your eyes fluttered open reluctantly, and you rubbed the sleep from them. The other half of the bed was empty, sheets messily tangled and pushed aside. Nothing unusual, just the normal chaos of a shared space. You didn’t mind.

What did catch your attention was the lack of sunlight bleeding through the curtains. It was early. Too early.

Your eyes drifted shut again. Apparently, they hadn’t gotten the memo that your body was crying out for hydration. Not that you minded. A few more hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt.

But the dryness worsened, your mouth a desert, your tongue rough and heavy. Your lips felt cracked, your throat raw. You groaned softly and sat up, the blankets slipping from your body and pooling around your waist. You stared at the wall, expression blank, mind empty, waiting for your vision to adjust to the dark.

Then, the tranquility shattered—an engine revving violently outside, operated by someone with no concept of decency or volume. You flinched.

Muttering under your breath, you inhaled sharply and braced yourself. With a final burst of determination, you tossed the covers aside and let your feet meet the icy floor. You shivered instantly.

Navigating your room with the muscle memory of countless nights before, you shuffled through the dark without bumping into a single thing. You could’ve done it blindfolded.

Reaching the hallway, you paused.

Pitch black.

Except two small green dots hovered at eye level, glowing faintly. Watching you.

You stared back, too tired to flinch. Too tired to care. It felt like a one sided staring contest, and you weren’t in the mood to lose.

Your eyes began to blur again. You reached up and rubbed them, slow and sluggish.

When you opened them, the dots were gone.

A chill prickled at your skin—subtle, but enough to unnerve you. Like something had been studying you, taking notes.

Still, you carried on with your noble, sleep deprived quest for hydration.

In the kitchen, the fridge light nearly blinded you. You squinted and leaned down to grab the water pitcher when—

“What are you doing?”

A gravelly voice whispered right against your ear.

You yelped, jerking back so fast you almost dropped the pitcher. “Jesus!” You gasped, clutching your chest. “Don’t do that!”

Poseidon tilted his head, utterly unbothered. “I just asked a question.”

“Yeah, well—questions hit different when you’re lurking in the dark like a serial killer.”

“I’m not lurking.”

“Yes, you are!” You glared at him. “Look, I get it. You don’t need sleep. I let you stay here, do whatever you want. But do you really need to stand there in the shadows like some predator waiting to pounce? Scared the hell outta me!”

“I apologize.” His grin stretched ear to ear, there was zero remorse, pure mischief.

You sighed and rubbed your forehead. It was way too early for an argument. “Fine, whatever.” You closed the fridge. “Just give me a warning next time.”

“I did warn you.” As you fumbled around blindly for a glass, he took one from the counter and placed it gently in your hand.

You stared at him. “That wasn’t a warning.”

“It’s not my fault your mortal brain can’t comprehend when it’s in danger.”

You raised a brow. “Danger?”

You drank deeply, letting the cold water wash over your parched tongue, cooling every inch of your burning throat. Relief flooded you.

“You know what I mean.” He muttered, eyes flicking to the glass as it tilted with every sip.

You noticed. “You want some too?”

He nodded once. You poured another glass and handed it to him.

“You know,” You said, setting the pitcher on the counter. “you can always get water yourself. You don’t have to wait around for me to offer.”

He didn’t answer. Just drank quietly, then set the glass beside the pitcher. You’ll take care of it in the morning.

Then, with a dramatic stretch, you opened your arms and made grabby hands. “Take me. I don’t wanna walk all the way back… And I’m cold.”

He squinted, confused. “What… What is this?” He mimicked you. “What are you doing?”

“This…” You wiggled your fingers. “is the universal signal for ‘please carry me like a tired princess.’”

Poseidon sighed but stepped forward and scooped you up into his arms, holding you close against his warm chest.

You closed your eyes with a satisfied hum. “You’re so dramatic.” He muttered.

“And you’re my heater now.” You mumbled into his shoulder, already half asleep again.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part one

authors note: well, i got some type of writers block working on two other RR wip's so opened a new google doc and ended up with this. prob gonna be 3 parts, maybe 4. there's an almost five year time jump after this one, can you guess why? also, joe's wife is an oc, not galina.

first time posting my roman writings on here and trying not to freak out tbh

warnings: angst, infidelity, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

word count: 4,000

You know that assignment everyone at some point in their education where they research what they want to be when they grow up and share it with the whole class for a grade? Yeah, that big mammoth of a question that somehow you’re supposed to have confidently answered before even reaching double digits.

That was always super easy for you.

From as far back as you can remember, you wanted to be a teacher. It took until you were in middle school, almost high school for you to settle on an elementary school teacher, college for a specific grade. But, the teaching profession always called to you.

You chalk it up to your grandmother, undoubtedly one of your favorite people in this entire world. She was also an elementary school teacher who taught until she was expectedly called home when you were 14. Some part of you wonders if you’ve never even allowed yourself to entertain any other professions because of her loss. She was your best friend, and following in her footsteps was wanted but also felt somewhat necessary. Like you had to in order to honor her and her legacy.

A couple years into your career, you still think about that, how you’ve known from such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Well, one part. 

In other areas, maybe the most important areas, you were lost as all of the outdoors. Mostly in one area, if you’re being honest, and truthfully, it’s not even what you want in as much as it is how you get there. The path is relatively simple: find a man, fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after.

It’s such a stereotypical trajectory, but one you’ve also envisioned for yourself since your late teens. You’d gotten partying all out of your system during the early college years, somewhat in high school as well. Now in your mid 20s, soon to be late 20s, all you want to do is prepare to eventually settle down. Sooner rather than later.

And the issue isn’t even having no prospects. You have a prospect, he’s just unavailable. 

Because he’s already fucking married.

But can you even call him a prospect when that implies there’s some chance? Because there’s zero chance. You know this. You know this very well, too well. So why you still allow him into your bed and inside of you is beyond you. Yes, the sex is out of this world, but you desire more than that. Maybe not at first, but almost three years deep into this arrangement, most definitely.

You still think back to your first meeting.

Your best friend won a contest that not only granted her two front row tickets to a Smackdown show but backstage passes as well. You met so many wrestlers that night, some you grew up watching on TV as the little tomboy that you were as a kid. But, it was one wrestler in particular: tall, muscular, hair more beautiful and silky than any silk press your beautician mother could ever style, that changed your life. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen. 

He was attractive, extremely, possibly one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. But, the attraction was short-lived when you spotted the wedding band on his left hand. You’d be lying if you tried to say that was when the attraction sizzled out. It diminished, but it was still there. Still, you didn’t think much of it, that was until you received a call from a number on your phone that you didn't recognize. 

Why you even accepted the call is still a mystery. You never answered random calls, yet that one was an exception, an exception that resulted in you having an unexpected phone conversation with Roman fucking Reigns. He explained that he got your number from your friend who’d exchanged contact information with a wrestler she met that night as well. They were messing around too, that much you knew. And good for her. He, unlike Roman, was not married and therefore free to fuck around.

The conversation lasted much longer than it needed to, especially given the flirtatious nature it quickly took on. It was wrong, you knew this well, very well. He took vows, but you were also aware of those vows. And heat no point pressured you into anything, you could have cut it off. Flirtatious he was, but forceful he was not.

The conversations increased in frequency and length over a matter of weeks that turned into months, and before you knew it, your day started and ended with either a text or phone call from the wrestler. 

A small part of you knew that it would eventually escalate into more, a man like him seemed like he needed more. But, you stupidly tried to tell yourself that when that time came, you would remain strong and draw the line in the sand with just communication. Even if it was just as wrong as anything else.

It was a silly thought. 

Your resolve was weak.

You absolutely did not need to accept his invitation to fly you out to one of his shows, and you damn sure didn’t need to allow him to take you back to his hotel where your legs ended up wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you—among other things—until the early hours of the morning.

The days after that were rough. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself. It was one thing to flirt with a married man, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck a married man. He wasn’t yours. He belonged to someone else. He had a life with some other woman. You had no right to insert yourself into that union, so you decided to sever contact with him, deleting his number from your phone and shoving the experience in the ‘biggest regret of your life’ box with no intention of reopening it.

Unfortunately for you, Roman, Joe, as he asked you to call him, was a persistent bastard.

You ignored his texts, so he called. You ignored his calls, so he texted. You ignored both, and this motherfucker showed up at your goddamn door. There were multiple times you could have and should have ended things, that being another perfect opportunity. If you told him to leave that night, not allowed him into your apartment, he would have listened. He was stubborn and resolute but also respectful. If you told him to leave, really told him, he would have done so.

But, you didn’t. You allowed him into your place and similar to the last time you were in his presence, ended up spread out on your bed with him balls deep inside you until you couldn’t feel your lower half. 

Now, fast forward three years later, not much has changed. You two don’t communicate quite as much in the day, and his visits are more spread out given the company’s current efforts at pushing him as the new face of the company. But, that doesn’t stop his visits to come see you and flights he puts you on to come see him, both of which always end with him leaving your legs jelly and throat raw.

All the while his wife sits at home unaware of her husband’s consistent residence between your legs.

The thought alone makes you sick, revolted at yourself, at how you’ve allowed yourself to reach this point in life. Closer to 30 than 20 and going on 3 years of being a mistress to a married man, a man who can never give you the future you want yet refuse to let go. 

Not that you’d ever allow yourself to really acknowledge why. 

That’s….that’s just too much.

________

Pillow talk was just something that naturally happened between the two of you. It made sense given that your relationship started out with just talking. He seemed interested in knowing more about you, about your likes and dislikes. He shared his as well. You weren’t beyond admitting that Joe was insanely easy to talk to, the flow of conversation always natural, never forced. There never seemed to be a dry spot between you two. 

And whether it was an innate ability to pick up on the emotions of others or just his, you could always tell when something was bothering him, could see when he came to you with a burden he didn’t want to discuss.

Not that that stopped you from asking. If he declined to talk about it, you respected it, didn’t push. But, more often than not, he would end up sharing things with you, mostly concerns regarding his career.

It seemed he visioned one thing for himself, while Vince McMahon saw another. He felt frustrated at times, especially when the fanbase started pushing back more. He never admitted as such, but you could see it hurt his feelings. How could it not? Kayfabe or not, Joe was still a real person with real feelings, regardless of the role he played.

And at some point, his visits to see you stopped always involving sex. That happened majority of the time, but there were occasions when he just seemed like he needed someone to be around, a distraction, someone to talk to. 

Someone like you.

“Come on.” You jumped up off the couch and offered your hand that he looked at with disinterest. “Don’t make me drag your big ass. It’ll probably break my back.” He lifts his brow, and you roll your eyes. “Joe, come onnnn.”

“Where are we going?” He finally asks, all the while sighing heavily and standing up. Though unnecessary at this point, he still takes your hand. You try not to think too much of the gentle squeeze he gives.

“To my kitchen.” 

Glancing over, he gestures with his thumb. “The place that’s like 3 feet away.”

You suck your teeth and shove against him. “Don’t be an ass. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Bake?”

“That’s what I said.” Though clearly skeptical, he follows you into the kitchen and watches as you start gathering supplies. “I spent a lot of summers with my grandma, and whenever either of us were having a bad day, she’d take us into the kitchen and we’d bake chocolate chip cookies. She’d always say there’s nothing a good chocolate morsel can’t cure.” 

Reflecting on those memories, so fond and cherished, brings a despondent smile to your face.

His eyes fall on you, sensing the sudden sadness. ���You miss her.”

“Every day….” Shaking your head, you make a conscious effort to not make this about you and your grief. “Now, we need music.” You settle on some random “cookout” playlist that aids in setting the playful mood. To your surprise, yet not surprise, Joe keeps up without struggle. He's a fast learner, easily following along to your detailed instructions and explanations. Things get messy at times, as one does when baking, but it only causes the two of you to share laughter. Especially when you ‘accidentally’ get flour on each other. For you, it was an accident. His was definitely intentional. 

Still, between the laughter, light conversation, and New Edition serving as backdrop, it’s a sweet moment. 

“And now we wait,” you announce, plopping down on the sofa. “Wrestler by day, baker by night. Who’d a thunk it?”

He chuckles. “I never knew you could cook.”

At that, you nearly choke on the water bottle you’d grabbed off the coffee table. “Me? Cook? No. Not at all. There’s a reason every thanksgiving, my family only asks me to bring the drinks. My mom is the cook. Grandma was the baker. I can make cookies and a few select items. That’s it.”

You can still hear your grandma’s voice in the back of your head, chiding you for never allowing your mom to teach you how to cook. It just never garnered your interest, even when they swore up and down you’d never find a husband without knowing how.

Maybe they were right.

He joins you in the living room, settling on the other end of the sofa. “Maybe I could teach you then.”

His words—and offer—suprise you. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his blue eyes. Some days you love the contacts, others you hate them. Today is a love day. They make his beauty even more exquisite. “Because of the big age difference between me and my siblings, it was just me and my mom a lot of times. They were either out and about or had either moved out. She’d ask me to help her out in the kitchen, and I picked up on a couple things.”

“You’re a fast learner.” That much is very obvious, in several areas of his life. “Was it ever hard? Like, not really having them around?”

He seems to think about her question before answering. “Yes and no. The twins moved to Florida when I was like three, and we became close instantly. It was like suddenly having two new brothers. Obviously, they didn’t live with us, so they weren’t always around, and those times were hard, I guess. But the older we got, the more we did together.”

The Usos. Also wrestlers trying to make names for themselves. He really does hail from a legendary dynasty. “I get that. It was just me and my mom, and she worked a lot to support us, so that’s why I spent so much time with my grandma. And I loved it, but sometimes it got lonely not really having siblings.” You look over at him, studying this massive specimen of a man who seems so unsure of himself right now, unsure of his future. He’d hinted at such during their prep, but you bookmarked the comment to revisit. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

His gaze is on you, partially disinterested, mostly in disagreement. Joe knows what you're referring to. He chuckles, darkly, “you sound sure.”

“I am,” you counter calmly. Moving to sit on your knees, you continue, “no matter what it takes, you make them respect you. You can do it, and when you finally find your footing, you’ll be one of the best to ever do it. Mark my words.” 

You’ve never been one to build up false hopes in anyone, far too familiar with the sting of disappointment. So every word leaving your mouth drips with sincerity. Joe is so much more than a “pretty face” or someone who got lucky by being born into a wrestling dynasty with a golden spoon in his mouth. He’s worked his ass off, you see how he works his ass off, so the last thing you’d want to witness is him become his own worst enemy by getting too into his head.

“You’ll see. They boo now, but pretty soon they’ll be cheering.” Moving to your knees, you lift your arms in a theatrical display. “Roman, Roman, Roman.” You yelp when his strong arms pull you into his lap, legs spread on either side of his thick thighs. “Would you let me hype you up? Like, damn.”

His smile, so beautiful and genuine, warms your soul. His spirits are lifted, and that’s all that matters. Joe’s hands are on your hips, palms massaging you through your shorts. You move your arms around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment, you foolishly allow yourself to wonder. Wonder what it would be like for this to be the norm, for him to always return to your place when he has time off or in between shows. Wonder what it would be like to consistently be this safe space for him, to be in his corner and not just in the shadows, but in the light. To be supporting him ringside. To be his.

And for a second, you pretend. You pretend that you are his, and he’s yours. That this is your man, and you’re his girl. Just the two of you. Nobody else.

But the comedown from that is devastating, like a boulder sitting on your chest, a butcher knife to your heart. Because he isn’t yours. He never was, and he never will be. 

Mood sullen, you lower your arms to separate yourself. “I should…” You clear your throat, climbing off of him. The air is suddenly too stuffy, the room too small. You need space. “I should go check on the cookies.” 

Joe’s not stupid, far from it. You know that he has to pick up on your 180 in mood, yet he doesn’t pursue you, doesn’t ask questions, and you’re thankful for that. You need to not be around him right now, not so close, not so connected, not so in love.

You need to let him go. ________

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

Joe’s in the midst of sliding his shirt over his head, sitting on the edge of the bed when your voice, low and quiet, stops him mid movement. “What?”

“I said.” You blow out a big breath, unsure why your chest suddenly feels so heavy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

At that, he angles his body so that he can look at you, assess your face. He’s a big eye contact person. “What are you talking about?”

Irritation piques. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joe.” Gesturing between the two of you, you kick the blankets off and quickly reach for your t-shirt that got discarded last night. Being naked in front of him suddenly feels uncomfortable. “This. It’s done.”

He pauses for a second and then shakes his head, resuming his dressing. “Okay.”

His tone is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he thinks you’re playing around. Of course he would be in one of those moods, where he’s more irritable, less receptive and fucking stubborn. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not doing this shit with you right now.” Joe gets up and continues dressing himself, prompting you to climb out of bed and move in front of him. 

He can’t avoid his way out of this. You won’t allow it. It’s time to finally rip the bandaid off. 

You’ve sat on this for the last two weeks, since he last left your apartment and you realized you’d stupidly allowed yourself to fall for this man. Fall for a man who walks around with a wedding ring on his left hand, who’s always had that wedding ring from the moment you met him. You’re not upset with him, not as much as you’re upset with yourself.

You grew up the product of an affair, felt the stinging pain of being rejected by a parent whose selfishness resulted in the creation of life, a life he wanted no part of. Seen how your mom literally begged your piece of shit father to be in your life, to play some role. Heard how he cruelly rejected her, rejected you, calling you your mother’s bastard. A mistake.

It devastated you so deeply that you still can’t really talk about it without getting emotional. 

And yet, you idiotically found yourself playing the same role you used to judge your mother for: the other woman. 

It’s a role you stepped in, and one you must now step out of.

“There’s nothing to do.” You run your hands over your face and shake your head. Choosing to have this conversation at almost 4 o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the best move, but you also know that if you give yourself more time, you’ll find a reason not to do it. And you need to do this. “You have a wife, Joe. A whole ass woman who loves you and would probably let you fuck her just as much as you like to fuck me. Go be with her, and if not her, find someone else, cause I won’t be that for you. Not anymore.” 

You’re not exactly sure what part of what you just said registered with him, but it’s obvious something did by the change of tone he takes. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from where it should have come a long time ago,” you answer, crossing your arms over your body. “This was never right, and I refuse to partake in it anymore. I won’t be your whore anymore.”

You didn’t expect hurt to flash in his beautiful eyes nor for him to move closer to you, that hurt intensifying when you back away. He can’t touch you. You can’t allow that, because all it takes is only touch, one longing gaze, and you’ll be putty in his hands. This has to end. “Is that really what you think you are to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you, Joe,” you answer, honestly. It’s something you’ve battled back and forth with for nearly three years. Just what is it about you that keeps him coming back, keeps him in your bedroom, inside of you. At face value, it’s the sexual compatibility between you. Below the surface level though, there’s maybe more. You’ve never allowed yourself to venture there, and you’re certainly not about to right now. You know how you feel about him, but you refuse to really ask yourself how he feels about you. “And truthfully, it doesn’t matter, cause it doesn’t change anything.”

“So, that’s just it?” His voice is wounded, handsome face painted into a mixture of scowl and a frown. “Almost three years, and you want to throw it all away, for what?”

“For what…..Joe, you are married. You have a whole wife at home. Whatever issues you have that cause you to step out, work that shit out. Learn how to be with her. Cause I’m not doing it any more. I—I can’t.” Emotion imbues your voice toward the end, and you hate that shit. You don’t want him to see, to know, how much this has been eating you up as of lately. “I’m gonna be 30 in a few years. I want to be married. I want to have a family. I deserve that, and I’ll never have it as long as I’m messing with you, so I’ve gotta let you go.” You swallow the deep lump in the back of your throat. “And you’ve gotta let me go.” 

This time, this time you can see the part that wounds him, that digs into his chest. You’ve gotta let me go. 

Joe is fast, fast enough to move directly in front of you, large hands holding your face. He says your name, desperate almost. “Tell me what to do, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just….” He stops, and you close your eyes, refusing to see if it’s his own emotions coming up. You can barely handle your own cascade of feelings right now and refuse to take on his. “I can’t lose you.”

What you want…..

What you want is for him to never leave. What you want is for him to stay with you, to be with you. What you want is for him to have never met Jadah, never married her, never committed his life to her. 

What you want is for him to be yours and only yours, but what you want….is also what you can never have. 

“I—I want you to leave, Joe.” The words burn your lips, scorch your throat, ache your soul. “And this time….don’t come back.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, to see the result of your heartbreaking, even if honest request. It’s because you know seeing him hurt will only cause your resolve to crumble, and you can’t have that. You have to be strong, have to be the woman your mother couldn't.

So, you remain there, remain silent as he steps away from you, his touch vanishing. There’s such an emptiness in his wake.

It’s only when you hear the front door of your apartment shut that you finally feel it, the caving of your stomach, the heavy lump move from the back of your throat, the release of the loud sob you didn’t realize you’d been keeping at bay. 

It’s when you finally allow yourself to feel all of the emotions of a woman who just told the only man she’s ever loved to leave. 

If only you knew his departure was just the beginning of the rest of your life.

[pleasanttalepolice]

Two, my dear, don't ever disappear Do what you want, as long as you stay here! I need you now, I love you so much, more than you could know The contestants were nothing but a gift And love is a tower where all of us can live You'll change your name, or change your mind And leave this fucked up place behind But I'll know. I'll know...

Two minus One is still One. Two knows that. The irrefutable fact gnaws at them as One slowly places a pair of telekinetic hands on their base, in an almost-mocking gesture of affection and comfort.

(But Two knows her well enough to know that it's not meant to be mocking, and it makes it hurt even more.)

One softly whispers words of assurance and manipulation into their ear. Their mind refuses to process the stream of static that filters into one side and out the other.

One sends feelings of warmth and comfort into them through the frayed bond that they somehow still share, even after all this time. Two divides her platitudes by zero and allows the other number to recoil as if struck, finally focusing their distant gaze onto her angular form as they utter a few, short words.

"Please. Leave me alone, One."

Their former coefficient draws a sharp breath for a few ticks, before hanging her head low in silent defeat as she slowly floats back to the whiteboard that she had emerged from. Two watches her leave in the corner of their eye as they go back to staring at the ceiling, a hollow expression written on their face.

If Two notices that the azure illustration of the number on the whiteboard is gone, they do not speak a word of it. ---- ANYWAYS @corvesha for the onetwo brainrot they gave me + the refs that i used for one and two (specifically one being pointypointypointy and having eerie cyan sclera because that's all i could convey effectively with my horrendous art skills) and @helpwhatdoinamethis for giving me the idea of one with glasses (nerd) and ALSO the onetwo fic that i based the writing and the angst off of (you guys should totally check it out!!)

anyways sorry for the ping AGHHGHGHG

oh yeah also this and this for onetwo thoughts. yummies.

two is kneeling in this btw idk if i made it clear

[madlori]

You guys, the end of this hockey season is taking months off my life.

So this is the final week of the NHL season. It's pretty common that by this point, all the playoff berths have been decided.

WELL NOT THIS FUCKING YEAR. This year we have a last minute contested spot - the second wild card spot in the Eastern Conference. And one of the teams vying for it is MY TEAM, the Columbus Blue Jackets.

Right now Ottawa and Montreal have the two wild card spots in the Eastern conference. Columbus is the next team in line. Note that both Montreal and Columbus have one game remaining. Columbus is two points back.

Two games ago? Columbus was FIVE points back and everyone assumed it was over even if they weren't mathematically eliminated.

Then they won two in a row, acquiring four points, and Montreal lost two, one in overtime, acquiring one point. That brings us to the 89-87 situation we have now.

You see the pickle we are in.

For Columbus to make the playoffs, Montreal must lose their final game, and Columbus must win theirs. In addition, Montreal must lose in regulation (as in, not in overtime) and Columbus must also win in regulation. See that column labeled RW? That's regulation wins, the first tiebreaker. Because if Montreal loses in regulation (for zero points) and Columbus wins (for two points), they'll be tied for points - but Columbus will have 30 RW to Montreal's 29 and they will get the playoff berth. If Columbus wins in overtime, they'll still only have 29 RW. The next tiebreaker is ROW, regulation-and-overtime wins (which excludes wins via shootout). Montreal wins in that case.

Montreal plays tomorrow, Wednesday the 16th. Columbus plays their final game on Thursday the 17th.

A game to which I have tickets.

If Montreal wins tomorrow, it's over, and our final game will just be for the vibes.

Here's the bad news.

Montreal's final game is against the Carolina Hurricanes. Now, the Canes are safely in the playoffs, and have no reason to exert themselves. They will probably sit some of their best players (so as not to risk any of them being injured right before the postseason) - I've heard they've called up 4 players from their minor league team. The game is also in Montreal at the Bell Centre, one of hockey's spiritual homes and one of the most intimidating arenas for visiting teams. On the other hand, in their last 15 meetings, Montreal is 2-10-3 against Carolina. And sometimes the minor league call-ups really step up when they get That Call to come play in the big show and really surprise everyone. It's a shot for them to distinguish themselves and maybe make the NHL roster next season.

Still, I don't feel super optimistic that the Canes will win. But Montreal is somewhat known for choking when the pressure's on. We'll see.

If they lose, hoo boy.

The entire league will be watching Thursday's Blue Jackets game. They are playing the New York Islanders, who were eliminated from the playoffs a few weeks ago and have nothing to play for - except maybe spite as spoiling CBJ's playoff hopes.

No matter what happens, CBJ has had a hell of a season, much better than anyone predicted, and the future's looking bright. TWO of our young players had 30 goal seasons (for hockey forwards, 20 goals in a season is a good, reliable goal scorer and very valuable; 30 goals is phenomenal, 40 is a superstar and 50 is a generational talent). And because of reasons they had to call up our minor league starter goalie last week -- and in three games he has allowed ONE goal and pitched two shut-outs. So, yeah.

If Thursday ends up being a "we win this and we're in the playoffs" game, I don't know if my body can handle the stress.

[darrys-laundry]

i started this, with absolutely zero plot in mind, so, i’m putting it here and maybe one day if a plot comes to mind, i’ll expand on it :)

“Hey, Tommy,” Hen calls, hopping out of the back of the ambulance to catch his elbow, Chimney on her heels, before he’s even made it halfway across the engine floor; here to meet Evan with the duty bag he’d left sitting on Tommy’s kitchen counter, “you don’t…still talk to Sal, do you?”

“I haven’t talked to Sal in…years, now.” Tommy frowns, anxiously adjusting the shoulder strap on Evan’s bag, “Why?”

“…Because he’s been promoted.” Bobby says, sounding displeased as he steps out behind them, and what Tommy expects him to say is Sal’s finally gotten that Captain promotion he’d been gunning for all those years ago…

Instead, Chimney pops his gum, nodding towards the loft, “Say, ‘Hello,’ to our new Battalion Chief.”

“Would you look at that, a family reunion,” Sal purrs, palms splayed out against the railing as he appraises all of them with a Cheshire Cat grin, and he bites his lip then, cocking his head when he catches Tommy’s eye, “didja miss me, sweetheart?”

“…well, if it isn’t the cat who ate the fucking canary.” Tommy mutters under his breath, and he steels himself for a placating smile as Sal descends the stairs. He nods once, resolutely, hoping it reads professional as he finds himself face-to-face now with the other man for the first time in seven years, “Deluca.”

“Kinard.” Sal nods in return, eyes raking over Tommy’s body, bigger now than it’d been then, “I heard you’re a pilot now.”

“I heard you’ve been promoted.” Tommy counters, eyes never leaving Sal’s face.

Sal grins, raising his chin, “I heard you got a boyfriend.”

Tommy swallows then, pressing his tongue into his cheek; the last time he’d seen Sal, they’d been face-to-dick, and Tommy’d told him then that that’d never happen again, and he’d fucking meant it, “And I heard you moved back to New York.”

“Yeah.” Sal scoffs, nearly spitting in Tommy’s face as he bares his teeth, “You fucking wish.”

Tommy laughs, bitter and tight, “As if we’d ever be so lucky.”

“You sure hear a lot of shit, don’t you?” Sal squints, sour now, and Tommy smiles, reaching to straighten Sal’s epaulet.

“…only every time you open your mouth.”

“Alright, alright,” Chimney interrupts, stepping between them, years worth of breaking up their petty fights under his belt, “enough with the pissing contest.”

i think in every fic i’ve written where i’ve mentioned sal in reference to tommy i’ve likened him to a cat 🤔

[moosemann404]

Learned Unhelpfulness is one (1) year old today (+ contest announcement at the end)

And we have not made it out of the fuck ass mines, shit-

Wow! What a ride so far! I’ve decided to mark the occasion because fuck it! I do what I want! (I could have finished but school said no.)

Let’s look at some stats to see how far we’ve come!

Since starting I have gained:

2,508 hits

150 kudos (wow!)

222 comments (about half are my own replies shhh)

27 public bookmarks

And written over 100k words, 98.5k of which are published! Wowie!!

SPECIAL MENTIONS:

Fanart shout out to:

@underhell69 who knocked my socks off with their short comic on chapter 4

@beanzabear for the little explosion of artwork they drew, and also this little boy kisser ass comic

@shr00mie-rat for a short animatic and beautiful thumbnails

@aerosolsprite for a wonderful little comic based on exile, vilify and a few doodles

And @sciencewife for this lovely fanart from Doug Rattmann appreciation day!

Big thank you to @byrdffv for leaving a bunch of mammoth comments that have inspired me to continue writing even when things got tough

Mega thank you to user starj3lly on ao3, not only the first person to comment and kudos, but also commenting on every chapter thus far! AND making lovely beautiful fanart you can look at here and here!

And the biggest most hugest most AMAZING WONDERFUL THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to @seven-gill. Not only have you been the best beta reader and friend a moose could dream of, but you’re also to blame for the crime of asking politely if we could play portal 2 co-op together. How dare you enable my nonsense, I love you. You are mostly the target audience (sorry everyone else)

What else? Oh yeah, that contest I mentioned up above.

I wanted to do something special, anniversary and all, and I figured since I seem to have so many artists reading, why not an art contest? The rules are simple:

- any scene or image or moment from the current 13 chapters you want to draw, go for it.

- it can be in color or black and white, digital or physical (as long as the picture quality is decent aka I can tell what I’m looking at), there’s NO limit to medium or style or what have you. Shit make it pointillism if you want, who am I to stop you? (I trust you all to be smart cookies and not use AI though)

- MUST be posted to tumblr. I do not have any other social media, and it’s important for the image to have a grabbible url for something later. Mention me in the post or use the tag #lu 1 year contest

- Submissions must be made before March 25th. Winner will be announced March 29th (that Saturday).

The winner will have their work featured in the fic and I’ll link your tumblr in the end authors note (if/when I figure out how, god I’m so old person using technology sometimes). Though I will absolutely reblog everyone’s work because damn you, I know it’s all going to be beautiful.

I’m so extremely nervous about doing this because I know I’m going to disintegrate if I get zero submissions. I will die of embarrassment. You’ll never see me agaaaiinn.

Thank you all for a wonderful year of this thing I created on a whim. It’s been a blast and I look forward to sharing the rest with you when I actually sit down and write the damn thing.

- Moose <3

[numberonetacostan]

correct me if I'm wrong here (I probably need to rewatch) but Mepad tends to refer to people with Sir or Ma'am that kind of language.

But when he says Cobs he says "Hello Steve" instead of any prefix or even his last name, even if Cobs would be the kind of person to be referred to with Sir or Mr he just uses Steve and I like that, he respects others enough for that but with Cobs there's zero respect there.

Hi there!!!^^ Welcome, and thank you for sending in an ask!!!

You're correct, Mepad does refer to people very formally, calling Mephone "Sir", using "Mr." and "Ms." for Painty before they'd come out, "Mr." for Paper, etc. He speaks quite formally in general, yeah?

But Cobs? Nah, fuck that guy, Mepad doesn't even use his surname like most of the others do. He's just... Steve. Mepad does not have one ounce of respect for Cobs, he hates him. Cobs just killed all of the contestants he cared so much about, no respect for him.