#I... don't know how I feel about Time's POV :-/

[norristrii]

UNDRESSED.

“I don't want the children of another man to have the eyes of the girl I won't forget.” — Lando said he didn’t care about you seeing Oscar—but it hurt. More than he admitted. More than he expected. Because deep down, he did care. Maybe he always had.

pairing. Lando Norris x ex! fem! reader // (bonus: Oscar Piastri x fem! reader)

warnings. a lot of angst, 8,4k words, dual pov, exes to lovers, soulmates, lando and oscar being jealous of each other, complicated dynamics, mean oscar, oscar is the other woman here (sorry but I promise we love oscar in this house).

music. Undressed by Sombr // Somebody Else by The 1975.

LANDO HAD NEVER BEEN GOOD AT ADMITTING FAULT. Not to the world, not to himself. He had spent years being seen as untouchable, as brilliant, as someone who could do no wrong—not just in racing, but in everything. And maybe that was part of the problem. When things fell apart, when his own choices pushed you away, he couldn’t bring himself to say I messed up. Because he was flawless. At least, that’s what his fans saw. That’s what the world believed. And if enough people believed it, maybe he didn’t have to face the truth.

But did he know? Of course he did. He knew exactly what he had done, how his distance, his sharp words, his inability to give you what you needed had built the wall between you. He had watched the moments slip by, had felt the shift, had sensed the inevitable—and still, he had done nothing to stop it. Maybe he thought you would stay anyway. Maybe he assumed that no matter how careless he was with your heart, you wouldn’t walk away. But you did. And that was something he hadn’t prepared for.

Then he saw you with Oscar.

It wasn’t just surprise—it was something deeper, something raw. Something bitter and sharp and impossible to ignore. The moment his eyes landed on you, standing beside him, something inside him twisted. He could barely breathe past the weight of it. And the worst part? He wasn’t surprised. Maybe he had even expected it. Because Oscar was everything Lando wasn’t—steady, thoughtful in ways Lando had never mastered, quiet in his confidence rather than reckless. He was what Lando could never quite be.

And Lando hated it. Not just seeing you with him, but knowing that you had made the right choice. That after everything, you had walked away—not because of some dramatic final fight, not because of some unforgivable betrayal, but because you were done waiting.

─── 29 days after the break up.

Lando hadn’t expected to see you—not this soon, not like this. It had been just a few weeks since the break up, and he had convinced himself that he was fine, that the frustration had dulled enough for him to move on. He had been waiting for Max, leaning against a wall, phone in his hand, scrolling absentmindedly in an effort to distract himself from the lingering exhaustion of the race weekend. The world around him was routine—background noise, meaningless movement.

And then, that feeling.

It struck fast, sharp, sudden. A tight pull in his chest, instinctual, like something was about to happen. He glanced up, brows furrowing slightly, scanning the street without knowing exactly what he was looking for. He saw a blur—a bus passing by, pedestrians moving along the sidewalk, the usual hum of Monaco. But then, as the bus rolled forward, his stomach twisted.

Because the moment the road cleared, there you were.

Standing across the street, roses clutched in your hands, your smile wide, effortless, the kind of smile he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was the way you looked at him—not him, but Oscar—the softness in your expression, the light in your eyes, the way your laugh carried just faintly over the distance between you.

And Oscar.

Lando felt his grip tighten around his phone. His teammate. His supposed closest friend. Standing beside you like he belonged there, like it was normal for the two of you to be together. His stomach tightened, a bitter taste settling at the back of his throat.

“They’re so beautiful, Osc,” you murmured, your voice barely carrying over the street, soft and grateful.

Lando rolled his eyes without thinking, a sharp exhale escaping his lips. Idiot. Oscar didn’t even know you liked meadow flowers.

That night, Lando did what every young, rich man does when faced with the unbearable sting of losing the girl he thought he would marry—to his teammate, no less. He drowned it out.

He let the alcohol consume him, glass after glass, convincing himself with every sip that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t matter. He laughed too loudly, drank too quickly, let his frustration bleed into recklessness, fueled by the voices around him—cheering, encouraging, oblivious to the storm raging inside him. It was easier this way, pretending like none of it had gotten under his skin. Like seeing you happy—seeing you with Oscar—hadn’t cracked something inside him that he didn’t know how to fix.

He didn’t care, he said. He had repeated it so many times that the words lost their meaning, but that didn’t stop him from saying them again. To himself. To others. To anyone who might have dared to question why his grip on his glass was just a little too tight.

And yet, when his lips met another girl’s, her hands running through his hair, her laughter warm against his skin—it wasn’t her he imagined.

It was you.

Your smile. Your voice. The way you had looked at Oscar, full of something bright, something real. Something that Lando hadn’t seen from you in far too long.

The kiss felt empty. It tasted like whiskey and denial.

But still, he chased it.

Pulled her closer. Let himself sink into the distraction of it, the mindlessness, the temporary relief. The room spun, the music blurred into nothing, and yet, somewhere in the back of his mind—where the alcohol hadn’t quite reached—he wondered if this was how it felt.

To be the one left behind.

─── 36 days after.

A week had passed, but the restlessness hadn’t.

Lando told himself he didn’t care—that it didn’t bother him, that he had moved on just as easily. He repeated it to himself like a mantra, like if he said it enough, maybe it would become true. But then, in a moment of weakness, his fingers hovered over your name, the muscle memory of scrolling through your Instagram too familiar to resist. The temptation won, his thumb hovering for only a second before pressing down, opening your profile. He clicked on your story without thinking, expecting meaningless snapshots of your day—things that didn’t involve him, things that wouldn’t sting.

But then, the picture.

You and Oscar.

By the sea, golden sunset washing over you, arms wrapped around each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. There was nothing forced about it, nothing performative. Just a simple, effortless kind of happiness, caught in a frame and broadcasted for the world to see.

Lando twitched, a sharp jolt of irritation sparking in his chest, his grip tightening around his phone. It wasn’t the picture itself that got to him—it was you. The look on your face, the ease in your posture, the way you stood beside Oscar like this was where you were meant to be. He hadn’t seen that version of you in a while. Not with him.

Without a word, he turned his phone toward Max, handing it over like he needed a second opinion, like he wanted someone to confirm that this was as ridiculous as it felt. “Look,” he muttered. “She moved on so fast, that’s crazy.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, laced with something bitter he couldn’t quite control.

Max barely glanced at the screen before shrugging, his response immediate, casual. “Well, you treated her like shit. I would too.”

Lando froze.

Treating you like shit?

The words hit him harder than the picture itself, sharper than the image of you wrapped in Oscar’s arms. Like something solid, something undeniable, something that didn’t leave room for argument.

Lando’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he stared at Max, searching for some kind of reassurance, some kind of validation. But it wasn’t there. Instead, Max just sat there, completely unbothered, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just shattered Lando’s entire defense.

“What are you on?” Lando demanded, voice edged with irritation. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, not—” He gestured vaguely at the screen, where your picture with Oscar still sat open, taunting him. “Not her damn therapist.”

Max exhaled through his nose, still unmoved. “I am your best friend,” he said simply, tossing his phone onto the table before leaning back against the couch, arms crossed. His gaze met Lando’s, steady, unrelenting. “That’s why I’m telling you the truth.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head. “I always gave her everything she wanted.”

Max rolled his eyes, not even attempting to hide his annoyance. “Maybe in a materialistic way,” he said, tone dry, unimpressed. “But that’s not what she needed from you, was it?”

The words hit harder than Lando wanted them to. He opened his mouth to argue, to throw out some kind of excuse, but nothing came.

Because deep down, he knew.

─── 37 days after.

The notification sat there, glaring at you like it was demanding your attention. Among the usual names in your story viewers, one stood out—one shouldn’t have been there.

Lando.

The verified checkmark beside his name confirmed it, but it wasn’t like you needed proof. Your pulse had already kicked up the second you saw it, and suddenly, everything else on the screen blurred. It wasn’t the thousands of other viewers, the casual acquaintances, the strangers who followed you just to watch—it was him. The one person who had no reason to be here, the one person who should have been too proud, too indifferent, too over it to be lingering on your page.

You blinked, staring at it, unsure whether to feel irritation, amusement, or something in between. A scoff left your lips as you turned your phone towards Oscar, shaking your head like the absurdity of it all was something worth laughing at.

“Look who’s stalking me,” you muttered, voice laced with forced amusement, though even you weren’t sure if you fully meant it.

Oscar barely glanced at the screen before snorting, shaking his head with an easy grin. “Idiot,” he chuckled. “Seems like he finally realized what he lost.” His tone was light, effortless, like this was just another passing observation, like Lando’s presence in your viewers was nothing more than predictable.

You tried to laugh too. Tried to match Oscar’s ease, to brush it off, to shove away the thought of him sitting there, clicking on your name, watching your moments through a screen. But the sound never quite made it past your lips.

Instead, your gaze lingered on the notification.

Maybe he did miss you. Maybe, after all the pretending, all the indifference, there was still something there—something unresolved, something neither of you had fully let go of.

And even though he wouldn’t admit it—hell, even though you wouldn’t admit it—you missed him too.

─── 51 days after.

The paddock buzzed with its usual energy—mechanics rushing to prepare for the session, engineers hunched over screens, team personnel exchanging quick words, all moving with purpose. Conversations overlapped, engines roared in the background, and the air smelled of fuel, sweat, and determination. It was familiar, chaotic, loud. But in the McLaren garage, the atmosphere felt different. A little tighter. A little heavier.

Because Lando was standing there.

Watching you.

You felt it immediately—the weight of his stare, the unspoken tension pressing against your skin like something tangible. You tried not to care, tried to focus on Oscar beside you, his hand resting securely on your waist as he spoke with the team, his voice smooth, easy, unbothered by the lingering stares. He was calm, steady, unaffected by the fact that, for the first time since everything had fallen apart, you were back here.

But somehow—your gaze always drifted back to Lando.

It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t something you wanted to do. But there he was—leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his race suit tied around his waist, the fitted undershirt clinging to him in ways that made avoiding his presence impossible. He looked good. Too good. Annoyingly good.

And that alone was infuriating.

Because the last thing you needed was to let him have any power over you again.

Yet the moment his eyes met yours, something flickered in his expression—something unreadable, something tense, something that made your stomach tighten. A subtle shift, a fleeting moment where neither of you looked like people who had moved on.

The weight of it pressed against your chest, heavier than you expected.

You weren’t supposed to feel bad. This was exactly what needed to happen—distance, space, separation. Being here with Oscar, standing next to the man who had chosen you, the man who treated you right, was supposed to feel right. It was supposed to feel like the closure you had needed, the final step in proving to yourself that you had moved on, that the past no longer had its hold on you. And yet, as Lando stood just feet away, as the silence between you grew louder, something inside you twisted in a way you couldn’t quite ignore.

You could feel his presence like gravity, an unspoken pull that made the air feel heavier, thicker, impossible to ignore. The way he lingered nearby, the way the tension between you settled into the space like something tangible—it was suffocating. It was surreal. You couldn’t help but think about how strange it was, how unnatural it felt to be near someone who had once been everything to you and now be reduced to mere avoidance. No words. No acknowledgment. Just pretending like the past didn’t exist. Pretending like he didn’t exist.

And maybe, in theory, that was how it was supposed to go.

Maybe this was the reality of moving on, of letting go. The idea that time would pass, that you would find someone new, that the wounds he had left would heal, and that, eventually, he would become nothing more than a familiar face in a familiar place. That was what you had told yourself over and over. That was what you had convinced yourself would happen.

But in practice?

It felt wrong.

The moment Oscar stepped away, the space between you shifted.

It felt heavier, charged with something unspoken, something unresolved. You had been doing fine—avoiding, ignoring, convincing yourself that whatever existed between you and Lando was long gone. That there was nothing left to untangle, nothing left to dissect. But then, his gaze found yours, and suddenly, fine didn’t feel so certain anymore.

Lando took a slow step forward, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should be doing this. His posture was relaxed, but there was something restrained in the way he moved, like he was testing the waters, unsure if you would let him in even a little. His expression gave nothing away, though his eyes—those damn eyes—held something softer. Something careful.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual, barely above the hum of the garage. Like he was waiting for some kind of sign, some kind of confirmation that this wasn’t completely wrong.

Your breath caught for just a second, and then—it slipped.

“Uhm hey, Lan.”

The nickname tumbled from your lips before you could catch it, before you could stop it, and immediately, you regretted it. A name too familiar, too casual, too comfortable. It felt like muscle memory, like instinct. Like no time had passed at all. You weren’t supposed to fall into old habits. You weren’t supposed to make this easy. But here you were, slipping back into something you swore you had walked away from.

If Lando noticed your slip-up, he didn’t react. He only tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was trying to figure something out, like he wasn’t sure what to make of this moment.

“So, you two are like… a thing?”

Wow. Straight to the point. No hesitation, no careful wording, just pure honesty—Lando’s specialty.

Your pulse spiked slightly, heat creeping up your neck. You weren’t really together. Not officially. Not yet.

“Uh, not really,” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you could think them through.

Idiot. What did you just say?

And judging by the way Lando’s brows raised slightly, his expression shifting just enough to show he wasn’t going to let that answer slide—you were about to find out exactly why that was a mistake.

Lando’s expression shifted—subtle, but noticeable. A flicker of curiosity, something unreadable in his eyes as he watched you carefully. He wasn’t letting that answer slide so easily.

“Not really?” he echoed, eyebrow raising slightly, his tone laced with something that felt dangerously close to amusement. Like he knew exactly what kind of trap you had just set for yourself.

You swallowed, suddenly wishing you could rewind time and say literally anything else.

“I mean, it’s not official yet,” you clarified, but even as the words left your lips, you knew they weren’t strong enough. They didn’t shut the conversation down. They didn’t make anything clearer. If anything, they left more room for questions—for interpretation.

Lando tilted his head slightly, like he was mulling that over, like he wasn’t sure if he believed you.

And suddenly, standing this close to him, with his gaze locked onto yours, with the weight of everything hanging in the air between you—it felt like you weren’t sure either.

Lando’s voice was casual—too casual.

“And Y/n, you still have things at my place,” he reminded, his tone effortless, like this was just an innocent observation. Just a simple fact.

Lando’s words hung in the air, dripping with something just a little too smug, a little too knowing. His tone was casual, almost careless, but there was an edge to it—something sharp, something intentional.

Your stomach twisted.

You hadn’t thought about that. About the clothes left in his drawers, the little pieces of yourself scattered around his apartment—your favorite hoodie tucked in the corner of his couch, the forgotten pair of earrings on his nightstand, the book he never returned. The traces of you still lingering in his space, despite everything.

“You should pick ’em up if you’re starting a new relationship,” he added, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Cocky. Unbothered.

─── 52 days after.

The garage hummed with activity—mechanics moving efficiently, screens flashing with data, the smell of fuel lingering in the air. It was routine, familiar, just another race day. But for Lando, there was something unsettled in the atmosphere, something that had nothing to do with strategy or tire degradation. Something personal. Something heavier than anything a race engineer could fix.

He hadn’t meant to ask. Not really. The words had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for days, lingering in the back of his mind every time he saw you with Oscar, every time he overheard something about you, every time he tried—failed—to ignore the fact that you were now a presence in his world again. It wasn’t supposed to matter. But it did. And before he could stop himself, the question slipped out, carried by something instinctual, something unresolved.

He glanced toward Oscar, keeping his tone casual, effortless, like the words meant nothing. Like they weren’t loaded with everything unsaid. “How’s things with Y/n?”

Oscar barely looked up. “Yeah, good,” he replied quickly, too quickly.

Lando caught the hesitation immediately, the slight break in Oscar’s usually steady voice. Interesting.

But then, just as Lando was about to push further, Oscar added, “I like her so much.”

The words were simple. Straightforward. But Lando knew—he knew Oscar had chosen them carefully. Had let them hang in the air just long enough to twist the knife a little deeper. To remind Lando that he wasn’t the one who got to say those words anymore. And it worked.

The thought of you with Oscar still hurt.

More than Lando wanted to admit. More than he should still let it.

And maybe that was the worst part—not that Oscar was with you, not that you had moved on, but that somewhere in the back of his mind, in the places he never spoke about, Lando couldn’t stop picturing a future that had never happened.

Lando could handle losing races, missing podiums, falling short of expectations.

But the thought of another man’s children carrying your eyes—the eyes of the girl he loved more than he ever loved himself.

That was unbearable.

Because no matter how much he tried to push it away, ignore it, pretend it didn’t matter—deep down, he knew.

He knew he couldn’t stand to watch you build a life that didn’t include him.

─── 60 days after.

The music from the afterparty still pulsed faintly in the distance, the bass reverberating through the warm Monaco air. Laughter spilled from the rooftop venue, voices mingling, champagne flowing freely. But out here, on the quiet pavement beneath dim streetlights, the atmosphere was entirely different—charged, tense, teetering on the edge of something fragile.

You weren’t even sure how you ended up here. One moment, you had been inside, smiling at familiar faces, pretending everything was fine. The next, Oscar had pulled you aside, his grip firm, his face tight with something that looked dangerously close to frustration.

“What’s wrong with you, Oscar?” you asked, arms crossed as you tried to keep your voice steady, tried to act like this wasn’t unraveling into something bigger than it should’ve been.

Oscar scoffed, running a hand through his hair before looking at you—really looking at you—like he had been holding this in for too long and now, it was spilling out whether you wanted it or not.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?!” His voice was sharp, edged with something raw. “I see the way you look at him, Y/n.”

“I am so done with this, Oscar.” You said it too quickly, too forcefully, like the words alone could make this moment disappear, could undo the frustration in his voice, the hurt in his eyes. But the second they left your lips, you realized how empty they were—how much they lacked the conviction you wished they had. Because deep down, under all the denial, all the forced pretenses, all the carefully constructed distance—you knew.

You knew he was right. But admitting it? That was something you weren’t ready for.

Oscar shook his head, a humorless laugh slipping past his lips, short, bitter, full of disbelief.

“You don’t understand how hard it is to move on from someone you loved for so long, so much!” Your voice cracked, frustration pouring out, raw, unfiltered. You shouted. Literally. It wasn’t measured, wasn’t restrained—just desperate. Because how could he not understand? How could he stand there, looking at you like this, like you were someone who had done something unforgivable, when all you were trying to do was heal?

But Oscar didn’t soften. Instead, his expression hardened, his jaw tightening as something inside him finally snapped.

“Y/n, I’m done with you.” The words hit like a slap—sudden, sharp, cruel. “I’m done being a replacement for your little Lando, who treated you like shit!”

His voice was loud, edged with something final, something irreversible. And just like that—the pretense, the patience, the quiet understanding he had always carried when it came to you—was gone.

You never saw him like this.

You never heard him say something so unforgiving.

But it was true.

You had treated Oscar the way Lando had treated you.

The weight of everything sat heavy in your chest, pressing down, curling itself into something suffocating, something immovable. The ache in your throat, the sting in your eyes—it wasn’t just from the argument. It was from the realization, from the truth settling into place in a way you could no longer ignore.

Oscar was gone. You had reached for him, barely, pathetically, but he had pulled away without hesitation—without looking back. The finality in his steps, the way his shoulders squared, his pace steady as he walked away—it told you everything. He wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t going to turn around. He was done.

You hadn’t thought you were that horrible. You hadn’t realized until now, in the quiet aftermath, how much damage you had done. It was never supposed to go like this. You had convinced yourself that you were trying, that you were healing, that things would eventually settle.

But now, all you could do was sit. Your body folded onto the curb, knees pulled close, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed away the tears that refused to stop falling. The world around you was still moving—cars rolling past in the distance, laughter spilling from the party, voices rising and fading like background noise. But for you? Everything felt paused.

And then—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, closer. Your breath hitched, panic flickering in your chest before you even looked up, because you already knew. When you finally lifted your gaze, your stomach twisted. Lando. Oh my god.

He stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, watching you for only a second before lowering himself onto the curb beside you. He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t try to comfort you. He just sat, looking ahead at the empty street, at nothing in particular.

The quiet stretched, thick and heavy, settling between you like something fragile. You wiped at your face again, the dampness lingering, your breath still uneven. You swallowed hard before you finally dared to ask, voice fragile between your sobs. “What did you hear?”

A pause. And then—“Everything.”

You exhaled shakily. Neither of you looked at each other. You just sat there, side by side, staring forward, like there was too much between you to even begin to unpack.

The realization settled deep in your chest, heavier than anything you had felt before. It wasn’t about making the right choice, or even about fixing the mess you had created. It was about knowing—truly knowing—that nobody was ever going to save you the way he would.

Lando wasn’t perfect. He had hurt you, more times than you wanted to admit. There were moments you swore you would never let him back in, moments where the distance between you had felt permanent. But despite everything, despite the history, despite the way he had failed you—he was still here. Sitting beside you, quiet, steady, the only person who hadn’t walked away.

Slowly, cautiously, you leaned into him, your movements tentative at first, like you weren’t sure if it was the right thing to do. But as your head rested against his shoulder, as you felt the warmth of him beneath you, as the quiet stretched between you—it felt right. It felt like something you needed.

Your breath was uneven, shaky, the weight of everything pressing against your ribs as the words slipped out, soft, fragile, barely above a whisper.

“You really hurt me, Lando.” The admission stung, but there was no anger in it, no accusation. Just honesty. Just exhaustion. Just the truth of everything that had been left unspoken for far too long.

Lando exhaled slowly, eyes still fixed ahead, his posture tense, his words weighted with something that didn’t quite make sense.

“I know,” he said, and somehow, that simple admission felt heavier than anything else. Because he did know. He knew the ways he had hurt you, the ways he had failed you, the reasons you should have walked away and never looked back. But knowing it didn’t mean fixing it. And maybe that was the problem—he had spent too much time knowing instead of doing.

Then, almost too soft, too contradictory—“I’m sorry. You deserve someone better, love.”

The word hung in the air, almost unintentional, almost instinctual. Love.

You swallowed hard, your head still resting on his shoulder, your breath uneven. How could he say that—tell you to find someone better and then call you something so familiar, so his? He was confusing, infuriating, stuck somewhere between pushing you away and pulling you back in. And yet, here you were. Still sitting beside him. Still choosing him.

“But I don’t want someone else,” you murmured, voice delicate but sure, your fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his shirt. “I want you, Lan.”

The words slipped out, unguarded, vulnerable, carrying the truth you had spent too long denying. You weren’t looking for better. You weren’t looking for new. You were looking for him.

─── 71 days after.

The silence between you and Oscar had stretched over the last few days, filled with apologies that felt more like band-aids than real solutions. He had been the first to say sorry, his voice calm, controlled, like he was carefully threading the words into something that could hold you both together just a little longer. You had followed, not because you believed everything would heal, but because pretending was easier. Even though the cracks in your relationship were impossible to ignore, Oscar still held on. He wasn’t ready to lose you.

And Lando? That was a different story.

You had both slipped seamlessly into the act, pretending like that night never happened, like your whispered confession hadn’t been real. Like you hadn’t told him you wanted only him. He played along effortlessly, not questioning, not pushing, just falling into the same rhythm as you—one where the truth was buried beneath unspoken things.

So when Oscar told you he was heading to McLaren headquarters, when he casually invited you to come along, you hesitated. Not because it was unfamiliar—it wasn’t. You had been there before. You had walked through those halls with Lando, laughed in the corridors, listened to him talk about cars with an enthusiasm that made you smile without thinking.

But this time was different. This time, you were walking through the doors with Oscar.

Oscar pressed a light kiss to the side of your hair, his touch fleeting, absentminded, like his thoughts were already elsewhere. “I’ll find you in a minute,” he murmured, voice calm, steady, effortless. “You can look around.”

You nodded, offering him a small smile before turning away, letting your feet carry you through the space, past the sleek cars, past the championship-winning machinery, past the carefully displayed rows of gleaming trophies that reflected the overhead lights in shimmering waves. You paused in front of them, fingertips hovering over the edges of the plaques, tracing the engraved names without thinking.

Lando’s name. Over and over. It was impossible not to notice.

Your lips parted slightly as you stared, remembering the moments behind them—the victories, the podium celebrations, the sheer joy that had once lit up his entire face when he won. You had seen it up close, had felt it, had been part of it in ways you weren’t supposed to think about anymore.

But then, a voice. Familiar. Unmistakable. “You like my trophies, huh?”

It wasn’t a question. Not really.

Your breath hitched, pulse spiking before you even turned around.

And when you did, your stomach twisted.

Lando stood there, leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. His smirk was subtle, his gaze unwavering, like he had already predicted this moment, like he had expected to find you here—standing in front of pieces of his success, surrounded by the reminders of who he was, who he had always been.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to act normal, to pretend like this wasn’t him, like this wasn’t the first time you had seen him like this since that night.

“They’re impressive,” you said simply, your voice steady, even, though you knew he wouldn’t believe it.

Lando’s voice carried through the quiet space, steady but laced with something heavier, something unspoken, something that lingered between the words like an echo of a past neither of you could fully escape.

“Do you remember how we used to celebrate here together?” The question was simple, deceptively light, but it held a weight that settled deep in your chest. You could hear the memories inside it, the laughter that had once filled these halls, the champagne that had spilled over the edges of glasses, the victories that had felt like more than just his—they had felt like ours. You could see it all as if it had been yesterday, the electricity, the excitement, the way his arms had always found you in the middle of the celebrations, pulling you close like he never wanted to let go.

But that was a different lifetime.

One you weren’t supposed to think about anymore.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening at your sides, willing yourself to stay composed, to pretend like none of this mattered. Like seeing him here, standing in the place that had once meant so much, wasn’t unraveling something inside you.

“Now you’re here with him,” Lando said it without accusation, without anger, just fact. Just something to acknowledge, something to force into the space between you. But his voice—steady, controlled—didn’t match the sharpness in his eyes.

He was looking at you, really looking, as if trying to figure out how this had happened. How you had gone from him to Oscar, from champagne-soaked podium nights together to standing in front of his trophies like just another visitor passing through.

You turned to him fully, inhaling sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Lando, stop.” Your voice was firm, but there was a tremor beneath it, one you hoped he wouldn’t catch. “Me and Oscar are good now.”

Lando’s expression didn’t change—not immediately. He stood there, quiet, still, watching you like you had just said something completely incomprehensible. Like he was trying to understand how, not long ago, you had wanted him, had only looked at him, and now—now you were here, standing next to his trophies, with someone else.

Lando’s words hung in the air, stretching the silence between you, thick with frustration, edged with something deeper—something neither of you wanted to admit outright.

“I don’t understand you, Y/n.” His shrug was casual, effortless even, but the weight behind his voice betrayed him. “You want me, but you’re with him.”

It was clear he didn’t understand. But the truth was—you didn’t either. You had no answer for him, no explanation that made sense, not even to yourself. You had convinced yourself that you had made a choice, that Oscar was right for you, that everything had fallen into place the way it was supposed to. But standing here, caught in the gravity of Lando’s presence, his voice, his gaze locked on you like he was searching for something—it didn’t feel so simple anymore.

You wanted to push back, to tell him he was wrong, that things weren’t as complicated as he was making them seem, but you couldn’t. Because that same conflict—the one reflected so clearly in his eyes—was alive inside of you, clawing its way to the surface, demanding to be acknowledged.

“I know you, Y/n,” Lando said, quieter this time, but no less certain. There was something deeper in his voice now, something careful, something that felt almost fragile, like he was trying to steady something between you before it slipped away completely.

If he knew you, then he should know your decision. He should know why things had played out the way they did, why you were here with Oscar, why he had been left behind. He should know that you had chosen differently, that you had moved forward, that things between you weren’t supposed to exist in this space anymore.

But did he really know you?

Your throat tightened as you shook your head, forcing the words out, forcing yourself to hold onto the anger that had kept you steady all this time. “No, you don’t, Lando.” The statement felt sharp as it left your lips, cutting through the air between you like something final. “If you knew me, you wouldn’t have hurt me so many times.”

Lando inhaled sharply, his posture stiffening slightly, his jaw clenching in a way that told you he didn’t like that response. He wanted to argue. He wanted to fight it. You could see it in the way his shoulders squared, in the way his fingers curled into his palms. But something stopped him—maybe the truth in your words, maybe the exhaustion that had settled between you after all this time.

“I know you better than anyone, Y/n.” The conviction in his voice was impossible to ignore.

The words hit harder than they should have, sinking deep, settling in a place inside you that had never really healed, no matter how much you tried to pretend otherwise.

Because deep down, where you didn’t want to admit it, where you had buried the truth beneath layers of careful distance and quiet denial—he wasn’t wrong.

Even though you had chosen Oscar, even though you had told yourself this was the right thing, even though you had walked away— You still wanted Lando.

You always did.

─── 77 days after.

You hadn't thought much about it at first, dismissing the missing pieces of your life as minor inconveniences—an old sweater, a pair of AirPods, little things that weren’t supposed to matter. But the longer they stayed gone, the more noticeable their absence became, little reminders of a place you hadn’t been in far too long, of someone you had tried to leave behind. And yet, despite everything, they were still there, waiting, untouched, proof that some things weren’t as easily forgotten as you wanted them to be.

So finally, after too much hesitation and too many second guesses, you made up your mind. You had to pick them up. You had to close this lingering door, tie up the last loose thread, end whatever remained unspoken between you and him. That was the plan—the logic you clung to as you stood outside his apartment, fingers curling against your palm, steadying your breath before pressing the doorbell.

It took only a few seconds for the door to swing open, but somehow, those seconds stretched longer than they should have, enough time for doubt to creep in, for your pulse to pick up, for memories to stir in places they had no business being.

And then— Lando.

Messy hair, white t-shirt, grey sweatpants— Dear God— so effortlessly casual, so unbelievably familiar, so frustratingly him. He blinked at you once, then twice, as if confirming that you were really standing there, that this wasn’t just something he had imagined would happen. And yet, despite the obvious knowledge that you would come, the moment still carried an awkwardness neither of you could escape.

“Hey,” he said first, his voice lower than you remembered, smoother somehow, unreadable in the quiet space between you.

“Hey,” you forced out, an awkward, hesitant smile pulling at your lips, like it was supposed to soften whatever this was, like it was supposed to make it easier.

Lando’s smile lingered for a moment before he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting you in. The apartment still carried the same chaos, the same familiarity—clothes scattered across furniture, team merch stacked in corners, the faint scent of cologne and something inherently him filling the space. It hadn’t changed since the day you shut the door behind you, since the moment you decided to walk away, and yet, standing here now, it felt like the past had never fully left.

Your gaze drifted across the room, scanning over the clutter, the details, until it landed on something that made your breath catch—the framed photos.

They were still there.

Still displayed, still untouched, still holding pieces of something you both pretended wasn’t real anymore. But the one that stood out, the one that pulled at you the most, was the picture from Miami—the moment after his first win. Lando, smiling wildly, pure joy radiating from his face, the trophy held firmly in one hand while the other wrapped around your waist. You were pressed close, your lips against his cheek, frozen in a moment that had felt perfect, untouchable.

Your fingers reached out instinctively, barely grazing the edge of the frame.

“That’s my favorite one,” you murmured, the words slipping out naturally, quietly, like an admission you hadn’t meant to make.

Lando’s smile faltered slightly, his expression shifting, something quiet passing through his features that he didn’t try to hide. “Yeah, it was the best day of my life,” he admitted, but there was something softer about the way he said it, something that carried more weight than just nostalgia.

Your gaze lingered on the framed photo, fingers tracing the edges without thinking, as if touching it might somehow bring back the moment, might somehow remind you of how simple things had been. “We were so happy,” you murmured, exhaling deeply, the kind of sigh that carried more than just exhaustion—it carried regret, longing, unanswered questions. “Wondering when it all went wrong.”

The words stilled Lando, stopping him mid-thought, mid-movement, making him look at you in a way that felt different, heavier. He had thought about it too, hadn’t he? Wondered the same thing. Because you had been happy together. You had been the couple, the ones everyone talked about, the ones who looked untouchable, unbreakable. And yet, here you were—standing apart, speaking like strangers, trying to pick up pieces that had been left behind without knowing if they still fit.

Stepping into the bedroom felt like walking straight into the past. Nothing had changed, not really. Your favorite plush still sat on the bed, right where you had left it, like it had been waiting for you all this time. The makeup on the table remained untouched, scattered in the same way it always had been, like no one had dared to move it, like the space had frozen in time. It was as if your presence had never truly left, only lingered in the air, waiting for the moment you might return.

You swallowed, avoiding Lando’s gaze as you traced your fingers over the edge of the dresser, hesitant, careful, unsure if you should ask the question that had suddenly formed in your mind. “Lan?” Your voice was quiet, uncertain, fragile in a way you didn’t mean for it to be. “Can I ask you something?”

He hummed in response, a lazy sound, one that meant go ahead, even if he wasn’t sure what was coming.

You hesitated, fingers tightening slightly against the wood, mind racing as doubt crept in. You weren’t sure why you wanted to know—why this felt important, why the answer might matter more than it should. Maybe you needed reassurance. Maybe you just wanted proof that you hadn’t been the only one struggling with the weight of what had been lost.

“Do you ever miss us?” The words left you before you could stop them, shaky, uncertain. “Me and you together?”

Silence.

Lando didn’t answer right away. His posture shifted slightly, his fingers curling loosely at his sides, his gaze locked onto you like he was searching for something—like he was waiting to see if you were ready to hear the truth.

Then, his voice, steady but quiet.

“All the time.”

Your breath hitched, the world around you momentarily freezing as the warmth of his lips pressed against yours, firm, desperate, real. Your pulse hammered beneath your skin, your fingers gripping onto nothing, as if trying to steady yourself against the sudden rush of everything that had been left unsaid. The kiss wasn’t careful. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t something either of you had time to think through. It was raw, unfiltered, filled with every emotion that had been buried beneath forced distance, packed bags, and quiet goodbyes.

Lando’s grip on your wrist tightened, grounding you, pulling you closer, his touch firm yet hesitant, as if he was afraid that if he let go for even a second, you would disappear. His body was warm, solid, familiar, and suddenly everything—every single moment that had led to this—felt like it had been pulling you back to this exact place, this exact feeling, this exact person. His other hand found the small of your back, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt like he needed something to hold onto, like he wasn’t ready to let go yet, like letting go meant losing something he wasn’t willing to lose.

And maybe—for just a moment—you let yourself forget. Forget why you came here. Forget why things had ended. Forget why you were supposed to leave. Because in this moment, with his lips pressing harder against yours, with his touch begging you to stay, with his heart pounding just as wildly as yours, there was only this. Only him. Only the truth neither of you could ignore anymore.

Lando’s hands travelled down to your waist, pressing his fingers firmly against your skin like he needed proof that you were still there, that this moment wasn’t slipping through his fingers. His breath was uneven, shaky, filled with something raw, something desperate. The words fell from his lips between kisses, quiet but pleading, the weight of them settling deep into the space between you.

“Please don’t go, stay here tonight.” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with something he wasn’t trying to hide—need.

You knew he meant it. You could feel it in the way his lips moved against yours, in the way his hands refused to let go, in the way his heart pounded against your own like it was trying to sync up, like it was trying to hold onto something neither of you wanted to name.

“I need you here with me.”

The words shouldn’t have made your chest tighten the way they did, shouldn’t have made your breath catch, shouldn’t have made your resolve flicker for even a second. But they did.

You stopped, just for a moment, just long enough to meet his gaze again, eyes locking, searching, understanding. And in that second, you knew—he wasn’t asking. He was begging.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, pulling him back in, refusing to let space exist between you. Your lips crashed into his again, and this time, there was no hesitation.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

───78 days after.

The morning light spilled softly across the room, golden and warm, painting everything in delicate hues of peace. You blinked against it, stretching slightly, sinking deeper into the sheets as the feeling settled in—happiness. It was quiet, simple, effortless, the kind of happiness that didn’t need justification, that didn’t come with doubts or hesitation, that just existed.

Your gaze drifted to the man beside you, his breathing steady, his body curled slightly into the pillow, his messy brown curls sprawled across the white fabric like they belonged there. Lando. He looked different in the morning—so unguarded, so soft. And as you stared, as you traced the familiar lines of his face with your eyes, something inside you shifted.

You were falling for him again.

Just like before. Just like years ago. But this time—this time—it didn’t scare you. There was no impending fear, no walls built to keep feelings at bay, no need to tell yourself it was temporary or fleeting or something you needed to run from.

It was just love. Pure, honest, uncomplicated.

“Good morning, darlin’,” Lando murmured, his voice still thick with sleep, rough and deep, the kind of tone that made warmth spread through your chest without warning. His green eyes met yours, blinking slowly, soft and steady, filled with something you weren’t sure he even realized was there.

You let your gaze linger, taking him in, letting the silence stretch before breaking it softly. “How did you sleep?” Your voice was quiet, gentle, carrying something unspoken beneath the simplicity of the question.

“With you by my side?” His eyes met yours, green and steady, filled with something unguarded. “Better than ever.”

A small smile found its way onto your lips, and as he reached out, fingers brushing softly against your arm, you let yourself sink deeper into the warmth of the morning, of him, of the quiet realization that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t need to fight this anymore.

Lando’s fingers brushed softly against your cheek as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, lingering, like he wanted to savor the moment, like he wanted to make sure you knew—really knew—what he was about to say. His lips parted slightly, no hesitation, no filter, just raw honesty spilling out before he could second-guess it.

“I love you so much.”

The words settled between you, heavy with meaning, thick with something deeper than just affection—something that had always existed, something neither of you had ever fully let go of.

Your heart swelled, the warmth spreading through your chest, the kind of comfort that came from finally knowing you were where you were supposed to be. A slow smile pulled at your lips, effortless, unshaken. “I love you too.” The truth felt good, freeing, like you had finally stopped running, like you had finally let yourself feel everything you had been afraid to for so long.

Lando exhaled softly, studying you, searching for something in your expression before speaking again. “So, it means you’ll give me a second chance?” His voice was steady, but there was something fragile in it, something cautious, something that told you he needed to hear your answer.

And it wasn’t like you hesitated. You trusted him. You trusted that he could change, that things could be different this time, that whatever had broken before could be rebuilt.

“Yeah.”

─── 2 months later.

Two months in, everything felt different—lighter, easier, right. You and Lando had always found your way back to each other, like gravity pulling you together no matter how much distance or time had tried to intervene. There was no denying it anymore—you were soulmates, bound by something deeper than just history, something unshakable, something that had been there all along.

Lando had changed—not completely, not in ways that made him unrecognizable, but in the ways that mattered. In the ways where he used to be reckless, where he used to be careless with things that deserved more attention. You couldn’t help but wonder if Max had had a serious talk with him at some point, maybe knocked some sense into him, maybe taught him things he should’ve learned a long time ago. Whatever had happened, it had worked. And somehow, you loved him even more for it.

Things with Oscar had turned out better than you had expected. You talked, openly, honestly, and despite everything, he understood. He had seen it in you, maybe even before you were ready to admit it yourself—that you loved Lando, that you always would. There was no anger, no bitterness, just a quiet acceptance that sometimes, love didn’t follow logic, didn’t follow rules, didn’t always make perfect sense. And in the end, everything had worked out.

In the end, the pain had been worth it.

This is my longest fic yet<3 Hope u love it just as much as I do! @haniette <3

[pricegotmedickmatized]

...sticky with icky price pov incoming. @gothghostiie this is for you and i am SO SORRY it's this long price would not shut up (actually i felt guilty for not writing anything 'new' so i had to have them fuck)

ok!! this is the price pov/follow up to this drabble but its not really necessary to read before this one if you don't want to

cw: stalking, noncon filming, bareback rough sex, cockwarming, icky!price, fauxcest, daddy kink, slight degradation/slut shaming (but only in a horny way to turn her on), jealousy, spanking, grief/mourning hurt/comfort, references to simon's backstory, dirty talk like so dirty actually wash that man's mouth out with soap (johnny's head perks up in the next room), manipulation, possessive/pervy behavior

when John had been a sergeant, his lieutenant had been newly married. he was the joker on the team, keeping them all loose with excellently timed practical jokes, never letting them feel fear, never letting them sit in panic. he taught price about controlling your responses to when shit inevitably went tits up. taught him about how to absorb a body blow, how to snatch the upper hand and use it to break your opponent. taught him how to take care of his team. about a lot of things, actually. 

for the first year or so he’d been great. they got through two deployments in the desert tracking terror cells without losing a man, with the LT cracking jokes and making them laugh. 

and then shit went tits up. 

a target slipped through the LT’s fingers when he went back for one of their men, and less than a week later the LT got the news his wife had been murdered. 

it broke him. 

to the present day it was the eeriest sight John had ever seen, how it took him and all three of the others to hold the LT back, the venom he spewed, the rage that all too quickly turned to these deep, heaving, screaming sobs. it was a sound that still haunted John. 

the LT went home, John had thought for good, but only for a week or so. and he came back different. 

the crack that had appeared in him when he’d gotten the news had only deepened, braced and held together only by the life. by the job. 

he didn’t laugh. he didn’t joke. he didn’t smile. he did his job, same as always, kept them safe, same as always, but it was hard for any of them to look him in the eye. their LT just wasn’t in there anymore. 

John got transferred a year after that, just after rescuing Farah and Hadir. promoted up the ranks, following Laswell. 

the LT stayed, like a man frozen in time at the moment he’d lost his life. nothing to do but relive it, day after day. 

when he’d been younger, John had fantasized about having a family. a wife, children, a home. doing it right, because he knew what not to do by first hand experience. 

he wanted a daughter. he’d be happy with sons, he’d love sons, but he wanted a little girl more than anything else. 

then he saw what losing his wife had done to the man who he had watched take a rifle leveled at his face with nothing more than a joke about compensating. 

and he quietly shelved that dream of his own. he knew his own mind. what his hands were capable of. if something like that happened to what belonged to John, he wouldn’t have been able to be stopped. and once he got a taste for blood he wasn’t sure he’d know when to stop. 

he couldn’t say he regretted the decision to leave that dream on the shelf. no matter what the darkness in the back of his head whispered to him about what he was capable of when he was balls deep inside anyone with a uterus, he never acted on it. his ring finger stayed bare, he found fatherhood with his boys, and that was enough. 

he stayed in contact with his old LT. nothing much really, just two old army hounds confirming no one’d got a lucky shot in yet. the LT got older but never smiled again. 

one day Laswell notified him that he’d been killed in action trying to complete a mission. the whole squad had gone down, and 141 needed to finish their work. 

they went in and did their jobs, and if John was a little quiet the whole time the boys never said anything directly. 

during the cleanup of the op, the consolidation of the soldier’s belongings, what was intel and needed to be kept, what was personal and could be returned, that was when he found it. a picture of the LT with his wife. 

and a baby girl. 

there was another picture, much more recent, of a girl just entering adulthood in her graduation robes. a name at the bottom, the last name matching. 

another search of his quarters turned up the letters, and the rage took root frighteningly fast as he read the awkward penmanship of a frightened baby girl begging for her father to come home. 

promises to behave. promises to cook, clean, to be quiet and respectful and to do her homework and never ever complain. 

begging. 

saying she’d never complain about another thing her whole life if she could just have her daddy back. if he’d come get her from boarding school and let her come home. 

he’d thrown the chair out the window. cursed the LT solidly for ten minutes. the rage wouldn’t quit. 

how could he? how could he leave you? how could he drop you off with fucking strangers, never knowing if you were safe, if you were happy, if you had a good day? how could he not take it into his own hands and fix it when you had a bad one? how could he stand being the cause of all your misery and pain? 

how could he have something so precious and shatter it so cruelly? 

he kept looking at her in that graduation picture. the forced smile, the dull eyes, the tired expression. she was so young and pretty, but life just wasn’t inside of her. when the LT had cracked open he’d destroyed himself, and he’d destroyed his daughter in the process. 

getting information on her was easy. Laswell had a file ready to go. the woman knew him so well he’d be frightened if he remembered how to be. and if he didn’t know where her skeletons were just as readily. 

the LT’s girl was getting ready for uni, and on paper she was the perfect daughter. awards both academic and artistic (she competed in choir and played the piano in her boarding schools orchestra), and she’d been involved in what seemed like a hundred different clubs and activities, even led more than a few of them. 

he’d checked the date of her graduation and cross referenced it with the LT’s credit card and his service record. of course he hadn’t made it to her graduation. hadn’t even sent her fucking flowers. 

there were other letters, he found later. letters in the LT’s handwriting. they didn’t absolve the man a damn sight in John’s eyes, but they weren’t for him. they were for the girl who faked smiles in her pictures. 

John made a decision. they had a bit of down time coming, and he knew how he’d spend it. 

a request to Laswell ensured he’d be the one to break the news to her. the boys would come with him to each funeral for the LT’s squad, but he’d give her the news alone. 

she was the last one to be informed. he’d saved her for last, to live in blissful ignorance just a little bit longer. but after the last funeral for the LT’s team, there was nothing else to do but go knock on her door. 

she was smaller in person than he’d expected. she took after her mother in coloring and build, nothing from the LT. she looked more tired in person too, huddled in her cardigan like she was cold even in the lingering heat of summer. 

and fuck if that didn’t remind him of when he’d first met Simon, and make his old, black heart throb in his chest, just once. 

she was prettier than her picture, enough that he felt something else clench inside him, some old and long ignored beast yawning, starting to awaken in his chest. she was clearly just out of the shower, hair dripping down her back and it made her look young in a way that he - he shouldn’t think about. 

he managed not to shift on his feet as he introduced himself. “My name is Captain John Price. I-” 

his speech was lost, forgotten as she crumpled to the ground with a cry. he caught her, something that should’ve felt foreign and uncomfortable but just - didn’t. 

he held her tight, carrying her back inside her flat as she thrashed, shouting and hissing, knowing she needed to get it out, not even heeding the half-formed and broken off sentences, not minding when her nails caught his face or his hands or his arms. it was what she needed. 

so he just held her tight, tight like he had when he’d first got his arms around Simon, tight enough to restrict her breathing, make her ribs creak, because that was the only way he knew she’d feel like it was even close to enough. waited patiently, speaking soft nonsense into her ear until she wasn’t fighting anymore, until she was clinging to him tighter than he was holding her as she cried. 

there hadn’t been much he could do for her as she worked through the initial rage and grief. just held her, rocking her back and forth on his lap and keeping her from shattering in his arms. she clung to him, shivering and shivering despite the heat of the rare London sun pouring through her narrow windows and making the flat uncomfortably stuffy. 

it didn’t surprise him. she really was just like Simon had been when John’d first met him, when touch was so foreign it hurt when you got it again, and its absence left you feeling like frostbite was licking at your limbs. in his head he cussed the LT out all over again. 

when she’d completely exhausted herself he did what her father should’ve been doing all these years. he took care of her. took her to her bedroom and tucked her in her bed. brushed her drying hair back from her tear stained face, and put the letters on her nightstand. 

on his way out, he found himself stopping in front of the door. and then he went back. room to room he looked the place over on silent feet, noting entrances, exits, things in need of repair, security weak spots. 

he locked all her windows, drew all her blinds. a pretty girl living alone needed to be more careful. he frowned at her flimsy front door with its easily pickable lock, frowned harder at the empty fridge and the neatly labelled calendar with a plethora of classes, volunteer work, shifts at a local bakery planned out til the end of the next month in a careful handwritten print. 

she was working herself to death. wasn’t there anyone to take care of a pretty thing like her? surely boys hadn’t gotten that stupid in the time he’d been deployed. a girl like her should be in a man’s home, able to turn to him for comfort and security and reassurance and love. 

that beast in his chest lifted its head as John realized that was exactly what he’d done. 

no, fool old man. you’re just here to make sure she has someone to lean on while she buries her father. that’s all. 

he looked around the apartment one more time. it was empty of all the things it should’ve had in bulk. instead of a messy clutter of books both for school or not, there were only heavy school textbooks and nonfiction autobiographies ordered by genre, then author and arranged neatly on narrow, cheap bookshelves. her makeup was in a neat row on top of her dresser in her bedroom, not splashed over her bathroom countertop or spilling out of her purse hung on her coat tree. there were no pictures of her and friends strung up everywhere, and in fact there were no pictures at all up on the wall. 

the apartment itself was bare bones, hardly even worthy of being called functional, certainly not worthy of the woman who lived there. there wasn’t any decor, no life or color or joy. just that fucking calendar on the wall written in careful muted colored pencils. he’d bet a months pay that the list of activities he found there was all she did. if it didn’t go on the calendar she didn’t do it. 

and if that was true, she was the loneliest girl in the entire world, living in fucking exile like she was to blame for her dead mother and her stupid fucking father, trying so goddamn hard to atone for her imaginary sins. 

his teeth ground. how could he be just another man to enter her life and walk away? how could anyone walk away from a girl this fucking lonely? this in need for someone, fucking anyone to sit up and fucking take care of her? 

why not John? 

why not him. 

he liked taking care of things. and he knew, sweet, needy, lonely, starving thing like her, that she’d sink into being taken care of with nothing short of starry eyed gratitude. 

no he was never going to be able to just walk away from her. one look, and she’d become his. 

he was with her through the planning of the funeral. neither of them bothered even trying to call anyone. there was no family left, and the LT’d had no friends. in the end it was the five of them: the 141 and her, staring at the grave. 

this time he was expecting the breakdown. she’d buried both of her parents before turning 21. she was completely, utterly alone. he knew she’d read the letters, he could see it on her face when he’d visited the next day to help her make arrangements, knew she hadn’t slept, could see over the following week that she’d dropped weight with a worrying speed, not eating. 

and it killed him that those fucking letters were what did it. that they’d made her feel guilty. what did a soft, innocent thing like her possibly have to feel guilty about when she’d been so wronged, so hurt? 

so of course she finally shattered. screaming obscenities and threats at the grave, unearthing every fault, every grudge, every held dear wish for her birthdays and concerts and graduations and holidays where even when he’d showed up he left her bleeding. 

John caught her around the waist, hauling her in against his chest, keeping her safe when she looked ready to claw her way into the casket to strangle the corpses of her parents, but he let her lance the wound. wanted her to. wanted her to get it all out now, get rid of it poisoning her from the inside out. 

the screaming turned to crying too quickly, much quicker than the last time. when it did he didn’t hesitate to turn her into his chest and press his mouth against her ear, murmuring more quiet, sweet nothings there, rocking her back and forth. she smelled like cotton candy, her body soft and her fingers shockingly cold as they clutched at his neck. 

“Why couldn’t he just love me?” she asked him, breaking his fucking heart wide open as her teary eyes found his. “I just wanted someone to love me.” 

he closed his eyes, giving in. the beast in his chest was awake, eyeing her hungrily, and he knew what it meant, what he wanted, but he’d already decided he couldn’t walk away. fuck, if he left her, he’d never be able to live with himself. someone had to take care of her, she needed him. so he’d stay. 

he tucked her into his car with the boys when she was mostly cried out, buckling her in and wrapping her in a blanket he pulled from the boot. a soft murmured ‘watch your toes, lovie’ before closing her door. 

the boys hadn’t said a word so neither did he. they waited in the car as he carried her into her flat. she was still crying faintly, too exhausted from the heaving sobs from before. he brushed them away with the backs of his fingers, sitting beside her on top of her comforter. 

“I’m cold,” she said quietly. defeated. lonely. 

he ran a hand over her hair. “I know, love.” Simon had been cold too. he knew she didn’t just mean she needed another quilt. it would go deeper than that. 

the cotton candy scent was stronger in her bedroom. the telltale, vulnerable underbelly to her ice princess facade of not needing anyone or anything. that was who she really was. soft and sweet and needy. poor girl, all alone in exile for so long. 

he slipped a hand around the nape of her neck, her hair like silk across his knuckles and the back of his hand. he squeezed her there, the way he had for Simon, a little too hard than he should’ve. 

her reaction was similar, but…different too. she didn’t just relax, she gave in, eyes fluttering closed, her body turning towards him, the softest little moan escaping her. 

his cock twitched in his pants. 

swallowing, he squeezed her again, and said, unintentionally firm even if it was quiet, “Just sleep. You’ll feel better.” 

-

over the next two years he stayed close. by degrees, of course, and to her knowledge just a concerned, kindly father figure wanting to make sure she was doing alright. 

that was how he’d meant it to be, at least. 

but it wasn’t enough for him. nowhere near it. he needed to know every detail of her routine down to the most microscopic of details. 

and truthfully he hadn’t even fought his instincts to do what needed to be done to quell that itch beneath his skin. implanted standing requests for blind updates from all her professors, trackers on her phone and in all her shoes, cameras in strategic places in and outside her flat to see her comings and goings, see she was alright when he was halfway around the world unable to reach her physically. 

even when he was in England, he found himself following her from careful distances, smoking a cigar across the street as she studied outside in a cafe. alone. huddled with her books like a bubble of isolation that couldn’t be popped. 

and he didn’t stop there because how could only that much of her life under his review be enough? when she was in class sometimes he’d go inside her flat, take another look around at everything. he would’ve said it was just for security, to make sure she was safe, but he’d never been a liar. 

it wasn’t for security at all, it was for him, for that yawing bottomless ache inside of him he’d never dared try to fill. that was what had him looking in the dresser drawers with her little bralettes and panties, had him staring at the little drawer in her nightstand that held her vibrator. had him fucking a fleshlight as he watched her writhe on her sheets with that vibrator pressed to her clit, face screwed up tight, and he watched the mirror reflection on his laptop of her phone, playing audio porn of a man praising her, telling her to be good and take it for daddy. 

he didn’t ignore it, didn’t try to lie to himself or even attempt to feel guilty about it. if anything he indulged himself and all those twisted desires he had for more of her, always more, desires that had made his cock strain his pants, made him have to bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood, made that dark, formless thing inside of him reach out and want to sink its claws into her unmarked skin. he’d tried a little at first, half-heartedly so at least. 

but she made it so fucking difficult. 

he’d made a great effort to implant himself in her life as a steady, if a little unpredictable in appearances, figure. taking her out to the theater, to lunches and dinners, for coffees and books, shoring up her security and doing handywork around her flat. 

drawing her out of her shell, getting her to tell him about her friends (very few), boyfriends (absolutely none), classes, activities, likes, dislikes, hobbies, fucking anything and everything that passed through her pretty head. more than just knowing she needed someone to talk to, he liked being the one she was opening up to. giving more and more of herself with every time he showed up at her flat with an overpriced coffee and a sugary donut for her. 

liked that it was him that she trusted to call when she thought she smelled gas in her flat, him that she shyly shared her accomplishments with like when she’d gotten a solo in the orchestra, him that sent her or gave her birthday and holiday presents that made her cry happy tears, like the baby grand he’d had set up in her flat just the last year. 

she’d tried to hug him, but he’d ducked it. it nearly gutted him to do it but fucking hell. if he’d let her do it, let her press that soft, small body against his in that moment thanking him so profusely, he’d have had her naked and screaming as he stuffed her cunt full of his cock inside a minute. 

she’d taken to wearing less and less around him, hemlines creeping higher, fabric getting tighter, thinner. and on her birthday with the baby grand, he’d woken her up despite it being past noon, and she hadn’t been wearing a bra. 

those sweet tits were bouncing free in her tight little white tank top with the tiny pink bow in the center as she’d rushed around the piano, eyes sparkling bright with her excitement like a puppy, thanking him so fast and happy she tripped over her own words. 

who did she think she was fooling? ducking behind doors like a good girl when the delivery men had been in her flat but the second they were gone prancing around practically naked under John’s nose, eyes dilating, face flushed, pert little nipples pebbling under her shirt when she looked at him. 

probably wet in her little cotton panties too. 

he knew what they looked like, neatly folded in her dresser drawer. soft and crisp white but almost utilitarian. not what he’d put her in. 

fuck. 

no, he’d put her in pretty pastels, in lace and silk, thongs that accentuated the line of her hips, clung to her cunt.  

he probably shouldn’t be wanting to see what her panties looked like damp with her wetness because she liked when he called her lovie and gave her presents and made sure she ate. 

shouldn’t want to take her up on the silent offers she was always making when she devoured him with her eyes, when she sweetly tried to feed him off her own plate, offered to massage his shoulders, ‘accidentally’ stumbled while walking beside him just so she could press against his side like a slut and huff his cologne like an addict. 

but ‘shouldn’t’ didn’t stop him from wanting that and more besides. 

he was taking care of her, like she was his own little girl. that was undeniable. 

he wanted to put her on her back and ram his cockhead against her cervix and make her sob. that was undeniable too. 

and somehow the way those two things mixed together in his head became something intoxicating. she was so fucking young, so vulnerable, innocent and sweet. 

so needy, too despite pretending her hardest not to be. she’d been taking care of herself for so long and it was burning her out, he could see it. 

if John was a good man, he’d set one of the boys on her. probably Gaz, god knew the lad would take good care of her, young and sweet enough to match her. 

if he was a good man he would’ve been encouraging her to branch out, make friends, used his new position as her father figure to get her into some hobbies and extracurriculars that weren’t so solitary. 

but John wasn’t a good man. he was a soldier with countless bodies marked in a blood soaked ledger the lord would weigh against his soul. and if he was already doomed then what did it matter if it would give her what she wanted, what his baby needed? 

so he hadn’t done any of that. instead, he’d planted quiet disapproval in her head in strategic moments, leading her gently to the comfort of staying in her self imposed isolation, her circle of friends shrinking with his slow, concentrated efforts. with time and patience and kindness making her more and more reliant on him. 

because god help him the idea of anyone, even one of his boys, putting their hands on her sweet tits, touching her cunt-

no. 

and she didn’t need that. not from his boys even if they’d treat her how she needed, and especially not from some young pup who wouldn’t know how to make her sit down and behave herself at dinner the same way he wouldn’t know how to make her cum so hard she’d black out. 

she needed someone older, someone in control, someone to take her in hand and hold her down. needed someone to give her the illusion of choice, when really the decision had already been made and taken out of her hands and off her shoulders. she needed the relief of not having to think about anything but what her dad told her to. 

because that was what she needed. she needed a father. 

and since her own was dead, John was ready and willing for the job. 

made it better that he wasn’t her actual blood father, so he didn’t have to pretend to feel guilty about fisting his cock to the memory of cotton candy scented skin and her voice in his ear thanking him so sweetly for helping her with her shoes like it hadn’t made her drip. fucking a fleshlight thinking about the curve of her ass when she bent over in front of him, deliberately giving him a peek below her skirt to see how her white panties hugged her pussy, clinging to the folds, surely damp from her nerves and horniness at her own daring, but not quite soaked through yet. 

he was going to take her up on those offers, gonna fill her every hole with his cock, his cum, his spit, mark her with his seed and his sweat and the imprint of his hands and his teeth like a fucking animal with its territory. he just wanted her to grow up a little more first. 

it was a gift he was giving her before he closed his hand around her body to never release her again, and she was wasting that gift of time. 

more than that, she was playing a dangerous fucking game, and John’s control was reaching its limit. 

she needed her dad to take control of her life, and that only became more clear as he watched her start acting like a fucking spoiled brat, taunting him as she went out of her way to try and ruin her own life. 

she started skipping class. her grades slipped dangerously low, extracurricular commitments went abandoned, she started going to the club and staying out all hours, and drinking like the fucking LT had. grinding on boys that watched her hungrily and tried to follow her home. 

multiple times John’d had to step in and make sure she got there safe, the little fool not even once glancing around her with a single thought to her fucking safety. 

she was throwing her life away. and she had the temerity to lie to him about it. how many times had he asked her how she was? how many times had he given her the opportunity to be a good girl and come clean and tell him she was struggling, tell him she needed help? and every time she lied, saying she was just tired from binge watching a show, her grades were fine, everything was fine. 

it was the lying to him that enraged him. his girl should know better than to even fucking try. 

-

what made this time different than the others, watching her tip her head back so some fuckhead could pour vodka down her throat and look down her dress at her tits, he wasn’t sure. but that thin line he’d been keeping behind, the only thing holding him back to let her grow up a little first, snapped, audible to his own ears. 

he sent a message to the recruit he’d posted on her that week, reminding him not to be seen unless intervention was required, all the usual rules. he was calm and steady as he made his way to her flat to wait for her. 

but when he got to her flat, his jaw clenched. there was actual dust collected on the top of her school textbooks, dropped unceremoniously on the coffee table. her clothes were strung throughout the apartment, like a child who’d decided she didn’t have to keep her room clean. and there was nothing in her kitchen, her pantry, her fridge, nothing but a couple bottles of water and a carton of Chinese food growing mold, forgotten in the back corner. 

his hands clenched and his body burned. she needed him to intervene and he was done letting her think she was getting away with not taking care of herself. all this shit ended, right fucking now. 

he called Laswell, standing and staring at his little girl’s empty fridge, and took her up on that offer for an extended leave. he sent the boys a text and then sat down and waited her out. 

the longer he waited, the madder he got. what did she think she was doing, sweet and vulnerable fucking thing like her giving out her precious little body like it didn’t belong to John? like she could ever quench the want she had for her new daddy by fucking some pup still wet behind the ears fresh off his mama’s tit in a dingy club where he could slip something into her drink, where he could poke a hole in the condom and put a baby in the womb that John was-

the door unlocked, and she stumbled inside. 

it made his blood boil, looking at her like this. hungover and all that perfect unmarked skin on display for others to look at and fondle, without John to supervise it. and in those towering stilettos, the straps wrapped around her ankles threatening to snap the joint if she tripped over their weight one more time, and that fucking dress, just two threads holding it up over her bare fucking tits, hardly covering her nipples, the skirt flirting way too fucking high on her thighs, fuck fuck fuck- 

“Have you lost your fucking mind.” 

her face lit up when she recognized him, even as she rolled her eyes like a brat and pretended to be annoyed and then angry with him. he knew better. could read her like a fucking book, rubbing her legs together to give her pussy some pressure, eyes raking over every inch of his body visibly starving for it, and even when she was whining about her privacy (inconsequential, no such thing anymore) she was breathy and straining, her nipples visibly tenting the too thin scrap of fabric she was passing off as a dress. 

he’d known that she’d look pretty on his lap, crying and begging so sweet as he spanked her ass raw, and he couldn’t help but be extra rough about it because the naughty slut had chosen tonight to wear her only black lace thong instead of her white cotton panties. 

but fuck, she was even prettier than he’d expected, the scent of cotton candy clouding his goddamn head and nearly making him drunk on it when it mixed with the sweet smell of sex, and she took her spanking so fucking good, giving in to her horniness and to his touch. 

just one good crack across her ass, his hand gripping the back of her neck and she melted like chocolate in the sun, moaning and purring like a bitch in heat as she lifted her hips to catch each blow, cunt dripping her slick onto his pants. 

admittedly he was meaner than he should’ve been, calling her out for all her teasing, but the poor thing nearly hyperventilated in her determination to tell him that wasn’t true, that hadn’t been teasing, she’d meant it. 

“Not teasing, dad, I promise.” 

fuck. 

fuck.  

such a good girl, at her core she was his good little girl, daddy’s perfect goddamn princess. she knew it, wanted it so bad to give it to him so quick, call their relationship what it was, so sweet, pleading for him to believe her. 

he did. 

one day when she was more secure and settled he’d spank her properly for acting like such a goddamn cocktease to him, but for now he only wanted her to cry because being spanked felt too good, wanted her to cry from the release and relief of not being responsible for anything but following dad’s orders anymore. crying from pleasure and promising to behave as she sniffled. 

so that was how he gave it to her, backing off on the censure and just giving her his praise with his new orders to be followed as her law, tasting cotton candy on his tongue. 

and god, he knew she’d take it good, but his imagination didn’t even begin to compare. she came just from him spanking that naughty pussy, telling him through her tears, desperate for him to believe her that she’d been saving her pussy for him, begging him to let her cum. 

sweet, smart fucking girl, asking permission, trusting dad to know when she could have it. when she’d earned it. 

he knew she hadn’t cum in a while. knew her last few sessions trying to get off had left her frustrated and near tears but unable to climb over the edge. 

poor thing. 

yet another task for her father to handle for her. 

her cunt was hot and throbbing, flushed and puffy and dripping sweet and thick as honey, little clit red as she tried to hump his thigh like a dog. he crooned to her, soft and sweet, promising her he’d take care of everything from now on. she was his and he’d give her what she needed, a good dad took care of his daughter. 

the hot throb of his own cock was completely secondary to every minute detail about her and her pleasure as one more spank to that pussy made her cum, riding his palm and screaming, tears streaming down her face. 

he pulled her into his chest, tucking her body in tight and holding her tight enough to restrict her breathing when the bulk of the aftershocks had passed. her rattling breathing of relief as she sunk into it, settling down at his command to let him grope her sore ass, feel the slightly raised skin in the shape of his own fingers there, it was nearly enough to have him cum in his pants like a fucking teenager, especially when he helped her grind that hot little pussy on his dick. 

she asked him to kiss her, sweet thing, and he gave it to her. not deep and nasty, not when she was trembling in his lap. he’d be sweet to her tonight for their first time. for now, he just watched her beam at him, pleasure drunk but still needy, makeup smeared and carefully done hair ruined. 

finally there was life in her eyes. finally there was actual joy in her smile. finally she was blooming like a flower in a properly tended garden, and all because of him. 

“Thank you, dad.” 

he nudged their noses together, humming in satisfaction. “Gonna need you to help your old man, princess.” 

her brow wrinkled slightly, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” 

“You know what’s wrong.” he used his grip on her waist to hump up against her cunt, balls drawing up slightly when it made her whine, shivering. “You got your dad all worked up, dove, and I’ve gotta do something with it.” 

her eyes were glassy, cheeks rosy red and her face puffy from tears, but she still had that pinch of need between her eyes as she started awkwardly rolling her hips, searching for the right way to grind. his inexperienced little thing, so desperate to make her dad feel better. 

“Can I…how should I…how do you want…dad, what do I do? Tell me what to do, please?” she pressed soft kisses over his jaw, his cheeks, like she was trying to apologize to him. “Wanna make you feel better, dad, I’m sorry.” 

“That’s cause you’re my good girl, princess.” he caught her mouth in another kiss, making her whine as he gripped the nape of her neck and squeezed, holding her in place to grind filthy against her, the heat of her cunt tantalizingly close. “You’re gonna keep being good and let your dad put this cock inside, yeah? Fuck, can you feel her squeezing like ‘at? Poor thing, she’s so empty, needs this fat cock bad, don’t she. And your dad needs some fucking relief after all the stress you’ve been putting me through, so he’ll give that empty little cunt every inch she needs, hm? Gonna let your dad pump you full of cum, just lay there all soft and pretty beneath me in your bed. That right?” 

“Yes dad,” she panted, riding his cock in slow, drugging circles, her nails biting into his shoulders. “Please dad, wanna make you feel good. You take such good care of me, I’m sorry for lying, I wanna help, dad, please let me, I don’t even need to cum.” 

he chuckled darkly. “But you will, won’t you lovie? Gonna cum in your sleep just from keeping me warm in that tight little hole. Knowing your dad’s plugged you up so good no one else could ever fill you again.” 

“No one else,” she pouted, pressing closer, promising sweetly, “Just you, dad, you promised, you promised you’d keep me.” 

he chuckled, turning to tip her on her back, pressing her down against the ratty cushion of the loveseat, taking advantage of the new position to grind against her with more purpose, watching her eyes roll back, her mouth drop open and her back arch, the thin straps of her dress having long snapped in her thrashing, and her tits were bare on offering up to his mouth. he lowered his head with a groan, sucking each nipple into his mouth, grazing the peaks with his teeth, her sobs fucking music to his ears. 

“I’m gonna fucking keep you,” he promised. “Gonna take care of you, my needy princess, even when you act like a cock hungry brat. Can’t really blame you, you’ve been wanting daddy’s dick for two years. Poor thing, cumming just doesn’t feel good when your old man’s not the one giving it to you, does it?” 

she whimpered, shaking her head. he could feel her getting close as he ground against her again. her knees shaking against his sides. 

“Can feel that poor little hole. Feel she’s fucking clenching, trying to get my cock inside her, fuck, she’s crying so hard f’me, goddamn princess, need your dad so fucking bad don’tcha?” 

“Yes dad, please,” she sobbed, her whole body shaking, “Close, close, can I please can I cum, dad please make me cum I need you to make me cum dad please-” 

he could listen to her beg for hours. would, one day soon. might even record it so he could make it her ringtone when she called him. 

but he’d go easy on her tonight, she’d had a rough enough time already. “I know you need it,” he crooned, cupping one tit in his hands and squeezing hard, raising his head to kiss her, rutting against her cunt as he ordered dark against her lips, “Cum for your father, dove.” 

she screamed so loud her voice cracked, her fingernails clawing at the back of his neck while he sucked a bruise onto the skin of her throat, her hips bucking hard against him as he pressed her down against the cushions, drawing it out, rocking gently back and forth as he helped her work through it. 

and after he’d put a big bruise in the shape of his teeth on her neck, he poured praise in her ear. “Good girl, daddy’s good fucking girl, lovie, sound so fucking sweet when you cum, doesn’t take much, does it? Good enough of a girl all I have to do is tell you to and you do it, tha’s my fuckin girl, sweet little cunt just wants dad’s cock, feel how empty she is still? Two orgasms and not nearly enough is it, need your old man to fill that pussy up even if it hurts tryin to get it all in, huh?” 

she just sobbed, hiding her face under his chin. he smiled, chuckling faintly as he picked her up, kissing softly over her face, rubbing her bare back. her dress was barely hanging on now, pooled around her hips, her bare tits against his chest, her poor overwrought body limp in his arms. 

“Dad,” she whispered quietly, almost a whine but not quite. 

“What’s that, princess?” 

with what looked like great effort she lifted her head as he sat her on her bed, kissing her forehead before kneeling down in front of her, picking up one of her feet to work on the delicate buckle of her strappy heel. 

she was definitely pouting, hands twisting in the mussed fabric of her sheets. “You didn’t get to cum yet, dad.” wide, teary eyes found his. “Do you not want me to help?” 

he slipped the first shoe off, massaging her sole, clicking his tongue. “Course I do, dove. But you gotta stop questioning me. Promised you I’d give you everything you needed. You need to be dripping and open to take your old man. Don’t want it to hurt, do we?” 

she hesitated. then shook her head. he picked up her other ankle, chuckling as he kissed her knee. “God, my perfect little slut, aren’t you?” 

her breath caught, but he could read a conflicted hope there in her eyes. 

drawing the other shoe off, he rubbed that poor foot too, drawing her leg open wider to let him see the glistening cunt he hadn’t seen nearly enough of yet. “Want it to hurt when you take dad’s cock for the first time?”

another wave of tears spilled over her cheeks blushing bright red, her lower lip wobbling. but she nodded, sniffling. “Yes dad.” 

“Fuck,” he groaned, rubbing his cock over his pants, trying to get a little fucking relief. she was gonna kill him. what a way to fucking go. “Good girl. Good fucking girl, being honest with me like that. F’you need it that bad, sweetheart, I’ll give it to you.” 

hope flared even brighter in her eyes. “Promise? Please? I’ll be good, dad, I promise I will.” 

“I know you will, princess.” he stood, drawing her dress off next, running proprietary hands over her body, starting from her knees and running up until he had a gentle hand wrapped around her throat. “My good girl. Aren’t you?” 

“Yes dad,” she purred, eyes slipped half closed, cock drunk and she hadn’t even really seen it yet. 

she was so fucking gorgeous. every inch of her was soft and unmarked by life, only by him. a hickey on her neck, hand shaped bruises on her waist, the flushed red welts from the spanking creeping around the curve of her ass, the smallest glimpse. tits high and ripe, shaking with each breath and whimper that came out of her and she shifted, uncomfortable sitting on her raw little backside. his balls ached watching her unable to get comfortable, knowing she’d feel his hand every time she sat for the foreseeable future. 

god, she was made for this. made for him. the skin on his back prickled with anticipation. he hadn’t been this excited to fuck anyone since he’d been a fucking recruit. 

“Lay back,” he told her firmly. “And keep those eyes on me. Can touch anything but that pussy, dove. That belongs to me now.” 

she nodded, sweet, obedient girl. watched him as he took off his own clothes, excitement and fear and wonder bright in her face when she finally saw his cock, so hard he was nearly purple at the tip, so heavy it dipped down like an arrow pointing at her cunt, precum dripping off the head. 

he caught a bead of it on his thumb and put it on her tongue, forcing her mouth to stay open as her eyes dilated, body shifting restlessly, pussy visibly squeezing around nothing as she moaned like a whore at the taste. 

she moved easily where he put her, sprawled out on her pillows, her hands on his sides, trying to draw him in closer, hips lifting invitingly, formless pleas falling from her lips as he rubbed the head of his cock back and forth across the winking hole. 

that moaning only got louder when he used her own wetness to slick his cock. his whole fucking body throbbed, and he knew after waiting this long he wouldn’t last long. which opened up other possibilities. “You wanna be good to your old man, lovie?” 

fervently, she nodded, tugging weakly at his sides. 

“Gonna let your dad give you his cock and take it like a good girl?”

“Yes dad, swear, swear!” 

“Gonna let him keep it in?” 

her eyes blew wide, blush deepening to crimson. 

“All night?” he pressed. “Gonna keep this cock warm in that perfect hole?” 

her nails scratched at his sides, but he barely felt her little kitten claws. she made pretty promises, begging for it, trying to follow his movements with her hips, trying to sink down and take the head of his cock. 

she did cry that it hurt when he sunk his cock deep, had to grind his way in with short, brutal shoves, thankful she was so wet and willing or he’d never have been able to do it without properly stretching her out. and by the time he was fully in she was a wrecked mess. 

and no fucking wonder why, his girl was fucking tight. her cunt was hotter than hellfire and still fucking crying around his cock, it felt like he was melting. 

he pressed his forehead against hers and let out a deep, brutal moan. “Fuck, that sweet fucking girl was made for this wasn’t she? Made to take cock, take it so fucking good, princess, feel any better now?” 

she nodded, shivering, tears clumping her lashes together, makeup streamed down her cheeks. “Yes dad, s’good, s’big.” 

he kissed her on the mouth, sweet and soothing, petting her side like a wild animal. “I know it is, lovie. I feel so much better, dove, feels so good. You gotta be tired baby, so if you need to you just go ahead and sleep. Let dad take what he needs. It won’t hurt any more, I promise.” 

lie. but the lie just made it sweeter when she cried big fat tears as he rammed his cockhead against her cervix, growling at her to behave, to take it like a good girl like she’d promised. he snapped his hips hard, chasing his own pleasure now, but his girl couldn’t stand being left out. she came a third time, and he saw and felt her pass out like a light switch flicking off as it was finally too much. 

he dropped his head into the crook of her neck and groaned, licking up the cotton candy mixed with the salt of her sweat, the taste of arousal and sex and his own cum, his own orgasm starting to crawl up his back as he fucked her lax body. when it broke, he shoved deep, deep enough she even whined weakly through her unconsciousness, stirring enough to wake just in time for him to flood her with hot cum. 

“That’s it,” he huffed, moaning and gritting his teeth, rolling his hips and ignoring her sweet little whimpers. “Fuck that’s it princess. That’s what your dad needed. So fucking sweet, love. This perfect little hole, so fucking good for me. Take your father’s cum so good, so fucking good, fuck.” 

eventually the gut deep, nearly painful pleasure relaxed, and he groaned in relief, relaxing the bruising grip he had on her hips. he turned them over, so he was on his back and she was laying sprawled against his chest but keeping his cock inside. 

he stopped her from falling asleep right away, sweet talking her into having a little water from the water bottle he’d put on her nightstand, praised her into eating half of the protein bar he’d set beside it. 

it was good she was as out of it as she was, or she’d wonder where they came from. she’d realize he must’ve planned the whole thing. 

when he was satisfied she wasn’t gonna fall headlong into dangerous dehydration or malnutrition he relented and let her lay down. she hummed sleepily, nuzzling into his chest as he drew the sheets over the two of them. 

“Did so good for me,” he murmured, rubbing slow paths over her back, dripping his hands to squeeze her ass. all she did was make the barest whisper of a whimper, too exhausted to protest. “My perfect girl. Sleep, sweetheart. Dad’s gonna take care of everything from now on.” 

she fell asleep quick. he closed his eyes, aware of the pleased smile on his own face. the scent of cotton candy and sex was thick in the air, and he, for once, felt like his sleep would actually be satisfactory with his cock snug and warm inside his girl. 

he’d have to figure out what to do with her when he got deployed. didn’t want her to work herself sick when he was gone, even if he didn’t mind the thought of her despondent and missing him. something for later, though. for now, he was gonna get some sleep. and in a couple hours he’d roll her on her back and fuck another load into her. she probably wouldn’t get pregnant, it was harder to knock someone up than most people knew even if it also simultaneously happened more often than you thought. 

more was the pity. but there was time for that. time for everything. 

he kissed the top of her head, smiling when she snuggled him tighter, making a small sleepy noise against his skin. 

the boys should settle down too, he realized, gears turning in his head. it’d make it easier on her, on all of them,  if they could huddle their families together when they weren’t around. a social circle they could keep tabs on, could trust. built in security and playmates for each other’s children. 

hm. 

he’d tell them to get started tomorrow.

[orange-sora]

The thing is from SVSSS' perspective, the way the characters are and how it's all written, MXTX's choice to not have any revelation makes sense. However, I think, truth matters a lot. (In life too, atl to me).

In a story about liars, it's foolish to want truth. I recognise that. To scratch that itch, I have read many fics about Shen Yuan's identity reveal. MANY MANY FICS. I just really wanted Binghe to know.

Grief is such a heavy all-consuming emotion that it make everything else seem petty in comparison. Squabbles are normal in any relationship. Then, something big happens and it feels stupid. Your own hurt and anger feels small and immature in comparison. Nothing matters as much as death. It's too...final. Definitive.

Being thrown into the Abyss and betrayed by the one who promised time and time again to protect and care for you wasn't a tiff, though. It wasn't trivial, in any sense. Even system insisted again and again, the Abyss arc was significant. Unskippable. Indispensable.

So Binghe was justifiably angry. He wanted answers. The truth. And then Shen Qingqiu self detonated to "pay his debts". And from Binghe's pov, every wrong done against him lost its power over him. This particular ocean is too deep and dark. He'll surely drown. Anything but this. He'll accept it all as long as it doesn't end like this.

Then years of failing to bring Shizun back. There's no energy left to be angry. Anger almost always leads to weariness. It seeps into your soul. Throughout the rest of the novel, it becomes clear to him that yes, Shizun does care for Binghe. Yes, there is love. However, Shizun won't choose Binghe in the way he wants to be chosen. Shizun loves him but Shizun also hurts him. And he hurts Shizun too.

If Shizun doesn't explain himself, then Binghe can just come up with his own answers. Or he can disregard it all. It's not important. It's not.

But it is. System said so. Shen Qingqiu mourned him. A part of Binghe died. They all knew. Maigu Ridge happened because Abyss happened. Because there were no answers. Binghe's insecurity, even in post canon extras, made complete sense.

I truly admire Binghe. I know he's... well everything that he is. But he was able to do something that I personally don't have the power to do. And that's letting go without an explanation.

Does knowledge of love make the pain go away?

I have had people in my life who I know loved me. But, one too many tiny hurts, one too many thought less words, drip resentment that fills over time. It doesn't stay as lovely as it could have been. Maybe all relationships are complicated because love through actions, no matter how regularly conveyed doesn't erase the rest.

An apology, in itself, isn't enough. Words aren't enough. Actions, also aren't enough. Doesn't he deserve both? A closure to why it happened and a commitment to why it won't ever again? Don't we all?

There's a reason why people ask authors for explanation. Truth has the maximum power when it comes from the source. Considering how sensitive Binghe is, it'll stay with him. Binghe can come up with a thousand different theories or ignore it all, but nothing will soothe him quite as well as Shen Qingqiu's truth.

Unfortunately, he's doomed to never get it.

[canirove]

Pedri Imagine | three

Author’s note: Just something random I got inspired to write the other day after seeing the photos from the club's dinner to celebrate the season because I'm trying to post at least one imagine each week until I finish any of the stories I'm working on so you have something to read 😁 Hope you like it, and thank you for reading! 💜

Little summary: A little misunderstanding between Pedri and one of the restaurant's waitresses when his friends (or mostly Gavi) try to play matchmaker, that leads to a happy ending. Female pov/reader.

Masterlist

“She's here” Gavi says as he sits down next to Pedri.

“She who?”

“Don't play dumb, Pedro. You know who I am talking about” he smirks.

“No, I don't.”

“I think he's talking about that waitress you fancy” Dani says as he sits to his other side.

“Oh. Her.”

“Yes, her. That girl you can't stop staring at every time we come here to eat.”

“I don't stare at her, Gavi. That's creepy.”

“You do stare at her, bro” he laughs. “And that's why I think tonight is the perfect day to ask her for her phone number.”

“What?” 

“Think about it. The restaurant is packed and people are probably going to get a bit tipsy while celebrating. No one will notice if you walk up to her and have a chat.”

“First he'll have to find the guts to do it, tho” Dani chuckles. “Every time she's been our waitress and she's asked him for his order, he either starts mumbling or stuttering. So if he struggles with something as simple as that…”

“Thank you, Daniel. Love having friends like you” Pedri says, rolling his eyes.

“It's very easy, Pedri” Gavi says. “When she comes over to ask us if we need anything else, you look at her and say… Yes, I do. I need your phone number.”

“Oh my God” Dani laughs. “Is the wink neccesary?”

“Of course it is! It has worked for me every single time.”

“Sure” Dani laughs again.

“It has.”

“God, you are making me miss Ferran” Pedri says as his friends start arguing.

“Ferran would probably walk up to her and say, hey, my friend fancies you but is too shy to ask for your number. Would you mind give it to me so I can give it to him?” Gavi says.

“Yep, it sounds very Ferran” Dani chuckle. 

“So if you ask me, I think my plan is better.”

“No one is going to ask anyone's phone number, ok?” Pedri says. “We are just going to have a quiet night celebrating our season.”

“But…”

“No, Pablo.”

“Fine” he sighs.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Are they all here?” my coworker and friend Pau says as I walk into the kitchen.

“Yep, the whole team. Or almost. I haven't seen Ferran, he must be still recovering.”

“Shame” he sighs. “He's always a pleasure to look at.”

“If you say so” I chuckle.

“I know you only have eyes for his best friend, but if you looked at him, you would agree with me.”

“His best friend?” 

“Pedri, of course! I have noticed how you always give him sneaky looks when he comes to the restaurant with his friends or his family” he smirks.

“I don't know what you are talking about” I say while checking the menu one last time.

“Sure” he laughs. 

“I don't. Are the appetizers ready?”

“They are.”

“Then let's get to work.”

“Fine” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “But changing the topic of conversation isn't going to change the fact that you fancy Pedri.”

“Urgh” I groan, hitting him with my notepad and making him laugh.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“She's coming our way.”

“Pablo…” Pedri says, already dreading what is about to happen. Because he knows he is going to do something, and it probably is going to be extremely embarrassing. At least to him. Gavi doesn't seem to know what being embarrassed feels like.

“Hello, guys” she smiles as she makes it to their table, her eyes first landing on Pedri and making him look the other way. Why? Because he was already blushing. “Are you enjoying tonight's dinner?”

“Now that our favourite waitress has come to say hello to us, we finally are” Gavi smiles.

“Right… Can I get you anything?” 

“Actually…” he says, Pedri giving him a murderous look. “Could you get us some paper and a pen?”

“What?” she says, looking very confused.

“Yes” Gavi says. “I want to show something to the boys and I need paper and a pen to do it.” 

“Football stuff” Dani quickly adds.

“I see… Is this ok?” she says, taking a sheet from her notepad. “You can use my pen too.”

“Perfect!” Gavi smiles as he takes it. 

“You know, I think I could do with more water” Dani says when it starts getting awkward since Gavi isn't writing anything and she is still standing next to them.

“Yes, of course. I'll be back in a minute” she says before leaving their table.

“Ok” Gavi says, taking out his phone, looking for something and starting to write.

“Did you see the way she was looking at us? She must think we are stupid. Or weird. Or both” Pedri says, covering his face with his hands.

“She doesn't think that.”

“She does. And what are you writing? What are those numbers?”

“Your phone number” Gavi smiles.

“What? Why are you… no” Pedri says. “You won't dare, Pablo.”

“Relax, Pedri.”

“Dani…” he says, looking for his other friend's help.

“This may actually work” he shrugs.

“I seriously miss Ferran” he Pedri says, resting his forehead against the table.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Yor water, Dani” I say when I make it back to his table.

“Thank you very much” he smiles.

“Pedri, are you ok? You look… I don't know. Was it the food? Please tell me we haven't poisoned the best player in the world.”

“I'm ok, don't worry” he smiles. “But you think I am the best player in the world?” he says, looking at me with those big brown eyes of his.

“I… umm…”

“She said exactly that, Pedri. That to her, you are the best player in the world” Gavi smirks. 

“Well, I am not the only one who thinks that, you know?” I say with a nervous laugh. “I'm sure there are others in this room who think the same.”

“Yeah” Gavi says, still smirking. “Anyway, here is your pen. Thank you very much.”

“You're… oh” I say when it falls from his hands when he gives it to me.

“God, I am so clumsy” he says, bending down at the same time I do it. “There you go.”

“Thank you” I say, taking the pen and a little piece of paper he is giving me. “Do you need anything else?” I ask them as I stand up.

“I think we are all good” Dani says. 

“Great. Then I'll go see if the desserts are ready.”

“Did you make chocolate mousse?” Pedri asks me.

“Of course we did!” I smile. “We couldn't celebrate the season without your favourite one, could we?”

“Thank you” he smiles back. 

“You're welcome” I say, Gavi giggling next to me. “And I should probably go check on the others, so… See you later” I say before leaving their table, opening the little paper as I walk away. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I can't believe it. I can't… fucking… believe it.”

“What happened now?” Pau says when I storm into the kitchen.

“That they all are the same! All of them!”

“Who are?”

“Football players!” I say.

“I'm gonna need you to be more especific” he chuckles.

“The other day during the celebrations at the stadium Gavi was with his girlfriend being all lovey dovey, and what did he just do? Give me this” I say, showing Pau the piece of paper. 

“Oh my God” he gasps. “He gave you his phone number?”

“He did. He fucking did. And he had the guts to wink at me when he did it, and then giggle like a schoolgirl behind me while I was talking with Pedri, which was quite disrespectful.”

“Wait, wait, wait… You spoke with Pedri? Like, you had a proper conversation?” 

“I may have told him he is the best player in the world. I don't know if that counts as a proper conversation. But that isn't the important thing here.”

“Of course it is! You talked with him about something that wasn't his order! How did he react? Did he take the compliment well? Did he smile? He has a very cute smile.”

“He did and he does, but like I was telling you, what matters here is that Gavi gave me his phone number when he has a girlfriend and they are official! How can he do something like that?”

“He… Are you sure this is his number?” Pau says while looking at the note.

“Whose else would it be? He gave it to me while winking. He fucking winked at me, Pau.”

“I know. But there is something else written next to the call me. Something I can't read that starts with a p… I think” he says, looking at it closer.

“It probably is something stupid that he shouldn't be saying when he has a girlfriend” I say, snatching the note from his hand. 

“Wait, where are you going?”

“To give it back to him.”

“Please don't make a scene. Barça players and the club are the restaurant's best clients. If they complain to the boss about not being well treated…”

“I'll behave, don't worry” I say, taking a deep breath before leaving the kitchen.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“She’s coming back” Dani says. “And she's smiling.”

“Then I’m afraid you are going to need to call a taxi to go back home, bro” Gavi smirks. “Our Pedri is going to be busy tonight.”

“Shut up” he says, giving him a push. 

“The desserts are almost ready” she says when she makes it to their table. “And I'm sorry, but I'm not interested.”

“You… what?” Gavi says as she gives him a piece of paper. The piece of paper.

“Enjoy the rest of the night” she says, still smiling.

“Oh… my God” Dani gasps when she leaves.

“I knew this was a bad idea. The worst. You… urgh” Pedri says, getting up from his seat.

“Bro, I… I… I'm sorry. I thought… she was flirting with you earlier. And she's done it before. This doesn't make any sense” Gavi says.

“Whatever.”

“Pedri, where are you going?” Dani asks him.

“Outside. I need some fresh air.”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“And that chocolate mousse?” I ask one of my coworkers as he walks back into the kitchen with it. “Did we take the order wrong?”

“Nope” he says. “This one is Pedri's.”

“He didn't want it? That's impossible, he loves it!”

“He wasn't at the table.”

“What? Did he leave already?” I ask him.

“Olmo said he had gone outside to have some fresh air.”

“He wasn't feeling ok?”

“I don't know” he shrugs. “But they asked me to save this for later just in case.”

“Yes, of course” I say, letting him go put the mousse on the refrigerator. 

We've poisoned him. We've poisoned Pedri and when he said he was ok he was just faking it to not make me worry and… “Pau, I'm taking a five minute break!”

“What? Why?” he says from the other side of the kitchen. “Are you ok?”

“All good” I say before leaving.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“There you are.”

“Holy shit!” Pedri jumps, his phone almost falling from his hands. 

“The food wasn't good, was it?”

“What?”

“The food” I say. “It didn't sit well with you and that's why you are out here. God, I'm so sorry, Pedri. I don't know what could have gone wrong, we…”

“I'm not here because of the food, relax.”

“You aren't?”

“Nope. The food was as amazing as always” he smiles.

“Thank God” I sigh. “Then what happened? You are skipping the chocolate mousse!”

“I…”

“Hello!” a familiar voice says.

“Is that…”

“Ferran” Pedri says, showing me his phone. “I was checking on him.”

“Oh. Hi” I say, waving at the screen. “I'm so sorry you are missing all the celebrations… How are you?”

“Bored as hell” he sighs. “And a bit pissed at you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you've told Pedri you aren't interested in him when you clearly are! I don't know how many times I've caught you checking him out when we've been there to eat!”

“Ferran…” he hisses.

“I… I don't know what you are talking about.”

“Really? Gavi gave you this idiot's phone number because he is too shy to ask you for yours himself, and you said you weren't interested! 

“Wair, wait, wait… It was your phone number? It wasn't Gavi's?”

“No” Pedri says.

The word Pau and I hadn't been able to read… It started with a p. It was Pedri's name! It was his number! And he understood… I… Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Well?” Ferran says over the phone. “Don't you have anything to say?”

“That if I had known it was your number, I would have not said I wasn't interested” I say, looking at Pedri.

“What?” he says, his eyes going wide. 

“Yeah” I shrug.

“I knew it, bro! She also fancies you!” Ferran says. “And I should not have celebrated like that. It hurt.” 

“Yeah. You should go to bed and rest” Pedri says. 

“Yes, mum” he replies, definitely rolling his eyes. “Besides, now that you know how you feel about each other you are probably going to start making out, and I don't want to see that.”

“We aren't…”

“The night is young, guys! Enjoy it!” Ferran says before the phone's screen goes black.

“Maybe I didn't miss him that much” Pedri mutters.

“What?” I say.

“Nothing. I just… umm…” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Now what?”

“Are you still in the mood for that chocolate mousse?”

“Always.”

“Then wait here” I say before running back into the restaurant.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“What are you doing? And where are you going with that?” Pau asks me when I walk into the kitchen.

“I'm giving it to Pedri.”

“Is he back?”

“No.”

“Then?” 

“I'll tell you later.”

“You'll… wait. Is that what I think it is?”

“Yep” I smile.

“Oh my god” he gasps. “Is it finally happening?”

“Maybe. I don't know. I could do with you wishing me luck, that always works.” 

“Girl, you don't need luck with him. Trust me” Pau chuckles. 

“We'll see” I say, taking Pedri's mousse and quickly leaving the kitchen again.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“This seriously is the best dessert in the world” Pedri says while eating.

“The best dessert in the world for the best football player in the world” she smiles.

“Yeah” he says, feeling his cheeks starting to burn. Though he had actually been blushing since she had found him talking with Ferran and he had… “What is this?” Pedri says when he takes another spoonful and the bottom of the glass starts being visible.

“That's for you.”

“What?”

“Keep eating and you'll understand.”

“Ok…” he says with a confused look before doing as she's asked him. “Those are numbers. That's… oh” he says, getting the piece of paper from under the glass.

“You better not lose it. I'm going to be waiting for your call. Or text. Or both.”

“You… umm…” 

“And it better be soon. Tomorrow for example since it is my free day” she says, getting up from the pavement where they had sat down while he ate.

“Yes, sure” Pedri says, also getting up. 

“Great” she smiles, taking from his hands the glass and the little plate where she had put the chocolate mousse. “Good night, Pedri” she says, kissing his cheek. “And congratulations on the season. You've been amazing.”

“Thank you” he replies. “And good night” he says, not being able to contain himself and letting out a yes! once she is walked back into the restaurant, and that has been louder than it should have. She has probably heard him say it from inside.

But he doesn't care. 

She has given him her phone number, and she wants to go out with him. They are probably going on a date the next day. 

“Pedri!” 

“Holy shit!” she jumps. 

“What are you still doing here?” Gavi says, walking towards him. 

“I… umm…”

“Is that chocolate in your face?”

“No” he says, quickly cleaning it with the back of his hand.

“It looked like chocolate. Anyway, they want to take a group photo, so you should go back inside.”

“Yes, of course. Let's go.”

“But wait, before we go… I'm sorry about earlier. About the paper with your number and…”

“It's ok, don't worry.”

“Is it?”

“Yep” he smiles.

“Did something happen while you were out here?” Gavi asks him.

“Uh?”

“You are smiling, and it isn't your usual smile. Is the one you have when something big happens. Like the other day when we won La Liga.”

“It's just that life works in mysterious ways” he shrugs.

“Life? Isn't it love?” 

“That too” Pedri chuckles.

“What?” Gavi says, very confused.

“C'mon, let's not make them wait” he says, putting his arm around Gavi's shoulders and starting to walk.

“Bro, you are acting so weird… Are you sure you are ok?”

“Better than ever” Pedri smiles. “Better than ever.”

[devilishvalentine]

OP forgive me for I'm about to go insane over this masterpiece—

The unholy hyena cackle I made when I read the warning ☠️

"Jason having a bad time" is an understatement like holy shit our boi's really going through it. And I'm in love with the way you wrote the hurt/comfort here, especially in Reader's POV. The fact that she can read him so well is amazing and how they speak without words, just knowing the meanings of each gesture they make for each other to understand– IT'S ABOUT THE TRUST. THE UNDERSTANDING. THE LOVE. THE TYPE OF DYNAMIC THAT GETS ME F E R A L

"His hands, that could break bones but also mend and heal the most broken parts of yourself.

Despite what those hands either curled into fists or holding a gun could mean to other people, they’re precious to you. And one of the many wonderful parts of him. To you, they mean soft caresses while you’re laying in bed. They mean warmth when winter comes and he rubs them against your arms. They mean comfort, and safety, as he holds your sobbing body when you break down.

Their roughness both from handling dangerous weapons and using a pan to make you dinner. Jason Todd has a duality that still amazes you to this day, but you love all the multitudes that he contains all the same."

Bro. B r o. AAAAAAAAAAAAA DESCRIBING HIS DUALITY FROM HIS HANDS AND HOW ROUGH THEY CAN BE WITH WEAPONS AND PUNCHING CRIMINALS, AND CONTRASTING IT WITH HOW GENTLE THEY ARE WHEN HANDLING YOU– THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE IT IS BEAUTIFUL, ABSOLUTELY B E A U T I F U L

Don't get me started on Jason holding her wrist.

"Stay."

And I'm gone. I have ascended. My heart is a puddle and my soul is full. The way I MELTED whenever I see a Jason Todd x Reader fic with this bit, Jason begging Reader to stay, even communicating without words but actions???

And the story. Omg THE STORY OF HOW THEY MET?!?!?! IT'S SO ADORABLE AND I COULD PERFECTLY VISUALIZE IT IT'S ONE OF THE CUTEST MEET-CUTE I COULD FRICKIN IMAGINE WITH HIM AAAAAA!!! And the way Reader described Jason when narrating the story, I can legit feel her swooning there bc THAT PERFECTLY DESCRIBED HOW I FEEL ABT HIM!!!!

Just. The amount of trust and love you described between Jason and Reader is amazing.

Also holy shit. Jason my boi. The angstiest hurt in this beautiful hurt/comfort is delicious. The incident that made Jason go through absolute agony and despair left a lot to my imagination. The fact that it haunts him so bad despite Reader's assurances is heartbreaking and I wanna wrap him up in a comfiest blanket burrito and give him a hug and a kiss and some food and water and a hug and kiss and some food and water and a hug–

I couldn't help but think the incident that left him feeling so guilty, depressed and despairing is basically because of Batsis' death. Idk why ( yes I know why, I like seeing my blorbos suffer bc why not >:3 ), but I just imagined that's the case and that's why he couldn't bring himself to tell Reader abt it 'cause it chokes him up (and the agony. I wanted the agony. I just read another angsty Batfam fic and it's the agony.)

Oh and also this:

"You help him get dressed and all the while his fond gaze follows you. He’s sure that the best feeling in the world is being taken care of by you. That sunshine feeling blooming again in his chest. You’re so bright and he’s just so- No. He’s promised that he isn’t going to think like that anymore. At least not more tonight."

At least not more tonight??? Jason. Baby don't make me do a 200+ page Powerpoint presentation abt why you're the light of MY LIFE EVEN WITH YOUR FLAWS AND ALL!!!

Fr tho, reading your fics of Jason Todd here is such a wonderful read and I couldn't help but lose my mind over them like–

Live footage of me reading your fics

Hope you have a wonderful day/night yourself dear author! Sending my best wishes to you!!! 💖💛💜💝💖

The Word of Your Body

Jason Todd x reader one shot

Summary: Jason comes back from patrol, but something is keeping his mind still somewhere out there. You're always there to bring him back and let him know he's safe. At home. With you.

Word Count: 5.8K

Category: Angst-ish because Jason is going through it but fluff because reader is there to comfort him

Warnings: Jason having a bad time

Author’s note: I know, I know, three fics in one year?? Who am I? Jsjksks truly an achivement for me, very happy and very proud hehe. Thank you for sticking with me and supporting my fics, I love you all. That said, enjoy!

It’s really incredible how much one can know about a person just by their body. From the way they move, to how they carry themselves, to the small gestures that they make in their day to day that reflect who they are, to the little telltale signs of how they’re feeling. A smile, a wrinkle between the eyebrows, a twitch of their hand.

And not just the movements of the body but you can also learn a lot from the singularities and marks that one has on their skin. A child with a scrape on their knee from running too fast on the playground. A chef with hundreds of small cuts on their hands from mastering the use of a knife. A ballet dancer with wounded toes. A painter with watercolors under their nails. A piano player with soft and delicate hands.

You can have a lot of information about a person just by observing them, knowing how they move and how their body reacts to things. A flinch from fear at the threat of danger. A shiver at the gentle touch of a lover.

That’s how you immediately know that something’s wrong when Jason returns from patrol. And you don’t even need to see him.

You’re reading in bed when you hear him come in. Always waiting up for him whenever you can. It isn’t difficult for you since you’ve always preferred staying up late rather than waking up early. Unless you have something to do early the next morning, you always wait for him to come home, to come to you, liking to see him as soon as he returns to make sure that he’s made it back to you safe and sound.

You either read or watch something on TV while you wait despite how many times he’s told you that you don’t have to wait up for him, that you should sleep. And every time you shake your head and say, “And go to sleep without you next to me? Never.” And every time Jason rolls his eyes at your stubbornness while his heart thrums in his chest at how much he loves you and then gently cups your face in his hands and kisses you softly.

And even when you can’t help it and you do have to go to sleep earlier or exhaustion wins over you and brings you to the depths of slumber without warning, Jason always approaches you quietly so as to not disturb you and kisses your forehead to let you know he’s home. If you’re on the couch he brings you to bed, and if you’re already in bed, he settles the covers better over you, just the way you like.

And those times you always smile in your sleepy state and unless he’s injured and needs your help patching him up, you follow semi consciously the sound of his footsteps around the apartment. The sound of the shower as he steps inside to rinse away the Gotham night clinging to him, the sound of rustling sheets as he finally climbs into bed with you, and are finally lulled back to sleep when warmth surrounds you as he brings you into his arms.

You’re no metahuman but you’ve developed a sixth sense for everything regarding Jason Todd. You would be able to easily spot him in a crowd of thousands after having just faintly heard his voice in the distance even if he didn’t have that white tuft of hair singling him out, all your senses zeroed in on him. It’s like your body and mind are always tuned to find him, like tweaking the dial of the car radio to find your favorite station and finding it on the very first try.

You have a master’s degree on Jason Todd and all of his movements, small gestures and twitch of expressions that he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing, you know it all by heart. You know that when the right side of his smirk pulls slightly at his cheek as he’s admiring you doing something mundane, he’s going to kiss you. You know that when he flexes his hands at his sides something is bothering him. You know that he’s going to laugh loudly and wholeheartedly when the sound makes his shoulders shake slightly before making its way up his throat, as if he’s trying to contain it but the laugh is so strong and spontaneous that he can’t fight it. And you know he’s in pain from a bruise on his ribs when he shifts his weight on his feet and a grimace appears on his face for just a second.

That’s how you know that something’s up when you hear him climb through your living room window and his steps don’t sound as if he’s trying to not make too much noise in order to not wake you up in case that you’re asleep, but as if he's trying to make himself as small as possible. It’s a subtle difference but it’s there. You know it because you’ve encountered it before.

Your worry only increases when in the next four seconds that it takes you to find your bookmark between the sheets and place it in your book, you don’t hear him move at all. He doesn’t come find you and he doesn’t call your name.

When you exit the bedroom you find him in the middle of the living room. He just stands there, shoulders hunched, red helmet gripped tightly in hand, head looking down, his hair falling over his forehead.

Something has happened. You don’t know what it is but your first worry right now is making sure that he’s okay. If he heard you come into the room he doesn’t show it. You take a couple of small yet purposeful steps towards him, making sure that they can be heard so that you can alert him of your presence, not wanting to startle him.

But nothing. He stays frozen.

You take a deep breath as your heart clenches at seeing him like this. It’s bad. Whatever has happened is really, really bad and it seems like Jason’s mind is still there. He’s not fully present with you right now.

But you know what you have to do. You have to bring him back here with you. Help him to separate himself, your loving, wonderful, and kind Jason from the horrors that Red Hood has to face every day.

You take another step in his direction. “Jason?” you whisper softly.

He doesn’t react. But he doesn’t flinch either. That’s good. He knows he’s somewhere safe. But he still needs to distance himself from whatever was out there. You finally come to stand in front of him, still not touching him. “Jay?” you try again while assessing him over, trying to pinpoint if he’s injured.

Again, nothing. But the hair that hangs over his forehead moves ever so subtly, almost in an imperceptible way, but you catch it nonetheless. The hair moved because he tilted his head in the slightest of ways. He’s listening to you. Knows that you’re there. You sigh in relief when you see his grip on the helmet lessen too. Good signs.

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

He releases a deep breath, slowly allowing himself to let go, the tension that his shoulders held not as tight as before. Leaving his body slightly, leaving him at your mercy. He’s saying, Okay. Satisfied at that and at finding that he doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, you nod. Then, you gently and very slowly take his face in your hands to look at him. His eyes acknowledge you for a split second but then his emerald gaze returns to the floor, and you feel a crack forming in your heart at the utter sadness, desperation, and despair that you find in it.

Still, you feel him melt into your touch at his cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home,” you offer softly.

He closes his eyes in response, reveling in the comfort that you bring him. Next, you take the helmet from his hand and set it on the kitchen counter before moving to the holster with his guns and very carefully unfastening its belt and leaving it all on the table. Helping him that way to step out of the Red Hood persona and everything that claws into it.

“Let’s take a shower,” you say, wanting to keep him informed of your every move. You take his hand and pull him with you towards the bathroom. He lets you guide him, fully trusting you but still not reacting to anything much.

You don’t ask him what’s happened. You don’t need to know. There are things that Jason doesn’t tell you about patrol. And you have no problem with it, knowing that he wants to separate those two parts of his life. But no matter what it is, you always let him know that he can come to you about them, that you’ll listen. That you’ll always be there for him. Always.

The other few times that you have seen him come home like this, slouched over and not talking much, you later learn, either by context from what you hear on the news and the streets, or by Jason directly telling you about it when he needs to let go and finally feels able share it, that the people he was after got away, that someone got hurt, or something like that.

But this time… This time something’s different. You have never seen him as bad as this. At least not from coming back from patrol. And it worries you. It worries you a lot and it kills you that you can’t do anything more than just be there for him. But it seems that that’s all that he needs right now so you settle on focusing on him.

From the guiltiness that hangs over him, tensing his shoulders and keeping his eyes down, and the distress and sorrow that you see in his gaze, you have a feeling that something terrible happened. Something that he couldn’t prevent. He couldn’t save somebody.

You can almost see how he’s replaying it in his mind, the shame and regret swirling in his head until they stiff all of his body. You need to reassure him, make him see how it isn’t his fault, how he did everything he could, and how he gave his all but how sometimes, despite how much you fight it and try to stop it, Gotham doesn’t let you escape the rot that runs through its streets.

Once you two reach the bathroom, you flick on the mirror light above the sink, casting you two in a soft golden light, not wanting to overwhelm him with the overhead one and its strong intensity.

You stand in front of him and help him take off his jacket before taking his hands in yours. He still doesn’t look at you as you take off his gloves. Once they’re gone, you take a moment to examine his hands, and you let out a sigh of relief at seeing that his knuckles aren’t wounded. Your thumbs softly trace the marred skin, small scars and irregular healing adorning his hands. You can’t help but bring them to your lips and press a long kiss to them, closing your eyes, trying to will away all the mental scars that they hold too just by the touch of your lips.

His hands, that could break bones but also mend and heal the most broken parts of yourself.

Despite what those hands either curled into fists or holding a gun could mean to other people, they’re precious to you. And one of the many wonderful parts of him. To you, they mean soft caresses while you’re laying in bed. They mean warmth when winter comes and he rubs them against your arms. They mean comfort, and safety, as he holds your sobbing body when you break down.

Their roughness both from handling dangerous weapons and using a pan to make you dinner. Jason Todd has a duality that still amazes you to this day, but you love all the multitudes that he contains all the same.

You then begin to remove his equipment. The chest armor, the knee pads, and any other protective gear, putting it all on the pile that you started with his jacket and gloves on top of the laundry basket to sort out later. Jason doesn’t move, only doing the movement necessary to help you undress him, like lifting his feet so that you can slip his boots off after having unlaced them.

But still, his gaze remains lost.

You set the boots to the side and get back up to your feet again. You walk around him to get the tub started for a bath, adding some oils and soap. You pass by him to exit the bathroom and grab some comfortable clothes for him after. Most of the time, unless it’s very cold, he normally sleeps shirtless with some sweatpants or even just his underwear during the hotter months, but you know that tonight he needs to feel covered, enveloped, protected. You begin to plan in your mind. A comfortable old shirt and sweatpants will do.

However, before you can even reach the doorframe and begin your walk to the bedroom, a hand wraps gently around your wrist. You whip back around, both surprised and glad at the same time that Jason has finally interacted with you on his own accord, this being the first contact with the outside world initiated by him. Another good sign.

You see Jason’s eyes fixed on your wrist before lifting his gaze to lock with yours.

Stay.

Your gaze softens and you take another step closer to him, almost being chest to chest. You lift your free hand to caress his cheek. “Of course,” you whisper. “I’m just going to grab you some clothes, okay? It’ll be five seconds.”

As you assure him, without realizing it, your thumb traces his cheek in the exact same motion that he has begun to rub soft circles into your wrist. He nods slowly.

“Okay,” you say and Jason releases his hold on you just enough for you to quickly slip to the bedroom. And just like you promised, you’re back just as fast, closing the door behind you so that the steam from the tub can warm up the room, starting to fog up the mirror too, and setting the clothes on the counter. And Jason still hasn’t moved an inch.

You stand in front of him again and delicately grab the hem of his shirt before looking up at him. And you don’t need words to understand each other. Can I?

Jason’s chin tips slightly. Yeah.

You slowly lift the shirt up his body and he raises his arms to help you. Once off, you leave the shirt with the rest of his discarded clothes. Then, with your hands in front of you so that Jason can see what you’re doing and anticipate your movements, you rest them on his shoulders and then gently slide them down his chest, feeling his well-worked muscles and creases from the scars on his skin.

Jason lets out a deep breath, the skin to skin contact grounding him. His eyes never leave you now, following every single one of your actions. And not because he needs to see what you’re doing in order to prepare himself, not anymore, but because you’re the only thing that seems real right now. The only thing tethering him to Earth.

Because to him, you’re his center of gravity. No matter how far he went, both in distance and into the depths of his mind, he will always come back to you.

You lean forward and press a tender kiss between his pecs. Jason shudders, feeling warmth, comfort, and light blooming from the spot that you kissed and extending through all of his body, from his torso to the ends of his limbs. Your touch like the first rays of sunshine after the coldest and longest night of the year in a frozen landscape, melting the frost and bringing everything back to life. Chasing away the Gotham chill clinging to his bones and the rigidness that holds him hostage. Replacing it all with you, just you. The warmth and safety that you provide.

Jason thinks that he wasn’t actually brought back to life all those years ago, just went through some kind of purgatory on Earth again until he reached his very own personal heaven. You. And he still has no idea what he did to deserve it.

Then you help him out of his pants until he’s standing in his underwear in front of you. His back is hunched, making him lean towards you but this time it’s not because of all the negative thoughts hanging over him, but because of the pull that you have over him, your gravity drawing him in.

You round him again to check the temperature of the water in the tub, though this time, Jason rotates his body to follow you, like a sunflower chasing the sun. Satisfied with both the water’s temperature and quantity, you close the tap.

“You want me to get in with you?” you ask, not minding that you have already showered for the day. Jason nods.

You nod to yourself and peel the shirt of his that you wear to sleep off your body, leaving you just like him, wearing only your lower underwear. And even with how exposed you two are, you’re not vulnerable. The air in the room thick not only with humidity but with the intimacy between you two. A kind that can only come from honest love and a complete feeling of trust.

But the air isn’t humming with electricity like in the other situations in which you two find yourselves with as little clothing as right now. Instead, the air is lulling, like a soft and warm wave gently rocking your body when you lay with your eyes closed in the sea. Comforting and lightening.

You discard both your final pieces of clothing and step into the tub, holding a hand out to Jason so that he can step in in front of you. When he joins you, you two finally sink your bodies in the warm and bubble covered water. You lean back at the edge of the tub with Jason between your legs, his back pressed to your chest, his head resting on your shoulder and your arms draped over his chest, all of you surrounding him, enveloping him, protecting him.

Even though the tub is relatively big, considering Jason’s huge frame, it wasn’t exactly meant for two, so you’re a mess of tangled limbs and warm bodies, but you can already feel Jason relaxing against you. You kiss the crown of his head and he finally closes his eyes.

You two lay there for a while, enjoying the hot water and letting it wash your worries away, the scent from the lavender oil that you used hanging in the air, calming your minds. You’re glad to see how the bath is helping Jason to let go of the events of the night, the remaining tension that clung to his body stripped by the water, and the memories from the night relegated to another place as you see the crease on his brows disappear as you draw gentle caresses on his chest.

You grab the shampoo bottle and start to wash Jason’s hair, working the roots and massaging his scalp to help him relax even further. Soon, hundreds of tiny white bubbles replace the sight of his black locks. You work on his hair longer than necessary but you can see how much it’s helping him, his breathing becoming even more deeper and slower. The only sign that he hasn’t fallen asleep, the hand that settles on your knee at his side.

You then rinse his hair, his white streak majestically poking between the black again. With a sponge you start to wash his body where you can reach, his shoulders, his upper arms and torso. When you’re done you maneuver yourself to sit in front of him, facing each other now. As you start to wash the rest of his arms, you see in his eyes that his thoughts are beginning to slip away, the events of the night calling him again. But you’re not having it. Nothing is taking Jason away from you tonight. Your goal, making him focus on you and only you.

“Can I tell you a story?” you say softly, your voice and the soft splash of water at the slightest movement the only sounds in the room.

Jason just shrugs his shoulders slightly. You nod as you focus on passing the sponge over his hands.

“It’s the story of a boy and a girl. About a wonderful boy and a girl who couldn’t believe her luck,” you begin. “One freezing winter afternoon, the girl slipped on some ice and the guy caught her by the waist, saving her from a pretty hurtful fate, though she almost brought him down with her. She apologized profusely as her cheeks warmed not only because of the embarrassment but because the man who’d caught her was the most handsome one she’d ever seen. But in her haste to step back from the stranger to try and save some embarrassment, she slipped on the ice again and he saved her once again.”

Jason can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. Because the story that you’re telling isn’t just any story. It’s your story. The story of how you met.

He wonders how you always knew exactly what to say. Hell, you could just be reading the grocery list out loud and he’d think that you deserved a Nobel Prize in Literature just because it came from you.

The sight of Jason’s smile pulls your lips into one too, and it warms your heart just like his worried gaze had done to your cheeks that very first day.

Both of you remember that day as clear as day, though neither of you could have ever anticipated how important it would be, how it had changed the course of your lives. You can still perfectly recall how he had cleared his throat awkwardly after catching you for the second time and his You alright, miss? How breathy his voice had sounded, as if something had taken his breath away, his heavy lower Gotham accent that had both surprised you and stirred something within you, and how vivid the green in his eyes was.

Just as bright as it is now as you continue the story. The shine that was always there whenever he looked at you.

“She had been pretty awkward, and she still can't believe how she’d managed to pull the kindest and hottest man in all of Gotham, the world even.” Jason snorts and you throw him a look, telling him not to question you because if there is one universal truth in this world—apart from the fact that a single man in possession of good fortune, must be in want of a wife—is that Jason Todd is the kindest and most gorgeous man that you have ever met.

“Though later he would reveal that he had found her nothing but endearing, despite what she might say about her awkwardness,” you continue.

Something about you already drawing him in. But just as quick as it all had happened, the moment passed by, and you two went your separate ways. Though not for long, because some time later, another afternoon, you were walking home when a running figure turned the corner and clashed into you. As you took a couple steps back to stabilize yourself you realized that you were head to head with the Red Hood. Which was strange since the sun was still setting and he had never been seen other than at night.

Jason hadn't planned on starting patrol so early but Tim had tipped him that some guys that he was after were having a meet up and Jason decided to give them a little surprise. Though that plan flew out the metaphorical window in the room of his mind as soon as he saw you again.

He had tried to forget the encounter in which he had saved the most beautiful girl that he’d ever seen from tumbling to the ground, and just as it seemed like he was about to succeed (not really, but at least manage to push the encounter to the back of his mind instead of your soft voice plaguing his every waking moment), he ran into you.

He stared at you bewildered, not believing that it was you, the sweet girl from the ice, and he was at a loss for words.

“Sorry,” you had said and at the sound of your voice he finally came out of his daze and shook his head.

“No need, it was my fault." He tilted his head. “You okay, miss?” You nodded, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine at how similar he had sounded to your ice savior, his voice ingrained in your mind. And as much as Jason would have loved to stay there with you for a bit longer and hopefully learn your name, he had to get going, so he apologized again and you watched as he left.

And that should have been it. But somehow, it seemed like the universe had other ideas, crossing your paths later once again. And then one thing led to another and here you were now, sharing laundry and rent. Who would have thought? Certainly not you, when those strong arms caught you and you had no idea that they would become the place where you would feel the safest in.

Home.

Jason keeps listening as you finish recalling the start of your relationship. “And so their adventure together began. The clumsy girl from the ice and the boy that despite his rough exterior, had the gentlest, bravest, most selfless and most beautiful heart that she’d ever come to know.”

You finish the story with an enamored smile on your lips, the sweet memories fueling even more your love for him. A love and reassurance that you hope you have been able to convey in the story.

Jason sits in front of you with a small smile of his own, his heart beating golden light through his body, the love that you put there. His body finally relaxed and at peace, your hands holding his.

But then the smile falls from your lips as you see his eyes glass over. And even before he starts to tremble you pull him into you, wrapping your arms around him, his face hidden in your neck, his own arms snaking around you, holding you tight. And as the first tremors shake his shoulders, the first tears start to fall.

And you hold him through it. Taking everything that he needs to let go of in stride.

Because without the armor that he had built to keep his emotions at bay, swimming in the guilt and regret, once he finally relaxes, accepts that he’s safe and allows himself to be vulnerable, the dam breaks. And all the feelings come tumbling over.

The impotence. The sadness. The failure.

He’s not outright sobbing, the feelings working slowly but surely through him one by one. His body trembles slightly, a few tears falling onto your shoulder and a couple of sniffles here and there.

“I- I couldn’t-” He shakes his head and keeps silent once again. The first words that he’s said since he came home. The cracks in his broken voice forming ones in your heart. It stings more than salt in an open wound. You hold him as tight as you can. It’s like he needs to exteriorize these feelings and his body is allowing him to, but his voice can’t even go further than repeating that phrase over and over again. You shush him gently, letting him know that he doesn’t need to force himself to say anything. You’re here for him and that’s all that matters.

“It’s okay. You did everything you could, Jason. You’re a good man,” you whisper, trying to soothe the torture that he’s submitting himself to. But he shakes his head even more vehemently at your reassuring words and beautiful thoughts of him. Right now they don’t make any sense to him with how much he failed tonight. He’s not brave. He’s not kind. And he certainly isn’t good. He doesn’t know how you can say all of those things about him when he couldn’t-

You feel his internal monologue with how the time between his trembles, tears, and sniffles stretches. He’s lost in his head again. Thinking instead of feeling.

“Jason, hey, no. Stop,” you whisper gently but firmly. You unwind your arms from around him and take his head in your hands, holding his forehead to yours, looking into his eyes though his gaze avoids you.

“You are good. You’re kind, stubborn, funny, brave, determined, sarcastic, gentle, and loving. You’re all of those things. And sometimes things just go wrong and you can’t do anything to prevent them. You didn’t make any mistakes tonight, okay?” You don’t actually think that he can do anything wrong but you keep that to yourself. “Not being able to prevent something bad doesn’t make you any less of a good person.”

You can see how the thoughts race in his eyes.

“Jason. Look at me.” He finally locks eyes with you. “You know I’m not good at lying so listen to me when I say this. Whatever happened tonight is not your fault. You can cry. You should cry. You have to let go of everything that is storming inside you. What I’m not letting you do is convince yourself that you’re not good enough. Because you are, you hear me? You are.” You can’t help the tears that begin to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“I love you and I’m always going to be here for you for whatever you need, okay?” As a tear slips from your eye, Jason nods and hides in your neck again, letting his tears flow again. Letting himself feel. You envelop him in your arms once again.

“Okay,” he mutters against your skin. You sigh in relief and start to trace long shapes on his back.

You two stay there for a while, until both of you stop crying and his breathing returns to normal. And then you stay a little longer, just holding each other, Jason letting himself get lost in your soft skin and soothing scent, finally, finally, letting the night go. At least for now.

And then even a little longer, until the water turns lukewarm and a chill runs through your bodies.

“Want to go to bed?” you ask softly, threading your fingers through his hair, brushing away the damp strands falling on his forehead.

He nods slowly, lifting his head from your neck. “Thank you,” he whispers. You shake your head and he knows what you mean, You don’t have to thank me, I’d do anything for you.

“Come on,” you say and get up, offering him your hands. He takes them and gets up as well. You let the tub drain and step out of it, Jason following you. You quickly wrap Jason in a towel and then do the same with yourself. When you're done, he takes one of your hands gently and, while looking deep into your eyes, he kisses your knuckles. Thank you.

This time your gaze softens and you rest your hand against his heart. Of course.

After drying off you put your sleeping clothes back on and when you see Jason with the briefs that you brought already on and reaching towards the sweatpants, you gently swat his hand away. Let me take care of you.

He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step away from his clothes. Yes, ma’am.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need me to patch you up?” He doesn’t seem to have any injury but you want to make sure. He shakes his head. You arch an eyebrow. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s tried to lie to you about that. He nods, extending his arms so that you can examine him, showing how he doesn’t have any wounds. You wait for a beat before nodding.

You help him get dressed and all the while his fond gaze follows you. He’s sure that the best feeling in the world is being taken care of by you. That sunshine feeling blooming again in his chest. You’re so bright and he’s just so- No. He’s promised that he isn’t going to think like that anymore. At least not more tonight.

He follows your directions as you make him sit on the toilet and watches as you comb his hair. But then he can’t help but close his eyes at how relaxed he feels under your care. When you’re done you kiss his forehead and he hums as you run your hand through his hair. When he opens his eyes again, you’re extending a hand to him and he takes it without hesitation.

You turn off the bathroom light and guide him to the bedroom. You climb into bed, your side always the furthest one from the door, no matter where you are, at home, at the manor, or traveling, Jason makes sure of that, and you open your arms, inviting him into your embrace. Jason gets into bed, laying half on top of you, and wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck, your legs tangled. You drape the covers over you both, practically burying yourselves under them and wrap your arms around him, protecting him from anything that could hurt him. Your very own cocoon.

He gives your waist a slight squeeze. I love you. You kiss his hair in return, hugging him even tighter.

And as you hold him tight, the two of you know that what happened tonight out there would still haunt Jason despite all your reassurances. But just as you know that, you also know that you’re always going to be there for him. To love him and care for him. So, for tonight, Jason lets himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of your heart. Each rhythmic thump thump telling him, I got you, you’re okay, I love you, over and over again.

Just like for you with him, your arms the place where he feels safest in. Home.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[switcheddieweek]

INFORMATION & FAQ

Hello, welcome to paradise the place where you'll have your questions answered!

PROMPTS LIST

Why? WHY? I wanted to complete the set! We have sub Eddie & Dom Eddie week, and I participate in both, but I'd say a great majority of my stories him end up with him—and his partner(s)—as a switch.

What is a Switch? A Switch is someone who enjoys more than one kind of role or dynamic within BDSM play. (Please be aware: this is separate than enjoying the sexual roles of both topping and bottoming. The word you're looking for is Versatile! Topping/bottoming can mean similar things in BDSM, such as a Rope Top or a rope bottom, but that's still not the sexual roles.)

What are the rules here? First of all, this blog is 18+ only. This is a BDSM themed challenge and therefore the whole blog should be considered as for adults only. Other than that, the only thing I ask is that you write about Eddie (and his partner(s) if you'd like) being a switch! You don't necessarily have to write at least two scenes, one where he subs and one where he Doms, but his thoughts and feelings about being a switch should be present. It should be a part of his life experience, or of the POV character's experience of him. Any Eddie pairing is allowed. He can even be by himself, if you want. Any kind of writing and art is allowed. Any prompt is allowed on any day of the week, I just have them for specific days as a guide. You don't have to use the prompts either, though I'm interested to see what people come up with for them. You can combine this with other events. You can post late too, I'll still reblog it. You'll just miss getting added to the masterlist at the end of the event. Posts are due by JUNE 28TH, 11:59:59 AKDT (UTC/GMT-8) to be included! And lastly, anyone being an asshole will be blocked, because I don't want to ruin the experience of everyone else trying to have a fun time here! (This includes top/bottom or Dom/sub discourse. This is not the time, not the place, and I'm so not the person for that.) As you can see, the rules are very lenient with the timing/creative side of things, but this is something I take seriously. With that said, I'm sure there'll be no problems, this fandom has a lot of really good people in it!

How should I format my post? First, if you want me to see it and reblog it, you have to tag me. Otherwise I'll miss it unless you happen to know a very speedy carrier pigeon. Please include Pairing, Rating, Prompts, and any Content Warning Tags. Other than that you can do what you like! If you've got more questions, send me an ask!

[learcocoa]

SuoSaku get together by year 2 (second half of it)-3, but what if the yearning period was insane? Especially from outsiders pov.

They talk like usual, a great team, reliable friends. Suo often gets to Sakura's before or after classes to spend time with him discussing important and not-so-much matters. Sakura figures out Suo's diet and always has on him something he can eat quickly in case they're exhausted. Suo organises little study sessions with friends, helps Sakura with sciences. Sakura pays close attention so that his vice, responsible for communicating his decisions and ideas to people, doesn't get drained by constant communication – Suo is very introverted when you get to know him and loves his peace. Suo keeps track of Sakura's health and injuries since year two when he fucked up his shoulder during a fight.

They take care of their schoolmates and each other, everybody can see that. Jokes about parents and uncle Nirei are permanent at this point.

What others don't catch up on easily is the change by year two.

Kiryu notices first. Sakura minimises skinship with Suo only – usually calm under his touch now he's just avoiding it and after a while Suo stops putting a hand on his shoulder or jokingly pinching. Then there's something that bothers him even more: Suo seems spaced out sometimes when they're all together or when he feels like nobody's looking. Which is very uncharacteristic of him – he's calm and can be quiet but never out of it.

When Kiryu notices Suo walking out of party "to get some air" an alarm goes off in his mind and he follows after a minute. Sakura, occupied by Togame and Nirei, doesn't notice and maybe it's for the best.

Suo is looking at the starry sky with an expression he hasn't seen before. But he felt that way for someone so he gets it immediately. He's right, Suo is in love with Sakura.

– Hey. Wanna go somewhere less noisy or home? I can cover for you.

Suo looks at him with surprise and then quickly regains composure, smiling gently.

– No need, I'll be back in a minute.

– You seem down lately. Listen, I have no idea what exactly happened – or didn't when needed to – between you and Sakura, but you can talk to me.

He doesn't expect Suo opening up, not really, but it seems that the feelings have reached a weight unbearable for one person to handle. They excuse themselves and go to their part of the town to sit in a quiet cafe with a couple of warm drinks.

Suo sighs in relief after the first sip and looks at him with sincere gratitude. Kiryu shakes his head.

– So?

– You've already guessed the reason of my mood swings it seems.

– I did, but the thing is... Why don't you just tell him? Sakura-chan is not the type to go hit you with a hard rejection. Besides, I have a feeling he's not indifferent to you either but I haven't said that.

Suo laughs, slides his hand through his hair. He's never seen him so nervous and almost defeated.

– It's not rejection I'm scared of, I can handle that. It's loosing a friend. I can be ok with knowing it's a no and move on, but Sakura-kun will be awkward at best, eating himself alive at worst for months. Which will lead to him spiralling and you know how that goes. It's better to keep my mouth shut, destabilising him and loosing his trust is not a chance I'm willing to take.

"I'm scared of" – he haven't heard that phrase from Suo ever before. So this is his weak spot? Loosing people he truly cherishes? Kiryu smiles, warming his hans on the cup.

– You know, Suo-chan, I think you're equally strong and stupid right now. You can't hide it forever, it will ruin the balance one day or the other. He's not blind or dumb.

– Sometimes I think he knows. He's been... Distancing himself.

– Yes and that doesn't make it look good, but knowing him... he often withdraws when he doesn't know how to deal with things. Maybe you should talk it out for the both of you. Sorry to put everything on your shoulders again.

– ... Sometimes I think this will break me. I'd rather get punched by him than doing this dance.

Kiryu gives him a compassionate look, thinks for a moment and snaps his fingers.

– If you can't play defence anymore, go attack mode. Frankly, Sakura-chan has been mean to you lately: got colder, always hags out with Nirei or Togame excluding you. I kept quiet but it's not nice even on a friendly level. Confront him about it and go from there.

Suo sighs.

– Something tells me this will lead to us having a fight.

– Then beat the shit out of eachother and be done with it.

For a second he thinks he wen overboard, but Suo smiles, finally relaxing his shoulders and back.

– Thank you for pointing out I'm being a coward, Kiryu, appreciate it. You're right.

The matter will be resolved soon – there's no stopping Suo when he has decided.

What Kiryu doesn't expect is for a gang from the nearby town to ruin everybody's plan by trying to make some districts their pills and joint dealing zones. Hell no. Umemiya and the other, now working or college students, show up to deal with this too. Two long months of solving problems that aren't supposed to be theirs, no time to handle trivial matters, fights, then finally a new dawn. By the end of it all everybody wants a break and maybe a ton of good food.

It's summer and they're at the beach. Kiryu and Suo are guarding their friends things under the umbrella, sipping cold drinks. Kiryu draws new clothes designs, Suo reads... Was reading. Now he's looking at Sakura in his board shorts playing volleyball with others. Kiryu can't hold a grin.

– Honestly how hasn't he get a hint with you staring like this?

– Again, sometimes I think he does this on purpose.

Suo takes another sip, places a can to his forehead. Poor thing.

– Doubt he's that mischievous. However handsome as fuck, that's true.

Suo raises a brow, intrigued.

– What? He's objectively attractive, especially with new confidence and longer hair. That's a look.

– Guess Nirei owns me a comic book now. We had a bet if you're bi or not.

– ... You had a what? Nevermind. I don't care about gender or anything else as long as I like the person. So, Suo-chan, what are you going to do about your gorgeous not-boyfriend?

The question remains unanswered but Kiryu swears he feels how everything is boiling under Suo's mask and skin. He's going to snap one way or the other.

____

Togame doesn't like this hesitation that has been filling Sakura's heart for months to no end. Choji listens to him bitching about Sakura being an idiot about his crush, blinks and goes:

– Why not just kiss him? The reaction will tell him everything.

– Yeah try to convince him doing that, good luck buddy.

That was supposed to be a joke but now Togame is millimetres close to pushing Sakura onto Suo so these two would just Do Something about it. It's insufferable – how anxious and self-punishing Sakura is at the thought of having a chance. Most people are scared of rejection, Sakura is terrified of getting into a relationship and ruining it for the both of them. Ever the saviour.

Sakura lets a sigh of relief after their short training match, sitting next to him in his flat with some cold tea. It's not too hot finally and they can enjoy summer to it's fullest.

– You know, with us hanging out this much your friends might think we're a couple.

– Not the worst assumption, – Sakura scoffs, – after being called Endo's new obsession. Rather that.

– So-o... you and Suo. How's it going?

– The usual. We see eachother almost every day, solve other people's bullshit, sometimes meet up in the evenings after the heat is down with Nirei and Tsubaki.

– Drop the act. You're not that clueless.

Sakura glares at him, growls, making his hair a mess.

– Stop talking about it! Nothing is going on and I like it this way.

Idiot, Togame thinks to himself. A complete utter idiot.

– At this point you're torturing him too. If it's not mutual then by distancing and not explaining anything.

– Nobody asked.

– And somebody's being a total dick to his best friend-right hand. Trust me, you haven't had a taste of just how much it sucks without him by your side and if you won't change tactics you're gonna experience it anyway. Maybe just risk it all at this point and go for it.

Sakura leaves, angry and conflicted and Togame smiles to himself. That's a lot better than anxious kitten biting his own tail.

____

Sakura finds himself restless. Every fucking day he thinks of Suo one way or the other, he's craving him like popsicle on a scorching hot midday. Outside gets colder, the rain arrives. It's especially gloomy in his flat today, lonely and empty. He opens up their group chat and reads through the night messages. Nirei is making plans for next month, Kiryu sent a link to some music video and asked what they listen to lately. Everyone sent something and he taps Suo's song first: the death of peace of mind by Bad Omens.

Sakura lies on his back with his eyes closed, listening. It never fails to surprise him how much movement, tension and feeling there is in any music Suo listens to: whether it's instrumental, rock or pop, doesn't matter. He's so calm on the outside, always a peaceful harbor to his storms, but there's so much dynamic underneath. This song scratches his brain in a good way – it has a sexy feeling, but is dark and anxious at it's core. It's a reach to assume he feels somewhat the same but if he does – something's wrong and he didn't catch it in time.

Maybe there's really a chance Suo likes him back. And if it's true, what now? Nirei is hinting to talk it out but the irrational fear of getting a positive answer is like a freezing spell.

What exactly is he so afraid of? Suo's caring, reliable under all his snark. He would never purposely hurt him in his right mind. He knows it an still... ah, there it is. If it's actually good does he deserve it? Will he be able to keep the love given to him?

He's a coward right now. And Suo deserves better than biting his words back each time their eyes lock for too long. Better than not being invited to hangouts because he can't stand being so close. Togame's right, he hurts him even tho not with ill intention. Suo would've made his move long time ago if he wasn't acting like this. It's time to wrap it up.

____

Right on the day he gathers courage when they're back at school, first years present them with a trouble they wanted to solve on their own but ended up calling for help from the north of the city. Sakura wants to yell but then remembers their first year and shuts the fuck up. It happens. People learn, people grow. What matters is getting them out of trouble.

By the time everything's settled and they're free, it's dusk. Kiryu yawns, Nirei hurries to them from the nearby supermarket with drinks and snacks.

– Here. Sakura-san, your last kick was super strong today.

– He pissed me off.

Sakura shrugs, frowning at now careful Suo sips his water.

– You ok?

– Huh? Fully, just tired.

He doesn't believe him for a second. Suo has insane pain tolerance but he also hates being in pain and taking pills to kill it. A rib, judging by everything, best case just a hard punch taken, worst a broken bone. Doesn't seem to bad but he's pale.

He wishes others a good night, thanks them and follows Suo home.

– Sakura-kun, I'm fully capable of walking. It's just a bruise, it will be gone in a couple of days.

– And today I'm walking you home because I want to.

Suo looks at him softly and sighs but doesn't object. Laughs it off with a mother duck joke, makes it seem unimportant. Suo's always like this – helps others get through pain, protects but never allows them to worry too much for him.

– Suo.

– Hm?

They stop in the middle of an empty road, rain starts again, soft and calming. He looks into his eye, gorgeous wine color, at his scratched arm. Seriously with how they live they could've been dead a couple of times already, especially himself. What is he waiting for? A sky to fall on their stupid heads?

– I need to tell you something. But it's... Personal. And I don't think it's a good idea but can't keep it in any longer.

– You can tell me everything. Even if it's bad we'll figure something out.

Sakura feels a weird pain in his chest. He's pushed him away lately and this is what he gets? A wholehearted "anything anytime"? And Suo considers himself a not-so-good person. The irony.

The rain strengthens. It's such a cliché. All of it – the feelings, the scene, his own fears. Kissing him wouldn't solve anything, just make things more complicated.

– ... Nevermind.

____

Suo feels himself being closer and closer to madness day by day. This has to stop for his own health and safety of others – insomnia was not on his bingo card.

What did Sakura want to tell him? For a moment he thought he knew, ting glimpse of hope and then it went out. He tried asking again and again but nothing worked and he's not going to beat it out of him.

All things considered, maybe he should. But punching that pretty face and gorgeous body is a sin. Something else however... Ugh, there go the teenage horny thoughts again. This is torture. No amount of meditation and training on the wooden dummies really helps. At this point he's ready to beg Tsubakino to beat the living shit out of him so he stops perceiving reality for a moment. Stops being so aware of his own feelings.

And how bright Sakura smiles to others sometimes. A star – dangerous, guiding, symbolic, hot.

They're alone on the rooftop at lunch break today. Sakura chugs black coffee like it's water, licks his lips and Suo really wants to bang his head against a wall hard enough to stop seeing this. Manages answering a school trip question, discuss latest events and not seem sick. A win.

The wind is nice, they're standing shoulder to shoulder. He basks in Sakura's warmth, taking in every bit of it and suddenly feels calm in an instant.

It's enough. He doesn't need anything else but being allowed by his side. To stand like this, have his back and keep him safe to the best of his abilities. He's done that before, he's capable of continuing doing so. But.

– Haruka.

– Hm?

Sakura turns to him, surprised. Suo smiles softly.

– I love you.

So easy when you've given up the desire to have him. He can interpret it however he wants – in a friendly way, as a joke, he doesn't care. Suo just wanted to say it for so long, his heart isn't heavy anymore.

Sakura freezes for a couple of seconds. Stares at him so seriously it almost makes him uneasy. No one laughs. No one breathes either.

– Push me away if it's a no.

Sakura says lowly, takes a deep breath and turns him by the chin to land a kiss on his lips.

Sou wants to laugh at the irony of it all but only pulls him closer, closing his eye, deepening the kiss. Sakura's hands on his waist feel so right, so warm and balancing.

– Silly, I wouldn't do such a thing.

Sakura blushes and he kissed him again, now not so slow and innocent, but still sensual and a little needy. He isn't afraid to seem hungry when he is – he's never claimed to be a calm person. People just see him that way. Not Sakura tho, he's seen right through him from the first weeks.

Maybe that's why now, not being able to keep their hands to themselves, kissing on a rooftop, he doesn't feel a slight bit of shame or fear. They've always known what they've signed up for and he's happy with every part of this deal.

– I have keys from the med cabinet.

– Oh? Is that an invitation? How romantic of you and here I was planning a date.

Sakura smirks, not letting go for a second.

– If you want to leave it hanging until weekend fine, but your boner might disagree.

Suo sighs, playfully tugging at his jackets collar.

– Our scary leader wants to lock me up, how rude.

– Our even more scary vice wants me to die from hornyness. What an asshole.

Suo smiles into his lips, leaving another soft kiss.

– Lead the way, Haruka.

And he does.

[urautismdiagnosis-wistie]

Hello!! I absolutely love your barnacles/kwazii qpr propaganda, you are 10000000% right!! They make me so happy and you draw them so cutely! If you have any more doodles or headcanons for them I would be so happy! I am making meals out of the crumbs in canon lol An offering for you:

surrounded by the ocean yet still warm <3

Barnacles needs the feeling of kwazii breathing and alive at night and kwazii needs the warmth and slower heartbeat to feel safe

ANYWAYS ENJOY SOME CUTE LIL RAMBLES ABOUT THEM BEING SOFT AND PRECIOUSSS

kwazii really sucks at waking up in the morning, the captain totally picked him up into air jail only to be met with a very sleepy and tiny and pouty kwazii in his hands 😭😭😭

I just know barnacles boops his nose at like EVERY opportunity. Goshhh they nose boop. They could rub heads n stuff its in both their body languages. Purring and chuffing <3

3. Yk how giant dogs will get right into peoples space and not realize how HUGE they are and just snuggle into someoen???

Barnacles

4. Old kwazii and barnacles would slowdance and u couldn't pry that out of my cold dead hands

5. Pov ur like 45 year old kwazii not getting chosen for a really strenuous mission

hes so scraggly and wet anyways-

6. COULD U IMAGINE BARNACLES JUST LAYING ON T O P OF KWAZII AND KWAZII IS JUST TINY AND TRAPPED UNDER LIKE YEOW LET ME OUT and then caps like noooo u do this to me all the time its fine and he's like NO BUT YER HUGE IT BE DIFFERENT and the capns like ok fine u caught me im actually imprisoning u <3 and kwaziis like WHAT PIRATE CRIME DID I COMMIT and the caps like 🥰the treasonous act of not giving me enough cuddles🥰 and kwazii just has to accept that 😭

7. Also the capn is like high on pain killers or somwthing and he's SO SAD and then hes so happy cuz he can HOLD KITTI and push kwaziis lil paw beans in and out while crying about how smol he is (peso endured similar treatment 💀🙏) and kwazii just gets trapped for some hours, this grown *ss man is just getting his kitty face squished over and over 😭😭😭

8. idk if I ever mentioned this but kwazii genuinely does find the capn very beautiful <3 like he really does think the caps got such pretty eyes and a charming face and really lovely hair and do u see how large the capns paws are???? And how pretty his black claws are???? He's so cool and amazing and pretty and also pretty and- and how could u blame him????its not even a physical attraction thing he just did the thing where u love a person so much u see their entire existance in a new way

9. They take turns sleeping in eachothers rooms

Kwazii having a preparation montage where he's putting on layers of thermals and big fuzzy socks to go sleep in his joyfriends frozen *ss room 😭😭😭

Meanwhile barnacles has got to deal with kwaziis tiny ahh bed and the fact kwazii literally LAYS ON TOP OF HIM and moves and everything in his sleep 😭😭😭😭 but he also purrs soo….

10. One of the deepest kinds of loved a person can ever experience is safety during vulnerability and change.

I JUST KNOW they'd cry a few tears a few tears just from the softness. Something so fcking small that breaks every fcking battered defense they have relied on for years down. And then the other is there to wipe the tear away with their thumb.

And then they cry harder.

Bonus: kwazii calls the capn the "Lord and Savior of thr Manatees" whenever he's being a hypocrite about kwazii being reckless 😭. And barnacles has INTENSE cuteness aggression feelings to kwazii and he MUST squish him :> thats all for now

I totally don't have even more thoughts i cant share rn because it'd spoil my comic whaaatttt thats so crazy im such a normal person about them they don't consume my very soul idk what ur TALKING about

BARNZII QPR PROPOGANDA BARNZII QPR PROPOGANDA YYEYAYAYYAYAAHHHHH

my MOON AND LITTLR STAR

MY BIG AND SMOL

MY CAPN AND FIRST MATE

Auuauahagahhrjrrkkrkr thank u for the ask it means the world to me 🥺👍 my (qpr)partner irl is very happy the qpr propaganda is spreading >:3

[normal-creature]

Majorbeans posting

I haven't been able to get Majorbeans off my mind recently, so here's some of my thoughts on/analysis of their relationship and dynamic! Should be obvious, but this post contains shipping, there is no need to look at it if you don't fuck with that.

Joel's POV

Joel allows himself to be vulnerable around Scott because Scott is his worst enemy (in his eyes) and therefore won’t meet Joel’s weakness and vulnerability with kindness or gentleness. This makes Scott a safe person to be vulnerable around, because he won’t make Joel “weaker” by allowing him to be vulnerable. In other words, when Joel is feeling weakest, he goes to Scott in the hopes that Scott will be mean to him and give him something to push back against to bolster himself back up. Joel is deeply scared of people being kind to him because he’s scared of becoming soft and losing his strength and independence, which in his eyes is the only thing he has going for him.

Joel is also aware that his abrasive and awkward personality can make him difficult to be around. He fucks up a lot of his friendships by being too independent and refusing to drop his guard or give the other person any ground. He is self-aware of this and how it affects people, but he can’t change, because changing would mean allowing other people to “win”, allowing himself to be vulnerable, making himself weaker, ect. He’s so scared of being weak that changing isn’t an acceptable option to him, and so he just quietly hates himself even more for how unapproachable and difficult he is.

However, this is another reason he ends up feeling comfortable around Scott - Scott hates him because Scott is Scott, aka an annoying dick, not because of anything Joel has done to him. Scott is so unflappable, and already hates Joel simply because they’re opposite sorts of people, so Joel knows that nothing he does will affect Scott, which is a comfort as much as it is a frustration.

Scott's POV

On Scott’s side, he isn’t as unaffected as Joel thinks. A lot of the aggressive and dismissive ways Joel talks to Scott reminds Scott of homophobia he has experienced in the past as a very outwardly gay person - which makes sense, because a lot of it is motivated by homophobia. Joel forces Scott into the role of his antithesis, because Joel is hypermasculine, and sees being gay as emasculating. He likes to place himself in opposition/contrast to Scott to boost his own ego and reassure himself that he’s performing masculinity well. Scott is very aware that this is happening, even though Joel himself isn’t, and it stings more than Joel realises.

Scott also doesn’t hate Joel as much as Joel likes to think. Joel walked up to Scott one day and positioned himself as Scott’s antithesis, but it’s mostly one-sided. All of Scott’s taunting and teasing is a natural response to someone being aggressive towards him, and not motivated by any actual strong dislike of Joel in particular - though he does dislike Joel at times, due to the aforementioned homophobia, he usually doesn’t let it get to him. Joel, of course, can’t allow himself to consider the possibility that Scott doesn’t hate him: having a rival that doesn’t care about him or respect him would be unbearable to Joel’s ego.

This leads to Joel being somewhat attention-seeking towards Scott: he’s desperate for Scott to acknowledge and return his aggression, so that they can have a proper rivalry. The more Scott makes light of him, the more obsessively Joel tries to get Scott’s attention.

Scott also wants to bring Joel down a peg or two: he knows Joel is weaker than him, he just wants to prove it to Joel and force him to admit it. The fact that Joel genuinely thinks he's better than Scott, in complete opposition to factual reality, is one of the few things that genuinely ticks Scott off.

How I would love to write their relationship moving forward, if I ever get the motivation to write:

At the moment, their relationship is static. Scott keeps presenting an unflappable front for Joel to throw himself against, and this is a balanced, stable dynamic - though not a healthy one, or one that makes them feel good.

I think a good way for their relationship to develop would be for Scott to momentarily lose his composure, and, being a very emotionally intelligent person, straight-forwardly call Joel out for exactly what he’s doing, homophobia and all. After the initial angry spluttering, and a medium-long period of refusing to accept that he is in the wrong, because Joel is a jerk, Joel realises that his behaviour has actually been hurting Scott, and that he needs to change the way he acts, and is not sure how to proceed. This upsetting of the status quo of their relationship forces Joel to confront a lot of whys: why does he care that he’s hurting Scott’s feelings, why does he want Scott to… have a good opinion of him? He also doesn't know how to treat Scott if he's not being mean to him, so the only other options are ignoring him or being nice to him. He finds ignoring Scott difficult because he wants his attention, so he ends up having to force himself to be nice. Scott finds how pathetic and emotionally incapable he is a little endearing. The relationship can develop from there.

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 06

CW: Description of period cramp, Pedrito will take care of you tho dw Also diving into Pedro's POV for once, I usually don't do this, but felt necessary for this story.

4.1K words

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06 - Cramp

It was four in the morning when the pain woke me up from one of my best dreams. And it was obvious that after the night I had at work, the thought of him would find its way into my dreams in the silence of the night.

Now that I knew what it was like to be in his arms, the heat of his body, and what it was like to be completely immersed in the aroma of his perfume, I would find it strange not to dream about it at least once a night.

The sting of pain came directly from my uterus. A familiar cramp that would not let me go back to sleep. Even though I was on birth control, from time to time a lighter period would come up just to remind me that nature is still cruel on women. Cramps were the worse of it for me, umpredictable, sometimes it was just a discomfort, other times would be merceless.

This month looks like the type that would take me out for a whole fucking day.

I went through the bathroom cabinet to find the OB package, and only after I was properly set up, I went looking for some effective meds to try to relieve the sharp stings os pain that were shooting through my abdomen.

That whole time I only thought about how lucky I was to have a Friday off work.

There were rare times in my life that any medicine had any effect in this situation. And even with my breathing ragged from the pain, I went to sit on the couch in the living room. I had three hours like that, or was it more? — honestly, I lost track of time — watching something on TV that I could barely pay attention to, writhing with the annoying cramps, trying to find a position that would help me sooth some of it.

Kate woke up around seven thirty in the morning, confused that I was lying down with my knee pressing on my belly as if I were a baby in the womb.

"Bad night?"

"My monthly torture," I grumbled in response.

"Did you take anything to help with the pain?" She rubbed her eyes, still waking up.

"An Advil, but that crap never works."

"I have a hot water pad," she pointed in the direction of her room. "I'll leave it ready before I go to work."

"You're the best."

"I know." Kate blew a kiss, smug with the compliment, and moved to start her morning. 

Before leaving for work, she made sure to leave me with a hot cup of coffee and another of tea, her hot water pad, and more medicine to try to help with the discomfort. She was simply an angel in the shape of a person.

It was so good to be cared for with affection in a friendship that was beginning to grow into complicity without expecting anything in return. She was funny without meaning to be, and she was affectionate when she needed to be.

I wasn't expecting to receive any visitors there at the apartment, but the sound of the intercom right after lunch made me jump on the couch. I ran to answer it and was surprised by his voice.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you up for visitors?"

"Pedro?" I asked, noticing my heart racing.

"Yeah, I finished early today, and I decided to come visit you." He seemed embarrassed, and if it weren't for the fact that I couldn't see his face, I could have sworn that his cheeks were red, and his dimple was visible at the end of his smile. "Is that alright?" 

“I wasn’t expecting anyone... Of course you can came up” I pressed the button to open the building's front door “Door number 45”

“I'll be right there.”

He hung up and I ran — I mean it, I ran like a crazy person — to try to get rid of this deadly look I had.

A hurrican would be more subtle. I was brushing my hair and teeth at the same time, and I went to get a sweatshirt and pants to replace my pajamas. For a second I even forgot how uncomfortable I was feeling.

He took a total of three minutes, and the soft knocks on the door echoed through the silence of the apartment.

I took a deep breath and went to open the door for him.

The first image of him melted my heart, he was standing there with two plastic bags in his hands, his hair messy and whiter than usual — revealing the morning of work — his glasses accentuating the size of his eyes. A simple black t-shirt and jeans.

And that smile... Yeah, that damn smile will be the reason of me losing my fucking mind anytime now.

Looking for her on set was becoming something unconscious, something I caught myself doing without realizing it. Only to be disappointed when It came to me that today was her day off.

The scent of her hair was still gently wafting through my senses. The way her body fit perfectly inside my arms was something I couldn't easily forget. And the tightness I felt in my heart when I saw her sitting at the door of my trailer with a few traces of tears on her face. This tightness only intensified when her hurt voice confessed part of her story to me.

It was no secret to anyone that I knew what it felt like to lose a mother, but being rejected by the one who was supposed to love you was something I couldn't speak from experience. And when her voice broke on a few words, I could feel how hurt she had been all her life.

I felt obliged to try to comfort her, somehow I wanted to take away her pain, soothe her wounds. And the only thing I could do as a friend was offer her a long and warm hug.

Here I was, following the script of the day, doing some scenes alone as Joel and thinking about the photographer who was off that day, and the one I somehow didn’t have a name yet, just her mysterious nickname she uses on sets.

Coco came to touch up the white of my beard between takes, and she knew me well, she tilted her head to see I was lost in the midst of so many thoughts.

“What’s going on in that white head of yours?” She asked softly.

“That you’re really enjoying making me look older.”

“Oh, give it a few more years and that white paint won’t be necessary.” She brushed something under my eyes, enjoying herself.

“Ouch.” I put my hand on my heart as if I’d been shot.

“You’re still the “daddy” of the internet, don’t worry.”

I laughed at that and sighed deeply at the end.

“Seriously, Pedro.” She finished what she was doing and looked at me, curiosity clinging to her eyes as she scanned me one more time. “Is there something bothering you?”

“Nothing to worry about.” I gave her my best smile.

“So it doesn’t have to do with Still?” Coco changed her look to something suggestive.

“And why would it?"

“I don’t know...” She acted like she was thinking of something and I rolled my eyes at that. “Maybe because you have to go out of your way every day to give her a ride?” She suggested like she was making a list “And the way you look at the girl…”

“And how do I look at her?” I scratched my hot cheek, embarrassed.

“Pedro, sometimes you forget that I know you” She laughed at my discomfort “Like, really know you. She is, no doubt, someone very special. From the little I talked to her, she gave me the impression that she is fun, focused and very talented." Her small hand rested on my shoulder "I see how happy you are when she is around, and that makes me happy too.”

“You are right, her friendship is something special” I agreed, reinforcing the word, even though that was not exactly something that calmed my heart one hundred percent.

“Of course, if that is what you w…”

“That’s what’s going on right now, and for me it is something that makes me really happy” I cut her off before she could spill more of her ideas. “It’s not like I really have time for something else, or if that’s something she wants.”

“I know it’s none of my business.” She saw I was going to cut her and quickly added “BUT, I love seeing you happy. If that’s something you want, I’m sure you can make something happen. She doesn’t look like the type of girl who’ll shut you down, or stop talking to ya."

At some point that morning I saw Craig and Eben talking about something about the lighting and the moment they both mentioned the name “Still” my heart beat went crazy inside my chest. A simple reaction that shouldn’t have been that strong, but at the same time I couldn’t control my body.

The scenes with Anna Torv served as a distraction for the rest of the morning. She was a very fun person to share laughs with between takes and who went in and out of her Australian accent as if it were a joke, leaving me speechless.

I had lunch in the cafeteria, but I stayed a little far away until Kate found me and sat next to me.

“Hey, being antisocial is a photographer thing, not an actor thing.”

“Oh, and who said that’s exclusive to you guys?”

“It’s a natural law on film sets.”

“So I'll have my day as a photographer, if that's the case.”

“I think I can share this status with you and Still.”

I didn't want to make it obvious, but the mention of the her gave me the opportunity to get into the subject I liked the most.

“I bet she's still sleeping” I said casually, measuring how Kate would react to the change of subject.

“Still?” She asked just to confirm, and I nodded “The poor thing woke up before me... way before me, actually.”

“Is everything okay with her?” I couldn't hide my worried tone.

“Kinda, but it's a temporary thing. It happens every month to us girls, if you know what I mean.”

It only took me a few seconds to associate what she wanted to say, and I remembered the years I lived with my older sister. I remembered all the times she complained about unbearable pain, month after month. I also remembered how her husband — at the time, her boyfriend — did everything he could to make her feel better.

“I left her alone with a pain in my heart” The brunette admitted genuinely.

“I think I'll stop by and see if she needs anything” I tried not to make it obvious that this was something that would make my day much better.

“Great” Kate smiled sweetly “It's flat number 45, for when you call the intercom.”

“Noted!”

I changed at the speed of light as soon as I was done for the day.

The drive to the Walmart closest to the studio was quick. I grabbed a pack of those thermal stickers, some chocolate bars, popcorn, orange juice, and finally a whole chocolate cake — her favorite.

The surprise on her voice was something that brought me a smile very easily. And as soon as she opened the door I already started to feel the symptoms of having her around: Sweaty hands, the warm feeling in my heart and the cold sway in my stomach, my lips always curved in a smile, all of this was starting to become the new normal for my body.

“Special delivery for the best photographer on this planet” I raised the two bags to the height of my head, and received a confused look in return.

“I thought you’re working today” She made room for me to enter and pointed to the tiny kitchen.

“I did. They let me out earlier” I put what I had in my hands on the two-seater table. "They're gonna take the afternoon to shoot that explosion scene with Anna."

The smell there was like I had entered another one of my dreams. It was her scent, a beautiful combination of the products she used and that my mind had come to associate with being near her: the almond oil for bathing; the fresh perfume, which smelled like jasmine, orange blossom and ginger; Even the lingering aroma of her lavender shampoo was in the air.

I focused my thoughts again to continue the conversation, since she was still waiting for an answer as to why I was there.

“Kate told me that you weren't feeling well, and as a good friend I decided to come and make you feel better” I explained calmly.

“It's not like tea or a spoonful of honey would make me feel better…”

“I brought heat patches” I cut her off before she refused my help, thinking that I didn't know why she was feeling bad. “Dark chocolate, so there’s not much sugar in it, popcorn to watch a movie, orange juice... They say it helps with the cramps. And finally, when you're better, I brought a cake for us to eat together” I showed her the items as I spoke.

Leaving her speechless was one of my favorite things to do. She opened her mouth to say something twice, but nothing came out. Slowly her eyes filled with tears, and she pouted as if she was about to cry.

“Hey, hey, I came to make you feel better, not to make you cry.” I left the stuff I brought on the table and went over to hug her.

Got one arm around her waist and with the other hand I held the back of her head. I gathered all the focus I had left to not get lost in the smell of her hair, or the perfume.

But, fuck, it was so good to have her in my arms.

“I know, and it sounds like I’m being dramatic, but I’ve never been taken care of like this.” Her words came out a little muffled.

“Well, problem's over then.”

For a second I considered what I should do, and what message it would send. I loosened the grip of the hug a little, but I couldn’t help myself and left a kiss on her temple.

Her body tense up a bit at that, so I just pulled away to gave her a smile.

“Put on one of the stickers, I’ll make the popcorn.” I went to the table and picked up the package to give to her.

She wiped away the small tears and obeyed me with a grateful smile on her face.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was still three thirty in the afternoon. I have until ninve thirty to be at the airport to pick up my sister and nephews. Which gave me almost six hours to enjoy her company and make sure she felt comfortable.

Popcorn in a bucket, the curtains closed and the soft light of the television was the only thing keeping the living room from being completely dark. A movie about World War II was what she chose for us to watch.

I was sitting next to the arm of the sofa, and she was right next to me, her feet on the sofa, and her body slightly leaning towards me.

Just the touch of her shoulder on my arm was enough to make my heart beat heavy.

“Ugh,” I grumbled, my eyes on the TV. “That much fake blood, it sucks to be in that situation. Too cold, for too long.”

“But depending on where it was filmed, it must be refreshing,” She replied, sinking her hand into the bucket of popcorn that was on her lap.

“You can see the cold smoke coming out of their mouths. Trust me, that’s uncomfortable.”

“Okay then, Mr. “Know-it-all.” She looked away from the TV and back at me, and suddenly I was very aware of the small touch her body had on mine. “What’s the most uncomfortable situation you’ve ever had in your years of filming?”

“Most uncomfortable?” I repeated the question to give myself a moment to think.

“Was it your death on Game of Thrones?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Oddly enough, filming that scene was enjoyable. It was no doubt the largest amount of fake blood I've had on me in all these years, but unlike this movie, it was hot there” I explained, amused by her reaction and dipped my hand in the popcorn, bringing some to my mouth “I think the most discomfort I've ever felt was with Din Djarin's costume. Wearing the costume for hours made me feel pain like those days after a heavy gym work out, you know?”

“And what about the helmet?” She asked, letting out a weak laugh.

“I could hardly see anything in front of me.” I made a bored face.

“It's my sister's least favorite part of it all,” she admitted. “According to her, the best episode was when you finally took it off.”

Something danced in her gaze, something too dangerous, and her lips curved in that mischievous smile, sending something warm under my skin. I wet my dry lips with the tip of my tongue and looked away.

“You mentioned that she’s a fan of the series” I tried to ease the tension that could easily have been all in my head.

“She’s a fan of the entire Star Wars universe actually” She also looked away back to the TV that glowed in the dark “She’s coming to visit me on Winter Break, right before Christmas.”

"That's amazing, I would love to meet her" I deliberately put my right arm on top of the couch, stretching out a little behind her body. “Where are we going to be again?”

“We'll be in Canmore until the end of November, and we'll have a few days back in Calgary in December, but if I'm not mistaken it'll be the month with the most days off we'll have” She replied, her voice a little louder than the gunshots echoing from the movie.

“You'll have the month off, I’m going back to L.A.”

“To...?” She raised an eyebrow.

“To shoot another season of your sister's favorite tv show” I replied and curled my lips into a shy smile “But don't worry, I'll be back by the end of January.”

“Do you ever take a break?”

“I'll have the week of Christmas and New Year's off” I shrugged “That's enough. And I still need to decide what I'm going to do during that time.”

“What do you usually do?”

“Last year's was a fiasco” I admitted, quickly remembering the only party I had the previous year “I spent Christmas alone and New Year's at a friend's house, but I usually travel back home.”

“New York home, or Santiago home?”

Having finished the popcorn, she placed the bucket on the small table in front of us and pulled out one of the chocolate bars to share with me.

Her sense of who I was had improved a lot, knowing more and more about every little detail and every feeling I had.

Getting to a dangerous state of no turning back.

“Santiago home” I replied with a smile and looked at her again “End of the year has to be with “Mi familia” I said the last part in Spanish, just because everytime I did, she reacted in a cute way.

“It must be nice to have a big family.”

“Big family, yes, but mine passed that point a long time ago” I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head negatively “Thirty-four first cousins, and there are four of us at home.”

"Thirty-four?"

I just nodded, "We're latinos, baby" As soon as I said it, her cheeks bacame two red spots.

"I don't have any, at least that I know off. Dad was a only child, and I didn't get to know my mom's side that well"

"But you have your brothers." I tilted my head, completely forgetting about the movie, and focusing entirely on her.

"Yeah, Matthew and Amanda — Matt and Mandy. They're the two spots of sunshine I had on my entire life"

"Oh just like my three little rays of sunshine then" I said, wanting to let her know more of my life.

It felt right to share little pieces of information.

"I'm not the oldest of all of them, but being the second oldest and being the safe place for Nico and Lux is one of the best feelings"

“Younger siblings always makes our lives better” Her voice became nostalgic. Probably thinking about her younger sister.

Even with a small family, it was possible to see the love and affection that overflowed when she spoke of her sister, or brother, or even her father.

“How old is she?” I took a piece of the chocolate from her hand and put it in my mouth.

“The little punk just turned 16.”

“Almost the age difference between me and Lux” I said spontaneously.

And that was exactly our age difference, I thought.

From the moment she had mentioned her age to me a few days ago, I practically lifted up another wall on what could possibly happen if we let this be more than just a friendship.

I had already accepted the fact that my line of work and the way I carry my career, going from one production to another, without much time to have a more active personal life, made it almost impossible to have a lasting relationship.

After having completely lost the flow of the movie with our conversation, she decided to put on something lighter to watch. And with some episode of The Simpsons playing in front of us, I felt her leaning more and more over my body.

I only realized she had been overcome by sleep when her head was completely resting on my chest, and her calm breathing echoed along with the sounds of the TV.

I adjusted my position on the couch so she would be more comfortable, lying down a little more, and rested my hand on her arm. Her skin was so soft under my fingers. This motion of somehow soothing her was something that was becoming too addictive.

And everything that is addictive ends up becoming dangerous.

Dangerous, because the withdrawal symptoms of something you are addicted to can be much stronger and more painful.

What if I couldn't do this anymore? What if she found someone to take my place on this couch? What if that someone could have her in a way that I can't?

I forced these thoughts to the back of my mind for now. Needing to enjoy some of that calm I felt when I had her in my arms. Her breathing so softly, rising and falling in a well-paced rhythm.

It was only after what seemed like hours that I was also overcome by my heavy eyelids. The warmth of her body against mine made everything more comfortable. I closed my eyes, sinking even deeper into the sofa cushions, threw my feet up on the coffee table and let out a weak smile.

Happy to have her in my arms once more.

I’m going to worry about the effects she has on me later. For now I can just enjoy this.

It was only when in the back of my mind I heard a metal noise, of a key unlocking the door, that I opened my tired eyes again.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, my vision a little blurry under my glasses.

7:50pm.

Jess was still asleep with her head lying on my chest.

I looked to the front door in time to see Kate coming in, looking tired carrying the bag with her work equipment.

With gentle movements I held her head so I could slide off the couch without waking her up. Every movement of my body made my muscles scream from being still in the same place for too long. But even so I managed to make her lie down with her head on a pillow, I stood up and looked for something to cover her body.

"Hey," Kate said no louder than a whisper. "I thought you would have left by now." 

“She fell asleep, and I didn't want her to wake up alone in an apartment with the door unlocked” I explained with the first thing that came to my head, also speaking quietly.

"I'll give you a key for next time" She simply said as if this situation would become a normal thing.

“Anyway, I need to go, I'm going to pick up my sister at the airport.”

I looked at my cell phone again, and among some notifications the contact “big sis” appeared with the message “boarding with the boys”, with the number of the gate where she would land.

“I bought a chocolate cake for you guys to eat when she's better” I pointed to the fridge.

“It's her favorite” Kate gave me a big smile.

“Yeah” I let a smile take over “I know” I answered a little shyly, feeling my cheeks hot “See you later?”

“Sure. I'll let her know you had to go.”

“Thanks, Kate”.

I made sure my car keys were in my pocket and headed out, feeling a little empty with the cold wind from the building's hallway hitting my skin.

I fucking missed the warmth of her body already.

[oneluckydragon]

got hit with the echo+sora brainrot so i am once more rambling in your askbox about it. because reasons.

anywho i think there is something truly saddening about echo's struggles to make peace within herself and how she truly finds it hard to find that peace when she is so certain that if the truth about her origins were to be revealed to the world, much less to *sora*, everything she achieved, everything she worked for, all of which matters to her most, will crumble away in a moment's notice.

but the fear of losing all your life's work is none compared to the fear of losing sora. the feeling of poison that settled itself within themselves and between each other out of fear and tragedy of what had happened to them is familiar. echo's resemblance to dusknoir was already enough to set the two off because of how much it had all hurt to see someone you love and yourself turn into a mockery and a splitting image of someone who had pretended to care yet showed he never did at all, but this poison is louder. it hurts to bare, to carry, and to have none but yourself to be its sole holder.

but this poison, this feeling of heartache is different. because whereas the previous pain was something both of them felt, sora was lucky enough to not have known the truth about the person who she cares for so dearly.

echo knows that she used to be darkrai. and it haunts her to have known that her previous incarnation was so *cruel*, all for the sake of it just feeling right. wishing to engulf an entire world in darkness, solely for whatever desire she used to have.

and for how much she knows, how much she will hammer it into her own head that she is *not* like that anymore, that she looks at her past with sneer and disgust and that she will not be the barer of evil anymore, it will not matter in the slightest when she will have to look at sora if she were to ever find out.

how afraid, angry and dejected she would look when finding out, and how she will go on the defense/offense because of how much this will overwhelm her.

because when echo looks at her own shadow, she sees herself for what she is. she knows what she is, be it out of shame or guilt.

but when sora will look at it, she will see a tall, contorting and menacing shadow, towering over with a bright cyan eye doing nothing but looking at her, as if tempting her to make the next move.

and she defends herself. from someone she knows will not harm her. she raises her arms up in self defense from a hand that would never hurt her more than the world has already did.

she knows echo will not hurt her. and thats why she is afraid.

Oh my oh my OH MY, Sinnoh!!! YES YES YES!

HOW!!! IN THE WORLD!!! Are you so good at crawling into my head and creating these vivid analysis/snippets on my OCs??? I've barely shared ANY information about Echo and Sora because I've been wanting to hoard most of my stuff for when my fic is finally finished... but... I think you've broken my resolve a bit, if I'm entirely honest.

You know what? I'm so inspired by your accuracy and eagerness to talk about my girls that I'm gonna forgo my crippling anxiety regarding my writing skills and instead post a snippet of my WIP fic here as a treat for you. A teaser, if you will. Since I have no idea when the fic in question will actually be done and ready (or when I will be satisfied with it, cause the thing is currently 36,000 words and still slowly climbing). And now you've got me eager to share SOMETHING of my fic with you and anyone that might want to take a peek at it.

Please enjoy this conversation between Dusknoir and Echo. The topic deals a lot with what you'd described up above!! c:

[Note: this is an unedited part of my fic because I am still in the process of writing and it may change in the future, so please be gentle w/ me but I'd love to read any thoughts/comments that pop up while reading!! pls send asks or replies or anything really cause I love you guys]

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

“I’m going to tell you something now, and you are going to listen.” Echo commands with a sharp bite in her voice that Dusknoir cannot fathom ignoring. He pauses and then offers a slow nod, waiting, wondering what she could possibly desire to tell him at a time like this, of all things.

Minutes pass as Echo remains rooted in place, still as her own shadow, and her eyes dart around as she stares at the patches of dry grass and sand beneath her paws. Her claws clench and unclench, digging into the earth like daggers as the wind of the forest (it’s trees so close, just behind them, a looming sort of presence that could engulf them whole) whistles through the surrounding branches, carrying stray leaves of many bright greens through the chilling breeze. Dusknoir watches them dance around Echo, twirling, floating down, down, down… but it’s quiet, too quiet, and Dusknoir feels a shiver pass through him when Echo’s voice finally rings out through the silence.

"When I evolved, Sora was petrified," She says, nearly a whisper, an admission that melts away her confidence and appears to bring her a flood of both shame and regret. Her face twists up then, strangely, like she’d felt a twinge of pain from somewhere deep inside the very fabric of her own soul and was unable to quell it. "She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me most days. At first, my appearance… well, it reminded her too much of you. And eventually of someone I used to be.”

Someone I used to be. At that, Dusknoir’s immediate reaction is to recall Echo’s previous life as a human, as the miserable shell of a creature surviving alongside Grovyle that he’d relentlessly hunted in the dark future. A human made of contempt and anger and apathy, who never smiled or laughed or cried or screamed like the old legends said humans would-- an entity that simply existed rather than lived. An echo of a life long dead and buried. But, judging by her tone, by her voice, by some uneasy intuition itching in the back of his mind like a swarm of pestilent Ninjask… he knows that she means something else entirely. Something that she isn’t willing to share. And frankly, that concept utterly terrifies him.

Someone I used to be. Dusknoir wants to speak, to break his own silence, wants to ask the myriad of questions bubbling up in his throat because this isn't the first time she's hinted at another life beyond being human, but those questions die at the source like a flame doused in water. And always the coward, coward, coward, instead he takes the easy way out by doing nothing at all. Whether Echo notices his surge of inner conflict or not-- the nervous wring of his hands and the tremble in his spine that he cannot control under her gaze-- she does not react.

“I’d take a step and Sora would flinch away.” Echo confesses, her markings flickering with light before going dark and dead, as if her body wished to snuff them out entirely, a deep seated rejection, a self-loathing so strong that Dusknoir cannot help but recognize it and empathize, and his heart aches, “It took ages for her to stop shaking when I’d speak. To stop looking at me like-- like I was going to…” 

Echo grimaces like she’s enduring waves of grueling torture and doesn’t finish that string of thought, but it’s not hard to make an educated guess on what went unsaid. Like I was going to betray her. Hurt her. Break her heart. She’s been through so much already and I couldn’t bear to be another influence in the history of her suffering. I hate myself because of how I made her feel. When her eyes went wide in fear and through them I could see myself staring back like some sort of burden, some sort of curse.

“I am not my past.” Proud and true, Echo straightens up and holds her head high, a spark igniting in her eyes, a glint of determination, a will to keep going and going despite such circumstances and strife, despite this horrid, unspeakable past that haunts her so, “And I am definitely not you. It’s taken a while, but I know that much now. I’ve accepted it.”

I am not my past. And I am definitely not you.

A sigh, a breath, and Echo glances at him with a certain sorrow that cannot be described, a sorrow that lingers even through the veil of her tenacity, "But no matter how I feel, no matter my conviction, my shadows still find ways through the cracks. Every time I think I'm getting a grip and that I might finally understand myself… I change all over again." She admits, sounding more angry and tired than defeated now-- like a mirror of her old self, her human self that had clawed and damned and cursed him, despised him more than anything. "I hate it. I hate that I never truly know who I am. That I have to learn about my past through stories others tell me, or through fragments of twisted, broken memories that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Through conflict and pain and… and..."

"Echo," Dusknoir murmurs her name softly, an offering, a potential escape if only she would wish to drop the subject and forget this conversation had ever happened-- if she'd overstepped and needed an excuse to back out, a diversion, an understanding. And briefly, Dusknoir wonders why she is opening up about this particular information, why she would delve into something so vulnerable, so personal. Why she would bring up this hurtful history when it obviously brings her great discomfort.

And then, he gets an answer.

“You’re lucky, Dusknoir." There it is, that wildfire burning in her eyes again. A spark that’s new and bold and startling. But lucky? No, never. He'd have to disagree, accounting the mountain of evidence that was his life and regrettable deeds.

"You already know exactly who you are and what you’ve done, and most importantly why. You have more than a tattered picture of yourself that reflects broken answers. And you can change with that knowledge. I see you trying.” She tells him, searching, looking for something so deeply and Dusknoir wishes he knew what it could be so that he could give it to her, because he would, he would gladly give it to her without a second thought if it meant they could be close again. But he isn’t a fool, and he’s wise enough to know they’ll never be like they were before. “And if somehow I could change, even as half-assed as I have. Well, then what’s your excuse?”

You can do it, say her unspoken words, I believe in you.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Elastic Heart Ch 7 (Linked Universe story)

Summary: When Sky goes missing, the Chain scrambles to figure out where he is and what happened before it's too late.

(AO3 link)

First

<<Previous // Next>>

Hyrule Castle hardly felt like the safest place for any of the Links given most of their adventures, but it was as good a place to regroup and heal as any other. Although the entire group was well aware that the knights were useless, and the whispers of nobility hung close over their shoulders, the queen gave them as much privacy as possible and lent her best healers to their cause.

The next twenty-four hours were a somber affair. The heroes kept vigil at the beds of their fallen friends. When they weren’t fretting over them, they were wandering aimlessly, too forlorn for words and too anxious for rest.

It was late into the night after their return from the desert, and Time was staring into a fire contemplatively, his mind still trying to process everything. Twilight had already eased him out of his armor, which had been silently hidden until it could be cleaned of Sky’s blood. Somehow, despite all his experience, Time still seemed to be the least functional when someone was this injured.

How was it that in the span of four weeks he’d almost lost two of his boys? He still hadn’t figured out what had led to this, why Sky had been so terrified, so insistent that they leave, why he’d been apologizing with his dying breath.

There was just… so much. All of it was too much. The Shadow, Sky, all of it. Why had the Shadow taken his form and then spoken such words about Sky creating him? Was that why Sky had been so concerned with eliminating it himself? Some words about a curse, lies hissed between demonic teeth about how Sky had somehow made this mess?

Goddesses above… what had that thing convinced Sky? No matter what had started this… surely Sky wasn’t blaming himself for it?

That had to be the issue. Sky, sweet and soft, always in the background until he decided it was time to cause a little mischief… the boy had always been the least of Time’s concerns when it came to causing actual trouble. He’d always seemed the calmest, the most put together, the least traumatized, the most normal. Between that and his adoration for a sword Time would rather see at the bottom of Lake Hylia, the boy had never really been someone that Time had to keep a close eye on.

Yet here he’d been, taking on the weight of their journey himself and trying to leave the others behind. He’d nearly gotten himself killed for it.

Time had assumed the position of leader in this group and he’d nearly failed in recognizing when one of its members was in desperate need of help.

How long had Sky been spiraling like this? What had led him to this point? Had the Shadow spoken to him on the night he’d taken watch? Had it started before then? Did he blame himself for Twilight’s injury as well? What else was he hiding? What curse had the Shadow been talking about?

Time heard footsteps, and he turned to see the veteran walking morosely through the room, pointedly ignoring his leader. Twilight stood at the entranceway to the room sectioned off for their two fallen brothers, arms crossed as he watched Legend leave. When Time’s eye met his own, he said, “Finally convinced him to go to bed.”

“How are you holding up?” Time found himself asking before he could stop himself. He was worried for all of them, especially his descendant, who naturally took others’ wellbeing and protection as his own personal responsibility. They were all heroes, they all felt that burden, but his Ordonian made it his life’s mission to protect his loved ones far more than anyone else.

Not to mention Time had been doing a terrible job of checking in on anyone.

Twilight sighed tiredly. “I… would feel better if I were the one in the bed. It’s way worse just being the one helplessly looking on.”

Time would rather not relive the events of a month ago, but he knew what Twilight meant. It was the worst feeling in the world, being a child of destiny, someone who was so used to fixing all the problems, and being stuck in a situation where there was absolutely nothing to do.

“I know,” Time said simply, resting a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“Cap’s still in there,” Twilight said quietly, eyes looking at the ground as his own emotions got the better of him. “I managed to get the rest out. Vet was the last.”

Time hadn’t even been in there since their arrival. Warriors hadn’t left the boys’ side. It was almost as if their positions were reversed from the last time. He wasn’t sure he should be happy about it or not. He felt almost guilty for not hovering the same way, but he’d been fairly useless last time. It would be better if he could actually help the others as Warriors had, but he’d spent the majority of the day in a daze, guided around by Twilight, who had taken the captain’s role in guiding and leading everyone else.

What an insane week this turned out to be.

“Get some sleep,” Time finally said, patting Twilight’s cheek affectionately before lowering his hand.

Twilight watched him uncertainly, biting his lip and nodding. He walked by without another word. The eldest Link took a steadying breath, heading into the room.

It was a fairly small chamber, with both beds’ headboards against the same wall. Time saw Warriors asleep in the chair between the two, scooted a little closer to Hyrule’s bed. The captain was dressed down in his undertunic and pants, scarf and armor set aside in his own quarters. Time pulled an extra blanket that was folded by the bedside and wrapped it gently around his fellow hero. Despite his attempt to be gentle, the captain stirred, one of the lightest sleepers in the group, and turned bleary eyes towards his elder.

“Go to bed,” Time said softly. “I’ll watch them.”

Frazzled and exhausted, Warriors let out a weary exhale, rubbing his face. Time thought better of his dismissal, recalling that the captain had checked in on him in the past, that he himself had just checked in on Twilight. He shouldn’t brush off the man just because he held himself together better than anyone else.

“It’ll… be all right,” he tried to reassure the man hesitantly.

Warriors stiffened, shoulders shaking, much to Time’s alarm. However, instead of sobs, he heard an amused snort. The captain looked up, eyes exhausted but somewhat alight. “You’re really not good at this whole emotional support thing, are you?”

Despite his own mood, Time found himself scowling mildly. “That bad?”

“Your tone isn’t reassuring at all.”

“I’m not used to saying things that…”

“That you don’t believe?” Warriors finished for him. “Me neither. That’s why I try distraction instead.”

Time huffed, looking between the two sleeping boys. They both looked so peaceful now. Not pale, not on death’s door, not desperate or begging for forgiveness.

He sighed heavily as his gaze returned to the captain. Not recognizing he was under scrutiny, Warriors had let his expression be more open, fear and worry pulling at him. He looked so damn tired. He’d seen this too many times. Time himself had seen the expression when Twilight had been dying.

Warriors was far more accustomed to this than any of them. And Time hated that.

The captain shifted to get up, but then he paused, staring at the bed. Time followed his gaze, watching with sudden intensity as their esteemed traveler scrunched his nose and twisted in bed a little, eyes fluttering open.

“Traveler? Link?” Warriors leaned forward alongside Time, his hand gently reaching for Hyrule’s shoulder.

The Hero of Hyrule blinked a few times, seeming to register his surroundings, and then he gasped, practically leaping into a seated position. Time immediately sat on the bed just as Warriors jumped forward, both placing steadying hands on the teenager’s shoulders.

“Sky!” Hyrule immediately exclaimed, squirming under their hold.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Warriors insisted, putting a second hand on the boy’s chest. “He’s here.”

Hyrule paused, panting for air, eyes wide and wild, before they settled on the pair. “He’s okay?”

Time and Warriors exchanged a look before the leader spoke. “He’s here.”

Hyrule huffed, eyes wet, and then he laughed shakily, tucking his knees into his chest. “I—I thought—I thought he—I—”

He laughed again, more nervous than before, entire body trembling. Warriors settled on the mattress beside him, arm wrapping around his shoulders carefully. Hyrule wasn’t the most comfortable with touch and usually didn’t engage in it, and neither Warriors nor Time were particularly cuddly men, but after everything, they all felt the need to stick close to each other. The traveler leaned into the hold, tears trailing down his cheeks as he continued to chuckle, his breaths quickly accelerating into something akin to panic and relief, a conglomeration of emotions crashing out of him in a fashion that he couldn’t control. Warriors held him tighter.

“We’re glad you’re alright,” Time said softly, his thumb tracing across the boy’s collarbone. “You scared us back there.”

“Yeah, what with the Triforce and all,” Warriors piped up, squeezing Hyrule a little more tightly as he smiled. “You sure did have quite the trick up your sleeve.”

Hyrule’s tearful relief evaporated in an instant, eyes widening with alarm. Time felt his own concern rise – did the boy not remember using it?

“It’s okay,” Time assured him. “We’re all heroes here, Traveler. We’ve borne pieces of the Triforce as well. I just didn’t realize one among us had carried the entire sacred relic. That’s quite an honor.”

“R-right,” Hyrule mumbled, looking at his knees.

“How are you feeling?” Warriors asked, brushing past the distressing topic.

“Where’s the Triforce?” Hyrule countered.

The elder pair glanced at each other again before answering honestly. “We… don’t know. It vanished once you’d finished using it.”

Hyrule watched them a moment, still and silent. Then he buried his head into his knees.

“We’ll find it,” Warriors assured him. “One way or another. Such an artifact stretches far beyond our understanding – it might have returned to your era.”

“I—I didn’t want him to die,” Hyrule said in a trembling voice.

“We know,” Time soothed gently, sliding his hand along Hyrule’s back. “We didn’t want that either.”

Hyrule glanced up at him, cheeks stained with tears once more. “He’s okay, right?”

Time swallowed. Sky remained quiet in the other bed. He pushed lightly on the teenager. “Get some sleep, Link.”

XXX

It was the middle of the night when Legend finally gave up on sleeping.

His mind was whirling too much. Watching Sky basically die right in front of him, watching Hyrule nearly kill himself with the effort to wish him back with the Triforce…

It had been entirely too familiar.

He thought he’d gotten passed that. He thought he’d learned to keep moving in spite of the shadows cast over him by his journeys.

Clearly he’d been wrong.

So the young hero, a veteran of more adventures than any of the others individually, found himself incapable of handling the situation. And he hated that.

Legend wandered the castle, ignoring the cold and uninviting stone all around him. His feet guided him back to the room they’d set aside for Hyrule and Sky. The candle in his hand flickered slightly at the draft in the cavernous antechamber, chilled now that the fire in the large hearth had mostly died down.

When he slowly opened the door, he wasn’t surprised to see someone holding vigil. Time glanced up to meet his gaze.

“Just wanted to check on them,” he said dully, not bothering to hide his reasoning. This felt so different from when Twilight had been injured – Hyrule had been in there constantly trying to heal him. They’d avoided the area to let him concentrate. It had been awful, but at least there’d been a thread of hope to work with. It wasn’t as if there weren’t healers here, but the words they’d been given were little comfort.

They’d needed rest. There was nothing else they could do.

No potion could heal someone who couldn’t drink it. No spell could be cast when the one who knew the spells was the one who was unconscious. And so they’d all just done the last thing they could do, the only thing they could do.

They kept them company.

They kept them company, and Legend simmered with grief, guilt, and unresolved emotions from so many years ago that he didn’t even know how to put words to them.

Time pat the empty chair beside him welcomingly. Legend was thankful for the invitation, thankful that there were no questions being asked. He shuffled over to the chair, watching Sky sleep before his eyes drifted to Hyrule next.

“Our traveler woke up earlier,” Time said quietly.

Legend turned to him, eyes wide. “He did?”

“Yes. I think he’ll be alright with some more rest.”

Thank the goddesses, he thought. He didn’t remember the Triforce being so draining, but Hyrule had used it to augment his magic and grant a wish, so perhaps it worked differently than it had for Legend all those years ago.

Time’s words hung in the air, and then there was silence. Legend’s candle held steady against the darkness, illuminating his face, but he had no words to offer. For a moment, as he watched Sky, it felt like he was holding vigil over a body, a mourner lost in time, adrift in a different Hyrule altogether, grieving the loss of someone who was equally displaced and wholly forgotten to this era.

His breath hitched in his throat. He swallowed hard.

The silence seemed suffocating, but he had nothing to say. Time shifted uncomfortably beside him, clearly trying to find the right words. Legend didn’t care.

Sky. Sky had… just like…

There was usually something to distract him at this point, some task he had to accomplish that made him move forward despite the emotions dragging him down. But this felt like the end of a journey, after his first one or after Koholint, where there was nothing left but the emptiness in his chest, the fresh wounds on his heart. He had no road to travel on, no home to go back to, no Zelda to talk to.

He just stared at Sky.

“I have confidence that the Triforce healed the worst of it,” Time said. “Though I do not know if he will fully recover—”

“He died,” Legend interrupted.

“Veteran… he’s right here. He’s alive.”

“No,” Legend said firmly, feeling his throat tighten. He swallowed hard to fight it. “No. You don’t get it. None of you gets it. He didn’t just get hurt, he didn’t just fall. He died.”

They didn’t understand. They didn’t realize why they felt the way they did. Even he couldn’t truly comprehend it, but he knew why. He knew because it had happened before.

“The Triforce brought him back,” Legend explained. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he died. He died and none of you get that, he died, he died—”

Legend didn’t know when he’d lost the battle with his voice, when the tears had started to leak out, when the words had devolved into pathetic sobs, an admittance to a grief that he’d carried with him for years, a fresh wound and terror and horror that had ingrained itself into his soul.

Sky was one of his dearest friends. And he’d died.

He couldn’t even be angry at the Shadow, couldn’t even be curious as to what its words had meant, couldn’t even be worried about why Sky had left in the first place. All he felt was utter and absolute grief and loss.

Because Sky had died. They’d had to resurrect him. The others were caught in a confused haze of worry and fear, as if they were just watching an injured brother instead of acknowledging what had actually happened, instead of realizing that they should be mourning too.

Legend’s cries grew louder, inadvertently waking Hyrule. He didn’t notice. He couldn’t see it through his tears, through the darkness that engulfed him when Time pulled him into a hug.

XXX

Sky didn’t wake the next morning when Hyrule did. The others celebrated seeing one of their brothers slowly recovering, but the mood was certainly dampened by a lack of progress from their most injured. Wild found purpose in nourishing Hyrule back to health while Warriors started to fall into a field medic mode of sorts. Sky’s comatose state still necessitated care, though it brought a morbid curiosity in Wild – after all, he’d been in a similar state for a century.

Clearly the Shrine of Resurrection worked its magic to help sustain him. Sky had no such luck. His body still functioned as if he were awake, requiring sustenance, removing waste. He needed to be fed and cleaned, to be moved so he wouldn’t get bed sores, to be prodded to see if there was a reaction. It was a morbid affair, and it made Wild uneasy. He’d only been asleep for two days and it already felt like a century in itself.

Wild found it too disturbing to watch. Instead, he helped the others. He felt like he had to pull his weight somehow, had to blink the images of Sky’s broken body in Time’s arms. Hyrule slowly improving was something they could all latch on to. Warriors never seemed to leave Sky’s room, and Twilight spent a fair amount of time in there as well alongside Time. Occasionally Legend and Four assisted, but Wind was kept away, as well as Hyrule. Wild just couldn’t stomach the sight of the care his beloved friend needed. Whenever any of the boys lamented the situation, however, Legend would firmly and adamantly say that Sky was going to be fine.

It was strange, how confident he was. But with all his experiences, Wild had to wonder if he knew something of the matter. He latched on to the hope nonetheless. It seemed silly not to hope in a recovery, given his own history, but, well… that had taken a while. Sky didn’t have a century.

As the sun set on the second day, however, worry began to hover over them like a cloud heavy laden with an oncoming rain. After all, there was no way they could nourish Sky if he didn’t wake up.

“He’ll wake up,” Legend insisted when Four pointed this out.

“Assuming he does, that still doesn’t address the biggest issue,” Four sighed. “What if… what if when he wakes up, he tries to leave again?”

“He wouldn’t!” Wind argued.

“How do you know?” Four fired back. “He’d been running from us the entire time!”

Wild watched the exchange warily. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t wondered what had caused all of this in the first place, but it honestly hadn’t crossed his mind that it could happen again. He felt Hyrule shift uncomfortably beside him, and he turned his attention to his exhausted brother.

“You don’t think he wanted to leave us, do you?” Hyrule asked him quietly.

Words latched on to the champion’s brain, having first hooked in his mind when he’d heard them two days ago.

You don’t realize how terribly you failed.

This entire journey, Wild had been the failure of the group. Hearing those words had made him think the Shadow had been addressing him when he’d known, he’d known that it had been addressing Sky. But what failure was Sky responsible for? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Unless, of course, the Shadow was simply talking about Sky’s pursuit of it. But… Sky’s frantic attempts to argue, to silence it…

“No,” Wild answered distantly. “I don’t think he wanted to leave us.”

XXX

“It’s been two hours; we should move him.”

“I can do it.”

“No, it’s all right. You carried him last time. I’ll do it.”

What? What was… what?

Link felt impossibly heavy. His half-addled brain wondered if he’d become a sword spirit like Fi, made entirely of metal.

He was lying on something soft, he knew that much. He felt like he was sinking into it so much that he would never be able to get out.

Except he was getting out of it. Or, well, floating out of it. Flying? Was he flying?

Warmth wrapped around his back and shoulders, around the back of his knees. Two grounding forces, holding him steady in a vast expanse of nothing. He felt himself dangling and shifting in rhythmic motions.

Distant voices grew closer as the sound of creaking wood emitted beneath him in shuffles.

“Don’t spill it!”

“Oh, quit your fussing, Vet! Here, Traveler, just drink slowly. We kept it warm for you.”

“Are you guys done arguing? I have a story to finish!”

Grumbles. Sighing.

“Go on, Sailor.” That voice rumbled, buzzing in Sky’s ear with the warmth of a hearth and accompanied by a gentle heartbeat.

“So there I was, thirty bokoblins between me and my goal—”

“Oh boy, they multiplied again,” a voice remarked dryly.

“What are you talking about?”

Sailor. Sailor? What?

Link tried to focus, but he was being lulled back to sleep by gentle sways as if he were laying on a hammock on Skyloft.

“It seems each time you tell it more bokoblins appear.” There was that rumbling tone again, waking Link slightly, relaxing him and drawing him into a trance. It was so familiar…

There was a decidedly annoyed huff in reply. “Hey, I know what I’m talking about! Anyway, so there were fifty bokoblins between me and—”

Link finally pried an eye open. Then he blearily tried to do it with his other eye. Everything was so blurry.

The hammock he was on continued to sway gently. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“That’s impossible and you know it, Sailor!”

“Nuh uh, that’s what happened—”

“Sky?”

The swaying stopped, jostling Link out of his relaxed state a little more. He tried to look up, but he couldn’t muster the strength. However, his perception was finally piecing together an image in his brain, and he belatedly realized he was not, in fact, lying on a hammock.

Someone was carrying him.

Someone was carrying him, and the sailor was here. But not just the sailor. He recognized all their voices.

“Sky, can you hear me?”

The rumbling from before returned. The gentle, steady heartbeat had increased a little. Who was carrying him? Link tried again with all his might to move his head, to tip it back just enough to see above, to identify who was holding him. It definitely wasn’t the captain; the voice was deeper than his. That just left Time and Twilight.

It had to be Twilight, then. The man was freakishly strong, and Time would never—

“Here—move this—put him here, old man.”

Huh?

Link felt his world move as the person carrying him—Time—took a few steps forward. There was scrambling and shuffling of items, hushed whispers and excited laughs. Link felt something somewhat hard and warm rise up to meet his back as he was laid on top of something, and his head settled on someone’s lap.

A hand gently brushed his bangs out of his eyes before settling on his chest, giving it a soft pat. With his head facing towards the ceiling, he saw eight faces slowly come into focus, all encircling him like flower petals around its center.

He drank in the sight, having missed his friends so much. Twilight was the one his head was resting on, the one who had a hand on his chest and a reassuring, gentle smile directly over him. Time stood behind Twilight, a hand on the rancher’s shoulder, also watching him, though his expression was less warm and more concerned. To Link’s left were Legend, who quickly placed a hand on Link’s shoulder, Wind, who was smiling so brightly he outshone the sunlight, and Warriors, who had both hands on Wind’s shoulders as he leaned over to see Link more clearly. Hyrule sat a distance away towards Link’s feet, with Wild directly beside him and holding him steadily in a side hug, his face beaming. To his right, Four’s smile was genuine and trembling, his eyes glistening with tears. Link managed to get the muscles in his face to cooperate, and he gave a weak smile.

The group let out a collective sigh of relief, and then laughter echoed in the air. Link was bombarded by voices competing for his attention.

“We were so worried—”

“Our Traveler nearly killed himself to get you better, we thought we were going to lose both of you!”

“We missed you so much, Sky—”

“We really thought you were a goner! Like seriously, Vet was crying—”

“I was not crying!!”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Everyone hushed at the question issued by Twilight. Link watched them all, his smile fading alongside his energy. He took a deep breath, trying to piece everything together, his mind still too slow to process it all, and Twilight patted his chest again.

“It’s okay if you’re too tired to talk,” Twilight said softly. “We got you out of bed so you wouldn’t get bed sores, but now that you’re waking up, maybe it’ll be okay?”

Here Twilight directed his attention to Warriors, seeming to ask him if it would, in fact, be all right. The captain ruffled Wind’s hair, making the sailor giggle and step aside, and he drew closer to Link and Twilight. “Mostly. If he’s too weak to move, we’ll still need to do it for him.”

Link could hardly put anything together. But one sentence suddenly burned in his mind, registering and making him try to bolt into a seated position. His body refused to obey, and he barely had curled into his abdomen before his head flopped back on Twilight’s lap with a grunt.

“Easy, Sky,” Twilight soothed gently, pulling Link onto his lap completely with strong grips under his arms. Link settled his head against the elder’s shoulder, gasping for air at the exertion. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of you.”

“T-Traveler…” Link managed to scrape out, his heart racing.

Hyrule shuffled closer, sitting on whatever object Link had just been lying on earlier. He reached a shaking hand out to the Skyloftian, squeezing his upper arm. “I’m here, Sky. You’re okay.”

His grip felt so incredibly weak, even to Link’s addled mind. He felt his stomach drop.

He’d made it worse. Somehow, he’d made it worse. Hyrule had almost died because of him.

“I’m s-sorry,” he stammered, his eyes stinging with tears, his mind berating himself over and over and over.

“Sorry?” Hyrule repeated, confused. “Sorry for what?”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Twilight reassured him, his gentle voice relaxing Link’s body, even if his mind continued to whirl.

“Sky, we’re just happy you’re alive,” Four said quickly. “Please don’t—don’t try to do anything. Just stay here. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“N-no,” Link protested weakly. “I—I need—I—it’s my—I can’t—”

His entire world shifted as Twilight lifted him into his arms and stood. “Shh, it’s okay, Sky. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Despite his complete exhaustion, Link almost wanted to snap. He wasn’t a child, damn it. He had to tell them, he had to make them realize it was best to leave him here, he could recover on his own and then he could hunt—

Wait.

“Shadow?” he asked quietly.

“He escaped, as he always does,” Time said from somewhere to Twilight’s right. “He’s a coward.”

“Yeah, but the Old Man left him with a pretty good parting gift!” Wind piped in. “Arrow to the chest! And Champion got one in his eye too!”

Link wilted in Twilight’s arms. The Shadow was still alive, and he hadn’t even been able to land any meaningful hits on him. The others had to come rescue him. The others, who bore the brunt of his own stupidity and weakness, and who continued to do so.

He was too tired for this. Too weak to hold back his brittle mind and body’s reaction. Too spent to care that he was suddenly weeping.

It just wasn’t fair. Why did they have to suffer for him? Why couldn’t he get this right?! How did he just keep compounding upon his failure?!

“Sky, what’s wrong? It’s okay, we’re all okay, the Shadow didn’t get anyone except for you.” Wild hastily said as Twilight hesitated in lowering him, instead opting to sway back and forth calmingly.

He felt someone card their hand through his hair and wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Hey, it’s okay, Sky. Everyone’s safe, and so are you.”

Warriors’ words were both a blessing and a curse. Link was eternally grateful everyone was fine, but this just wasn’t right.

“I—I s-should’ve—should’ve—”

“Link.”

He snapped out his stuttering, surprised at hearing his own name for the first time in ages. He had long since stopped viewing himself as part of the group, but he’d been remiss to throw his name out for the world to hear when he’d realized he was in Twilight’s Hyrule.

“No one is expecting you to eliminate the Shadow by yourself,” Time said firmly. “We wouldn’t all be here if that was the case. Whatever has convinced you to think you should handle this alone, it’s wrong.”

The room suddenly exploded into sound, cutting off whatever argument Link might have had.

“Wait, you wanted to take on the Shadow alone?!”

“Sky, are you insane, I thought you were one of the smarter ones in our group, what the actual hell—”

“The goddesses wouldn’t bring us all together if we could take the Shadow by ourselves!”

“You could have gotten yourself killed, Sky, what were you thinking?”

“Enough,” Time interrupted the group. “Let him rest.”

Link felt himself being lowered onto the bed, and the blankets were tucked all the way to his chin. He saw the group surrounding the bed worriedly, some looking more annoyed than others, some looking scared, and some hurt and bewildered.

Link sniffled helplessly.

Wind immediately jumped into the bed, kicking off his shoes and snuggling in beside him. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Everyone agreed with words that Link didn’t bother to discern, and he felt Wind tuck himself neatly in between his right side and arm, resting his head on his shoulder. Link suddenly felt sore, but he didn’t protest.

“Aryll loves cuddling when she’s scared or hurting or doesn’t feel good,” Wind whispered with a smile. “I figured you didn’t want to be alone.”

Link couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips. He bit back another apology in lieu of letting the sailor have a chance to help, and he closed his eyes, resting his cheek on Wind’s forehead and closing his eyes.

The world grew warm and heavy. Exhaustion pulled at him, allowing him to settle back into sleep, but just before its gentle embrace could take him, his mind jolted back to—

Bleeding. He was bleeding so much. A bone deep exhaustion dragged his mind away, but he clung desperately. This was a different kind of tired, a far too permanent sleep beckoning him.

“S-Shadow…”

He had to know. He had to be sure.

“He’s gone,” Time said. “He’s gone.”

He… he did it?

He did it. They were safe. They were safe.

He felt tears sting in his eyes, his heart fluttering. His mission was… over.

He’d finally eliminated Demise.

He laughed, he laughed in relief. His brothers would no longer be haunted by that demon. He couldn’t eliminate the wounds of the past, but he could prevent any in the future.

“What were you thinking?” he heard Time whisper.

It didn’t matter now, whether they knew or not. But he still… he still felt obligated to say it. “M-making… amends…”

He could never truly make up for everything. But at least now he could…

He could rest. Goddess, he could rest.

I’m sorry Zelda, he thought. He apologized to her over and over, to Groose and to all his friends on Skyloft.

He knew. In his heart, he knew.

This was his last mission.

“I’m… sorry,” he said aloud before directing the apology at those around him. Because he knew he was leaving them too, and he knew he would never get a chance to truly apologize for all the harm he’d caused. “I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry…

The darkness pulled, and he drowned in it.

Link’s eyes snapped open. He’d—goddess, he’d—how—

Hyrule. He—he must have—

“Why?” he asked quietly, his voice little more than a whine.

“Hm…?” Wind perked up, already groggy, but his eyes were sharp as he looked at Link. “What’s wrong?”

Link couldn’t let this out on their youngest. But he couldn’t stop his raw emotions either, and before he knew it he was crying again. “Why?”

Wind watched him, eyes suddenly far older than they had any right to be. The boy held a gentleness and understanding to him, a sympathy and sorrow that intermingled, and he leaned down to hold him tightly.

“Because we love you, Sky.”

Sky fell apart completely, sobbing in his brother’s shirt.

[pangzi]

can we just talk about how incredible wandee goodday is with their narrative devices though? the foreshadowing is incredible. there's symbolism everywhere. the oyeicher/yakdee juxtapositions are so good. even though their words and actions might contradict each other, everything gets spelled out for us so clearly, it's beautiful.

[benevolenterrancy]

hi! I recently came across your tgcf fics, and I wanted to say you’re a phenomenal creator. the recovery series fic and the gloves fic and just all of them. thank you for your content and great attention to detail.

do you have any thoughts/hcs on FXMQ and Xie Lian you’d be willing to share? within the original story or the universes of your fics!

Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying them! (ﾉ*^▽^*)ﾉ.｡:*☆

hmm, random thoughts about the FXMQ... a silly headcanon: Feng Xin has very much been hoisted by his own petard by heckling Mu Qing! That is to say, he'll harass Mu Qing relentlessly about something stupid only to be confronted with a similar situation and realise that there's absolutely NO way he can act in anyway similar to Mu Qing or he'll never hear the end of it.

(For example, he has tolerated some truly atrocious divine statues in the past because he's heckled Mu Qing so much about how picky he is with his divine statues that there's no WAY he can say ANYTHING without seeing that smug bastard's face in his head so he just has to bite his tongue and tolerate some unspeakably ugly statues.)

Mu Qing doesn't generally suffer from similar overthinking (he'll just prepare to kick FX's ass if he dares to say anything about it) except for things more directly related to himself. I think he genuinely finds sewing/embroidery/etc rather relaxing work but he'd rather die than have anyone ever see him do it because he's made such a big deal about not doing that sort of "servant" work anymore.

(He actually really enjoyed stitching Ruoye back together because it gave him the perfect excuse -- he's returning a favour!! and Xie Lian is hopeless!! of course he had to!! -- and he secretly considered using white thread to embroider some invisible little designs just because he doesn't quite want to stop... only he knew he'd get caught if he messed with Xie Lian's spiritual device like that and gave up the idea)

[queer-omens-in-the-archives]

to care enough to carry on

Relationship: Mello/Near Rating: T Chapters: 1/1 Words: 300 (triple drabble) Series: sweet atonement (prequel & companion piece to pretender)

While Mello is unquestionably real, in the throes of Near's denial he is not. Most of their life passes him by, in a blur, in the dreamlike state of having been granted (a second) full existence without the self-awareness that being alive (again) usually brings.

Tags: Post-Canon, Dissociation, Depersonalization, Multiplicity/Plurality, Near's Mello Introject, (and thorough denial thereof on Near's part), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dead Mello | Mihael Keehl, (introject!Mello is alive technically but it's complicated)

[read on AO3]

[stormy-blossom]

I get the urge to doodle them now and then...