#anyway. back to being the lost soul I already was. time to snap out of my delusion and get back to the grindstone

[whimsydingbat]

…

if you read this and the first post, I sincerely apologize. you’re getting a hard look at the deepest recesses of my mind, open agape and oozing my most vulnerable thoughts I could ever reveal. they’re words that I need to be said, written. I find I don’t ever learn my lesson unless I talk about it. so, I hope those who care enough to read are receptive.

[vividxpages]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ The Great War – Jacaerys Velaryon x f!Reader PART 1 ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

PART 2 + PART 3

words: 1700

summary: Jace and you are lovers, but stand on opposite sides of the war, not allowed to see each other anymore. But love always finds a way. (inspired by “The Great War” by Taylor Swift)

warnings: angst, reader is Alicents's daughter, the Greens being a bad family, hurt/comfort!, kissing

a/n: help, I'm obsessed with this boy and every song starts to sound like a possible fic idea for him!!!

𓆩♡𓆪

All that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War

Sometimes, you could only breathe above the clouds.

Up here on your dragon’s back, the trouble you left behind underneath you did not matter anymore. You thought of the castle that slowly poisoned you from the inside, the dark nights where you thought you were completely alone in the world with no comfort in reach but the memories you carried with yourself.

Once there had been laughter at the dinner table, the halls filled with the family you had not seen in months. Now, you only saw your brothers and your mother together in one room during council. You shuddered at the memory of today’s meeting, snuggling deeper into the saddle and closer to the dragon who kept you safe in the sky.

(“Maybe we should send our dear sister.” Your brother Aegon had proposed at some frustrating point of an endless council, taking a deep swig from the wine glass in front of him.

You had simply stared at him, silent. No one was really listening to you anyway and you were past the point of turning to your mother pleadingly. She was just as silent, always frowning, always doing nothing. “What do you mean, Aegon?”

“We can weaken them from the inside.” He had spoken to the others then, who at least looked so confused as you had felt. “Send them my little precious sister who a certain bastard son always had a weak spot for. I don’t see the problem if you kill him while you’re fuck-“

Your chair had screeched over the floor and fell down with a loud thud on the stone floor. You had clenched your hands into fists as you stood, fury in your eyes.

“Aegon, stop with such nonsense.” Alicent had said quietly, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. You fled.)

You welcomed the tears on your cheeks like an old friend, letting them cool your skin as you stirred your dragon through the sky, opting to just turn right and never come back to Westeros.

But oh, how your heart still clung to them.

The family up north in the realm, the family you had lost forever in the middle of his conflict.

Suddenly, you felt your dragon tense and directed your attention to the west, where a shape of a big shadow flickered through the clouds. Your mind began to race with what you’d do if Aemond had followed you, always being damned to bring you back when you had strayed too far away from Kings Landing.

But this shadow was not big enough to be Vhagar.

And those dark curls did not belong to your brother.

You gasped as your dragon let out a recognizing screech, lunging forwards through the clouds until you and the other rider could almost touch at how close your beasts were.

Time seemed to slow down as they flew past each other, teasingly snapping at each other’s necks with the joy of being reunited, but there was no doubt. As you raced through the skies, you looked into your Jace’s eyes.

You let out a broken gasp and quickly looked over your shoulder, but he and Vermax were already out of reach, descending down beneath the clouds. And suddenly, you knew where he was going. You spurned your dragon on, the wind cutting into your skin as you raced after them, faster and faster until you let your dragon spread its wings for a quick landing by the beach Jacaerys had chosen.

Only the silver moonlight illuminated the shore by the cliffs, void of any other soul who could witness the forbidden reunion between the two of you. If you had been in company, Jacaerys would’ve already been dead or held captive.

But you were alone, for the first time in months.

You slid down your dragon’s back, nearly blind by the need to reach him, to throw yourself into his arms like you had dreamed so often.

When you had seen each other for the last time, there had not been a war yet.

And Luke had been still alive.

(You had cried for hours when Aemond had returned, blood still drying on Vhagar’s massive teeth. You had begged your mother to write a letter, just a simple letter to Jace, but everything at court had still been too fragile to do anything but be in shock over what had happened up there. It had nearly driven you mad, to know that somewhere Jace was suffering the loss of his little brother and there was nothing you could do to comfort him.)

Now, he was right there in front of you, leaving Vermax behind him and running towards you on the wet sand by the water. You broke out into a sprint as well, a disbelieving laugh that was anything but amused leaving your tight throat as his features became more and more clear to you.

You crashed together like two waves.

The embrace was nearly violent as his arms slung themselves around you, lifting you up and pressing you into him. There was no strength in your bones anymore and if Jace wouldn’t have held you so tightly, you would’ve crashed onto the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

Only Jace was holding you together right now.

He was everything you had been missing in those terrible weeks. He smelled like sea and wind and smoke and your hands shook as you combed through his wet curls, your tear-streaked face securely hidden in his neck.

You never wanted to let go of him and it seemed like the feeling was mutual.

“Gods- my love…” He mumbled into your ear and you let out a choked sob as you held each other. It was like he could not decide where he wanted to touch you first. His hands drifted over you restlessly, up and down your spine, holding onto you as if you could disappear again at any moment.

“How did you find me?” You asked breathlessly, your bottom lip still trembling dangerously as you caressed his cheeks, needing to refamiliarize yourself with the feel of his skin on yours.

He swallowed thickly, unshed tears glistening in his beautiful years. “I remembered the route you liked to take when you needed to stop thinking. And it’s cloudy today. No one saw me coming. I’ve been waiting for a cloudy night like this for weeks-“

His voice broke and you pulled him closer again, shudders of pain and longing and relief to be with him going through you in an endless loop. How much had changed since the last time you had seen eye to eye: Your father had always said you’d make a good match back then and now Jace had one brother less and you were a captive in your own home.

“I missed you so much.” You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as you both looked out on the ocean. “I- oh Jace, I tried to write, I wanted to send you a letter, but- I wasn’t allowed. I couldn’t help you and-“

“It’s okay.” He said, but it sounded lifeless, void. “It’s not your fault. I wished I could’ve been there for you too. I know how much you loved Luke.”

Gods, you wanted to cry and never stop again. Even now, Jace was trying to be strong for you, as he had always been.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” He told you and cupped your cheek, looking deeply and longingly into your eyes. “I missed you every second we’ve been apart. Have you been treated well? Have Aegon and Aemond-“

“I love you too. I want to come with you.” You interrupted him fiery and he shuddered at the insane idea of it, the consequences unimaginable and likely deadly for one of you. “Please, please, let me come with you, I can’t stay a single day there, my mother is not the same anymore and- my brothers have been horrible with the things they want to do to Rhaenyra and you.”

He shushed you gently, drawing his arms tighter around you and swaying you back and forth. “I’ll find a way. I’m not letting you stay there alone for much longer, my love. It makes me sick to think about you being alone in Kings Landing, believe me, but…mother says it’s not safe, not yet-“

“I won’t cause your family any trouble, I promise-“

“It’s not us we’re fearing for.” He smiled sadly at you. “It’s you. I won’t summon your brother’s anger on you. I’d rather take it on myself, but- we need to be a little more patient, okay?”

You could see how much effort those words cost him and you had no doubt if it was his choice to make, he’d take you with him to Dragonstone and never look back. You watched his throat bump with tension, his jaw set, his lips pressed together tightly.

A sudden small smile danced over your face. “So you only came to me tonight because you wanted to see me?”

His eyes were dark with longing, with wanton he could not give in to, not tonight. “My love...I needed to see you.” His thumb lovingly brushed over your cheek, the pad of it briefly touching your lips.

There was so much you wanted to say, so many things you needed to tell him and hear from him, but in this short moment you were only a girl and he was a boy. Your boy.

 He met you right in the middle, delicately holding your face between his hands as your lips met, desperately kissing you as his taste exploded in your mouth once again. He kissed you drunk, enveloping all your senses until all you felt was him. His lips were dry and salty from the long flight over the clouds and along the coast, your runny noses sliding against each other, but it was perfect.

Your heart was mended with every little sigh into your mouth, his long lashes brushing over your cheeks, your hands tangling in his hair…

You thought that maybe, in another lifetime, the two of you could’ve been able to stop the war.

Another part of you knew that you always had been damned, cursed.

You blinked into the starless grey sky above you as Jace began to ravish your neck with wet kisses and you thought of the old saying passed on from generation to generation.

Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.

On which side would yours land if you ever lost him?

On which would his land when it finally sank in that he could never have you?

[star2fishmeg]

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴡʀᴀᴘs

[4.4k] Pairing | bsf!Luke Hughes x bsf!afab!reader Summary | luke and y/n are tired of feeling left behind and help each other out…but in the company of their friends. but it makes a good story, right? Warnings | 18+ smut, kinda slow start, best friends to lovers, long haired luke!!! Bc I love long hair, umich!luke, (basically public) fingering, swearing, appearance and sex insecurities, tiny bit of angst but not really, mutual pining, making out Authors Note | im in such a luke brainrot it’s painful, this was supposed to be a blurb but I can’t control myself but anyway, this is my first hockey fic i hope its alright. Based on this after hours post! This is a work of fiction, please remember that my dudes

Luke felt like a creep. But she looked so at peace sitting on the lake's docks, feet dangling and toes skimming the water's surface. While she was nothing but a silhouette in the distance, the sunset cascading on the horizon complimenting her like a portrait in a museum. He also wasn’t sure on how long he’d been standing at the sliding patio doors, the UMich boy’s voices blended out into a white noise while his mind wandered to crevices of thoughts he’d been avoiding for months, but anything to escape Ethan and Luca’s conversations about girlfriend stories. Yes, he was happy for them, found it cute in fact, but when was it his turn to have that chapter in his life? He could have it if he didn’t panic and fumble at every party they threw, just a bit more alcohol and maybe he’d have a chance but like all victims of tragedy, no one would ever be her. Could ever replace her or even substitute her. So, while his curls bounced in the gentle breeze, Luke Hughes admired the only girl in the University of Michigan that’s ever made his heart ache and contort in bittersweet ways.

With a firm slap to his back, Luke’s daydream snapped back to reality, to Dylan Duke grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. The most painful thing Dylan had to endure since he met Luke was watching his friend follow y/n like a lost puppy begging for attention, and there was nothing more he wanted than for the two to just kiss already. They almost did, once, at someone’s birthday party when they both nursed a bottle of tequila. But Dylan never told them that, he wasn’t entirely sure if he dreamt it, if he was honest.

“Just go talk to her, be honest,” Dylan said with a light chuckle, nudging Luke towards the porch steps.

Luke’s legs stopped stiff, and spun to face Dylan in protest, “No! What do I even say? ‘Oh, hey y/n I know we’ve been friends for a while, but I’m in love with you haha hope this doesn’t make it awkward’? Like, come on.” With the way Dylan’s grin turned almost menacing, Luke felt his heart almost stop, his stupidity catching up with him, “This stays between us, Duker.”

He groaned and watched Dylan giggle his way back inside. Wingman or menace? Fine line, but at least he was better than Jack. Who quite literally tried trapping him and y/n in a closet when he found out, hoping for the best. Perhaps Dylan would actually help him get somewhere, he’d spent many parties coaxing Luke into making a move but Luke being the humble soul he took pride in, let her have her peace. Oh, how much he regretted it every time he heard her laugh because of another guy.

Thankfully the docks were at the far end of his garden, out of earshot and almost out of sight, if you weren’t spying. He stood silently, just taking in her very existence alone. If she weren’t wearing his hoodie so proudly, he would’ve sat down by now but the heat that flushed into his cheeks prominently just had to ease before he could show his face. Maybe she’d find it cute that his face flushed so easily, or maybe she’d think he was a fool for thinking he had a chance. Girls were hard to read, so many codes and hints, he couldn’t keep up with them all and God forbid you had an ugly code name. Watching her like that did raise the thought, what was his code name? Did he really want to know?

“I can feel you starin’,” her voice chimed, their eyes meeting as she craned her neck, “you gonna join or just stand?”

Luke’s lips pulled into his famous half-smirk, “I like lookin’ at pretty things, can you blame a man?” He sat next to her, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder like they usually did, the weight of his boldness lifting off his chest. “What’s runnin’ through that mind of yours?”

“Who said I was thinking about anything? Maybe I was finally catching a break from the zoo. Maybe I was thinking that you need a haircut.” Her laugh was like music to his ears, her voice his favourite song and every word that rolled off her tongue felt like ecstasy surging through him and freezing the world around them.

Spending a summer in a lake house was the only way y/n ever wanted to live. An oasis of serenity and laughs, endless memories, and an escape. But while she dipped her toes in the water, watching her reflection ripple, the everlasting thought that it was fleeting crawled its way back to the surface whether she wanted it to or not. The boys had been doing this longer than she had, it was her first time at the lake house and possibly her last. But there was nothing wrong with enjoying it while it lasted, being trapped under the same roof as the boys wasn’t as bad as she’d assumed. Except for the smells, they were straight-up disrespectful. Would she still love it as much if she was with other friends? Hard to say, if Luke was there, everything would be fine. Maybe a couple more girls would’ve been nice too, though.

“Please, you’re staring blankly, don’t try me.” Luke scoffed playfully, shoulder gently nudging hers as she rolled her eyes, unable to resist a gleaming smile. As much as she wanted to rebuttal, he was right. They’d met on the first week of university, Luke starting hockey practice and y/n starting as their new social girl and since then the pair of them had been two peas in a pod. Completely enamoured with each other, attached at the hip, where Luke went, he’d bring y/n, his person.  “Wait, you think I need a haircut? Is it that bad?”

She laughed, Luke, stooping so she could thread her fingers through his unruly curls gently, something only she was allowed to do, “Nah, I like your hair long, cut it and I’ll cut you.” They pulled back, sitting in their original postures and watched the sun’s pinks fade to oranges, “I was thinking about how many girls you’ve brought here.”

He blinked twice, turning his head slowly to face her and to his surprise his eyes met hers. There was a gloss to them, illuminated brightly by the sunset but like glass as if she were about to break. Heart beating in his ears, he licked his lips, almost quivering when he began to speak.

“Just you.” His voice just above a whisper, husky, “Only you. Always you.” Their gazes lingered, and his eyes fluttered to her lips for just a split second before he found himself licking his lips again, feeling his throat dry at the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. His heart ached, he didn’t have half the guts the Fantilli brothers did, if he had then maybe he would’ve at least wrapped his arm around her. Instead, he sat like he was paralysed, just shoulder to shoulder as she rubbed her bare foot against his leg, their skins touching, lighting little fires up his body and his stomach gaining a warmth he’d only felt in the after-hours of his bedroom.

“Lu?” she rested her head on his shoulder, staring back out towards the horizon, “Do you ever feel like you’re so far behind the people around you? Like you’re missing out.”

Luke leaned his head against hers, almost nuzzling into it as he thought. It was a heavy question, one that’d been weighing on her for a while. Or he assumed, considering she’d never openly asked the group. That’s what made him feel special. Her feet hung still, ending their teasing game and just fell limp. He exhaled, could he let his pride go and agree? Or could he completely one-up himself and disagree, which made him braver? He loathed the storms she started in him, thoughts he never imagined he would think in his hockey brain. One girl could change his entire train of thought, change his heartbeat, change his mood. One woman he pined like a lost puppy over.

“Sometimes. What do you mean?”

“Like, all my friends have these insane hook-ups and embarrassing sex stories and I have nothing. Yeah, I’ve had boyfriends before, but I was younger and stupid then. I go out with my friends and I’m basically invisible to any guy who approaches us, just feel unlovable. And now here I am, twenty years old and a fucking virgin with little experience and no wild stories.” She vented, barely taking a breath as the words spilt from her mouth. Luke’s chest twisted, his face softening when she snuggled into his side. “I don’t know where I’m going wrong, Lu.”

He paused and bit his lip when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her body into his chest. She melted into his touch, getting a whiff of his woody, amber cologne, her favourite one at that, the one he always wore. She’d never had the chance to properly relish in his touch, was his chest always this firm? Arms always bring this much security? Fuck, when did his hand get so sexy when on her body, gliding down her arm to nestle in the curve of her waist. With her ear pressed to him, the thundering in his chest surrendered his cover entirely. Cool and collected Luke Hughes was secretly a bumbling mess.

“I get you.” he finally spoke, ears burning when her finger traced shapes on his thigh, “My entire life has been hockey, so not a lot of space for experiences either. Not enough time for relationships between practice and games, development camps and time with family. A lot of the girls who liked me didn’t really like that. That or they liked my brothers and friends more, they are a lot more attractive than me, so I don’t blame them. M’just average.”

Y/n pulled away almost instantly, her eyebrows knitted and jaw agape. For a moment she thought she heard him wrong, ‘a lot more attractive than me’, ‘just average’? Delving into Luke’s psyche turned out to be an entirely different road trip than she had thought, heartstrings tugged as her lips fell to a frown. Who in the world made him feel like that? Who did she need to hunt down? But then again, Luke’s blood boiled hearing how insignificant she felt and who exactly made her think that to start with?

“Luke Hughes you are not average! You’re the hottest guy I know!” she yelped, the hand that drew gentle patterns now clutching his thigh tight. Luke gulped but didn’t retract away from the noise. His brain was too busy short-circuiting over the fact her fingers were dangerously close to his crotch, doing his best to contain himself with slow breaths, “They just didn’t give you a chance, if they really knew you, they’d be heads over heels. You’re so fucking smart, and passionate. And-and if they saw you smile for real, not a half-smile, your full smile with your teeth, the one that feels like a warm summer’s day. It’s their loss, they’ll never know how sweet you are, that after a bad game, you want steak and head scratches, that you’re sentimental as fuck- like you wear that Yankees hat because Quinn got it for you when you fell ill and couldn’t make the game. You’re not average.”

Luke blinked, once, twice and thrice as her eyes bored into his, glazed with fire as the words tumbled from her mouth and circled his head. He watched the way her body rose and fell as she caught her breath, the grip on his thigh tightening and heat rising through his body. He felt the sweat building on the back of his neck, his collar suddenly becoming too tight. She thought he was hot? She remembered such little details about him like they’d known each other since they were kids. The hand around her waist slid to her lower back, his thumb rubbing the fabric of her (his) hoodie unconsciously.

He smiled, his warm smile she mentioned, where his eyes wrinkled and his chin tilted up triumphantly, “The hottest guy you know, huh?”

Y/n’s face dropped. Never in her life had she experienced her heart stop the way it did hearing those words. She stared like a deer in headlights, she slipped up and the heat rushing to her cheeks burned. This is what happens when you let your feelings take over, you make a fool of yourself in front of the one person who would never want to. She sighed, hung her head and hid her face in her hands, the butterflies in her stomach choking her when Luke let out a saccharine chuckle that made all the flowers bloom.

Large, warm hands wrapped around her wrists with a feather touch, and slowly pulled her hands away from her face and into her lap, soothing her nerves with a gentle rubbing of her knuckles with his thumbs. Although his hands felt clammy, the tingling in his stomach became too addicting to care about it too much anymore.

“Don’t hide,” she was radiant under what was left of the tangerine hues, eyes almost sparkling, “let me see that pretty face.”

She hesitantly raised her head, eyes meeting his and her body relaxed. She had no idea why she was so embarrassed, he hadn’t gagged, laughed in her face nor had he physically repulsed. Instead, he looked at her like she’d hung out the stars for him, wide eyes with rose-tinted ears.

“I think you’re very pretty too. Beautiful even, I-“ he hesitated, “you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about kissing you, asking you out. Honestly, the idea of you rejecting me is terrifying so I never did, plus, I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

Her eyes fluttered to his lips, the world around them falling silent until it was just them in their own bubble. Luke gulped, his eyeline following the way she flickered between his eyes and his mouth before he found their bodies leaning into one another, noses ghosting. His hands released her wrists, one arm snaking around her waist sending an electric tingle through her veins and holding her firmly close. They’d been this close before, sure. Multiple occasions of having his arms around the back of the sofa they sat snug on, arm hooked around her shoulders because some guy couldn’t get the memo at bars, in fact, the root cause of their problem was undeniably because everyone assumed they were together except them.

Y/n’s palm held his cheek tenderly, the hot, carnal desire to devour the boy only being released from its cage when he melted into her touch as if he was opening his doors to vulnerability.

“I can teach you if you like,” she whispered, her thumb tracing across his bottom lip. Luke’s fingers gripped her waist as if she couldn’t be any closer than she already was, but he couldn’t risk letting her slip from his grasp again. He wanted to erase all those other guys who’d kissed her, he would be the last guy on Earth to taste the lips that words and giggles laced with a honey-like sweetness that cradled his heart.

“God, please-“  his heart beat twice as fast, y/n leaning in, closing the gap between them and pressing her lips gently to his. If he were to die right there, he’d die the happiest man alive. Her lips were soft and warm, igniting every firework inside of him and adrenaline shaking him back to life. He could do this for hours, drinking in her citrus fragrance, lips mimicking the way she moved hers against his. If she was a match, he was kerosene and he’d let her set him ablaze over and over if it meant he could feel like the only man in the world until the end of time.

They pulled away, eyes fluttering open to an exchange of giggly smiles. Despite it being a closed-mouth kiss, nothing extra, just soft and sweet, Luke’s thoughts raced at a million miles per hour. All the weight on his shoulders lifted and he nuzzled into her palm, placing a kiss on it.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, his puppy-like gaze almost distracting her from how his skin burned pink in her palm. But in a way, all her previous anxieties dissipated like dust in the wind, tummy flipping at the pathetically sweet and lovestruck expression spread on Luke’s face, “Your face is so red. Are you okay?-”

“-Can we do that again?” He pleaded, quickly, desperately, a certain yearning feeling on his lips that he couldn’t quite describe, except that he needed to taste her again. He needed more, so much more to quench his thirst, a kind of fuzziness he felt in his core.

“Uh- yeah, let me show you what a real kiss is.” No hesitation was needed, y/n’s hand slid from his cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers carding through his curls as she roughly connected their lips again, messier, teeth chattering from the impact. Luke’s other hand found comfort on her thighs, pulling them over his lap and giving gentle squeezes, moaning when y/n bit his lower lip. He opened his mouth with ease, failing to hold back another moan when her tongue lapped his. He wasn’t sure how to react, he’d never made out with anyone and it’s not like his brothers would’ve explained it well either. So, he repeated her movement, his tongue dancing with hers with saliva lubricating their lips each time they dove back in to devour each other. Y/n tugged his curls lightly, pulling him closer, savouring the kindling arousal leaking into her panties with the way he craved her.

Luke pulled away to breathe, his chest heavy but shorts becoming tight with the intense and fiery eye contact that screamed nothing but lust, “You,” he kissed her again, fervently, “taste,” another kiss, “amazing.” He mumbled into her lips and their tongues stirred again, whimpers drawing from the back of her throat when his hand travelled further up her thigh, under her shorts and found solace on the skin only he could touch. Any further and she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t pounce, her underwear was soaked through and sticking to her folds and even one measly brush on her clit would open the floodgates.

A foreign burst of confidence washed over him, and he detached their lips, a string of saliva between them and her hand still tugging at his curls and whether intentional or not, he discovered something carnal clawing away inside him. Wetting his lips, he dove into her neck, planting wet kisses along her column and nipping in the hope of hearing her mewl again. Y/n tilted her head to the side, giving him free rein over her skin and her jaw slacking, whining his name with her thighs clenching together for any kind of friction. As he began to run his hand along her thigh, his pocket vibrated continuously, earning a growl to rumble from his throat.

“Fuck, why’d you stop?” y/n whined, hand falling from his hair to his chest. Luke pulled his phone from his pocket with a disgruntled look, of course, his moment was ruined. Swiping the notification away, he clicked his tongue, sliding his phone back into his shorts.

His arms wrapped around her waist, and looked back into her adoring yet disappointed eyes, “Dylan wants to know if we’re joining them for a movie.”

“I’m quite happy staying here with you.”

“Who says we have to watch the whole movie?”

Silence hung over the living room, only the TV blaring and the light crunching of popcorn from different directions. The lights were off, just the TV and three boys crammed on one sofa, and three plus y/n on the other. Luke, y/n, Rutger and Adam on the sectional directly opposite the TV, Luke occupying the end with the chaise for his legs, and y/n sat between them and huddled under a blanket. Rutger sat in the middle with Adam on the furthest end. Dylan, Luca and Ethan huddled together on the sofa adjacent to the TV, popcorn littered between them from missing mouths and flinching.

Luke’s hands wrapped around her waist, keeping her snug against his chest while she slowly chewed Haribo’s, feeding them to him now and then. While his heart skipped beats, feeling like a meadow of tulips blooming in the Spring, y/n’s wiggling against his crotch lured all the heat and butterflies from earlier straight back to his stomach, sending it into twists and turns. Heat flushed to his neck when she pushed her arse back into him, in an innocent attempt to readjust. A deep exhale through his nose and his hands slithered to her thighs, fingers kneading the flesh like dough as his head dipped into her shoulder, breath hot on the skin and making her hairs stand on edge.

“Stop wigglin’, pretty girl,” he whispered into the shell of her ear, placing a kiss, “you’re drivin’ me crazy.”

She froze, body falling limp into his as he ran his hands under her hoodie, his stiffened cock poking into her backside as she caught on to what his problem was. The sex-deprived whore in her awakened with a jolt, his cock solid because of her, and there was nothing she wanted more than to feel him pressed up against her, unable to find his release and have the rasp of his voice reverberate through her being as her vibrator. 

“And if I don’t?” she whispered back, as close to him as possible without being heard. Instead of answering, Luke dipped his fingers down her shorts, middle finger brushing against her clothed clit. His eyes locked to the screen in front of him, resisting the urge to smirk when her breath hitched but continuing to glide his finger – in what was a lucky guess – over her bundle. She squirmed, clamping her thighs together, only to have them pried open by his free hand.

“Be a good girl and keep quiet, unless you want to be caught.” His playful tone sent chills down her spine, goosebumps swarming on her neck but melting into his touch. She plopped another sweet into her mouth, chewing intensely when Luke drew his long fingers away, only for her to feel them caress over her skin, cold on her warm body, and down her panties. To describe the sensation that zipped through her when the pad of his middle finger reunited with her clit would be the same shock if you were to be struck by lightning: sudden and sharp, rattling up the spine.

Y/n placed the bag of sweets in her lap, tucking both hands under the blanket with the hope of seeming less suspicious, but her hand skimmed down his arm and placed itself on his, slowly guiding his movements on her nub until he got the idea. Firm yet gentle circular movements, the slick seeping from her warm on his fingertips, so inviting he wished he could have a taste. She pulled the blanket to her chin, not only to cover Luke’s sudden mood but to form some form of distraction from the fuzzy feeling rising to her head. No, she’d never had this before, so the experience itself embraced her tight, addicting like nicotine.

He kissed her temple, two fingers sliding into her cunt almost perfectly, too perfect that another Haribo was abused between her teeth as her breathing struggled to remain neutral. The moan that would’ve slipped past if she hadn’t been concentrating would’ve been embarrassing enough. Luke began languid plunges into her, relishing in the way her walls squeezed his fingers tight, keeping shallow at first. The more her pussy swallowed him in their wetness, the faster his mind spiralled in greed and his pace sped up, y/n’s nails digging deep into his leg, leaving crescent shapes on the skin. The heat pooling in her stomach was riveting, knowing she would finally have an insane story to tell even more so. No one could say that Luke Hughes’ tongue tasted theirs like it was the best meal he’d ever lapped up and that he’d watched a movie with his friends while pushing the limits of both his and their sanity publicly.

With a rush of adrenaline and her nails marking him, he buried his fingers deep into her cunt, driving swiftly and curling in places that made her wriggle against him, his free hand having to hold her hips still with a bruising grip and his cock begged for attention in his shorts. Y/n popped two more sweets in her mouth, relying on their gummy nature to suppress the moans that threatened to tear through her as the knot inside her came dangerously close to snapping with the way he bullied her pussy with his bare hands. His breathing fell deep and shuddered, his heart infatuated with the ecstasy of finger-fucking the woman of his dreams in front of an entire room of his friends hammered in his chest while his face struggled to stay indifferent and jaw tight like his cock isn't throbbing violently and straining against her arse. Like she wasn’t bucking her hips into his touch like he couldn’t tell that her heart was going haywire because of just him alone. If this was what foreplay was like, the idea of piledriving balls deep in her until she couldn’t remember her name was divine.

He dragged out his last pumps, the knot in her stomach snapping and coating his fingers in hot, sticky release, kissing her temple upon her body physically shuddering. Y/n pulled the blanket up to her chin as if she had shivered naturally, stuffing her mouth into the fluffy material. Luke pulled his fingers out, wiping the residue on his shorts, practically drooling over the image of milking her dry. His arms snaked around her waist, snuggling close. Y/n sighed, slumping back into him. On the outside Luke was his collected and cool self, his breathing stable and attention on the movie, the heat in his face and hands that rested on her stomach, soothing her heart rate screamed that he was the happiest guy in the room. With every gentle stroke of his thumb on the flesh of her stomach, her heart soothed and her eyelids became increasingly heavier.

"Was that story worthy?" He whispered, kissing her cheek sweetly.

Luke’s pocket buzzed and he tutted, carefully sliding it from his pocket and unlocking it, trying his best to prevent the screen from blinding everyone.

Duker idk if ur freaky or brave u dog

Luke closed his phone and looked up towards Dylan, who sat with a shit-eating grin. He smiled and shook his head, mouthing a subtle, ‘this stays between us’.

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

2024 © STAR2FISHMEG All rights reserved - do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost any of my works. Please let me know if you notice that any of these have been done to my work.

Banners & dividers belong to @/cafekitsune

[scudslut]

too sweet

daryl x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni

a/n: okay, is this like the song? IDK i listened to it on repeat tryna decipher shit and come up with a good plot but i think i got a little lost in the sauce, or maybe im just being mean to myself🫢 ANYWAY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON BYEEE🤍

you two never got along, never saw eye to eye.

years you’d known each other and all it ever did was reveal those differences all the more. highlighting them in bold letters for you to gaze at thoughtfully, but did that stop you?

it was a game you played, back and forth for so long that it became a routine. bicker and disagree till you were blue in the face and at each other's mercy for only the moon to bear witness too.

how many times had you dug into him for his habits. he smoked, kept to himself, he fought, but where had that ever gotten him? it was against your nature. a way of being that you genuinely could not understand.

and he’d be right there with you, matching each dig with his own. you were sweet, too soft. you pleased and walked among ice like you weighed as much as a feather, so predictable it was almost humorous. if you didn’t understand him, he was absolutely riddled by you.

“how do ya sleep at night? huh? don’ya ever get tired of keeping everyone so fuckin happy?” he’d mutter, all the while tearing articles of clothing off of your supple skin, one by one. skin that was pristine by default and worn as if only heaven itself had touched it.

“believe it or not, i actually want people to like me daryl. i like when i can make people happy. it’s not a fucking act,” you sneer back.

who was he to talk? he lived inside his own head. could go days… no, months by himself, not muttering a single word to a breathing soul. and you’d tried to reason, guide, and help, but if anyone knew daryl dixon, they knew he didn’t budge easily. he had to want it for himself and he simply didn’t see the glory in your people-pleasing nature, as he’d like to call it.

sure he saw the value in it, somewhat. but he liked things the way they were, as they were meant to be. if he disagreed with something he sure as shit wasn’t gonna prance around trying not to hurt no feelings.

“alright, you keep tellin’ yerself that, princess.”

so what was it that kept you two coming back for more? why was the tension and aversion between your minds so magnetic between your bodies? he wanted to snap those annoying, pretty lips shut with his. maybe if he kissed you hard enough something would click in that head of yours. maybe he could fuck some clarity into you.

his fingers would rub fast circles over your clit, watching you keen and moan into the pillow beneath you, “how’s that princess? good enough for ya? hm?” he’d mock, “faster? slower?”

“god, would you shut up already?” you tried to sneer only for it to come out as a breathy whine, adding fuel to his pride and smirk across his face. your lips crashed into his in an attempt to diminish it but it was right there, now pressed up against your face, and fuck, why was that so hot? why was his rugged stubble, his long hair kissing your shoulders, and his broad, strong body so infuriatingly sexy to you? muscles built from years of fights, kills, and hunting. you didn’t like it… but you did.

“fuck, i’m gonna-“ you cried to him softy.

“nuh, uh. not yet pretty girl.”

his belt was loud throughout the quiet room. your eyes were squeezed shut in pleasure but you heard the familiar clanks and zips, and then you felt his weight above you — warm and spicy. it pulled you so far and close that you sucked him in before he even got his pants all the way off.

“fuckin’ christ girl,” he groaned, snapping down to meet your hips flush. it was rapid and hot, both of you pouring all your frustrations into each push and pull. frustrations with each other, frustrations with yourselves that you liked this so fucking much.

he fucked you deep and hard like his body hated you, but somehow kissed you so tenderly through it all. his tongue massaging and tangling with yours as if you created his oxygen for him.

“so fucking sweet, princess, y’know that?” he whispered against you, “no good fer me.”

he was telling himself that; convincing himself and you knew it. your body rolled to meet his quickly, feeling every gooey, warm muscle against your skin and drooling over it, “more.”

as if to prove a point he slowed down, pulling out till just his tip was caught at your entrance, and then would thrust in, hard. over, and over, and over until you were singing his name and muffling it with his neck. warm and spicy.

“ya like that? thought ya wanted faster?”

he knew he was walking a line, but what had you guys ever been but a definitive line? a clear distinction of night and day, the only time ever seeing eye to eye being these moments. as one.

you were sent over the edge instantly, spasms of pleasure rolling languidly through your body. the tight swelling of your cunt causing daryl to finish with you and fuck if he didn’t cum the prettiest, sexiest way you had ever seen. straight out of your dirty, teenage fantasies and above you to soak in while you wreathed along with him.

he groaned and cursed into your chest, riding out each wave until he was shaking above you and so sensitive he couldn’t help but hiss as he pulled away, flopping down beside you.

a cigarette was quickly fished from his strewn jeans pockets and placed between his lips, lighting up and rolling back into the pillows lazily. every ounce of mending and merging you had just done was palpably tossed out the window, your scoff loudly filling the silence.

“that will kill you one day, hope you know that,” you muttered whilst gathering your clothes and slipping them on.

he didn’t bat an eye, nothing he hadn’t heard before from you and honestly, he didn’t really care. plenty of things in the world that’ll kill you, your naivety being one of them.

“lemme guess, gotta be up bright n’ early? tendin’ ta all yer charity cases?” he mused as he watched you head for the door. there had never been a night you’d spent together, probably would end up ripping each others faces off alone in room together for that long.

he didn’t get an answer, just an amused eye roll as you opened his bedroom door, “bye daryl.”

and then you were gone, quiet stomps heard as you floated up the stairs and he knew it would only be a matter of days before you were right back here, glued to his body and singing his name like you needed him to survive.

“figures,” he mumbled, taking a long drag from his smoke and smirking softly to himself.

what’s that saying? opposites always attract?

[al-of-the-stars]

"Lily of the Valley"

Lute x GN Angel Reader

Synopsis: After being saved from a near-death encounter, you slowly fall in love with Lute, the very same angel who had rescued you. Little do you know, she harbors the same feelings for you.

A/n: I honestly had this idea in a dream and when I remembered it, my first thought was "holy shit I GOTTA write this" Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

You never had much of a relationship with Lute. Sure, you were pretty good acquaintances but there wasn’t much more to it than that. You both worked for the exorcist army but she was on the battlefield while you were on the sidelines as a strategist, planning the exterminators' next move. That was until one extermination. While you were lost in your own plans, your eyes practically glued to the map in your hands,you failed to notice the demon behind you holding an angelic weapon. Just when the sinner was about to stab you, you felt another presence nearby. When you turned around, you saw none other than the lieutenant of the exorcists herself, covered in splashes of crimson. Your eyes went wide and you felt golden blood rush to your face, though you couldn't tell if it was from the near-death experience you just had or how attractive Lute looked while killing that unholy soul. You thought it was most likely the latter. “Are you alright? You aren't hurt anywhere, are you?” Those words snapped you out of your train of thought.

“Oh I think I'm fine, thank you,”

“It's not a problem, I'm glad you're okay,” You could have sworn you saw the face on her mask turn into a smile, but you didn't have enough time to comprehend anything as she dashed off flying. Since that day, you grew much closer. During training, you couldn't help but take glances at her. Unbeknownst to you due to the limited expression of her mask, she was doing the same. When you looked her way, she would try extra hard to impress you. All the other exorcists noticed and attempted to wingman her in their spare time.

“Just tell them already!”

“What's the worst that could happen?”

“They look at you like a lovesick anime schoolgirl, there is no way they don't like you back,” After practice, you two would usually visit a cafe and just chat; your company was the highlight of her day. This became routine and slowly, your relationship and feelings grew more and more until it became unbearable to hold it in. Lute finally got sick of those outings being just a hangout between two friends, she was sick of looking at you and wishing she could just grab your waist and pull you in for a kiss, she was sick of pretending she didn't love you. Another day of training passed by and as you walked out the door of the cafe, Lute handed you an envelope.

“Open this when you get home,” She instructed. The walk back to your house felt like forever and the curiosity was practically killing you. The moment you walked through the door, you opened the neatly sealed envelope.

“Dear Y/n,

I was originally going to write a poem to explain how I felt but I'm not too great with metaphors or meanings, so I'll be straightforward with you like always. I love you. I can't help but admire you when you do the most regular things. I have fallen in love with everything about you, your smile, your eyes, your voice. If you feel the same, next time we visit somewhere after practice, I hope it can be a date.

-Lute”

Along with the letter, there was a flower. More specifically, it was a lily of the valley, a flower that represents love and sincerity. You picked up the lily and put it in a vase with water. Who knew the stone-cold lieutenant had a heart of gold?

[ganondoodle]

(more elden ring radahn thoughts)

on whats really left of him .. and his soul? general too many thoughts about him- long post and probably incoherent, but you know me, im never coherent anyway, many thoguhts, head full, quite literally

in base game, he has lost his mind we are told, and clearly he isnt like he used to be, but we really dont know the extend of it hes clearly capable of fighting rather .. controlled; its not like hes biting and clawing after you, he still uses his swords (and bow, sth he doesnt even have in dlc) and magic, we know even in this condition he held back the stars AND still fought you hard at the same time (i know undead people can still fight in elden ring, pls hear me out)

and i wonder .. how much of his mind did he really lose, obviously some since he eats people now which isnt sth he used to do, but ... we dont know how talkactive he used to be, we get one (two? i can only think of one) quotes from him in the descriptions of an item, he might have been a man of few words already, so him not talking at all isnt that good of a measure (not saying its the only measure, just wanted to mention), resorting to eating people that atack you might just be an act of desperation too

we get told he kills friend and foe alike (and im not questioning that really) but in his cutscene we see him drag along the bodies of cleanrot knights, who are under direct dommand of malenia, and by extend miquella, im guessing they kept sending them after him to finish him off; now knowing that him dying means being sent to the realm of shadow, to miquella, and NOT knowing if he wanted that, i feel that that detail has grown in importance-

when you start the fight, hes rather defensive, shooting at you almost immediately upon you entering the arena with no extra cutscene either, what he shoots at you a long ranged gravitation bolts that stop you dead in tracks with a very high stagger rate and if you are on torrent it stagger you off of it; i know it could be just tactical and bc all he knows now is to fight as best as he can BUT, you could also look at it as a defensive strategy, to keep you away, and away from him .. even though you are not told he is afraid to die and he eats people now, sure he could come over there and snack on you once he shot you enough times, but the important thing is that you as a threat to his life is eliminated AND he doesnt seem to have some sort of insatiable hunger for people that makes him charge and snap at you immediately, there could be self control there still (if i wanted to reach a little further i could also say he could be trying to keep you away from him not jsut to save himself but to save you from him too, but thats a reach and i know that)

once you get close enough he usually changes to fire a salve of arrows that fall from the sky and follows you around, also high in stagger- its only when you get too close that he pulls out his swords and charges at you

his arena is interestign as well, its a piece of land in caelid that is inaccessible (unless you can fly?) from all sides, a barren battlefield only reached through a teleporter, im not sure if it is the same place as when he fought malenia or not (wasnt that in the middle of caelid where you find the rot needle?) but i doubt anyone could have put him there against his will, so did he .. go there himself? or stay there for that matter- how quickly do you lose yourself when infected with rot? and how quickly for him, since hes a demigod? did he intentionally isolate himself there? make it harder to reach him for both friend and foe alike?

another point is that most enemies (as far as i can think of) that are infected with rot/are in caelid also deal rot damage, radahn does not, hes even really vunerable to it in fact, its an intersting detail to me bc he only uses either standard attacks or gravitational magic, given that hes been in this condition for a long time and its caelid id expect the rot to be somewhat important there, but its not

how much has he really lost his mind, is he really as mindless as jerren makes him out to be? is he trying to stay alive no matter what, isolating himself on an (almost) island and only living off what comes there, which is usually people that want to kill him, be it friend or foe, all are out for his life one way or another, could it be defensive ... desperate even? no one but him and miquella/malenia seem to know that him dying means hes put into the land of shadow, where miquella is waiting for him; (why wouldnt he tell anyone? was he not able to? was he afraid to upset the golden order by spilling it out?) could he know that would be the end of him having his own will, knowing what miquella can do to people? ... perhaps even .... having been manipulated by him before when he was less experienced and more in direct vicinity to him, to promise something he doesnt actually want?

this is a reach too but ... could he be trying to make himself unusable for miquella, theres no real cure for the rot, could he have decided to stay alive as long as he can to both destroy his own body (and soul even?) intentionally so it cant be used against his will, like a desperate act to destroy himself rather than become someones unwilling puppet? did he succeed in both somewhat but not enough to become fully worthless and unsalvageable? just how much would he have had to destroy himself for him to become useless to miquella, is there even a limit? would he have been "revived" no matter what, no matter what little was left of him?

how is he mindless, yet his soul it taken when you kill him, his body beyond repair, but his soul intact? that seems like the opposite of what he is, and you are told he is, in the base game to me (maybe hes just fallen into madness i guess, but given the soul is like .. the self, he should be mad in the dlc too then, unless miquella can just pick out the parts he likes and throw away the rest .... which isnt impossible either)

now, there could be the argument that he might have actually agreed to it, hes been a big fan of godfrey, who is a consort to marika, a god, and little more than her pawn as well, his 'young' look you see at the end of the dlc could also be connected to it, the braids i thought where a sign of miquellas influence could also be just how he looked back then, an imitation of godfreys hairstyle- and we dont know for sure he didnt used to have them even after gettign older since they could just have loosened after spending so much time in a zombie lite condition (or is it?)-- but his portrait in volcano manor doesnt seem to have them either, hes also sporting the armor you see in base game (i think) there the fact that, according to godfrey, strength is the only thing that matters and to become a consort you need to be the strongest of all to be worthy, could also be interpreted that way- though i dont if he would have wanted to replace the golden order, he was a fan and follower of it, did he even think of it the implications? did he even know? was he just young and stupid? (very possible tbh)

then theres the idea of there being less left of his soul, so in the dlc he is barely if anything at all, himself, both in body AND soul, how much was there even left after all that time in caelid, he is silent except for like two grunts he does also in base game (he has more sounds there too), completely unexpressive, with very few gravitation magic, in the second phase miquella literally snakes his arms around his neck, almost every single attack is filled with light magic, clearly coming from miquella and not him (i know bringing up leonard might seem overemphasizing his role, but in these games what information you get is very scarce so every bit you do learn is important and was written intentionally- but he stayed together with him in caelid, all his attacks involve him in one way or another, he only started to learn that magic for leonard, so radahn didnt have too abandon him as he got too large to ride him, he uses gravitation in dlc too, so it means that at the point of his life that he is recreated as he already had leonard or that that is a sign of whatever is left of his soul that comes from a much older him, and if it is, its very little) (also this is a reach too but most enemies with horses have separate health bars, he doesnt, he and leonard basically share the same health bar, literally inseperable uwu)

"theres no evidence hes mindcontrolled" people say to me. have you seen him? how he acts? or more, how he DOESNT act? that miquellas entire deal is THAT HE BEWITCHES PEOPLE, ffs he STEALS YOUR HEART if you get grabbed by him twice in the dlc fight- theres no evidence he wasnt either, you are told they had a vow, but you never know what exactly that was, when it was (in the memory of miquella wishing for radahn to be his consort you only see miquella- was it a silly wish between kids tha miquella never grew out of?), in what circumstances, you never get to hear radahn say anything about it, its completely left out, thats a little unrelieable to me! idk!

but fine, maybe he did agree to it, maybe he thought being a consort to a god would make him just as cool as godfrey, maybe he fought malenia, who was said to be undefeated, only to prove he had the strength worthy of being a consort and it backfired when malenia infected him with the rot (why then? also he doesnt look exactly thrilled about what she say to him in the trailer but that could be just me too i guess lolololol), maybe he wanted to die all along but his pride meant he couldnt just let the rot win, maybe the festival was really what he wished for and told no one what the real goal was, maybe he wasnt rotten in the first place and just acted that part so he had an excuse to die without having to fight with all his strength as even the undefeated warrior wasnt able to beat him, maybe becoming a consort to miquella was worth leaving leonard behind to him, maybe he wanted to be nothing but a pawn to a god, to be used and discarded, maybe he really believed in miquellas wish for a "gentle" world (aka all love miquella)

it makes sense, im not going to lie about that, but the other does too- and in the end, we will never know what the truth is! we will never know if that was what he wanted, or if he was manipulated even back then, i wish we could to see his part, his voice, his will, but we never will, and it doesnt matter, in the end it doesnt matter if he wanted it or not, the fact remains hes a silent frankensteins monster of miquella, expression- and personalityless, a voiceless pawn to a god that steals everyones hearts

i dont need to be "right", i like to think about things, i am in the camp of he didnt want to or decided against it, but it doesnt really matter, even if miyazaki himself went onto stage and loudly declared that yes it was all planned from the start and radahn was in on it the whole time- i still would think the other way around it, i jsut think about him alot, i want to question things instead of taking everythign i hear at face value, especially when its very strangely told from one side, i will question every little thing if i only hear one side, no matter how much sense it makes or not, it makes me suspicious

(i some of this can be attributed about purely gameplay stuff, like the change in armor so he doesnt look the same etc, but i dont care, i like to think about the implications it brings with it, intentionally or not)

and there he is in a barren battlefield, eating the remains of whoever enters his isolated cage with the intent to kill him, never succeeding, howling like a lonely old wolf at the sky, is it desperation about a fate he cannot escape, grief about what hes done or failed to do, is it a call of yearning? for freedom?

we dont know. and it doesnt matter.

[alienguts]

Kintsugi (Bruce Wayne x f!Reader)

Summary: Bruce takes Y/N out for lunch to make up for his moping.

Warnings: mild angst, mentions of breakups, feelings and shit

Request?: sort of, a few people asked for a sequel so here we are

A/N: I haven't been writing a whole lot recently because I had a lot of work and study related things to do, but that's now over and I have a five day weekend ahead of me so I can finally get things done!

1 - Picking Up the Pieces | 2 - Kintsugi | 3 - Stay with Me

Bruce had lost track of how many times he’d looked at his watch in the past hour while sitting alone in the cafe. Y/N did say that she would be running late, but he didn’t think she meant this late. He decided to wait another twenty minutes before texting to see where she was. 

Is this what being stood up feels like? Bruce wondered, thinking back to the numerous times he’d skipped out on meetings and dates for other commitments. His mind couldn’t help but drift back to the times he’d stood Y/N up for other commitments, whether that was work at Wayne Enterprises, the Batsignal, or another woman.

Guilt washed over him as he remembered how disappointed she’d been when he turned down her offers to hang out, not noticing when she was in need of a friend or for him to be more than a friend. He’d never realised how lonely she was and had always tried to push the sad look in her eyes from his mind, but he’d been so blinded by love - no, lust, desperation - to see that she was the one who’d supported him this whole time, who truly understood him and knew what his soul looked like.

He was just about to leave when the door clicked open and a rush of footsteps approached him. Bruce looked up from his phone, about to text Y/N when he saw her standing in front of her, her hair a mess from the wind and her shoulders shuddering with each breath.

“I tried to get here as fast as I could,” she said between pants. “There was an accident a few blocks down so I had to take a detour.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce said, smiling softly as he stood up to greet her. “I’ve been late for everything so it gives me a taste of my own medicine.”

Y/N let out a huge sigh of relief and took the chair across the table from Bruce, sinking into it as her muscles relaxed again. She briefly looked around at their surroundings, feeling a little out of place in the cafe Bruce had picked. She was used to frequenting diners and Starbucks rather than the grand patisseries that Bruce could afford.

“I already ordered for us,” Bruce said, snapping her out of her thoughts. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Y/N said, smiling at him. “You always know what I like anyway.”

His heart fluttered when she smiled at him. It felt like something that had been missing his whole life but had been there the whole time. 

If only he hadn’t been so foolish not to see it.

Their lunch date was just like old times: two old friends talking about how their lives had been and what they were planning to do later on in the week. It was as if they’d never been apart, as if Bruce had never taken Y/N’s friendship for granted. He’d pretty much forgotten about the events of the night before and he’d almost forgotten about Selina. Almost.

That wound in his heart wasn’t likely to heal any time soon, and rushing into something with Y/N wouldn’t be fair for her. He needed time to grieve the relationship and piling all of that onto her would be a bad start to a new relationship. Especially one with his oldest and best friend.

“Y/N,” he started after an extended quiet moment. “I wanted to apologise to you.”

“What for?” Y/N asked, stopping as she reached for her cup.

“For taking you for granted for all this time.”

Y/N shot him a confused look. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

“Every time I went through a rough patch in a relationship or a breakup, I would always come running to you for comfort,” Bruce said, keeping eye contact with her so she could see how sincere he was. “But I never did the same for you. Whenever you needed someone to be there for you, I wasn’t.”

“Maybe I didn’t need someone to be there for me,” Y/N said. “I know how busy you are.”

“Yes, but a true friend would drop everything for a friend who needs them. And I’m sorry that I was never there for you.”

“Bruce, you don’t have to be sorry for anything, I understand why you can’t always be around whenever I’m moping.”

“But I should be,” Bruce said, drawing the attention of some of the other diners around them. “I should be there for you because you’re always there for me. I feel like I’ve taken advantage of you and I don’t want to keep doing that.”

“I don’t want you to either,” Y/N said, her voice quiet as she looked down at the table. “I cried so much when you left last night. I felt like I was stuck in this endless loop of you breaking up with someone and coming to cry on my shoulder before going off to the next one.”

And I want to be the next one, she stopped herself from saying. Her throat felt thick like she’d swallowed a spoonful of molasses and couldn’t get it to go down. She wanted to tell Bruce how she felt about him, but not right in the middle of a cafe and not when he’d just been left at the altar. It would probably eat her up inside until she felt the time was right, but she’d endure it. Even if that meant waiting years for Bruce to be ready to love again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her back to the room with him. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I want to be a better friend to you and I’m going to be a better friend.”

When Y/N didn’t respond, Bruce excused himself from the table to pay for the cheque. A single tear spilt from her eye once he was far away enough for her to not notice and was quickly wiped away with a napkin. This wasn’t how she had hoped the afternoon to go, and she was sure it wasn’t how Bruce wanted it to go either. After making sure she didn’t look like she was on the verge of tears, she gathered her things and joined Bruce at the counter who was ready to go.

“You feeling okay?” he asked when she approached him. She just nodded in reply. “We should get going.”

Bruce drove Y/N home and walked her up to her apartment, keeping close to her every step. His fingers brushed against hers occasionally, sending sparks up his arm and making his body run warm. They walked up the stairs to her floor in silence, the sound of their footsteps the only sound until they reached Y/N’s apartment and she fished her keys out of her pocket.

“Lunch didn’t end the way we’d hoped, huh?” Bruce said, trying to lighten the mood. “I really am sorry. About yesterday. And today.”

“It’s okay,” Y/N said. “You’ve been hurt, you probably haven’t been thinking clearly.”

“Thanks for understanding, Y/N,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks for lunch,” she said in response before stepping forward to hug him.

Bruce eagerly accepted her hug, wrapping his strong arms around her tightly and resting his cheek on the top of her head. He breathed in the scent of her shampoo and the perfume that he knew she always dabbed behind her ears and let himself relax into her body. Hugging Y/N felt natural to him, but for some reason, it felt even more natural now. Like she was home and was welcoming him back to her after being away for so long. 

Without thinking, he shifted his head to softly kiss the top of her head and let his lips linger before she moved away from him. She looked at him wide-eyed, hoping he wouldn’t misinterpret her response before letting her gaze move down to his lips. Her chest rose and fell as her heartbeat sped up and Bruce moved one of his hands from her back to her face, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek and moving to gently hold her jaw. Just as he leaned his face into hers, her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted, waiting for him to make contact.

She felt his forehead against hers first, then his nose brush against hers before he softly captured her lips. Her heart skipped a beat before she relaxed into him, returning his kiss. It was gentle and chaste, but exactly what she’d wanted for years. And all it took was the man she’d loved her whole life getting left at the altar by her rival in love.

The kiss was over just as soon as it had begun. Bruce had pulled away from her just enough to still feel his breath on her skin, his hands still on her but full of restless energy. She knew he would have to go but she just wanted one more minute of feeling like he was hers.

“I should get going now,” Bruce said, his voice soft and quiet. “Alfred will be wondering why I’m taking so long.”

“It’s okay,” Y/N said as she let him move away from her. “Um, we should do this again soon.”

No, it’s too soon, Y/N, she told herself.

“Y’know, when you’re ready, of course,” she added quickly. Bruce smiled at her and took her hand.

“I’ll always make time for you,” he said warmly. “I told you, I want to make up the past ten years to you.”

“I’d like that,” she said as she opened her apartment door behind her and slowly backed into it. “So, see you soon?”

“See you soon,” Bruce said and watched her go before making his way down the hall and stairs and back to his car.

Once the door had closed, Y/N again slid down against it, this time in triumph rather than sorrow. It was too early to know for sure, but she knew that she didn’t have to live in dread of Bruce blowing her off for some other fling again. She finally knew what it was like to be close to him, to have him kiss her, even if it was so briefly. Her fingers drifted up to her lip, still tingling from his kiss as if she couldn’t believe that it had happened. But it had, and hopefully, it would happen many more times in the future.

[dilfl0v3rss]

hiiii i’m not sure if you write for chubby/plus sized reader but i would loveee ony loving on his girl and her fupa after dealing with a bout of insecurity and him putting it down 😭🥹

ofcc my loveeee. i hope i do it justice for you😩🫶🏽

he caught you staring at yourself in the mirror. sadness written all over your face as you grabbed and moved the flesh. sniffles could be quietly heard coming from the room before he saw you. “why can’t you jus go away?” you whispered, but ony heard you. body moving on its own as he quickly made his way to your side. when you realized he was there you tried to quickly close your bathrobe, but his large hand engulfed yours, stopping you. “don’t do that. don’t ever do that baby.” he looked down at you with an angry expression, eyes instantly softening when he saw your puffy ones.

“mama talk t’me” your eyes moved towards the mirror before you turned back towards him. “i-it’s no-” “don’t say ‘it’s nothing’ pretty. i know you. please talk t’me” your lip instantly began to quiver as tears began to fill your vision. ony instantly pushed your head towards his chest, hugging you tight as you told him what was bothering you between sniffles. “i-i want it t’g-go away. makes me ugly” he didn’t have to ask what you where talking about, already figuring it out as he felt you begin to wrap your arms around your lower stomach.

“can i show you something?” he spoke softly as he bagan to walk to towards the bed. “lay on your back f’me okay? let me see you ma” you did as you were told, lying down with your robe closed as you looked up at him. ony laid his hand on your stomach. “can i?” his eyes softly staring into yours, waiting for you to let him know it was okay. you nodded your head and he got started. his hands moved slowly as they untied the strings if the robe, laying the silk fabric onto the bed on either sides of you before he looked back up towards your face.

you tried to look away, but his hand quickly caught your face. making you look into his eyes as he ran his other hand on your fupa. “i love you, but you already knew that right?” you nodded your head. what was he getting at? “this” he began to rub all around your stomach. “is a part of you, correct?” you nodded again. “let me hear you speak mama. we having a conversation” he said sternly, making your mouth open and a “yes” instantly fly out. “good…you’re my pretty girl right?” you were completely lost, but you said “yes” anyways. ony could tell you were confused, letting a chuckle out from his chest before continuing.

“good so if i love you and tell you all the time that you are the most beautiful woman in the world, what do you think this does?” he began to squeeze and tickle your lower stomach and sides, making you twist and turn as your giggles rang through the air. “it adds on to your beauty mama. there are no ugly parts of this body, y’hear me? none.” as your laughed died down you looked up, brown eyes meeting each other lovingly before you leaned up to give him a kiss. the kiss was slow and steady, tongues dancing as you laid your hand on his hard chest.

“i hear you” you say with a smile before your lips connected again.

later that night ony made sweet love to you, but it was different. he usually never had a problem with you wearing one of his shirts during sex, but he made it his priority to have is removed tonight. the two of you stayed in missionary the entire time, eyes never disconnecting from each other as he’d utter loving words to you over and over again. “you so beautiful baby. so fuckin beautiful, y’hear me?” your back was arched off the bed as your head was thrown into the pillows. soul being completely snatched by this man as he fucked you with passion.

ony looked down at you, large hand outstretched on your fupa as he started to snap his hips harder into you. “y-yesss ohh my goddd i hear you daddy” your pussy fluttering around him. he knew you were going to cum soon, and knew exactly what to do to really get you there. he pushed down on your lower stomach, using his other hand to guide your face towards his for a kiss before looking deeply into your eyes. “repeat after me ‘kay?” he fucked you harder. “im beautiful…every. single. part of me is beautiful fuck” he loosened his grip on your cheeks so you can speak, other hand still pressed firmly on your stomach as the urge to pee clouded your brain.

“cmon babygirl lemme hear it” his voice brought you out of your thoughts. you let the words slowly slip from your lips as you held onto your release for dear life. “i’m beautiful. e-every single part f’me is b-beautiful”

“damn right baby.”

[blackjackkent]

So... I was already going to write something about Hector and Karlach, and Hector being forcibly reminded that Karlach would rather die free than go back to Avernus and live, and Karlach laughing it off in the dryad's vision, and Hector feeling like shit about it.

And then this happened when I went back to camp:

"Ngh. Soldier... my engine. It hurts... I think this might be it. Soon. Thing's burning hotter than I knew it could."

"But look - we've just about made it to the city. That'll do me. Let's go protect it. Whatever happens after that is between me and the so-called gods."

"You don't think we'll find you a cure?"

"With this heat going, I can't spare the energy to think. I just want to enjoy whatever's left of this life of mine. Anyway, it could be worse. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. With who I'm meant to be with. How many people can say that?"

-------

She laughs again, grins and shakes it off, and suddenly he can't take it anymore.

"Damn it, no!" he snaps. "Stop that! Stop laughing about it, as if it doesn't matter!"

She blinks, draws back a little, startled. Hector very rarely loses his temper; the last time she saw it was in the House of Healing against Malus's terrible cruelty. Not here, not in camp, where they're safe and they're together. "Soldier--"

"Don't 'Soldier' me." Hector's jaw works and then he looks away from her abruptly, staring down at the ground. "This isn't funny, Karlach. It isn't a joke. You heard what Dammon said. If we don't find a cure, you'll die."

Karlach's smile fades. "You think I don't know what death means, Hec?" she says more sharply. "I've seen way more of it than you have. I know what Dammon said, and I also know what I said. I'm not going back, not ever. Not even to save my life."

"I know. Believe me, I heard every word when you told me." Hector's lips draw into a tight line. "I'm not talking about that."

She hesitates, puzzled. "What are you talking about, then?"

"How am I supposed to feel, when you look at me, and say you're about to die, and laugh?" He looks up at her, his eyes burning with frustration and pain. "Do you expect me to laugh too? Do you expect me to pretend like it makes no difference?"

She frowns. "No, I--"

"Because I can't," he continues hoarsely. "I can't laugh. I can't shake it off the way you can. I..." He pauses, rubs a hand down his face, desperately trying to regain his habitual control, but it feels completely lost to him right now.

"I will never, not once, tell you what decision you need to make. This is your choice. Your life. I wouldn't take that away from you." He shakes his head. "I respect you too much for that. It's your body and your soul, your free will and your choice. But I need you to respect me too, enough to believe that what you choose affects me too."

He feels his voice crack, and dashes his hand in frustration and shame against his eyes, feeling dampness in them. "I love you," he whispers, clenching his fists at his side in the struggle for control. "I love you, Karlach... so much, so deeply... I didn't know feelings like this existed in the world until I met you. I was taught to be self-reliant, to need no one's reassurance, to keep my heart wrapped up in books and faith and dust, but then I found you, and there's no going back to that. I'm lost in you." He hesitates. "As... as I hope you're lost in me."

He can see her expression twisting with emotion but he doesn't give her time to speak. It's all coming out now, everything he usually doesn't have the words - or the bravery - to articulate. "I'm not trying to change your mind. I've learned so much from you, from everything we've experienced out here - and one of the things I've learned is that there are things more important than living or dying. That there are things worth dying for. If this is yours... I won't stand in the way."

He swallows. "But I need you to understand that... I don't know what I will do without you. And when you laugh, when you act as if it doesn't matter that you will be gone... it tears my heart out."

Silence. He's run out of words and stares at the ground in front of her feet, his shoulders tight with the effort of keeping his voice steady.

When she finally answers, her voice is softer. "Dammit, I'm... I'm sorry, Hec. I really am. This, how I am..." She gestures vaguely at her own chest. "In Avernus, it was the only way to stay sane. You had to laugh about it all, or you'd go mental." She snorts bitterly. "I told you, that's the only reason I hung around with Flo. She was a bastard, just a complete motherfucker... but she made me laugh. And I couldn't make it otherwise. It would've crushed me."

She pauses for a moment and then goes on. "I don't want to die, Hec. I really don't. I never had the chance to live like this, loving someone, loving you, and doing good work, and feeling like I mean something. And I don't want to hurt you. Gods... that's the last thing I want."

She reaches out cautiously, takes his hand. He draws a sharp breath, although his shoulders instinctively relax, feeling the familiar pulse of her heat against his skin.

"I love you too, Hec," she says quietly. "You're not the only one who never thought life could feel like this."

He lets the held-in breath out shakily and grips her hand like a lifeline in a storm. "I'm scared, Karlach," he admits in a whisper. "I don't know if I can do this alone."

"You won't be alone." She smiles slightly. "We've got a pretty good group going here, now. And you're way stronger than you think. I've seen it." She hesitates. "Proud of you, y'know."

He closes his eyes and swallows desperately against the lump in his throat. "Thank you," he says softly. A pause. "I'm proud of you too, you know," he adds after a little while. "For standing by what's important to you. I want you to know that, no matter what else happens."

Her fingers tighten around his fiercely. "And I won't laugh about it, not anymore," she adds with a slight nod. "Didn't think about how it sounded to you. I won't make that mistake again."

He nods, musters a slight smile as he looks up at her. "Thank you. That's all I ask."

She steps forward, wraps her arms around him tightly, and he sags forward into her, burying his face into her neck. It's a great irony, he reflects, that the same heat which is going to kill her makes him feel so warm and comfortable in her arms.

His eyes squeeze shut against her and he lets out a single gasped breath, almost a sob. But only the one. Then he has control again, and all he does is lean into her and hold on as if his grip might somehow prevent her from ever slipping away from him.

And though he will not say it aloud, inwardly he prays for some miracle, some way out of the darkness that sits in his future when she is gone. Because he truly does not know how he will bear it.

[coldshrugs]

mustering

characters: estinien varlineau; io laithe (wol) | pre-relationship word count: 900 note: i'm having a lot of feelings about siblings, accidental family, and the way men love. [divider credit]

“Have you noticed our little shadow? He's been following us since we left the city.”

Io’s ears shift a degree, but Estinien suspects she doesn’t have to apply much focus to pick out the clumsy footsteps in the brush. She grins, eyes trained forward so she doesn’t disturb their company.

“And here I was thinking you'd taken the long way round for my benefit,” she says, and his skin tingles with the shy mischief in her voice.

He turns to her, strafing sideways, then walking backward down the well-worn path that slithers beneath the canopy. He takes stock of both his companions. The boy–in shaggy hair and tattered clothes, creeping through tangled plants several feet behind them–still thinks he’s unseen. And Io–in the dappled green light, she is more beautiful than the image he’s kept in his mind these past months, and looking far more healthy–is only teasing him

Are they back here? In the place they can laugh together, or make jokes that almost touch the heart of the thing that goes unspoken between them?

Noted.

“Two birds and all that.”

That makes her eyes widen, and makes her smile. Estinien is unable to resist joining her, even if he has to look away.

He continues, “I am worried for him, though. One needn’t have a scholar’s wit to see that the merchant has the boy leashed. He’s being used.”

Her ear twitches again when their follower snaps a branch, but they are careful not to give him away.

“You do this often, you know?”

“Hm?”

“You have a knack for finding wayward souls. Little lambs.” Her laugh is a familiar melody, quiet but uncouth. Something he didn’t realize he missed. “It’s like you call to them, or they to you… Like you can’t help but care for them.”

“Hm.” He returns to her side, an arm’s length away. Both too close and too far.

Estinien thinks of his brother, as he often does. A little thing, wiry but tough. He liked to chase the sheep to try to rile them up, to rile Estinien up when it was his watch, but they would simply follow him, as sheep are wont to do. It wasn’t long before he’d made friends of the entire flock and took as much pride in their care as Estinien had. Even with so few years between them, their parents trusted Hamignant to watch over the flock, and Estinien to watch over Hamignant.

He thinks of the first time he saw Alphinaud. Never mind the ghost he saw in the lad’s face… there was something else there. He was lonely and lost, carrying the weight of a sin he could not have predicted. A haunting, and a mirror. In the end, he became a source of inspiration, though it took him far too long to realize it.

Vrtra and Aymeric, too. As alone when he met them as he has been at one point in his life or another. Wanting for company, for connection. Wanting to be chosen based on fondness and merit. Wishing for family.

Lost lambs…

Hamignant’s name hasn’t left his mouth in years.

He wonders if Io would care to learn about him. She is a shepherd too, of a kind. He thinks they might’ve liked each other, or that he would have found a way to make her laugh if nothing else.

“Hami…” he begins. The pause lasts too long. Maybe this is stupid. Why dig up the past when he is only so recently able to see a future?

Io smiles patiently.

“Your brother?”

His eyes fall to the leaf-covered ground and he nods. “He would walk our sheep into the fold from pasture. He named them all. Even if they already had one, he’d change them to something he liked better–insufferable, really. Anyway… when one went missing, he’d beg me to join him in the search, make me scour the fields and nearby forest with him until we found whichever young, or old, or lame sheep had wandered off alone, staring up at us with that look of relief. And I was a bit bigger than him, so I would carry it home while he doted on Flopsy, or Custard, or whatever the fuck he’d named them–” he feels his smile spreading as he shakes his head, and the vacuum in his heart surrounding Hamignant shrinks, just a little. “I suppose what I mean is, he still holds me accountable.”

They walk on in silence–Io looking faraway and wistful, and himself feeling lighter having breathed life into the memory–until the trees spread out and give way to the Perfumed Rise. A mile away, the jewel-green sea meets the pink shore, but the wind carries its roar up the hill.

Io’s steps bring her closer. Out of interest in his story, perhaps. “What will you do with this lamb, then? I presume he intends to follow us to Akyaali… We can’t expect him to find his way back to the city alone.”

Estinien sighs. He already knows how this will play out.

You see, being a brother is much like being a shepherd: watch the horizon for danger, be willing to fight it off, carry home the lost and the hurt. The roles are inseparable for him, because he learned them at the same time, with the same person.

“Focus on convincing Matsya to put in a good word with the locals for our boat. Leave the boy to me.”

[caeliatus]

“I would have followed, if you left."

Ava’s eyes struggle to pull themselves out of their great depths to focus on Beatrice. Her irises seem to glow the same shade of light blue as the divinium fragments wedded with her flesh, flecks of the Halo’s gold slowly dimming out. Her mouth moves weakly as she asks, “What?”

“Switzerland. When you asked me to run away with you. I know I said no, but…” Beatrice trails off, eyes flicking to Jillian’s portal before them. Trying to count out how long she has left.

Ava’s eyes close briefly, and for a heart-wrenching moment Beatrice thinks she’s lost her. But then she can feel the Halo sputtering back to life in a sickly manner, and Ava’s lungs rattle with a grim drawing of finality and she says weakly, “I stayed for you. All of it—for you.”

Beatrice wipes the blood away from Ava’s brows, cradling her face in her hands. “I know, dear,” she says. “I know you did.”

Hollow desperation eats away at her insides. She has so much she wants to say—but how can she fit it into the time they have left? How can she bare her soul to Ava in the dwindling seconds before she has to go, to have Ava understand that she’s felt this way the whole time? There had to be some words, in all of the languages and knowledge Beatrice has, that can express the summation of their lives, be the pinnacle of the aching want and grief consuming her. There had to be something to be done to buy more precious moments, to stretch out the seconds just a little bit more so she could feel Ava’s body nestled against hers. Perhaps this was an opportunity long passed, etched into the little moments between them that Ava had never put together; a misstep, a smile, a laugh, a whispered conversation beneath the bedsheets as Ava showed her what a sleepover was like, even though they both had work come morning. The time to ignore the pressing matters in the world and simply exist in a world contained beneath their shared blanket had come and gone, and the worst part of it all for Beatrice was that she had never really let Ava know how she felt.

The best she can do now is to cradle Ava’s dying body and hold her with a tenderness she’d kept reserved for so long. It feels like she is being ripped in two; Ava always had a penchant for leaving her mark on things, people, places. The tears that fall down her face are hers; the shaky fingers that comes up to clumsily brush them away are Ava’s; the hand that captures it, holds it in place against her cheek is hers. She says, “I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t give you up again. I gave so much already—can’t I be selfish for once? Can’t I just have you for a minute, where all of our problems don’t matter anymore?”

“That’s called the afterlife, Bea. You haven’t unlocked that yet..” Ava manages a ghost of a smile, corners of her mouth just barely twitching upwards. The Halo’s energy shimmers, coalesces, and some color creeps back into her cheeks. But the effort looks like it exhausts her. “You gotta let me go soon.”

“Does it hurt?” Beatrice asks.

“No. Not really. I can’t feel much anyways. The Halo is busy trying to keep me alive.”

“Maybe Jillian can take care of you—“

“No,” Ava says, shaking her head. “I have to go through the portal.”

“How do you know that?” Beatrice snaps, frustration and desperation welling over into her voice. Her chest has been wrenched open and her heart laid out for anyone to see. Ava had, over the course of knowing her, stepped past all of her carefully constructed walls, and picked apart her barriers and stepped into her embrace. “You do know you have no idea what will happen if you go through, right? How long it might be before I see you again—I might never see you again. I don’t want to risk it. I want you to stay.” It sounds wrong to say want, all choked with hope and pleading. It’s the first time she’s said it out loud, aside from the one time in Switzerland where she’d whispered it against a sleeping Ava’s temple the night she finally let herself admit that her vows were no longer the first priority in her life. That time had felt secret, empty— a test. This feels like leaping off a cliff, she can see the ground rising up to meet her with a stone cold indifference, and the only thing that keeps her from truly going into freefall is the weight of Ava’s body in her arms.

Ava says, “I know. It’s a shitty move. Sister Francis always thought I was a shitty person. But I can feel it. The Halo can feel it. It’s the only way.”

“Ok,” Beatrice says, hollow. Such a travesty it was to lose the only person she ever allowed herself to hold on to! How cruel of the world and God to take the one thing she held close to her. She swallows hard, throat welling up painfully as she says, “Just—before you go. Please give me a sign you’re okay in there? Anything, I don’t care what it is—just don’t leave me in the dark.”

“I’ll send a text saying Superion smells like an old lady.”

Somehow, Ava manages to get a laugh out of her. “Alright,” Beatrice says wetly. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise. So you know I can’t break it.” Ava hooks her pink around Beatrice’s, squeezes it. “See?”

“Promise you’ll be okay too. You’re not coming back from Reya’s realm until you’ve healed fully, even if it means I have to wait a little longer until I see you.”

“But—“

“Nope. No but’s. No premature returns or I swear I’l send you right back.”

Ava shuts her mouth. Beatrice smiles briefly, then leans down to kiss her. The Halo flares up, sending a hot current of heat beneath Beatrice’s skin. Ava kisses her back, chapped lips bloody face and all of her beauty and gentleness, and for a second Beatrice entertains the thought of just kissing her forever, she’d be okay with that; Ava’s lips are warm against hers and Beatrice finds herself sinking into them with a sigh that melts away the tension in her shoulders.

For a moment, the cracks in Beatrice’s heart mend themselves and it begins to beat strongly once again.

Then Ava pulls away just enough to say, “You know, you’re making it really hard for me to go.”

“You’re making it impossible for me to let you go,” breathes Beatrice. But she can feel Ava’s grip slacken as the Halo sputters out, and when Ava begins to lean heavily on her, she knows it’s time. She gingerly lifts Ava and carries her to the portal, easing her onto the stop step. The words she wants to say jam themselves into the back of her throat.

Of course, Ava has no such issue, having always had a heart big enough to love the entire world. “I love you,” she says, face distorted by the portal’s power, and then she’s slipping soundlessly out of Beatrice’s arms and vanishing to the other side before Beatrice can find an answer. The portal shuts down after that, leaving her alone in a heavy silence.

Beatrice eventually finds the courage to say the words back, but it’s to empty air, the person who holds her broken heart in their hands in an entirely different realm.

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

If Hell is forever then Heaven is a lie

Jane sits in an empty classroom – she finds it easier to focus in the school than in her own room, and this is one of the perks of having a mom-headmistress.

On the other hand, her mom <i>does</i> expect perfect grades, so Jane sighs over her History of the Good Fairies essay and proceeds to start writing again.

She thinks she’d like some practical lessons on fairy magic better, but her mom wouldn’t want to hear that either.

Jane manages to concentrate pretty well, actually, until suddenly she gets a feeling that she’s being watched: But when she looks around the room, it’s empty. She shakes her head and gets back to her essay.

„Hey, do you have any–“

Jane almost jumps out of her skin when a girl suddenly materialises by the blackboard.

„–Stop screaming, it’s just me – Do you have any fire extinguisher? Frollo’s trying to set the school on fire again and father just run out.

Realising that the high-pitched shriek she’s been hearing was in fact her, Jane shuts her mouth closed.

„What’s the fuss?“ second girl pops into existence next to the other, shaking her head, „Honestly, as if she’s never seen a Shadow witch before… Anyway. Father says to grab some chemistry textbooks too, since we’re here already. Evie’s tearing through our Arachneum too fast.“

„We should grab some more books on languages too, I wanna see what the Mims and Uma do with these yet.“

„A wonder they’re not yet cursed ten times over, all of them.“

„It’s fun to watch! Besides, I wanna see who accidentally manages to bind someone’s soul first.“

„Bold of you to presume it’d be accidental.“

„Excuse me,“ Jane snaps at the two strange girls interrupting her study session with talks about soul magic and Villains who are long since safely locked on the Isle of the Lost, „ who are you and WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?! BEN! BEN!“ she calls out for her friend.

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 16: Come Back To Me

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You and Michael deal with the aftermath of your separation. At the end of the day though, something happens that instantly draws you back together. You can't say no when the man you love needs you, can you?

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, self-hatred, hangover, gun violence, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 7.1k

A/n: And I am back! Sorry for being gone for so long. I took some time for myself and it was an amazing week. I’m exhausted, but also fulfilled. I don't regret a thing. Now I'm back though with all the time in the world to write, and of course, I had to work on another chapter for Chaos Theory! So, here you go to everyone hungry for more Michael content. (I also remixed canon a bit for this, fight me!)

Expecting to see you at work the next day was a foolish thought of him. When he steps into the café with no sleep on his account, he looks around the space just to find it void of you. 

Instead of you, Oliver is standing behind the counter with a member of staff he hasn’t met yet. 

With his hands in his pockets, he approaches the counter. Oliver smiles at him, but as soon as he sees the empty space next to him, he frowns. “Where did you leave yer better half?” he asks. 

Michael’s heart aches. He feels sick alone at the mention of you, and he gets even sicker when he thinks about you not being there. The fear that something might have happened to you nags him. Or maybe you hurt yourself. It’s something he doesn’t want to think about, but his mind tricks him into picturing the worst anyway.

Sarah told him you were in a dark place when you first got to Dublin, and now the same thing that drove you into this dark place seems to be back in your life and he’s scared you might get hurt in the process. He never wanted things to go so wrong. 

He feels as if he has already lost you. You slipped through his fingers the night before; you slipped into the endless abyss of the ocean and now you’re floating somewhere he isn’t, drowning in your despair because you just won’t talk to him. He knows what that feels like, and while he has walls of his own built up, yours seem to run deeper, and that’s what worries him.

Your words hurt. Watching you lock down like a high-security prison is something that will never leave his mind again, but no matter how hard you push him back, Michael knows you. He likes to believe he knows your soul better than you do. You’re doing this to protect yourself and maybe even him; you’re not a selfish person, you have your reasons, and that’s why he can’t be mad at you. He tried, but he understands all too well what you’re going through. 

He’s not willing to give up on you, that much he knows for certain. He wants you to be safe and okay and back in his arms. But that’s not where you want to be right now. You made it clear you needed space. He must have triggered something last night. He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t want to pretend as if he knows what’s going on. 

It’s a hard pill to swallow, even harder to stomach, but he has no choice. He would never force you to do something you don’t want to, and he has to accept that you need space. 

Still, the possibility of you being hurt and that’s why you’re not there bothers him and he can’t stop thinking what if. They are the worst kind of scenarios to think about, but they still have a constant vacancy in his mind, no matter who, what, or where. He’s always been somewhat of a pessimist. He can’t even disguise it as realism anymore; his mind is playing cruel tricks that he can’t get ahead of, and he’s getting so tired of it, he can barely breathe. 

“I don’t know,” Michael answers after snapping out of his thoughts, and he tries to sound as calm as possible when he continues, “She didn’t call ya?” 

“No,” Oliver says. “She hasn’t. She’s not that much of a talker. Are you guys okay? Did I miss somethin’?”

“No, we’re grand. Just haven’t talked much since last night, that’s all.”

He looks surprised, but he doesn’t question it. 

The truth is, you aren’t okay. Michael is pretty sure you broke up last night, and spending the night without you next to him was impossible. You weren’t there to stop the anxiety spiral because you are the reason he even feels this way now. It sucks. He doesn’t want to blame you, but part of him does. He feels guilty and angry, and he feels guilty for feeling angry. His mind consists of pure chaos.

Ava comes in around five minutes before his shift is supposed to start, and she doesn’t look pleased. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she’s running rather than walking through the door. 

She stops right in front of him and Michael almost cowers. “You better tell your girlfriend that she has to be careful what she eats next time,” she snaps. 

He frowns. “Sorry?”

“She called in sick at three in the morning and now I’m here because Sarah can only cover from two to six, so you’re stuck with me ‘til then.”

Sick? He knows you and you are the kind of person who would never call in sick except for maybe when you’re dying. You’re dependent on the money. You need to work to pay rent and make a living. You would never call in sick, not even with a broken neck. As long as you’re still breathing, you’d always show up to work, so he gets even more worried when the words leave her mouth. 

Thinking about it though, you might just be avoiding him. Not seeing him sounds like a valid motivation to call in sick after what happened. You might have died inside last night, and now you can’t come in, and he probably should have done the same because the memories tied to the café hurt him, even when you aren’t around.

And what little hope he had in reconciling with you fades away as he gets ready to spend a dreaded day in a strange workplace with the only person who truly supports him being Oliver. But he is not who Michael needs, you are. Without you there, this opportunity seems pointless, and the hours drag on as he grows wearier by the second. 

Ava compliments his coffee knowledge, and he tells her that it was you who taught him, and she’s still not happy that you called in sick, but she appreciates the effort you put in the day before. He defends you, he tells her you’re really just sick and that you will be up and at it the next day, and she leaves it at that. 

When Ava switches with Sarah, he expects her to punch him, but she seems just as confused as to why you’re not here. She approaches him and asks, “What happened?”

“She’s ill,” he lies again. “We ordered pizza last night and she woke up sick tonight. She won’t see a doctor so I told her to at least stay home today.”

He is a good liar when he needs to be. He wants to protect you the most, and if he told her the truth, Sarah would come knocking at your door soon enough and then you would hate him even more than you already do now. He can’t do that to you. 

She nods slowly, but from the looks of it, she’s not all too surprised that you might have gotten sick from pizza. “Tha girl and her stomach problems,” she says. “Ya know, the last time we went out to eat together, she ended up being sick the whole day after. Not because she was throwing up, oh no! She just felt nauseous all day for no reason. It’s like no matter what she eats, there is always somethin’ wrong.”

“Right,” Michael fakes a smile, “Stomach problems.”

Sarah sighs. “Well, I’ll text her and check on her. If she has ta call in sick, it’s gotta be serious. Better to be safe than sorry, right?” she says.

He is about to ask her if she can ask the same thing from him, too, but he drops his hand again and continues drying the mugs because if he tells her you both had a falling out, Sarah will certainly kill him. 

He took a step too far, but he apologized and he begged, and you still pushed him away. 

During a quiet moment, his phone vibrates in his back pocket. He pulls it out, eagerly hoping it’s you, but when he checks his messages, Jamie’s name is the only one that pops up. 

He takes a deep breath. His hopes are shattered, and he feels fresh tears welling up in his eyes. If only you told him the truth, Michael could help you, but you are drowning in despair and you force yourself to do it alone.

‘Dad asked if u want me to take u to the gym 2night. Said u needed to get rid of some stress. U up 4 it?’

If this is Jimmy’s way of trying to get him out a bit more or perhaps even genuine care, he can’t decide. Either way, he is unable to say no. 

He sends a thumbs-up back. His finger ghosts over the chat with you. He’s about to text you to call him or give at least any sign of life when Oliver appears behind him. 

“Michael,” he says, “I need you to grab some more milk. We’re all out.”

All thoughts about texting you dissipate and he puts his phone away, the frustration and anxiety wearing him thin, but he puts on a mask for the sake of this job, for the sake of Anna, and for the hope that you might come around eventually. With a last groan into his hands, he shakes it all off, puts on a smile, and then follows Oliver’s request to grab some milk from the basement, hoping that either he gets eaten by spiders or all of his problems will have disappeared by the time he comes back up. 

Of course, neither happens, although he notes that you weren’t all that wrong about the size of the spiders stuck to the ceiling. 

•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•

The sound of thunder breaks through the air outside, roughly waking you from your slumber. A sharp headache tears through your skull. You shoot up, the couch creaking under your sudden movement, and your vision starts to blur. The alcohol left in your system puts the water in your ear off balance.

The world around you begins to spin the second you open your eyes. Every muscle in your body aches, but it’s not the pain that bothers you; you only have to take a breath to feel the nausea settling into your stomach, and you can taste the tequila still burning through your esophagus. This time though, it is the other way around. 

You jump up. Your knees buckle, but you’re determined not to get any puke onto the carpet, so you pull it together enough to stumble into the bathroom. The toilet seat hits the wall and you bend over, the alcohol making its way back up your throat, and together with what little you ate, the contents of your stomach land in the toilet. You almost miss, but your mind is present enough to aim for the bowl.

The liquor in your stomach acid burns and you find yourself gagging even harder when the flesh of your esophagus seems to sizzle away with every wave of puke that leaves you. You can feel your pulse thudding in both of your temples. The pain gets worse, but you also don’t feel anything at all.

Inside your chest, your soul has been torn apart and shredded many times over, and it’s a continuous process that won’t stop. Your body feels the same way now, only with the difference that it’s not nearly enough to hurt as much.

You’ve always searched for an escape in agony, but this time, your soul hurts too much to be overshadowed by anything other than the voices in your head, and these little monsters are precisely the problem.

You got drunk, but you still remember everything from the night before. You remember work, you remember dinner with Michael and you remember the exact moment everything went to shit. You remember how your entire heart locked up the second he opened that drawer and held that file in his hand.

Your reaction was uncalled for. You know you should have explained or at least told him that you don’t want to talk because you weren’t mad at him. It wasn’t his fault. You were the one who chose to hide away your past and he was bound to find a sliver of the truth eventually. You should have told him. You should have taken a moment to collect yourself and then talked to him like an adult. You screwed up. The reason you pushed him away wasn’t because of his actions but because of yourself and your incompetence. You feel so incredibly guilty, heartbroken, and alone, but maybe this is exactly the way you’re supposed to be.

You promised Maya you would do anything to get your father behind bars and get her into your custody so she could have a normal life. You want her to get a chance to heal. You never got to properly heal, so you want her to get the opportunity you never got. She’s your sister, she’s family and you need to do something after failing to do so for years. 

You love Michael, but you would’ve had to push him away sooner or later because you weren’t made for relationships.

You suck at being completely open, your past exists and it will come to haunt you one day, and you can’t do that to him or yourself because one of you is going to get hurt, and then the other would never forgive themselves, and it’s just easier not to get attached any further than you already are. You need to fix your and your sister’s life and only then you can move on. You wasted too much time because you were scared; you refuse to let your fear keep you from doing the right thing any longer.

As someone who grew up a people pleaser, you were bound to reach your breaking point eventually, and now you are ready to burn bridges as necessary. 

You brush your teeth to get the taste of vomit out of your mouth. Your head is heavy and you still feel sick, but your stomach is empty now. 

Making your way back to the living room, you notice the state you left it in before you fell asleep. Legal documents, newspaper clippings, and pictures litter the floor. Some of them get stuck on your feet and you almost angrily collect them to put them back on the table. You don’t even know where to start. The notes you wrote along the way don’t make any sense at first glance, and you realize that you should have done this sober.

It’s frustrating to know that you’re getting nowhere even though you have been fighting for far too long. You don’t know what else to do, and yet you know you have to do something. It’s a primal instinct that drives you now.

So, you take the file and the pictures and you sit back down on the couch with your laptop, an iced caramel latte, and your phone right next to you, and you go over everything you read the night before all over again, including all the post-its you compiled in your drunken state.

Ava called you a few times, but you chose to ignore her. Around noon, a text from Sarah comes in, but you can’t be bothered to answer that one either. She tries to call you a few times. It’s easy to ignore your responsibility when you’re not thinking straight anyway.

Nothing matters but the file in front of you. You’re not a detective, you don’t even write mystery fiction; you go after common sense and instinct, and you l hope the crime shows you’ve watched on tv prepared you enough for this. But it’s confusing, and you’re starting to lose your mind. The memories come flooding back in and you find yourself craving another drink soon enough. 

You hate this.

Your fingers are shaky when you type in the number on the old card you found in the file from six years ago. It rings only once before an automatic voice tells you the number has been disconnected. But you’re not ready to stop there. You pull up the official website of Scotland Yard on your laptop and call the number there instead, hoping the front desk can provide you with answers and give you a number that isn’t outdated.

You hate phone calls, but you are sick and tired of doing nothing. Pretending to be confident is better than cowering from the truth. 

“You’ve reached Scotland Yard, how may I help you?” the voice on the other end answers. The woman sounds kind yet reserved, and you stutter for a moment to collect your thoughts. “Hello?” she asks. 

You snap out of it. “Hi!” you greet her, your voice slightly higher than usual. You introduce yourself, and you know it sounds stupid and desperate, but you can’t help it. “I’m looking for an Inspector called Richard Jones,” you say. “I have a number here, but it doesn’t seem to be active anymore. I was wondering if you could connect me to him?”

“Richard Jones?” the lady questions. 

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Is there a reason you want to speak to him directly?”

“I, uh, have questions on a case…”

“Current or old?”

“December 13, 2015,” you say. Your voice remains eerily calm and steady. “My– a three-year-old died in a car accident that was investigated as a wrongful death case by the police… and I remember Inspector Jones supervising that case and he said if I ever have any questions, I should call. And I know I did many times before, but I haven’t for a while now because I moved, and right now… I just need answers, so if you could patch me through or give me his contact information so I could ask him some questions personally, that would be highly appreciated. I’m not asking for details or anything, I just–”

She interrupts you in a soft voice and yet it infuriates you how careless she sounds on the other end. “I’ve got the case information right here,” she says, “And since it’s still open, you’re right, I can’t provide you with any details without clearance, but I can pass your call on to the lead investigator. It’s protocol.”

Protocol is the last thing you need. You know it’s her job and you’re just a strange voice on the phone to her, someone asking for questions on a case that hasn’t been closed in six years, and you could be just about anyone, but this is your only chance at getting information from the source and you would be damned if you let this opportunity pass by without doing anything. 

“I’m the sister,” you tell her. “Of that little girl.” Your voice cracks. “Please, I just need to talk to him. If you write my name down, he might remember me.”

“I can do that, but ultimately, it is up to him whether he wants to talk to you or not,” she says. It sounds like an automated response–you want to reach out and search her computer yourself, but you’re in another country, so you’re stuck where you are and you have to live with the way things go over there. This is life and you have to accept it, no matter how infuriating it is. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing, “I–I understand. Just tell him that it’s important and that I have a few questions for him. Nothing serious, I just… A lot has happened these past few days, a lot of which has been unpleasant and brought up some memories from six years ago, and I just need some closure. I can’t sleep, eat or breathe,” you say. “So if you could pass along my name and somehow convey that this is important so he’ll call me back, I’d appreciate that. Just please, don’t dismiss me.”

The silence on the other end stretches, and you imagine the woman typing your information into a database, your plea becoming just another entry in a long list of cases. The reality of your situation hits you, the limitations of distance and bureaucracy setting in. You're just a voice on the other end of the line, a stranger seeking answers to a case that has long been closed for others.

Her response finally comes after another second. “I will make sure to include your name and make sure to underline the urgency,” she says. “I'm truly sorry for your loss, and I hope you find the answers you need, but there is not much else I can do for you at this moment.”

“It’s…” You shake your head. “It’s okay,” you assure her. “I appreciate you doing this. Thank you, for whatever’s worth.”

She’s just doing her job. It’s not her fault you’re stuck and mad at the world, but especially mad at yourself. 

The keys of the woman’s computer clack a few more times on the other end. “Alright, I’ve passed your message along to his office and his work phone. Everything else is out of the realm of my control. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for you.”

Grief never gets easier. 

“Thank you,” you say again. 

“You’re welcome,” she answers. “You take care of yourself, Miss. Have a nice day!”

You nod weakly. “You too. Thanks.”

The line clicks and it dies, and with the silence, your heart drops even further into your stomach. 

You throw your phone across the couch, your lips parting in a silent groan before you bury your face in your hands. What little hope you had left slowly starts to die like a withering flower in your chest, and it makes you sick again. 

You spend the rest of your afternoon alternating between swallowing Ibuprofen, throwing up, drinking coffee, and sifting through new articles you can find online that don’t match with the documents you’ve gathered over the years. You went through them a billion times, and nothing has come up so far, so you decided to turn to the internet and go through what you haven’t read yet. It’s a lot and you struggle; your printer is slowly running out of ink, you can’t find a way to filter through all the information, and you’re so incredibly tired, but you can’t stop. Your eyes keep flicking to your phone, but it’s void of any calls from a number you don’t know. 

The next time your phone pings, Michael’s name pops up, and you freeze. 

‘Hey, I hope ur ok. I’ve been worried sick all day. Please, just let me know ur safe.’

You leave him on read, hoping it’s answer enough for him. You can’t confront him, and you can’t stand that he won’t hate you like he is supposed to after what you did. He’s supposed to stay away, protect his own fragile heart and move on. You can’t deal with his love right now; it’s too much and it is suffocating you.

His texts won’t stop once they started.

The sea of information and your emotions start to blur. You’re shaking. The next time you see his name pop up, you snap and you text him to just leave you alone. You’re not sure why you’re being so harsh, but you’re overwhelmed and you can’t stand it anymore. You’re tired. You need it to end. 

The next he sends you then though is worse than what he sent you before, and it sends you into a violent fit of sobs right on your kitchen floor. 

‘I know you said to leave you alone and I will, I just need to tell you how sorry I am again, even if it’s the last time I get to.

I care about you more than words can express. So maybe this sounds pathetic, but I don’t care. This whole thing is foreign to me. I'm sorry that I crossed a line and I broke your trust. I didn’t know, and maybe I should have, but despite everything, I didn't mean what I did. You have to believe me. I’m not cruel.

I'm so, so sorry for everything. I never wanted things to end this way between us. It hurts to know you might hate me for it now. But maybe you have every right to. I’m not sure anymore. All I know is that I’m sorry and I hate not being able to hold you through whatever you’re going through. 

I want you to know that my feelings for you haven't changed. I understand if you need space right now, but please remember that I'm here, always. I'm not going anywhere. I promised I'd always protect you, and I intend to keep that promise. 

I wish I could hold you, comfort you, and let you know that you're not alone. I don't want to lose you, so please don't throw this away, okay? Think about it and then come to me when you’re ready.

Please take care of yourself. Whenever you're ready to talk or if there's anything you need, I'll be here, waiting for you. I won't give up on us. You're worth fighting for. 

I love you.’

It is the last text he sends you, and it’s enough to take the broken shards of your heart and break it even further to the point it’s all blood and ashes, nothing more. 

You love him too, more than anything. You want to tell him that. You want to text back he has nothing to apologize for and that you’re sorry. You’re sorry for everything and that he deserves better, that he shouldn’t fight for you because it isn’t worth it, but your hand goes numb. Your entire body crumbles. You find yourself on the cold kitchen floor, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, and your agonizing sobs barely breach the sound barrier as they tumble from your lips. You succumb to the pain, and you allow yourself to marinate in the misery like the mess you know you are. 

You don’t deserve him, and he needs to realize you are not worth the fight. He needs to learn that lesson now. You have failed time and time again, and it’s time for him to see the bigger picture. You’re not who he thinks you are or who he thinks he loves. You’re nothing, and he deserves someone more than that, someone, who can love him unconditionally without hurting him further. You are not that person. 

You must have passed out. When your phone rings, it’s already dark out. You’re still on the kitchen floor. Your heart races when you hear the familiar tune of your ringtone and you jump up. 

Your hope crumbles though when you check your screen. Your eyes squint. It’s Michael. Out of all people, he had to be the one to call.

You consider pressing the red button and sending him to hell, but it keeps on ringing and you begin to worry something might be wrong. He wouldn’t cross that line if it weren’t completely necessary; he has always respected your boundaries before. 

So, you pick up the phone. 

“I told you to leave me alone,” you answer. You don’t sound rude, but there is a sense of reservation in your voice he knows all too well. 

Silence follows your words. And that’s when you realize picking up was the right thing to do. You knew something wasn’t right or he wouldn’t have called, and the silence you’re met with tells you that this isn’t just a drunk booty call or a desperate attempt to get you back. Something is off.

Your eyebrows furrow and you move to your kitchen window. “Michael?” you ask softly. “You there?”

You can hear him exhale on the other end. It’s shaky. He doesn’t sound good and he hasn’t even spoken yet. 

“Is everything alright?” Your heart is beating faster now.

He exhales again, but this time, he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice a hushed whisper through the phone line. 

You watch the cars pass by your street through the window. “Sorry? For what?” you ask him. 

“Somethin’–” He breaks off with a shuddering breath. You can hear him sniffle as he wipes his nose. “Uh, somethin’ happened,” he says.

You haven’t known each other for long, but you’ve seen and heard him vulnerable before. He cried in your arms. He confided in you. But even through all of that, he has never sounded as broken as he does now, and it alarms you. 

Your voice softens, “What happened?”

“There was a shootin’...”

His voice reminds you of a wild roller coaster and his words are equally as messy. When he mentions the shooting though, your ears pipe up. 

“You were shot at?” you ask. 

He nods, the sound of his skin brushing against the phone signaling the gesture to you. Your heart drops. 

“I, uh…” Michael sniffles again. “I know it’s… I shouldn’t have called, but–” He’s trying hard to get his words together. 

You anxiously bite your nail. You don’t know where he is or if he’s okay, you just know he’s alive and he can talk, and while that reassures you that he must be safe now, he was shot at, and it freaks you out. You knew the risks that came with his last name, but you never thought you would have to hear the words come out of his mouth. 

What if he had died?

His broken sigh causes your breath to get stuck in your throat. “I need ya,” he whispers. “I… I didn’t know who else to call.”

You move the phone away from your face enough to curse, “Fuck!” Then, you place it back against your ear. “Are you okay?” you ask him again. “Did you get shot?”

He shakes his head. Your name passes his lips. “No, I’m… I’m alright. You’re just… Yer all I have.”

A silent tear makes its way down your cheeks. Just a few hours earlier, you were sobbing on your kitchen floor because of him, but the second he calls, you answer. It’s messed up. But you’re all he has, the first person he thought about calling, and you know if you had been in his position, you would have done the same. You found each other because you were both lonely, and you are dragged toward each other like moths to a flame. 

You wipe your cheek, finding your words again. “Tell me where you are,” you say. 

“Garda Station,” he answers. He sounds relieved, but his voice is thick with unshed tears. He’s trying to keep it together because he’s surrounded by strangers and he doesn’t want to break, but you know him and it sounds as if he’s this close to breaking apart. 

The desperate urge to hold him takes over. Nothing else matters but him. He’s in pain and how can you stand idly by and watch while he burns to the ground? You can’t. You’re not a monster. He needs you. 

Michael adds during your moment of silence, “They took me in ‘cause I’m a witness, not–not a suspect. I didn’t–”

He must really take you for a monster if he thinks that’s what you think of him. You shake your head. “I know,” you cut him off. “I know you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry…”

You’re wearing sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, but you’re not about to walk a fashion show. You find a coat to wear somewhere in the hallway. “Okay, stay where you are,” you say as you slip into your sneakers. “I’m on my way.”

“Thank you,” is all he manages to say. 

“Don’t thank me. You don’t… You have nothing to thank me or apologize for. It’s alright. Just… don’t move. I’ll be there in ten.”

Just as you’re about to hang up, he calls your name. You stop in the doorway.

His voice sounds breathy through the line. “I love ya,” he says. 

You shiver. Your emotions threaten to overflow, but the response is only natural when you say, “Yeah, I love you too.”

The world goes silent and you simply pull away and hang up. That was all you could give him. It’s the truth, but the truth seems tainted. You don’t know if it’s worth anything now. 

The facts speak for themselves; you were willing to drop everything for him and you did. If you didn’t see any point in your relationship anymore, you wouldn’t have picked up when you figured something was wrong, and now that he needs you, you can’t abandon him. He told you he loved you and you only said the truth back. You’re not sure what good it does now, but your mind is elsewhere. You can only hope he’s alright. 

It must be a bad dream and you’re still asleep, but when you step outside and the sky opens up to unleash its tears on you, the universe’s pain mixes with yours and you realize you’re painfully awake. 

You can break up all you want, it seems as if there is not a chance in the world you would be able to stay away from each other. You tried to run, but you didn’t get far, so you made your way back to where you belonged. It sounds so easy, but the situation is complex in itself, and only time will tell how things might end. 

When you pull up to the Garda Station downtown, the rain has calmed down a little, but it’s still pouring outside. You can make out Michael’s silhouette through the runny windshield. You turn off the lights. Your body acts before your mind can come up with a plan. 

You get out, slam the door shut, and sprint toward him. 

The rain soaks through your clothes. You can barely feel it. When Michael sees you, his eyes widen almost as if he can’t believe you’re there. You stop in front of him, your hair stuck to your face while he’s still completely dry under the roof that covers the station’s entrance. 

Your eyes meet. His brown meets with the sad color of your irises. He looks no better than you. On any other occasion, you would have used it as an argument to make you feel better, but not tonight. His hair is a mess, his eyes have sunken into his skull and he looks ghastly pale. It’s no wonder that he’d be shaken up after being shot at, but it’s even worse than you expected. And then your eyes fall on the red stains that start on his cheeks and travel to his neck. Even his hands are stained a faint crimson. 

Michael tried to scrub the blood off his skin, but he had no bleach to dissolve the copper and the blood. He can’t feel it. His skin tingles, but the distance between what he can see and what he feels is grave enough to form an abyss. 

You reach out. Your hands brush his cheeks. His eyes flutter shut. “Are you okay?” you ask. “Did you get hurt? What–” Your fingers trace his features, checking him for any obvious injuries, but he appears to be physically unharmed. “Jesus,” you shake your head when you feel the residue of blood on his skin, and your stomach twists. “Who’s blood is this?”

He can’t read you. He can’t even read himself. “Jamie,” Michael says. “Jimmy’s boy…”

Your eyes soften. If Jamie was Jimmy’s son, that would make him his nephew. “What happened?”

“I… I don’t…”

“I don’t need all the details, just a short version so I can understand.”

“Jamie asked me t’drive to the gym with him ‘cause his dad thought it’d be good fer me to let off some steam, and I said yes ‘cause I was angry and I–” he begins, but he quickly turns into a rambling mess. 

You shush him softly. “Slow down, baby. Take a deep breath,” you say. 

He inhales and exhales at your command.

“Good boy. Now, tell me what happened.”

His voice cracks. It reminds you of a needle breaking the silence as it falls to the floor in an empty room. “Jamie’s… he was seventeen, so he couldn’t drive on his own…I said yes ‘cause I needed a break. We talked about boxin’ on the drive there…”

You try to pick up as much of the information as he’s willing to give you.

“Eric had a flat tire. Jamie thought it was a prank and I realized too late tha… I couldn’t see ‘em, but someone drove by and they shot at us. They got Eric, too, but… Jamie’s dead. He’s gone. He didn’t… he was just a boy. Fuck!” He drops his head in his hands.

“Michael–“

“He was innocent,” Michael breathes your name and it sounds like a call for help all over again. “I was s’posed to protect him and he died ‘cause I realized too late tha the tires were fuckin’ slashed!”

The tears start welling up in his eyes, and you follow suit. The thoughts in your mind sound like gibberish–you can’t remember a single thing you could say to make him feel better. There’s a wall blocking your brain from functioning properly, and you feel the lump from your throat traveling to your chest, clogging every last life-sustaining artery. 

Reality settles in and hits him like a freight train all over again. “It’s my fault,” he whispers, and he repeats the same three words over and over again. 

You move your hands from his face to his shoulders. He’s shaking. In your head, you saw him as this invincible machine of a man, especially considering his history, but he’s just as human as you and the next person. He was just trying to forget and now he’s even worse off than before. 

“Hey,” you say, “No, don’t even…It wasn’t your fault! You did all you could. Jamie died at the hands of someone who had no shame in pulling a gun on you. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

“No, I–” 

“No, don’t even go there, okay? Don’t.”

You pull him into your arms without hesitation. Michael has been waiting for this ever since you got out of your car, and he loses himself in your touch completely. He doesn’t cry, not yet, but he shudders, and he melts into the hug like a hot candle. 

“Shh, I’m here,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of raindrops and pounding hearts. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.” 

He buries his face in your neck, and something resembling a choked sob escapes his lips. 

“It wasn’t your fault, baby. I promise.” 

You try not to cry, but it’s hard. You’re scared and frustrated and oh-so-worried about the man in your arms. The tears pricking in the corner of your eyes are silent, and you look up at the sky to stop them. To no avail. 

As the rain continues to fall, you gently pull away. The rain hides the fact that you’ve been crying, which you’re thankful for. This isn’t about you, this is about him. 

He looks lost, almost disoriented, and something inside of him starts to slip. He’s fading, you can tell. It’s normal after witnessing something traumatic, you know, but you can’t help but feel the nagging curiosity bubble up in your chest that there might be something more than he is telling you. But who are you to judge? You have no right to even think about it after what you did. You’re a hypocrite.

Your voice is soft as you ask, “Do you want me to take you home?”

It’s the least you can do for him after he called you. He has no one else, he told you. Or he doesn't want to face his family after what happened, and after what you could find out about them, you can’t blame him for wanting to distance himself. He’s grieving too. 

Michael nods silently. 

“Okay, c’mon.” With a gentle touch, you guide him toward your car.

During the drive, you steal glances at him. His eyes are focused on the streets that pass you by. He's somewhere else. You reach out to hold his hand; he holds on tighter in return. 

You finally arrive at his house. He prepares to step out of the car, lost in his thoughts when he suddenly looks at you with a hint of confusion. “What’re you doin’?” he asks.

You undo your seatbelt and meet his gaze. “Staying,” you say. 

The realization dawns on him. “Why?” he asks.

“Because you need me.”

He looks between you and his house, then stares at his hands. 

“Am I wrong?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes grow guiltier and he begins to fidget with his fingers. It’s a silent way of telling you that you’re not wrong, he just doesn’t want to admit it to you. 

You get out, the rain soaking through your clothes once again. Each raindrop reminds you that the events that now lie in the past are very much real and that they severely affect your future. But you’re here now, and you can’t leave. 

Michael takes a moment to collect himself before following you. Your car locks. Right in front of his front door, you stop. He stares at you, his eyebrows furrowed, and you don’t blame him for being weary.

He needs you, so you chose to stay, but that won’t make what happened between you go away. For tonight though, maybe you can put it aside and focus on him. He’s the one who needs support now, and you’re fully focused on that rather than the past. Shit will hit the fan soon enough.

You reach out to touch his hand. He takes it without hesitation. As the rain continues to come down on you, your eyes lock and a mutual understanding passes between you. It’s a silent agreement you come to terms with. 

Michael opens his mouth, but only a breath comes out. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur.

Closing his mouth again, he sighs and nods. Words are too exhausting to form in his current state, but his body language speaks loud enough for you to understand what he so desperately craves. 

For tonight, you would stay with him. But just for tonight. After that, you would go back to how things ended before, and then… Well, you’re both not sure what will happen then, but at least for tonight, he won’t be alone.

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @acharliecoxedfan @glowstick-lesbian @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky

[zafirosreverie]

Cuando la veo (Julieta x F!Reader) part 4

Part 1 <<>> next

_________________

She sighed as she reached down for another wooden clasp. It wasn't even her turn to do the laundry, but her mind was so noisy and her head hurt so much that she just couldn't take another day without doing something, so she told Pepa that she would take care of the laundry for her, she had a few towels she needed to clean anyway. Her sister didn't ask and she just went with Bruno to the fields for a picnic. It really hurt her that no one had thought of inviting her, but she told herself that she shouldn't be selfish, her siblings deserved their bonding time.

Agustín was another story.

He no longer spent time with her unless their daughters were present, no longer joked, no longer smiled at her, no longer offered to help her, no longer sang softly for her, he didn’t even said good morning to her, just nodded gratefully as he took the breakfast that was offered to him, he ate in silence and went off to God knew where, appearing only for dinner. She suspected that if it weren't for the situation they were in, he wouldn't even be interested in sleeping with her anymore. She was turning invisible to her husband.

It was terribly painful, that the man who had sworn to spend the rest of his life by her side was slipping into her hands, while she drifted amid a sea of family indifference where little by little her voice faded. She didn't want to, she really didn't, but she was becoming a ghost while she was alive, and she didn't know how to stop it, she didn't know what else she could do.

"That's a very deep sigh, dear, are you okay?"

Julieta tried not to jump too much, even though she felt her soul leaving her body for a moment. She was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed the shadow that had approached. She quickly turned around to find Laura, who was trying to hide her amusement behind her hand.

"I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to scare you" the older woman apologized, although her tone was charged with affectionate mockery "I thought you heard me coming"

"It’s okay, Laura" Julieta smiled kindly "I'm sorry, I'm a little distracted today"

"Is it a bad time? I can come back later"

“No, no, it's okay” she said quickly, leaving the clothes in the basket on the floor “is something wrong? Y/N is ok?”

The brunette froze in her place as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She didn't really know why you had suddenly appeared in her mind, it just felt natural, as if deep down, she really had been thinking about you all the time without realizing it.

"I-I mean, I hope she's settling in, you know, making friends and stuff" she quickly added.

She had intended to fix her little slip, but she only seemed to make it worse, at least for herself, because her treacherous mind now couldn't stop picturing you, so beautiful and innocent, meeting new people, probably your age and forgetting about her. She knew she was being silly, that you probably would have already forgotten about her anyway, but for some reason, the thought hurt her.

"Oh, she's fine, thanks for asking" Laura replied, seemingly oblivious to the other's nerves "although the thing about making friends...let's just say it's still in progress."

"Oh?"

“My little girl hasn't really wanted to leave the house much” your aunt admitted “sure, she's met a few people, but nothing beyond warm smiles and polite greetings. Really, I think you're the only one she truly smiled sincerely at."

The confession was terrifying and hopeful in equal parts for the eldest of the Madrigal triplets. On the one hand, it filled her chest with a warm and bright feeling, with an unjustified pride in knowing that she had really left a good impression on you. But it also made her feel bad and guilty, because you shouldn't have that kind of effect on her.

"I don't want her to lock herself up at home, away from everyone" Laura continued, snapping her out of her thoughts "and I thought maybe you could help me."

"Me? What do you need me to do?" the younger answered perhaps a little too quickly, fortunately, the other woman didn't seem to notice, or at least she didn't mention it.

"Well, I was wondering if you could give her cooking lessons?"

"Cooking lessons?"

"Yes, you see, Y/N is really talented in many things, but let's just say that cooking...was never her forte, she can't even get close to hot oil" your aunt smiled fondly "I have no problem cooking for both of us, but I won't be here forever, and she really needs to get out even if it's just to get a little bit of sunlight."

The brunette smiled softly without realizing it, imagining how cute you must look trying to fry something, only to jump when the boiling oil made strange noises. Would you scream like Pepa used to? Or would you go as far as you could like Bruno? Maybe you would use a pan lid as a shield like herself when she was learning to cook at 6. Either way, she was sure you'd look absolutely adorable.

The thought took her by surprise and she mentally sursed for catching herself blushing just thinking of you. She really shouldn't be reacting to you like that, it was inappropriate, it was wrong and she had to stop before embarrassing herself in front of you or Laura.

"Well, I know that the family is busy with the reconstruction, but I can't think of someone better than you to teach her" the older woman continued when she had no response from the other "after all, no one can deny that your food is the best in town, and since she already knows you, I can trust Y/N not to get nervous and try to escape from you" she joked

"I'll take it as a compliment" Julieta laughed, trying to control the treacherous thoughts that invaded her

"You should, you really left a good impression on my girl" Laura smiled knowingly "...although I understand if you're too busy, I wouldn't want to interfere in-"

"No! No, it's fine, I'd love to” the brunette said, definitely stronger than she intended.

"Are you sure dear?" your aunt asked with a raised eyebrow "because I can look for someone else if you-"

"No!"

Laura jumped a little at the other's outburst and Julieta mentally kicked herself for being so impulsive. She really needed to control herself, take a deep breath, and think things through. She knew that perhaps the best thing to do would be to tell the kind woman to find someone else, that she shouldn't get into the eye of the storm when her mind kept thinking inappropriate things about you, but she couldn't help the wave of unwarranted jealousy that washed over her just thinking that someone else could teach you.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice" she sighed.

"Don't worry" the other smiled maternally "but are you sure you feel well, my dear?"

“Yeah, yeah, I'm just…I'm fine” she lied “when does Y/N want to start?”

"When you say"

"What about tomorrow?" she said, praying the other didn't hear the anxiety in her voice "about 10?"

"Oh, perfect, I'll tell Y/N to be here early" your aunt smiled "thank you very much, Julita"

Julieta simply smiled back, letting her kiss her goodbye with a quick kiss on the cheek, and watched in silence until the other woman disappeared from her sight. If her mind was already spinning and her head ached before, it was definitely getting worse. She didn't want to think about how much she was beginning to wish it was tomorrow, or about the way Laura made her feel safe, the way her own mother hadn't made her feel in months.

"I wish Casita had fallen on me" she sighed and turned to continue with her task.

She knew that if Félix found out she was having those thoughts, he probably wouldn't let her rest, her best friend really hated it when she went into those states of sadness and deep self-loathing, but since he wasn't there and Dolores couldn't give her away anymore, she would allow herself a moment of darkness.

____________________

"Say it"

Julieta sighed. Of course Félix would find out. She really wasn't sure how he had done it, and she was terrified to think that he knew her well enough to know even her deepest thoughts. On the one hand it comforted her that she could tell him anything, but on the other, it embarrassed her because, if he knew about her dark and self-hating thoughts, who said he wouldn't know about the terribly inappropriate thoughts that assailed her when she thought of you?

"Say it"

"Félix-"

"No, you know the rules, say it" he smiled at her mischievously.

"I'm two seconds away from hitting you with this rolling pin" she warned him.

"You can do it later" he shrugged "now say it"

She crossed her arms and stared at him for a few moments before she sighed in defeat. She knew there was no human power to dissuade him when he made that stupidly optimistic face and looked with that hopeful glint in his eyes. The man really was a ray of sunshine at all hours, ready to illuminate everything in his way, and she was grateful for that, even though he was insufferable with her at times.

"I'm so sorry I spoke ill of myself" she said reluctantly.

"And?" he smiled

"And I won't do it again" she rolled her eyes, she felt like a little girl being scolded.

"And?"

"And...I didn't really mean it?"

"AND?"

"What else do you want? I already said it all!" she frowned

"You lacked 'and I have the best friend in the world, who reminds me of the spectacular woman I am, therefore I owe him tasty gossip'" he joked, raising his eyebrows.

"You're an idiot" she laughed and playfully smacked his arm.

"Ouch, that hurt, Madrigal" he laughed "now you definitely owe me a gossip"

"Don't be a crybaby" she scolded him softly "besides, you know I rarely leave this place, I am the least indicated to tell you some gossip”

"I don't know, that visit from Laura looked pretty serious"

Julieta froze in her place, almost dropping the knife she had on her hand. She knew it was logically impossible for him to know the surge of shocking images and feelings he had just evoked in her, but she wasn't entirely sure he didn't either. He always knew everything. Besides, it's not like she hasn't told him about that wonderful day that she met you.

"She just came to ask me something" she said, trying to appear calm, even though her heart was pounding loudly in her ears.

"What?"

“…she just wanted to know if I could give Y/N cooking classes” she said

"Oh? And did you accept?

"Yeah" she shrugged "I'm not helping much in the rebuild anyway, and it'll be a good way to make money"

Felix smiled and watched in silence as his sister-in-law continued with her soft rambling. He was sure she didn't realize it, but he knew her better than anyone, and the way her hands trembled a little as she cut vegetables, or the way she shifted her weight from one leg to the other constantly, told him there was more to what she was telling him.

"Are you sure that's the whole reason?" he gently pressed

Julieta stopped all her movements and closed her eyes for a moment. She really hated the way her mind couldn't seem to pick a single emotion, how could she go from being calm and happy in the company of her best friend, and suddenly feel like crying?

"I-...maybe I feel alone" she admitted softly, sighing "I feel like I'm drowning in this house, Félix, with nothing to do, unable to be with my family because I'm just in the way, unable to reconnect with my siblings because I don't want to take away their time together, without being able to tell my daughters what's happening between me and Agustín…I can't do anything…” she gripped the sink tightly, trying to hold back the tears that were already stinging in her eyes.

"Juli-" Felix stroked her back gently, not knowing how to comfort his friend.

“So I thought…if I can help Y/N even a little bit, even with something small like cooking, then I…wouldn't feel so empty and useless”

"You're not useless, you’re-" he quickly assured her.

"I need to distract myself" she interrupted him "maybe I can think better later"

He looked at her with concern, but he felt that she was not in a position to continue talking about this, that this was not the right time to push her further, so he simply sighed and nodded, squeezing her shoulder gently as a silent support.

"You're right, a distraction would be beneficial" he smiled a little.

Julieta smiled weakly back at him and let him pull her into a warm, comforting hug she hadn't known she needed until this moment. She closed her eyes to concentrate on his familiar scent, not caring that she had to make food, there would be time later. She really didn't want to think about the other reason she'd agreed so quickly: she wanted to see you. That simple and at the same time so complicated for her.

[deeptrashwitch]

Another snippet hehe Let's see what the guys are doing on a slow day!

Elijah was happy and surprisingly calm, that day was weirdly slow, but maybe it would be the only opportunity he has to relax. That week has been a bitch, and finally he could do the things he wanted. That's why he basically entrenched himself in the rest room, it was time to catch up with the series he had on the list.

Soon he started his marathon, but the calm didn't stayed for so long, as Noah arrived with a loud laugh and throwed himself into the sofa, mocking Nicholas, who rushed inside with anger. Elijah just sighed, turning up the volume and trying to understand the plot while those two fought behind, just waiting until they got tired. But it didn't happen, and they continued shouting at each other while Elijah's patience ran low, and then he snapped.

"Can you shut the fuck up, you damned animals?!" he shouted, looking at the two of them, now frozen "geez, you're worst than the rookies"

"Hey..." Noah murmured with a pout before sighing and smiling "sorry dude, I didn't notice"

"Sorry Corporal" Nicholas said with a ashamed smile, then replaced by curiosity "huh? What are you watching?"

"A k-drama" Elijah answered, going back to his serie "I started it like a month ago"

"Oh, mind if I join? I've always heard that that series are good"

"I guess, but we might need to change, this one is already far away from the beginning and you won't understand shit"

"Mmm, alright"

Like that Nicholas sat down on the floor with a raised eyebrow while Elijah picked another thing to watch, and also Noah sat over a sofa arm to stay and watch too, just to mantain the peace for now. At the end Elijah simply selected randomly one of the ones in his list, and they started to watch in silence. It was a romance story on the Joseon dynasty, which at first just bored the three of them, but some fight scenes started and they got hooked in it. They lost the notion of time, and when had to stop beacuse their body was falling asleep, they ended up watching three episodes. And now, Nicholas and Noah were frustrated.

"Why trust in that prick?!" Noah shouted, really frustrated while Nicholas nodded "the son of a bitch betrayed her already"

"I guess she using him...?" Elijah muttered without being sure

"You saw how she looked at him, use him, my ass"

"Yeah, you're right, but then she just naive"

"Or stupid"

"Whatever, I'm starving, wanna eat something?" Nicholas asked calmly

"Bring Alexander's cookies!"

"Sure!"

"I did what?" Alexander asked, appearing behind Noah without a sound

"HOLY SHIT!" the Corporal screeched as he jumped out of fright

"Hey Alex" Elijah said, feeling goosebumps "what's up?"

"I was passing by, what are you doing?" the giant of the team asked

"Watchin a k-drama, and we are getting frustrated, to be honest" he explained with a chuckle "mostly Noah"

"Oh, can I join?"

"You probably won't understand anything..."

"Meh, anyways I can shut this one up" the sniper said, pointing at Noah, who was lying on the floor

"There was my soul" García murmured "well done, you killed me, big boy"

"Dramatic" Marcus said, smiling as he shook Noah a bit "you're pretty much alive"

"You shut up, not helping!"

"Anyway, since I have nothing better to do, I'll join too" he said with a laugh "also I wanna see the Corporal all frustrated"

"Fuck off"

Soon Nicholas arrived with more food than it would be necessary for three people, just giggling when he noticed how Alexander and Marcus joined them...he was expecting that. Once again, they continued with the serie, with Nicholas explaining the plot to Alexander and Marcus between whispers. And again they lost the notion of time, and another three episodes later they had to stop again, and now was Elijah who was frustrated.

"But cut with her, damnit!" Elijah hissed, covering his face with his hands

"Stay with the other one! THE OTHER ONE!" Noah was basically screeching at that point, while Alexander calmed him down

"I hate this" Marcus growled using a cushion to liberate his anger "this is more frustrasting than I thought"

"It's a serie...calm down" Nicholas said with an awkward smile, but also a bit frustrated "and I'm sure the protagonist will have brain cells at some point"

They continued watching, all of them focused on the serie, in absolute silence. Soon Francis and Elliot arrived as well, just joining in silence, wondering why everyone was so focused on the TV. Meanwhile, the four officers watched from the hall, smiling with some mockery.

"So they were here, huh?" Luke muttered with a chuckle "what a shame the slow day finished"

"What are they watching? I think I know it" Jackson said, raising an eyebrow before hearing the opening "oh shit, I do know it"

"Wait a minute, I know it too" Alicia said before giggling "if they are as hooked as I think they are, it'll hit hard"

"Oh it will, it will"

"Leaving that aside, what about the rookie training?" Edward asked, really serious "today all of them seem really cocky"

"We'll have to interrupt them, well, too bad I guess"

"Before we do that" Luke intervened with a malicious smile "when was the last time when we trained the rookies? Like, the last time we trained with someone outside the team"

"Years" the three of them answered at unison

"Then why aren't we good people for once and we train that arrogant rookies? Just for a change, and to relieve stress"

"So...be absolute bastards with the rookies" Jackson muttered with a shitty smile "I'm in"

"Mmm, I don't have anything better to do, yeah sure" Edward said with a nod

"Alicia?"

"Is that or going to that reunion with Wraith...nah, let's train those boys" Alicia said with a chuckle "oh, this will be fun"

[ginneke]

already too late (if we arrive at all) - #3

It's a little late, sorry, but here's part three! I know it's late, but firstly, I wasn't at my best yesterday. Secondly, it's longer. Those are my excuses.

Technically no Revali in this one, and only indirect Link. We've got some other perspectives this time. (Including insight into a certain character that some of my readers have met before, in a different story. Minor perception check ahoy for A Seed of Song.)

Note: there's hints at [hylia / the spirit of the hero] and zelink in this one, but only hints.

–

Pairing: Link / Revali Rating: T

(A soulmate AU, sort of.)

– Prompt #3: was it something i did? –

It is said that once, a very long time ago, so long ago that any records have faded into legend, and legend slowly morphing into myth…

Once, a long time ago, a goddess fell in love with a mortal.

But while she gave up her divine powers and came to live as humans did, for love of that brief life, still she could not overcome his mortality. He fell in battle and her hands could not turn back the blow, nor stem the fast elapsing time that raced towards a sunset when her own lifespan was an eternal dawn.

She grieved. Oh, how she grieved: for a goddess, half-mortal yet still half-divine, it must have been the first she felt of such an emotion. Sorrow, for the love she’d lost. Yet joy as well, for the happiness even a few short years had wrought.

And so it was writ upon her, a hope and a prayer to be reunited with that lost soul again as fate’s wheel turned; and to know, this time, just how long they might have: that she might know to be grateful for each day, and not waste time waiting for that inevitable end, hands spinning out a spool without knowing where the thread might snap.

—

Ah. But then the marks started appearing on others, too.

—

Link is twelve years old when the mark appears upon his wrist.

It's the first time in a very long time that one of Hateno's children has been so blessed, and some people point out -- well, of course it would be that child; why, he'd been marked out as special for so long already, since the day he claimed to see mighty Naydra in the sky above the dragon-god's mountain home; to say nothing of his strange self-possession around weapons, the one thing that everyone agreed was odd, but some children were like that, figuring out their interests from very early on and clinging to them tightly, without deviation. 

Well, that's besides the point, really. The point is this: at first, Link's soulmark is something positive, something innocent. Nobody in Hateno has the skill to read the threads, and there's no time to detour all the way to Zora's Domain, where their priest and their princess both have a reputation for being able to understand the mark of years, the unspooling thread and the countdown of time. How long the mark might bear the touch of gold, and just when the span of potential time would fade to ashen grey.

Bless her, but Hild tries to advocate for that anyway. Vicente knows her well enough to see through to the ulterior motive — to give Link the chance to see his friends among the Zora youths, since he's… always struggled, somewhat, at connecting with other Hylians. (The army’s cadets tend to see him as a threat.)

But duty calls, and Vicente cannot be away from his post much longer — and there are, at least, still options, even if they’re not the choices his wife thinks best. Still, he makes his promises: Hild is stubborn, and won’t be satisfied unless he agrees to have Link’s soulmark read. He has to know, she says - insists really - and Vicente can understand why. 

There might not be anyone capable of reading the threads here, in Necluda, but it’s different in the heartlands of Hyrule. So many hold the potential of the sages’ bloodlines, there. Better that they find answers for LInk soon, and from friendly quarters. 

Still, it isn't until their return to Central Hyrule that Vicente learns just how mixed a blessing the soulmark really is.

He argues for and wins a day’s leave further, long enough to take Link to the temple on the banks of the Regencia, and the sage who meets with them blanches at the sight of the gold around Link’s wrist. She’s quick to bid the boy sent away; she refuses to proclaim it within his earshot.

…The thread, she whispers to Vicente in hushed tones, is... a lot shorter than any other she's seen or heard of; why, she fears it won't even last six years.

--

Link's ears are sharper than the sage suspected. 

Link is, understandably, quite upset.

These things… aren’t unknown, though. And so Vicente can only repeat something he heard, once, from his own father, whose wrist had been marked by an ashen smudge by that point — “Not every bond is one of romantic love, lad…”

Link looks at him with an expression of fierce betrayal and refuses to talk to him for a sennight.

…Vicente should have seen this coming. A child like Link, so unlike the other children his age, would surely be attached to the thought of his bonded even without the reality of that person in front of them; and to know that that person wouldn’t survive much past his own entrance into adulthood…

Link always has had such a strong sense of justice.

Still, though there’s always that faint sense of a strain in their relationship now, his son does lapse back into obedience for a time; and if he refuses to speak to Vicente about the soulmark, well — that’s something he probably deserves, and something he hopes to fix with time…

Then his son goes missing.

Sending him to the training camp near Eldin was a mistake; it almost leads Vicente to blows with the man who’d ordered it. For all Link’s adaptivity, for all his skill and all his certainty with each and every weapon that finds its way to his hands — he’s just a boy, and Hild was right: he’s too young by far to be here. 

Vicente pleads to be allowed to leave his post; his commanding officer refuses. He petitions somebody else, and his requests fall on uncaring ears. 

He’s on the verge of leaving anyway, duty be damned, when Link reappears, a full week later, trailing an unfamiliar sword that’s almost as tall as he is. 

Unfamiliar to Vicente. The kingdom’s Sheikah allies, steeped in the histories and the dark whispers of their nation’s past, recognise it at once: Blade of Evil’s Bane. The Sword That Seals The Darkness.

The blade which, according to legend, answers to but a single hand.

If anyone still doubted the portents of the Calamity’s return, there’s no doubt now. Not now that sacred sword has been found. They drag Link in front of the young princess, who echoes the pretty words of ceremony and looks at him with pain shadowing her eyes: it’s been over five years since Her Royal Highness, the Queen, passed away; and despite her heartfelt efforts to awaken the sealing powers she’s meant to inherit, still the princess’ birthright eludes her. Vicente’s son must be a living symbol of everything she has yet to achieve.

Vicente can only try to watch out for the boy as best he can. 

He writes to Hild. She replies to him with silence. Still, at least Hild does write to Link; Aryll as well, in her clumsy six-year-old hand. Link shares the letters with him, the way he always did, and he doesn’t suspect a thing.

Vicente bears it quietly, the crumbling wilderness that his marriage has become: he reflects, and thinks it fair. Hild had never wanted this for Link. For him to be a soldier was the extent of what she could accept; she never wanted him to tread the path of knighthood. This is something out of a nightmare. There’s no chance at all that Link will be allowed to live out a quiet life in Hateno, now or at any time, and even the opportunities to visit home, which were always few and far between, will soon be beyond them.

The mistakes are his. He let Link follow too long in his shadow.

…But that’s not the only thing.

It would be one thing if it was just the sword. But soon a whisper starts to surge through the court, eyes trailing after Link with suspicion and fear. Not for anything he had done, but because of the mark on his wrist. The bloodline of the Goddess and the warrior fated to wield the Master Sword are entwined throughout history and legend, their destinies following the same path.

Princess Zelda is but eleven years old, still weeks shy of her twelfth birthday. Too young, yet, for any answering soulmark to appear upon her. But if it does —

If it does, and she is tied to Link —

If so, Princess Zelda has less than six years to live. 

—

“What did I do wrong?” Link wants to know, twelve and scared and overshadowed by the fears of the adults around him, and Vicente holds his son like he hasn’t since he was a tiny child, just seven years old. He’s still tiny, tucked into Vicente’s side and shaking like a sapling in a storm. “What did I…”

Nothing — Link did nothing wrong, and it’s cruel, so cruel, for these children to bear such a fate and the burden of an entire nation’s fears. But all Vicente can offer is this. He holds his son and lets the force of Link’s emotions shudder through him, lodging behind his ribs like blades.

He prays — not to Hylia, but to Hild’s ancient goddesses instead. Spare him, he pleads. Isn’t this enough? Hasn’t the soulmark brought Link enough pain? He doesn’t even know who his fated match is, and yet…

Spare him. Please.

—

Vicente’s prayer is answered.

The day of the princess’ twelfth birthday dawns, and her wrist remains quietly empty.

Princess Zelda is the only person disappointed by this. To hear the rumours, she thinks it is just another way that Fate has looked at her and found her wanting. Under other circumstances, Vicente might have felt some sympathy for the girl. But he, like so many others, can only feel relieved, even if his reasons stem from a different source.

The pressure on Link eases, the stares subsiding as though they’d never looked at him or his soulmark and seen the stain of treachery in them. But they can’t pretend it never happened. Even if he’ll never be allowed to act on it, Vicente remembers and quietly nurses the start of a lifelong grudge.

So does Link. Too-young Link, passionate enough to feel an impotent rage over the way they looked at him and inexperienced enough to show it, until Vicente has no choice but to take him aside and to bid him to try to temper his anguish, if but a little.

But Link can’t accept that. He turns wild eyes upon his father and demands, with all the premature grief of a loss Vicente cannot spare him from, “Why?”

Why. Oh, why indeed. What can he say to his son, that might explain the fickleness of people’s hearts? To  the experienced or the jaded it is obvious; because she is the princess of Hyrule, and its last remaining heir. The last potential claimant to the only certain power that stands between their country and the nigh-guaranteed destruction that awaits. 

But that’s not what his son is asking, is it?

In reality, it is only because she is of the royal line, the last of the royal line, and so she matters more, in the eyes of the kingdom, than some nameless, faceless someone.

Link stares at him like he’s a stranger. 

“They matter too,” he insists, that indomitable sense of justice raising its head again and stoking Link to a fury. “They matter!”

“They matter to you,” Vicente agrees. 

But he’s never had the gift of gentle speech, and what he means is this — he’s proud of Link. Proud of him for caring. Proud of Link’s principles and his unflinching sense of justice. He’s so, so proud and he wishes more than anything that he’d been granted more eloquence; maybe then Link would understand him.

That’s not what Link hears: to him, Vicente’s words are the blunt blow of reproach. He sees the way Link goes rigid, and doesn’t know how to prevent the distance that rips its way between them in that moment.

Link pulls away.

This time his silence doesn’t last a mere sennight. A fortnight, a month goes by, three months, and by the time Vicente realises that Link’s newfound silence goes far beyond stubbornness, it’s been more than a year and comes far too late. Link doesn’t speak to anyone, anymore. His secrets are locked up tight behind an impassive mask he learned to wear too young. 

Vicente suspects his anger still burns as fiercely as it ever did. But he cannot say for sure: the young man forming behind his son’s face is a stranger to him, and Vicente has long since lost his trust.

All that’s left to him is his duty and his prayers.

Let Link find that person soon.

Let the legends be true

Let him find a way to value the time they have, and not mourn the lost potential of years.

It’s a foolish hope. But for his son’s sake, Vicente hopes for it all the same.