#but things are still left open enough that you can easily make your own story with those limitations

[ineed-to-sleep]

I wanted to say, bc I saw someone mention Geralt as an example of a predetermined character in an rpg that works, that yeah, I fully agree it can work! But in Geralt's case, for example, he's a well established character who's fully written before you start the game. He has his own traits, his flaws and shortcomings, history, relationships, etc. He's just as well written as any other character in the story, and the only things you have power over are his choices and a bit of his fighting style(sometimes his hair as well), but everything is made to fit with who this character is as established before the game even starts. Think of the origin characters in Baldur's Gate 3, it's the same thing- they're not customizable, they're established before you even start, and the only control you have is over their journey. None of these are ever meant to be a blank slate, and they're written as such.

With this Phyre character it's like they're trying so so hard to tread the line between "this is a character that stands on their own" and "this is a blank slate you can fully customize". What you end up with is a very "meh" sort of character, who's not one or the other, without enough wiggle room to make your own story however you want and not enough to get attached to them as they are. We get attached to Geralt bc he's a fully written character in the game, you just control his actions. The problem with Phyre is that they're neither a fully written character nor fully yours to write.

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: Some big revelations coming on this one, buckle up. Daemon and Alicent are good parents in my book, okay? Okay. ;)

Word count: 4,6k

Masterlist | Previous chapter

The perfume of wildflowers overwhelmed your senses, they bloomed in several colors around you; white, pink, blue, yellow—a field of untouched beauty, tucked away on the outskirts of the forests that surrounded King's Landing.

You sat in the middle of the field, soaking up the late afternoon sunlight as you gently plucked a few of the flowers to form a unique bouquet. It was only your third day in the capital and you already felt the need to sneak away and breathe some fresh air.

A loud huff of air came from beside you then, and a chuckle escaped you when you looked at your dragon. She lay peacefully just a few feet away from you, her ash blue scales being caressed by flower petals as the wind made them flow; one, in particular, tickling her nose and making her huff without opening her eyes. Her massive frame dwarfed the trees of the forest behind you and her tail disrupted the few bugs hidden between the grass as it swished from time to time.

The small smile you had slowly vanished, however, once your mind drifted back to thoughts of Aemond, for the umpteenth time today. Your talk with him from last night replayed in your mind over and over, while you were trying to sleep and first thing in the morning. It had felt wrong and unfair, and it left a cold feeling inside your chest. And yet a feeling that you thought—hoped—you saw mirrored in Aemond's own expression last night.

It was a fragile thing, but maybe, just maybe, what you once had could still be repaired.

Even from this far away, the Red Keep could still be easily spotted in the distance. You watched as a flock of birds flew by, as nothing but dark silhouettes against the golden sunlight.

You eventually pushed yourself up from the grass, brushing away any remaining dirt from your clothes. You walked up to your dragon, laying a hand on the warm scales of her muzzle.

Her fiery blue eyes lazily blinked open at your touch, and she leaned the slightest bit into your hand. "Istiti kostilus bartos arlī, riña." ('We should probably head back, girl.')

A low and deep groan came from the back of her throat, her large mouth prying open just enough to reveal a glimpse of her sharp teeth in complaint. Yet she slowly raised her head from the ground, the motion of her tall and heavy frame sending hidden fireflies flying away from between the flowers.

"Nyke gīmigon, ziry iksos lyks kesīr, yn se jēda kessa aderī mazverdagon zōbrie. Kosti māzigon arlī hemtubis," you promised with a smile as you looked up at her, walking beside so you could mount up. ('I know, it's peaceful here, but the hour will soon grow late. We can return tomorrow.')

She lay her chest and left wing down to allow you to mount easily, only raising to full height once you were settled in the saddle. Her steps on the ground were almost booming in the quiet field, with a small roar coming from her as she awaited your command.

You gripped tightly onto the saddle, heart tuning in with the powerful beat of the one belonging to the dragon carrying you. With a grin, you spoke; "Sōvēs, Khamira."

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Aemond's sword cut through the air, on unsteady feet he narrowly avoided Ser Criston's attack. His boots skid over the gravel of the training yard, panting heavily as he rolled his shoulders to keep up appearances and not attract a crowd of onlookers.

Sweat ran down Aemond's temple, getting caught on the leather of his eyepatch. Today was not a good day for him.

Cole seemed to catch on, dropping his shield to the ground and suggesting a break in their sparring session.

Aemond huffed, walking to the side to lay down his sword while he tugged at the collar of his vest that felt like it had been cutting his intake of air by half. His muscles ached from the exertion, yet as he let go of the hilt of his sword, his mind was already elsewhere. Trapped back in a moonlight haze that outlined the features of the one who'd taken residence in his mind and heart.

"You seem distracted today, my Prince," Cole spoke, slowly walking closer to Aemond as he caught his own breath. "Is something troubling you?"

A pair of young squires sparred to his left, two ladies and a guard stood together by his right, and Aegon made his way down the stairs that led to the grounds of the training yard—Aemond was acutely aware of every single person around him, and each one, he knew, was salivating for some royal gossip. He kept his back turned to Ser Criston, fidgeting slightly with the cuff of his sleeve; "No trouble. Simply not a good day for me, it seems."

"Oh, brother."

Both Aemond and Cole turned towards Aegon's obnoxious voice as he wandered towards them, both hands stretched before him as the first Prince gestured between his brother and Ser Criston, "Could this finally be the day that this poor man has bested you in combat?" He sported a wide and amused smile on his lips.

Aemond hummed, holding onto his composure. "We aren't finished yet."

"Well, by what I've just watched, the result seems pretty obvious," Aegon chuckled, leaning back against the weapon's table, "You were nearly getting your ass kicked."

"Watch your tongue," Aemond warned dryly, fists closed tight.

"Were you daydreaming about your childhood sweetheart, then?" Aegon ignored him, teasing further in a quieter tone, his smirk provocative. "Don't think I didn't notice you two eye-fucking each other at supper last night." He laughed at his own words.

Aemond clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. "I mean it, you drunk, mind your tongue." He leaned closer, only for his brother to hear; "Lest I pick up a sword and do it for you."

Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender, fighting a smile and losing. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, eh?" The older brother picked up a small dagger from the table, twirling it between his fingers, the sharp tip slightly digging into his skin. "And here I thought you would be overjoyed with the news."

A small, barely there frown made itself known in Aemond's features. He took half a step back, "What do you mean?" Coming from Aegon, it could hardly be anything good.

"Oh you know, brother," Aegon shrugged, hesitating only for a moment as he took a glance at Cole who stood behind Aemond with the same confused expression, "Mother's agreement with Daemon, the one... involving his dear eldest daughter."

Aemond's blood pumped faster at the mention of you, his breath stumbled and he grew more impatient, "What do you speak of?"

A beat of awkward silence passed as they held each other's gazes.

"Oh seven hells, you do not know yet," Aegon deadpanned, before a small, surprised giggle escaped him.

"Aegon..." The Prince's name out of Aemond's lips came as a warning and he narrowed his one good eye.

"Oh no, no." Aegon shook his head, dropping the dagger in his hands to take slow steps back to the same path he came from. "I'm sure mother will be the one wanting to break the news for you then, beats me wanting to be on the receiving end of her ire if I do it." He reached the stairs, one foot already on the first step when he looked at Aemond with one final grin; "But I'll say, you need not worry about your darling leaving your side ever again." Aegon winked and skipped up the stairs.

The feeling of being left in the dark was all-consuming as Aemond's eye skimmed over the training yard, the sound of steel against steel becoming muffled to his ears as he tried to find a sense of direction for his running thoughts.

He left Ser Criston without another word, quick steps taking him inside the Keep in search of his mother.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

You flew over the cloudy sky with no hurry, your dragon's wings stretched and steady while she danced in between clouds. You'd taken the scenic route, as you liked to call it, the longer path to the dragonpit so you could linger a few minutes more on dragonback.

The flap of her wings was slow, yet not less powerful for it, her size creating shadows over the capital. Without you needing to say a word, your loyal dragon knew not to hurry today.

You kept on for a while longer, and just as you were close to reaching your destiny, you heard a familiar sharp screeching coming from behind you.

A roar came from your own dragon as she felt the presence before even seeing it. You turned your head around, looking over your shoulder. Caraxes' slithering frame suddenly emerged from between the clouds, his long and red body a stark contrast to the pale sky.

He flew beside and then overhead from you, and you could barely make out the grinning face of your father as he passed you.

"Aderī," you spoke the command and leaned forward on your saddle, holding tight. With a single movement of her wings, your dragon propelled herself forward, her lean body shooting through the skies as she caught up with Caraxes with an excited roar.

You came from under the Blood Wyrm, rising in flight just short of hitting them as a giggle went past your lips and heavy wind kissed your cheeks.

Khamira flew ahead, her ash-blue scales shining under the fading sunlight. You had yet to meet a dragon that could match her in speed. Caraxes' screeching could be heard from afar as he tried to keep up.

You were undeniably the first one to reach the dragonpit, your dragon raising dust as her large body landed on the ground. The keepers tried to approach her slowly to guide her inside the caves, but as instant as a wild lioness she was quick to greet them with a deafening roar and a show of her sharp teeth, taking a single haste step forward as a warning.

"It's alright," you called from above her, gesturing to the keepers, "I'll see her inside."

Khamira had been a temperamental wild beast ever since you claimed her; she disliked most people and had a tendency for ferocity if anyone dared to cross her boundaries, or worse yet, dared to threaten you. The dragoness bowed her head to you, and you only.

You jumped down from the saddle, feet hitting the ground as you bit back a smile. Your hand traced the warm scales along her neck as you walked, "Emi ȳdragotan nūmāzma bisa, ao jorrāelagon naejot gaomagon aōha vēdros, riña." You reached her face, caressing the shape of her muzzle while she cooed quietly at your words. ('We've spoken about this, you need to mind your temper, girl.')

Soon after, Caraxes also reached the ground, grumbling loudly as if annoyed for losing the race. "Sȳrkta biarves hembar jēda, rōva vala." You approached your father and the red dragon, watching as he climbed down from his saddle as well. ('Better luck next time, big guy.')

"Kesi iēdrosa pyghagon ao lanta." Daemon walked up to you, steps lazy as he pointed a finger at you with an amused smile. ('We will still beat you two.')

You laughed, meeting him in the middle of the otherwise empty grounds of the dragonpit. "Gaomagon ao jaelagon." ('Keep dreaming.')

A few feet away from you, Khamira and Caraxes met up as well, circling each other and exchanging low grunts, roars, and harmless bites. Two formidable beasts who had become friends over time.

You watched the two dragons with fondness for a beat, before turning your attention back to your father; who, you noticed, looked at you with a strange and unreadable gaze.

Daemon had both hands resting on the hilt of his sword, there was a small frown on his features, as if hesitating with the words he was about to say.

He sighed, glancing down. "I've been looking for you."

"Oh, we just went out for a flight." You explained easily, gesturing to your dragon, "I took her outside King's Landing for a few hours, you know how she gets if she's cooped up for too long."

Daemon chuckled, no stranger to the deep bond between you and the once-wild dragon. "Of course." Yet his small smile seemed strained, almost uncomfortable.

You frowned, shifting on your feet for a moment, "Is… something wrong, father?"

"We need to talk, about a rather urgent matter," Daemon spoke slowly, minding his words. And you don't think you've ever seen him this hesitant; this is not a conversation he's overly happy to be having.

You hesitated, his nervousness seeping into you. "Okay... what is it?"

What looked like a grimace passed over his features, as if searching for other ways to say what he needed to say. Eventually, he simply cleared his throat, "After last night's supper, Rhaenyra and I have talked." Daemon held your gaze for a beat, before quickly adding; "It was mainly her idea, so don't come for my neck." He tried jesting.

It did nothing to help the growing confusion inside your stomach, and you leaned your head to the side with a deeper frown on your brows.

"We all know our family has been drifting apart more and more as the years go by." He further explained, taking half a step closer to you so as to better hold your gaze, "And with the King solidifying Rhaenyra's claim to the throne, the greens won't be happy to… be left out. So we've decided, that it would be in everyone's best interest," His words seemed to get caught in his tongue, "To unite our families again, once and for all."

You kept quiet, yet distantly you could feel your heart pick up its pace. Your fingers tingled and you grasped at your overcoat with a bruising grip. "And what… does this have to do with me?"

Daemon chose to ignore the question. "Rhaenyra has already spoken to Alicent and my brother, the King; and after some reasoning, both have, surprisingly, dare I say eagerly, agreed to it… as well."

You blinked once, twice, shaking your head; "Father, what in the seven hells are you on about?"

He breathed in deeply, holding the silence as he regarded you with something akin to sympathy. "We've decided to unite this family again, by offering a betrothal."

Your blood ran cold. You held onto the air in your lungs until he spoke again.

"Between you, and Alicent's second son, Aemond."

It felt as if your heart ceased its beating entirely. His words left you disarmed, and you were suddenly drowning in the waters of the Narrow Sea; sinking deeper, deeper, deeper into cold and dark waters that suffocated you from the inside out.

"What?" It fell as nothing but a breath past your lips.

Daemon could clearly see the sudden panic in your wide eyes, he reached both hands up, taking hold of your arms and rubbing his thumbs on the thick fabric of your overcoat. "I know it came suddenly, daughter. I… tried speaking against it, but believe me, even I know this is the right choice."

You tried finding your voice again, all choked up and tight; "I- No, I can't- Father, there must be something, anything else that can be done to repair this-" You stammered, "This rift between our families. Anything other than trading my life for it."

"I've been in your shoes before, I know how you feel, but it's not the end of the world-"

"Not the end-" You gulped back a sob, groaning in frustration, "How can you say that? It is to me. And then what? What would be expected of me? To bring gods know how many children to this world?"

Daemon huffed out a small laugh, avoiding your eyes, "No, worry not, we don't expect you to have children, you're not in direct line to the throne so there's no need for heirs. We only need a powerful alliance, a direct connection between both our families strong enough to keep our squabbles at bay, and that," He shook your shoulders, gaze intent, "You can provide."

Slowly, drop by drop, reality downed on you. The time had finally come for your betrothal, a day you had wished would never come at all. "You're asking me to be a means to an end," you whispered, "Why me?"

"I have… noticed how close you seem to be with The One-Eyed Prince," Daemon spoke with poorly concealed disdain, "We believe it would be in your best interest-"

Tears welled up in your eyes. Aemond. Of all people, his was the hand you'd be taking in marriage, being forced together for the sake of uniting your families.

How tragically ironic, for you to be promised to one another with broken bonds and stained hearts. Just as you had found each other again, just as you hoped to make up for all the lost years. Soon, the overly fragile bond you had only started to get the hang of again, will become public knowledge. It won’t be your secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.

Aemond would resent you for it, surely. You knew he would, and you wouldn't blame him. Because right now, you feel something similar, angry and bitter, as it took away your choice of falling for him all over again on your own terms, in your own time. Instead, you were being forced into a closeness none of you were ready for.

Staggerly, your watery eyes rose up again, "It is in my best interest not to be married off against my own will, father." You pleaded, taking hold of Daemon's wrist from his hand on your shoulder, "Please."

"You are also closer to being Rhaenyra's child than Baela or Rhaena could ever be." Daemon continued his reasoning, "Besides, they are already betrothed, as is Alicent's firstborn. You and the second Prince will be the final piece, so to speak."

You shook your head weakly, "I love Rhaenyra but she's not my mother, not by blood, we both know it."

Daemon raised his brows, placating you. "You're not her blood but you are mine. And Rhaenyra took you as her ward, raised you as her own since she first met you. Our… differences with Queen Alicent lay heavier on her shoulders, as you know."

His words left you lost and uneasy. You bit into the inside of your cheek until nearly tasting blood, avoiding your father's stare. He made a good point, deep down you knew he did. Tensions were high between your family, and a strong union was necessary for a chance of peace. And heavens know Aemond is most dear to you, oh he is; but no girl wants her freedom taken away like this. "Please father, don't. Don't take away my choice on this." You tried one last time.

There was a beat of silence, and then Daemon's hands came to your cheeks, thumbs smoothing the skin of your cheekbones; just a little rough yet holding nothing but affection. "My first daughter, my zaldrītsos." He spoke low and soft, a voice he most used to you during the nights you were young and afraid of storms. "Ever since I took you from the hands of your drunk of a mother, what do I tell you? Do you remember?"

A sob climbed to your throat and you failed to bite it back. There were tears in your eyes one blink away from spilling. "That as long as you lived... I'd- I'd be alright."

A small, proud smile came to your father's features. He nodded once. "That's right. I would never do wrong by you, I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't our only playing card. Marriages are political agreements. It's a contract for a chance of peace between our families. Once it is done you can pursue happiness wherever you'd like."

And yet you didn't know how to tell him, that this political agreement might destroy your last hope of rebuilding what you once had with your now betrothed. You knew what would be expected of you and Aemond now, at every court and royal gathering you'd have to be side by side, it would be your duty to hold the appearances of a united Prince and Princess of the realm.

How will you do it? How will you hold his hand knowing it was neither yours nor his choice to do it?

How will you pretend to be in love, knowing nothing will be real, when deep down in your heart you wished it was?

"I wish it could be different," Daemon spoke again when you kept quiet, gaze miles away, "But a war is brewing." He dropped his hands from you, glancing up at the darkening sky. "And this union may help us avoid it, the one between our families, at least."

You closed your eyes and emptied your lungs. All your fight left your body, and a feeling of numbness settled in. You opened your eyes. "Does- does Aemond already know about this?"

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

There were two knocks on the doors that led to Queen Alicent's chambers, a moment later, the doors were pushed open.

"Prince Aemond, Your Grace." The guard stationed outside the doors announced. Aemond slowly walked in, and the doors were closed behind him again.

Alicent sat on the couch in the middle of her room, a cup of tea in hand as she looked out the open windows. Her attention shifted once the doors opened.

"Mother," Aemond called, halting his steps by the edge of the couch. His hair partially disheveled from the speed with which he traversed the long hallways of the Keep until reaching his mother's chambers, anxiety and apprehension spurring him on.

"Aemond," Alicent placed her cup of tea on the small table, getting up to take a few steps closer to her son, "I was just about to send for you."

Aemond gulped back, striving to keep his voice from sounding as nervous as he felt, "I've just met with Aegon in the training yard." He frowned, recalling the confusing words of his brother. "He speaks of… some news regarding me, I believe, that I do not yet know."

His words made Alicent groan, closing her eyes momentarily, "He must have overheard my conversation with Rhaenyra and her husband." She sighed, regarding Aemond with a look he couldn't decipher. "I am glad he held his tongue, I wished to tell you this myself."

Aemond took a step closer, his voice softening in the slightest. "What is it, mother? Did something happen?"

"No," Alicent spoke even softer, extending her hands and taking hold of Aemond's forearms who promptly held her the same. Her thumbs moved up and down on the fabric of his sleeves. "But, my son, your father and I have made a decision, one which I hope you can understand."

A frown then came to Aemond's features. He held onto his breath until his lungs ached, tightening the hold he had on his mother's arms; fearing the worst, even if he had no idea of what 'the worst' could be. And in the midst of it all, the headache came back. It always began with a heaviness in the back of his skull, but it would soon spread to his temples, forehead, and down the harsh scar.

Aemond blinked a few times, trying to chase the pain away even if he knew it was to no avail.

Alicent inhaled deeply, giving Aemond what looked to be a bittersweet smile. "Rhaenyra and Daemon have made an offer," she hesitated, "A betrothal between you… and Daemon's eldest daughter."

Many times in his life Aemond has felt lost, helpless, unable to move his body while his heart thundered inside his chest. Yet he wondered if any at all could compare to how he's feeling now.

The One-Eyed Prince tried to keep his face impassive, almost painfully so; but he knew his wide eye reflected his surprise, he knew his tight grip on his mother's arms reflected his desperation, he knew the wobbling of his lower lip reflected his fears.

You. He was to be betrothed. To you.

The one person he wished to have back for so many years. The one person who he has missed for so many years. The one person who he'd convinced himself that, for better or worse, did not care about him anymore. The pounding pain in his head grew stronger, following suit with his spiking emotions, and he gritted his teeth.

"My son," Alicent reached one hand up to Aemond's cheek when the helpless look in his eye tugged at her heart. "I believe it can be a good idea. Your father wishes for peace between our houses, between our families, and… perhaps we should honor his wish." She held a pause, minding her next words. "He's not doing well, your father, as you know. And Rhaenyra is to take the throne, maybe sooner than we thought."

Aemond took in her words one by one, trying to find his voice but with no luck. All he did was look at his mother. He knew, of course, that she was right. If anything he'd made tensions even higher between their family after what happened at supper last night, and part of him didn't want to bring more sorrow to his mother's life by going against this betrothal.

"With this marriage, our families would be united once again." Alicent squeezed Aemond's arms, willing him to understand, "I refused an offer such as this in the past… and I don't think I should make the same mistake now." She gulped down any pride, yet still raised her chin, "For the sake of our lives. Yours, your brother's. A union with the hope of peace during Rhaenyra's rule."

Aemond averted his eye, his hand still sore from holding his sword during the sparring session with Cole, his scarred eye socket stinging persistently. He dropped his arms to his side, flexing his fingers. "I am- I am to marry…" He hesitated on your name and closed his eye in frustration.

Alicent understood anyway, and her son's hesitation brought sympathy to her. Features softening, one of her hands rubbed Aemond's arm in an attempt to comfort him, "Yes. But I remember how the two of you used to be the best of friends, always together. I am sure your marriage will be a happy one, my son." She spoke with a note of empathy, gently; "It is a privilege, to marry someone you like."

Aemond exhaled shakily. Few and far in between as they were, the moments when he could lean into a mother's embrace were always cherished by the One-Eyed Prince. Yet there was a poorly concealed lump in his throat, a restlessness making his fingers tap his thigh.

Aemond refrained from telling his mother how he feared you didn't like him as you once used to anymore. He refrained from telling his mother how he would never wish for a woman like you to be stuck with a man like him.

With a tightness in his chest, deep down Aemond knew you deserved better. Better than he could ever be.

But alas, he opened his eye, looking down at the hopeful look on his mother's face even if his headache almost got her blending with the faded sunlight seeping through the windows.

Aemond managed a small, pained smile, and nodded.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter

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[imagine-darksiders]

Transformers Prime: Optimus X Reader. Chapter 2.

The Letdown.

Part 1

Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family, Optimus is a big, overprotective worry-wort with a soft spot for humans, Reader has more issues than Vogue.

Let me know if you'd be interested in a part 3 :]

------------------

Optimus has always been an honest mech. Even before he was bestowed with the Matrix of Leadership, Orion-wet-behind-the-audials-Pax was about as good at carrying a lie as Miko is at keeping herself out of trouble.

Not much changed after Orion became a Prime.

Deception never came easily to him. Frank and truthful in all he does, there are times when even the principled leader of the Autobots has to concede that sometimes, deceit is a regrettable, but unavoidable necessity.

That doesn’t mean he’s grown better at it though.

Lying, in any capacity, makes the stoic and unflinching mech feel as if his glossa has been dipped in a coat of lead. To his own audial receptors, the insubstantial white-lie he’d coaxed you with sounded clumsy, even stilted – just two more things unbefitting of a Prime.

The Matrix had bucked inside his chassis when he fabricated the story that convinced you to accept his assistance. It had, however, quickly settled down after Optimus reminded himself that this was a lie borne from the best of intentions.

He may be the most fastidious in following his own self-set rule to remain incognito on Earth, but even a stickler like him could hardly ignore a human in need.

And you were in need, he reflects as he tentatively adjusts his rear-view mirror, angling it towards your face as surreptitiously as he can.

The memory of your desolate, beaten expression is bruised right into the forefront of his processor, where it’s sure to remain for some time to come. Bathed in the dim glow of his headlights, you’d stared up at his grill with the same frightened trepidity of a doe peering down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. You’d approached his open door with such caution, your tiny yet vital pulse rabbiting inside the veins and vessels that pump precious blood through your fragile, little body.

You were afraid of him, and it would be remiss of the great Prime to deny that the realisation had plucked at a tender node running through his spark-chamber.

It felt like a rejection.

‘Really, Optimus?’ He can almost hear Arcee’s cool, bemused ribbing now. ‘One human doesn’t like you, and suddenly your self-esteem takes a hit?’

She’d be right to tease him, of course. A Prime ought to be above such concerns.

Yet still…

A human had needed help, and Optimus’s very presence – once described as a comfort by Jack when the boy thought he couldn’t hear – was enough to almost instil a fear in you so profound, you’d have sooner braved the cold emptiness of a desert and your own exhaustion than accept his aid.

Optimus eases his engine to a constant, steady hum as he drives down Highway 49, his weary passenger secured inside his alt mode. Distantly, he notes how some of his custodial protocols have settled back to lay dormant amongst his codes once again, the same protocols that rear their heads like spitting cobras whenever he sees one of the children in danger.

But for now, there is no danger, and so, contented, the Prime allows himself to cruise at a lax pace towards the distant, twinkling lights appearing on the dark horizon.

Jasper.

You mentioned that your journey ends at the dairy pastures out towards the East of town, where well-watered fields of grass are nestled beneath the shadows cast by enormous, twisting rock spires.

But why are you heading there in the first place?

The silence inside his cab starts to grow stifling. And although the quiet doesn’t bother him in the least, Optimus is conscious of your bouncing leg, and the small, quivering fingers kneading anxiously around the straps of the bag you’ve yet to remove.

It doesn’t look heavy… The note you left on the window of your truck claimed that the vehicle is all you have, and he has no doubt that what little else you might call yours is tucked safely within the leather rucksack that’s currently pinned between your spine and Optimus’s seat.

It may not look heavy, but neither does it look particularly comfortable.

Beneath the shell of armour and metal parts concealing his face, Optimus feels his brow plates twitch in their attempt to furrow gently towards one another.

“Perhaps you’d-“ he starts, only to hurriedly cut the feedback to his voice box when you promptly go rigid against his seat, your drooping, crimson-tinted eyes flying open to roll around his cabin like a spooked equine mammal. “My apologies,” he amends contritely, letting his voice drop to such an unobtrusive pitch, it almost mingles with the purr of his engine, “I only meant to tell you, there is ample room in the footwell for your belongings…”

Leaving an indicative silence in his wake, Optimus regards you curiously as you tighten your grip on the tattered, leather straps slung over your shoulders, though your gaze does flick down to survey the space around your shoes.

You may have traded your name for his, but it’s clear you’re still wound up tighter than a coiled spring.

“Oh,” you eventually murmur, and he’s pleased to see your white-knuckle grasp go slack.

As you begin to slowly slide the bag from your shoulders, every movement stiff and uncertain, Optimus nonetheless lets out an approving hum and returns his senses to the road ahead, though his focus remains almost entirely on the soft speck of warmth shifting around in his passenger seat.

Not for the first time, Optimus is struck by how much larger cybertronians are than humans. Even when you lean forwards and lower your rucksack down towards his footwell, his sensors barely register your presence.

At least your weight is more substantial than Rafael’s, he muses.

Once, during a rare but pleasant occurrence in which he was the only bot available to shuttle their tiniest member from school to the Base, Optimus had tried – and failed – to refrain from checking that the boy was still safely strapped in his passenger seat every ten nanoclicks.

Giving his engine a rev to shake himself from the memory, Optimus speaks again, mindful to keep his volume low this time. “May I ask you something, Y/n?”

He watches as you finally relinquish your hold on the bag, letting it drop with the utmost care into the space by your feet. “Of course,” you say genially, turning less and less guarded as the warmth of his cab envelopes you, beckoning you towards a much-needed rest.

“What brings you to Jasper?”

Small talk is hardly Optimus’s forte, but the nature of your unfortunate circumstances had shifted something deep within his spark and left it murmuring unhappily behind his colossal chassis.

Oblivious to the Prime’s concern, you cast another doleful glance towards the driver’s side, leaning back until your shoulders just barely ghost the fabric of your seat. “Only business, I’m afraid,” you offer, vaguely, “Nothing exciting. What about you? Are you based out here?”

“I am,” your mysterious driver responds just as concisely before he swings the topic back around to you, much to your dismay, “But this… Terry-“ He says the name as if it’s entirely foreign to him, like a word in another language that he isn’t sure how to pronounce. “-Is he a friend of yours?”

Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand, pivoting it lazily from side to side. “Not exactly…” you eke out. After a moment mulling it over further, you let your hand flop down into your lap again with a sigh. “Actually, no, not at all. He’s barely an acquaintance. I’ve only spoken to him once over the phone when he called to offer me a job.”

Optimus is too slow to mute the heavy hum that rolls through him, reverberating across his cabin and up through your seat.

You must pick up on his apprehension because you quirk one corner of your lips and exhale through a humourless chuckle. “I know… Ironic, isn’t it? I didn’t want to hop in a stranger’s truck, but I’ll travel all the way to Nevada to work for a guy I’ve spoken to once.”

Inwardly, Optimus fights back a frown. Soon enough, his cab is once again filled by his rich, mellow tone, just a few iotas shy of admonishing. “I assume you must have had a good reason for coming here.”

At that, you bark out a slightly louder harrumph. “I have a reason,” you admit before dropping your voice and tugging your brows together until they pucker at the middle of your forehead, gazing solemnly out through the windscreen, “Still haven’t figured out if it’s a good one or not…”

Frowning at the distant lights of Jasper, you miss the way the semi’s rearview mirror twitches microscopically to bring you into centre-frame.

The Prime casts his hidden optics discreetly over your strained expression.

Jaw cinched tight… Hands curled rigidly over your knees. Your whole frame is hunched in on itself, shoulders lifting towards your ears as if you mean to hide between them…

He doesn’t need to scan your vitals to know that your amygdala has just kicked itself up a gear.

You’re scared. And this time, something tells him that he isn’t the cause.

“Perhaps,” he starts slowly, waiting for you to unclench your jaw in response to his voice, “I could offer a third-party perspective.”

Snorting quietly, you reply, “To help me work out if I’m doing the wrong thing?”

“It may ease your troubles to share them,” he offers considerately, having to override the urge to send a soothing stroke through your EM field – or lack thereof.

Sometimes, Optimus finds himself stumped for how to connect with humans on the same level as he can Cybertronians. It’s through no fault of their own, nor his. It simply comes down to a difference in biology.

With the latter, he can so clearly convey a feeling or notion through the electrical impulses cast out by his matrix, and the spark housing it.

Oftentimes, he’ll have to brush his field against Ratchet’s when the agitated medic starts kicking out frustration and, so often, despair. He more frequently does the same to Bumblebee if ever the youngling grows despondent from Rafael’s absence. Arcee’s bouts of fury at the Decpticons, and Bulkhead’s ferocious protectiveness over Miko… Prime has felt it all, brought them into his field, and countered with a presence intended to calm and reassure without having to offer a single word.

But humans… They’re more difficult to soothe.

He has to go by tone and expression alone. The children are easier to read, but adults are a different story; masters at hiding their truest and most vulnerable thoughts behind facades they’ve had years to perfect.

How often has he caught himself trying to wrap Jack, Miko and Raf up inside his solicitous EM field before he remembers they’re human children, not sparklings? They can’t feel his energies like a Cybertronian would.

But regardless, he hopes they know that despite maintaining a poised and collected exterior, Optimus has a spark that’s familiarised itself well with their own, precious heartbeats.

He’s pulled from his musings by your soft, sardonic laugh. “What’re you gonna charge me the going rate of a therapist?” you joke, giving the empty driver’s seat a wry smile.

“I would never dream of charging you for anything,” he insists at once, so sincere that you think he either missed the joke entirely or he’s trying to bulldoze through your defences simply by being nice.

“Good,” you hum, “Because I couldn’t afford a minute of time with a therapist, let alone a whole session. Spent the last of what I had on fuel just to get here.”

“If you require financial aid,” Optimus tells you resolutely, “I would be happy to provide it.”

There are responses you’d expect to hear, and then there are those that make you choke on your own spit.

Lurching upright in your seat, your brows shoot up towards your hairline and you whip your torso around to gawk at the invisible driver. “What!?” you all but blurt, throwing an arm out to steady yourself against the dashboard. “What the- What!?”

The vehicle around you seems to churr apologetically.

“Ah… forgive me,” Optimus hedges, sounding uncharacteristically contrite, “Have I offended you?”

Blinking in rapid succession, you flap your mouth open and closed wordlessly for a few seconds, reeling your heat back up from the bottom of your shoes. “Wh-I… No,” you stammer at last, shaking your head, “No, no. I’m not offended, I’m just..”

Cutting yourself off to huff out an incredulous laugh, you press a few fingers to your temple, rubbing at it tenderly. “Christ, you’re a hoot, Optimus.”

A quick search on the internet only serves to baffle Optimus further. And as he attempts to make the connection between himself and a nocturnal bird of prey, you drag a hand down your face and let out another disbelieving little chuckle.

“Scooping me up in the dead of night, and now you’re offering me money… People will talk.”

Flicking the information on Strigiformes from his HUD, Optimus politely returns his attention to you and asks, “Is it unusual to offer money to those in need?”

“Not if that they’re a charity,” you clarify, the smile on your face turning limp as you shoot his seat a glare that lacks any kind of heat, “I’m not a charity, Optimus. I’m just an idiot who can’t keep a job.”

The truck’s engine suddenly kicks out a guttural growl just as it’s driver firmly states, “You are far from an idiot, Y/n. And… my offer still stands.”

“An offer I’m afraid I’ll have to respectfully decline,” you counter, though the frown on your face is slowly being replaced by a tentative smile, “Look, I appreciate the offer. I do. But you’re already going above and beyond to help someone you don’t know. If you keep being so nice to me, I’ll start thinking you came from the sky!”

All of a sudden, the semi’s brakes dip, only a little, barely enough to jostle you from your seat, but enough that you hastily glance out the windscreen to see if he had to slow for an obstruction in the road.

In the background, Optimus’s speakers give a burst of static before he forces out, “I don’t… The sky?”

“Yeah,” you answer blithely, “You know, like an angel.”

A hush falls over the cab as Optimus processes your words. After a time, the only think of any substance he can come up with is a soft, considering, “Oh…”

The same quiet settles itself over your shoulders, weighing them down, and you start to wonder if you’ve inadvertently insulted your mysterious driver by rejecting his offer too harshly. Before you can open your mouth to try and salvage your standing with him however, he clears his throat and utters, “You flatter me.”

“Do I?” you ask, sinking back into the seat and turning to peer out of the window, glad he doesn’t sound affronted, “Sorry if I seem out of practice, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to in… in a while.”

Optimus goes silent again, leaving you to listen to the rumble of his semi’s tyres travelling over the tarmac for several, lonely moments until he speaks again.

“You’re lonely,” he deduces, so gently and so condolingly that something in your chest gives a squeeze. Then, once again, just as you take a breath to protest his assumption, he asks, “Y/n? Why did you leave your home to come here?”

“… Ah…” Sucking a breath through your teeth, you sit up, lifting your back off the comfortable seat, much to Optimus’s private dismay, “Well, that’s… that’s a long and boring story,” you try to laugh.

As if in response, the truck slows down a few notches until the needle hovers over the forty mark. “I’ll wager it isn’t boring at all,” he prompts, “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension in your brows starts to cause an ache, and you stuff your teeth into your bottom lip to distract yourself. “It really is a classic,” you chuckle, wholly intent on brushing his concern aside, “You’ve probably heard it a hundred times before. Straight from the runaway’s handbook.”

Softly, the strange but kind man chides you. “Y/n…”

A lump starts to form in your throat but you force another laugh through it, pulling your chin from your knuckles to aim a look over your shoulder, hoping that his cameras don’t pick up your quivering lip. “Wait… Are you actually a therapist?” you joke, “Is that your day job?”

“Please?”

With a single word, your mouth snaps shut.

Swallowing, you try to bristle defensively, wishing you weren’t so hatefully tired and vulnerable that a simple ‘please’ could knock down a wall of indifference. “Come on, Optimus,” you scoff weakly, “I’m not about to offload my baggage onto a stranger. And we both know you’re not really interested.”

Unheard by you, a strong puff of hot air blasts from the semi’s smokestacks.

“I am loathe to contradict you, youngling,” he retorts, briefly throwing you off with the unusual word, “But I am interested. If you are in some sort of trouble-?“

At once, your spine turns stiff and you cut him off with a scowl, snapping waspishly, “-Who says I’m in trouble?”

Somehow, when he falls silent this time, he manages to exude an air of mild objurgation, and you can’t help but feel like a teenager again, slinking home well after midnight to find your parents still up and waiting for your return.

The comparison humbles you, takes some of the wind out of your ruffled sails.

Optimus’s pointed silence sinks over the cab like a thick, cumbersome blanket, too itchy. You want to throw it off.

Sullen, you swivel yourself back to face the window and lean your forehead against the cool glass, frowning out at the silver-soaked desert drifting by. Your mysterious stranger’s semi drives so smoothly, you can’t even feel the bumps.

But you can feel Optimus’s eyes upon you… somehow, as though he’s just waiting for you to make the next move.

Shifting in your seat, you stubbornly ignore the awkward silence, but it isn’t long before that awkwardness evolves into a kernel of guilt that embeds itself under your ribcage.

Here’s a man who so far, has been nothing but cordial and helpful to you. Hell, even downright generous. All he’s asked of you in return is to hear your reason for being here.

And what did you do?

You threw his – likely genuine – interest back in his proverbial face.

But to tell him…-

‘-Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,’ you scold yourself, ‘You’re not that exciting. You could have been through far worse, after all.’

Resisting the impulse to groan aloud, you knock your forehead gently against the window, considering.

For his part, Optimus doesn’t press you, he doesn’t clear his throat or try to change the subject, he just… waits.

And finally, alongside a great heave of your chest and a woebegone sigh, his patience is rewarded.

“You ever feel… like…” Squinting, you work the sentence over in your mouth before pushing it past reluctant teeth, “Like you’re not living up to everyone’s expectations?”

If you had any idea who you’d just asked that question of, you might have realised what the sudden lurch of his engine means.

Chalking it up to the truck changing gears, you peel yourself away from the window and stare down at your lap, fingers absently fiddling with one another. “It’s like… Okay, so, you know how people around you always say, ‘just try your best, that’s all you can do?”

When it becomes clear that you’re actually poised, expecting an answer, Optimus ventures a careful, “I have heard that many a time, yes.”

“And you want to try your best for them, right? You want to be a better person?”

“Of course,” he says far more easily, only to hesitate when you go still and your face crumples.

“But… you don’t want it badly enough...” you eke out slowly.

“…I’m sorry?”

“You don’t want it badly enough to actually put any effort into being that person, you know?”

This time, Optimus doesn’t offer a response.

You almost want to smile. Of course he doesn’t know. Look at him. Picking up a random stranger in the night to drive you where you need to go, offering a sympathetic ear to listen to your troubles, offering money when you tell him you lost your job… If he put effort into being better, they’d have to make him a Saint.

“I wasn’t… giving my best,” you finally sigh at the centre console, “At my job, at home… I knew I wasn’t giving my best, and I didn’t try to. I had everyone fooled into thinking that what I was giving them was all I had…. But it wasn’t…”

Suddenly, your eyes blur over with stinging, salty tears, and you duck your head at once, frowning angrily at yourself, “Not even close.”

Optimus murmurs your name, but you can’t bear to let him try and say anything kind to you now, not when you’ve just plucked at such a tender wound, and kindness would only rip the scab off sooner than you’re ready to let it bleed.

“I was, um… I was late to work one morning at my old job,” you clear your throat, sweeping a finger roughly under your eyelid, “Overslept. That was grounds for firing me. Lost my apartment because I couldn’t make the rent anymore… When I eventually bit the bullet and went home to tell dad, he…”

Your voice fades out, clogged by the memory of that day so many weeks ago, another in a long line of disappointments you’d walked over your parents’ welcome mat.

But Optimus is still waiting, still reserving his judgement until you finish, so you take a breath, remind yourself that all of this is nobody’s fault but your own, and continue. “I think… it was slowly killing my father to see his kid wasting a perfectly good life instead of being the person he thought I’d become.”

You try so hard to remain aloof, but the late hour, the solitary journey, this stranger’s amicable nature… Something akin to a shard of glass wedges its point under the soft tissue of your heart.

And jabs.

Suppressing a wince, you plaster nonchalance into a shrug and sniff, “So, I figured if he couldn’t see me, like at all, he might… be happier.” It’s hard to admit, just as it was when you made the decision to leave your house that night and set out to find your own way in the great, wide world.

Finally, just as the semi drives past a large, green sign that reads ‘Jasper city limits,’ Optimus’s voice rumbles through the speakers.

“You left your home,” he begins slowly, “Because you thought you might disappoint your father?”

Close.

You left because you knew you already had.

Not just him either.

Partnerless, childless, you’ve been drifting through life by yourself on the path of least resistance, and every year, you grow older, and you watched your mother and father grow older too.

Leaning your head back against the seat, you nearly let your eyes slip shut before remembering you’re supposed to be staying awake, pinning them open to peer up at the blue light reflected off a dark ceiling.

“… Does he at least know where you are?”

You smile sadly, rolling your neck around to your other shoulder and giving the empty driver’s seat a heavy-lidded blink. “He knows I’ll be okay.”

Just then, the seatbelt seems to grow ever so slightly tauter around you, just enough that you can feel it press against your abdomen, but so briefly that you can’t be sure it isn’t your chest hitching.

“He must be worried about you,” Optimus prompts.

Shrugging, you turn back to face the window. “Like I said, he knows I’ll bounce back. I… usually do. I mean I have done so far.”

Another disquieted hum trickles out of the speakers.

“That’s why I had to get to the dairy tonight,” you sniffle, blinking hard as the truck passes beneath the first street-light, bringing you safely within the city outskirts, “I have to make sure Terry thinks I’m worth keeping on as a farm-hand. If I’m late on my first day and he decides I’m not worth it…”  Your hands ball into clenched fists in your lap and you grit your teeth, determined not to let your misty eyes spill all over Optimus’s seats.

“I need this job,” you croak, more to yourself now than your invisible listener, “Not sure how many bounces I’ve got left in me.”

This time, you’re certain the seatbelt tightens. You even spare it a glance when it doesn’t slacken again, and you force your fists apart to slide your fingers beneath the fabric, gently working it loose.

Optimus is barely aware of your touch. “You should try to contact your father,” he says at last, “I’m certain that if he hears of your circumstances, and learns why you left and where you are, he’ll be able to help you.”

He watches you blink, frowning suddenly and sitting up to give his side of the cab a baffled look. Slowly, your expression opens up as a realisation dawns on you, one not yet privy to the mech.

“Oh,” you say, mildly surprised, “You think it was only my decision to leave.”

-----------------------------------------

Optimus doesn’t know which is worse.

That you could feel like such a burden to your family, you thought leaving would make them happy.

Or the fact that your family had done nothing to stop you from walking out the door.

--------------------------------------

There aren’t a great many things that a Prime is permitted to regret.

That does not, however, make them incapable of regret. Only the admission of it.

By the time Optimus’s gargantuan tyres turn onto the long, sandy driveway of Terry’s Dairy, he realises he’s added one more contrition to his ever-growing list. He’s gone behind your back, turned a blind optic to your wishes and invaded your privacy in a way that made the matrix in his chassis squirm and howl.

But it’s all he could think to do for you at short notice, he laments, short of carting you back to the silo and ensuring you get some proper rest. Ratchet would probably take one look at your vitals and order a week of inactivity. Then he’d likely tear Optimus a new finial for bringing yet another human into their fold.

It would be counterproductive, he supposes. After all, the Decepticons aren’t aware of your existence, and affiliating yourself with the Autobots will only paint a target on your back.

No, leaving you here is for the best, he reasons, though he resolves to avoid going behind your back again in the future.

He also resolves to make the drive up to the pastures part of his weekly patrol… Not for any particular reason – it’s possible the Decepticons also prowl along these old roads… And if, on his way by, he happens to cast a glance over and see you, well… All the better.

“Are you certain you’ll be alright?” he asks for the umpteenth time as he trundles to a stop in front of a modest, wooden farmhouse, his headlights bathing the little white porch in their dazzling glow.

Giving a jovial roll of your eyes, you haul your rucksack out of the footwell and reach down to press the seatbelt release, having to jab at it with your thumb a few times before it eventually relents and lets go of the metal buckle.

“Don’t you worry about me,” you tell him stoutly as you reach for the door handle. That too, you struggle to open, tugging at it with no success until the lock promptly goes ‘click’ and the door swings open of its own accord.

Clicking your tongue at the temperamental tech, you arduously slide yourself from the seat and swing the rucksack over a shoulder, climbing backwards down the steps. “You just worry about getting this truck in tip-top shape. Sounded like the engine had a mind of its own.”

Dropping the last foot to the ground, your knees threaten to buckle, but you manage to remain upright, stepping back to smile up into the cab before the door tugs itself shut.

Right on cue, the semi’s idling engine lets out a noisy rev, instantly drawing a laugh out of you.

“Ha!” you grin, “Yeah, just like-”

You’re promptly interrupted by an unexpected commotion from the house.

Whipping your head towards the porch, you let out a yelp as the screen door suddenly bursts open, and from the darkness comes barrelling a short, stocky man wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama shorts, a single shoe, and a ferocious snarl.

But most alarmingly of all, is the shiny, side-by-side shotgun held aloft in his arms, the stock braced against his shoulder and one, keen eye staring straight down the sights.

All the moisture in your mouth dries up when you realise those long, glinting barrels are aimed directly at you.

“What the-!?” is all you can bleat out.

Without a moment’s warning, the truck beside you roars to life and suddenly lurches forwards on its wheels, thrusting itself like a wall of metal into the space between you and the gun-toting farmer.

“Wh- Optimus!” you exclaim, trying to stand on your toes to fruitlessly see over the semi’s grill. “Terry!? Is that you!?”

“I told you sons of bitches,” the incensed man hollers, “F’I ever caught you tryn’a mess with my cows again, I’d-!”

“Terry!” Stepping sideways, you attempt to move around Optimus’s semi, only for the truck to roll forwards, keeping you hidden safely behind its bumper.

“Optimus, stop it,” you hiss, planting a palm on the warm, thundering hood and darting around the front of his truck, too quickly for him to move forwards again lest he squash you beneath his radiator.

Lifting your voice, you hurriedly call out, “Terry, i-it’s me! Y/n? We spoke on the phone! About the job!”

You’re met with a stunned silence as you manage to skirt around to the other side of the semi’s bumper, keeping your hand on the metal as if that alone could keep the ten-tonne machine at bay.

Finally, ‘Terry’ comes into view, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you meet his steely glare through the sights.

Then, just as swiftly, he blinks, and the gun drops almost at once, his face bursting open in surprise. “Y/n? That you, kid?” he calls.

The palpable relief almost brings you to your knees. Taking your hand off the truck’s grill, you step forwards, eyeing the gun warily as it dangles at the farmer’s side. “Yeah, it’s me… Sorry.”

“Goddammit, Kid! You about gave me a damn heart attack!”

“I gave you a heart attack!?” Expelling a shaky breath, you card your fingers through your messy hair and add, “Jesus, Terry. Was the gun really necessary?”  

There’s a line of sweat beading on the farmer’s wispy brow as he flicks his gaze between you and the revved-up truck lurking behind you. After a moment of squinting, he returns his eyes to you. “Can’t be too careful,” he grunts, “This old thing ain’t even loaded. Just use it to scare away some damn kids who’ve been comin’ round here and spookin’ up my herds.”

True to his word, Terry breaks the shotgun’s barrels, flipping the gun around in his hands to show you the empty chambers.

At that moment, as if he’d been waiting to determine that the danger had passed, Optimus puts his semi in reverse, rolling it backwards over the sand as you turn to watch him leave, absently raising a hand to wave farewell as he turns the truck around.

Just before he does, the semi’s headlights blink once, then twice, on and off, a farewell in his own right, before its wheels carry it around in the spacious yard and it begins to drive, leaving the way it had come, back up the lonely, sand-choked track.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Terry breathes, draping a wrist over his forehead and letting out an incredulous chuckle, “The Angel…” Tearing his eyes off the truck’s retreating taillights, he stares over at you, mouth crooked into a lopsided grin. “How the Hell’d you get a ride with the goddamn Angel?”

“I’m sorry,” you sputter, eyelashes flickering in disbelief, “Angel?”  

Terry’s expression morphs from giddy excitement to a wistful, faraway gaze. “The Angel of Highway Forty-Nine,” he says breathlessly, his eyes sharpening once again as he turns them back onto you, “He’s a legend. Just showed up one day in that big ol’ truck of his. Noone knows who he is or where he came from! A ghost, that’s what folks say, who drives his rig up and down the roads around Jasper. Never stoppin’ for gas. Never gettin’ to where he’s goin.”

Suddenly, his demeanour shifts again, and he closes the distance between you, lowering his voice conspiratorially and lifting his hand up to his mouth as if to shield the words from prying ears. Though the only ears you can see are those of the cows watching sleepily from their barn, no doubt awoken by the ruckus. “I know folks who swear, when they drive past him on the road, they look, but not one of ‘em has ever seen a person behind that windscreen!”

“Oh my,” you return, feigning intrigue with a tired expertise, “That’s spooky. But… maybe the glass is just tinted?”

Terry leans backwards out of your bubble, spreading his arms wide and pursing his lips. “Maybe,” he concedes, only to immediately drop his arms again, and you watch in mild concern as his face splits into a wide, borderline-manic grin, “Or maybe… He’s an alien, and that big rig there?” He points the barrel of his shotgun down the farm track at the spot where Optimus had disappeared. “That’s his craft.”

…. Ah.

Paying dutiful attention, you follow his line of sight, eyebrows high on your head and a carefully pensive gaze laid bare for Terry to see.

“His craft?” you echo, “You mean like a spaceship?”

The old farmer’s face lights up and his eyes zero in on you like a car salesman who’s just spotted a clueless customer stumbling into his showroom.

It took twenty minutes for Terry to show you to the little annex you’d be living in from now on. And only another five for you to thank him profusely for giving you this chance, bid him goodnight, shuck off your shoes and rucksack and finally, finally flop face-first onto the bed. A real bed. With pillows and sheets and a blanket. Not the bed of an old pickup truck and a coat tossed over your legs for warmth.

Rolling onto your back, you splay your arms out on either side of you, sending a tiny smile up at the ceiling.

“Alien… Ha,” you laugh softly. Terry’s a character. Decent enough, but the scent of stale beer and hops lingering on his breath when he leaned in close stole some of the credence from his theory.

Now, Angel… you can get behind. Optimus had shown up right when you needed him, after all, even if you couldn’t see it for yourself at the time.

Ah, but Optimus is the good sort. And good sorts tend to drift to where they’re needed, helping out wherever they can. You’re not the good sort. You just muddle on through and go wherever you can, helping out where your help is invited.

You resolve to bite the bullet and just check how much is in your current account. See if you’ve got enough in there to hire a tow, or a friendly farmer with a tractor and a rope…

The passcode screen flicks away, and you’re left blinking tiredly at the figure on top of the page.

You blink once.

Then again, harder.

Then you promptly drop the phone onto the bed with a soft ‘whump.’

Snatching it back up, you gape at the screen, drop it again, then throw your hands over your mouth in abject horror.

There must be some mistake. You’re dreaming, you fell asleep, and this is a dream, surely to god!?

A third check yields the same results, and once again, you toss the phone away from you to the foot of the bed, staring after it as if it might come alive at any moment.

No matter how hard you squeeze your fingernails into your scalp, you can’t wake up from whatever twisted fantasy you’ve stumbled into.

The numbers and words are burned into your retinas, flashing dimly every time you blink.

‘$10,000 has been added to your account.’

[weenwrites]

Anonymous asked: Hello again! Just wondering if you could do headcannons for tfp Optimus, Starscream and Megatron, with a cybertronian reader who is REALLY tall, like twice their size, but is secretly just a big softy, a total cinnamon roll

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Optimus

After the incident with Makeshift, he's naturally suspicious of you the moment the team receives the distress beacon from some unknown vessel harboring a cybertronian lifeform. Upon meeting you, his suspicions only grow as he learns that you were a low-ranking soldier back on Cybertron. He's unsure whether he's heard your name mentioned amongst the armies he's led, and neither is anyone else on the team all too familiar with you.

Even if you were able to prove your alliance lies with the Autobots, he's hesitant to bring you back to base. If you deceived him, you're not going to be an easy threat to handle, Makeshift proved that when he opened a direct groundbridge to the Nemesis and nearly exposed the team's location. He personally takes it upon himself to monitor and supervise you as you gradually gain their trust. He doesn't leave you for a moment, as he fears that any sliver of neglect on his end will serve as an opportunity for you to possibly betray the team, as was the case before.

However as time progresses, his suspicions are thankfully proven false, and he becomes pleased to see how well you get along with everyone else on the team. He gradually begins to feel as though you "brighten" the room whenever you walk in and start talking with someone, and the rest of the team enjoys having you around. He too shares those sentiments, even if he doesn't personally speak with you much. Rather he enjoys your company whenever he hears the others speaking with you, or whenever you spend time around him.

Starscream

When it comes to being issued commands, it can come off as a little difficult to notice how bossy he is with you. He's normally very commanding, rude, and domineering with everyone, so people usually pass this off as his usual behavior. Yet, if you have a keen enough eye, you'll notice that you're the only one he's treating this way.

Naturally, you'd befriend some vehicons, or at the very least get in their good graces, and they'll spill some gossip to you about him. They say a lot of things about him, and it's a mixed bag of exaggerated lies and half-truths, never just one or the other, or the absolute unadulterated truth at all. It's difficult to get a straight story from any one of them no matter how hard you try, but if you know how to discern truth from lie, you'll be able to chalk up his behavior to his own insecurities and his need to feel superior and in control.

Kindness with him will only get you oh so far, as he'll manipulate your kindness to his advantage, to get you on his side and beneath his heel so to speak. He doesn't truly see your kindness as anything more than a tool. At the very least, he thinks you're easily gullible.

Megatron

His first impression was that for your stature and given your previous experience as a soldier, you would make a very fine addition to his armada indeed! As soon as you stepped aboard and finished the tour, you were put to work in the mines, to guard, supervise, and monitor the vehicon miners there.

Before you arrived, the Autobots had been attacking mines left, right, and center, in due part to a lack of resources, Megatron surmises. As of now, they have only succeeded a handful of times and failed the rest, yet these attacks are still costing them their equipment, resources, and miners. But he expects this to be of little difficulty for you, as you will introduce an unexpected twist to what may come as simple routine to Prime and the other Autobots. They know who to expect, what to expect, as well as how to plan around it, and so they say it is difficult to combat the unexpected.

Additionally, the vehicons were also weary of you at first. They assumed you were simply respectful and obedient to Megatron as any Decepticon naturally is, yet the moment he turned his back, they'd start tip-toeing over eggshells. Yet you proved to be the exact opposite of who they made you out to be, and as such you became a favorite amidst them very quickly. There was no yelling, no unreasonable demands or orders, you treated them like actual people. Though not all of them like you for your kindness, you've become a favorite amidst a majority o them.

Though your personality makes you popular amidst the vehicons, he'd strictly forbid mercy of any kind toward the enemy or any human, given almost any situation. So he expects you to be unforgiving and ruthless in battle, as that is the precedent for any Decepticon warrior worthy of even a sliver of respect. Your kindness would only be a weakness for the enemy to exploit and manipulate to their advantage.

[mingtinys]

how flowers bloom and wither

pairing : lee chan x gn!reader , platonic! boo seungkwan x reader

apocalypse!au , exes to lovers , angst , hurt / minimal comfort

warnings : language , death , apocalyptic themes , depictions of wounds and blood , suicidal ideation , this is not a happy ending or story

word count : 6.3 k

requested ? no

a/n : heavily inspired by this juyeon fic that made my cry in my car (p.s. there is a jeonghan ver as well).

Your voice is the first to call his name in months. It's been so long that the cadence of it sounds foreign to his ears. Almost like another language entirely. A cry from the distance, barely audible in a way he easily dismisses it as a hallucination. Perhaps he was finally going mad.

He knows other survivors exist, he'd seen them in nearly every town he scavenged. Though in no reality had he ever assumed any of them knew his name. The world had not been kind enough to spare anyone who knew and loved Lee Chan. They'd all been swept away in the initial outbreak. And with no one tethering him to his own existence, he was no more than a living ghost amongst the ruins.

But then the voice calls again, this time closer. Behind him. Louder.

"Chan? Lee Chan!"

And even stranger, he knows this voice. Better than he knows the sound of his own name. Could pick it out of a crowd, blindfolded and all.

Though he still can't bring himself to believe it. Not even as he turns and your silhouette comes into view against the setting sun, your elongated shadow reaching out for him. Tattered shoes well beyond their usable years slap against the pavement as you sprint.

"Oh my God, Chan!"

It has to be a mirage. You'll pass straight through him like an apparition and the universe will laugh at him for believing another one of its cruel jokes.

Yet still, his arms open, and seconds later your full weight crashes into him. Like a tide breaking the shore, stirring up memories like loose sand in its wake.

It's the first time in months he's been held. Felt the warm touch of anything living, much less the safety of something familiar. Tears fill his eyes instantly as Chan clings to the one thing from his past he could never seem to bury. To what he can only assume is a pity gift from the universe making up for all the times it fucked him over. To you.

Your chest heaves against his as you ask, "Is it you? Is this real?"

Chan himself doesn't know the answer to that.

"I can't believe I found you," you breathe out once the air surrounding you two settles. You haven't let go yet and Chan doesn't want you to. Worried that when you finally do, he'll wake up back in the crumbling shed he'd used for shelter the night before. With his back against a cold, moldy mattress instead of being held by the warmth of a thousand suns. Alone again.

"Please say something," you nervously laugh. Despite the chill in the air, Chan's cheeks are burning up. He's at a loss, far too overwhelmed to produce anything remotely coherent. Though as you peel away to examine him, concern knitting your brows, one word does come to mind.

Wow.

You're still as radiant as he remembered. A diamond amongst the ruins of the world. It looks, for the most part, the universe has been kind to you. Good, he thinks.

"You're not..." Your expression falls. "You're not sick, are you?"

It's the fear in your eyes that finally prompts Chan to push down the lump in his throat. "No!" He rasps, then clears his throat. "No, I'm not sick. Promise."

"Are you hungry?"

Chan looks back at the reason he'd left his shelter in the first place, the rundown mini-mart about a hundred feet away. The stabbing pain in his stomach brings him back down to reality.

"There's nothing worthwhile in there, we already checked."

We?

Your arm extends to point past the mini-mart. Towards a small abandoned town that pokes out just beyond the darkening horizon. "Our shelter is just about a mile that way. Would you–"

He agrees before you've even finished your sentence.

Chan cannot fathom the hope you hold in your heart in a world like this. Not until he meets Seungkwan. The vibrant boy you've been traveling with thus far.

"You can't go around picking up strays."

"He's not a stray, Kwan, he's an old friend. Besides, you were a stray at one point too." You disappear into another room before the boy can argue any further. Leaving him to glower at his new guest.

"If you start acting strange, I'll kill you." Seungkwan points at Chan, though he's not the least bit threatening. His shiny eyes and round face are far too friendly to ever be perceived as intimidating.

Yet Chan humors the boy anyway. "Virus-free, I promise." He raises his hands in surrender.

"And don't touch anything." He motions around the living room, which is surprisingly homey.

When you mentioned you had a shelter nearby, Chan was expecting something a little less... comfortable. Something like the random sheds or raided stores he'd crouch into for just a few hours of shut-eye, never any longer. Or perhaps even a poorly constructed tent made up of various scrap parts. But when you climbed the stairs to a tiny townhouse, one of the better-looking ones amongst the multiple shells of former homes in the neighborhood, Chan almost couldn't believe his eyes. Perhaps this really was all just a dream.

The outside, for the most part, looked pretty decent. There had been some obvious repairs done; trash cleaned from the yard, wooden boards haphazardly nailed over broken windows, a tattered blue tarp covering a large section of the roof, and Chan could just barely make out remnants of graffiti that couldn't be scrubbed away. But the blue paint was hardly peeling and the stone steps had only a few cracks.

When it came to the inside, one word came to mind. Charming. None of the furniture matches, meaning either the previous owner hadn't cared for aesthetics or you and Seungkwan had at some point scavenged the surrounding houses in search of the least fucked up looking decor. Even then, it was really just the bare essentials. A surprisingly comfortable couch, two rocking chairs that look as though the wood had been chewed by squirrels, a metal center table, and a couple bookshelves filled with various novels, picture frames of strangers, and knickknacks.

Down the short hallway to the left are two closed doors. Of which he assumes is a single bedroom and bath respectively. Behind him, where you had disappeared to, is a door he'd quickly caught a glimpse of the kitchen through.

Most notably, however, against the back wall of the living room is a stone fireplace. Ablaze with such life it fully illuminates the space, providing a much-needed warmth as the brisk night rolls in. Chan watches it dance over the mound of logs, completely entranced until that same lovely voice from before calls his name once more.

"All we really have left from our last supply run is tuna, I hope that's okay." In your hands is a bowl with a small portion of rice and half a can of tuna, along with a glass of water. It's no five-star meal, but Chan's mouth still waters at the sight. And better yet, it's warm. He can't remember the last time he had a meal that wasn't a can of cold mystery mush or a granola bar.

He half expects Seungkwan to gripe about him taking something as precious in this world as food. But the boy snorts and a teasing smile creeps its way onto his lips. "Poor kid looks like he'll start drooling any second, I think tuna is more than okay."

He's right, tuna and rice is more than okay. In fact, it's the best damn thing he's ever had in his life. Even as he shovels spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, it only gets better. It isn't until every morsel of food has vanished from the bowl that Chan finally acknowledges his drink. Gulping the clear, luke-warm, liquid down in a matter of seconds.

"Thank you," he breaths out.

"So what are your plans? Are you leaving in the morning?" Seungkwan promptly asks.

Oh.

A chasm opens in Chan's stomach. Right, he thinks, How could he be so naive? Sure, the two of you knew each other. But it's been what, three years? Three years of the two of you living your own lives, growing, becoming new people. Almost a full one of those years spent fighting to survive. You didn't even owe him a meal to begin with, much less a place to stay. And, not to mention, Seungkwan doesn't know him from a hole in the wall.

He isn't sure why he assumed you'd stick by his side. But he'd sure hoped you would.

You have an equally solemn look on your face. "Right, you probably have people you need to get back to. They'll be worried if you stay too long."

"No, actually, it's just me."

Please. Chan silently pleads. Please don't leave me alone again.

You lock eyes with Seungkwan. A silent conversation between the two of you has Chan's heart pounding against his ribs.

"Can I talk to you?" Seungkwan motions you to follow him down the hall and into the solo bedroom.

Minutes feel like hours; and no matter how hard he tries, Chan can't decipher anything from the muffled whispers. It's just a flurry of back and forth until it stops with Seungkwan letting out a long sigh.

When Chan sees your nervous, fidgeting, figure appear with Seungkwan in tow, he starts mentally preparing for a no.

"There's only one bedroom," Seungkwan states, arms crossed. "So we'll have to rearrange the sleeping arrangements—"

"I'll sleep anywhere," Chan immediately bargains. "I can take the couch—"

"Absolutely not." The older boy jabs a finger at him, his stare menacing. "That couch is the nicest thing we have, if anything it's mine."

That is perfectly fine with Chan. In fact, he'd take the termite-chewed wooden floor if that's what it would take. "Does this mean..?"

"Yes," the boy exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, but the action doesn't feel malicious. More like a brother teasing his younger siblings. "You're lucky, you had a very reliable source vouch for you."

It feels like Chan can breathe for the first time since this whole shit-storm began. The weight that lifts from his chest makes him feel as though he's floating. And as your soft gaze catches him, he sees it. That indomitable glimmer of hope humanity has to offer. A light at the end of a dark tunnel. Security wrapped up in a warm, fluffy blanket.

A second chance to be alive.

Seungkwan, as Chan quickly learns, had dreams of being a singer back before. There's rarely been a quiet moment in the week since you found Chan. If he's doing repairs, he's humming. If he's taking inventory, he's softly mumbling along to some tune. If he's sat by the fire at night, his voice carries beyond the walls and into the night.

It's strange. Chan hadn't realized just how quiet being alone was until now. But you enjoy Seungkwan's voice, and it eases you to sleep on Chan's shoulder. So he enjoys it as well.

"Are they asleep?" He asks, letting his song teeter off, voice just barely audible above the crackling logs.

Chan looks down at the slow rise and fall of your chest. He smiles fondly, dropping his shoulder a tad lower to not strain your neck. By now, he's finally gotten over the disbelief of his luck in finding you— well, more so you finding him. Deciding to no longer question the probability of it all and simply cherish the feeling you bring him.

"Yeah, I think so."

Similarly, Chan has also learned that as much of a tough guy act as Seungkwan puts on, he's got an incredibly soft heart. It's pertinent in his gaze and the discreet ways he dotes on anyone around him. Bickering with Chan to wear something warmer even though Spring is around the corner or fussing at you to take an extra portion of rations.

In an alternate life, Chan likes to think he and the boy could've been life-long friends.

"How long were you out there alone?" He muses, a curious look on his face.

"Since the first outbreak," Chan answers casually. Though, Seungkwan's eyes go wide in horror.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why? How long were you?"

"Three weeks, maybe." He shrugs. "Give or take a few days. We ran into each other pretty early on and we've stuck together ever since. Found this place about four months ago and tried to make it feel somewhat normal."

"Oh, that's nice." Chan forgets that for some, life kept moving. Even as society crumbled, humanity persisted. Some in vain, some succeeding, and others, like himself, not at all.

"Can I ask something else?" Seungkwan pulls him from his thoughts. There's a prying curiosity that's scribbled all over his face. Grinning like a schoolgirl with fresh gossip to tell her friends. Chan decides to entertain his curious mind, nodding.

"How do you two know each other?" He gestures at the two of you curled up on the couch. "Like, what's the story there?"

Chan's heart drops straight into his ass and like a reflex, he glances down to ensure you're really asleep. The two of you haven't exactly gotten the chance to talk about everything quite yet. So as of now, he isn't sure where you stand. He decides the more vague the better.

"We met in our third year of university. Their roommate was friends with my roommate."

Seungkwan squints his eyes, visibly displeased with that answer. "And?"

"And..." Chan toys with the material of his pants. "We dated. Two years. Just... didn't work out in the end."

Chan seriously wishes Seungkwan's facial expressions weren't so telling. That way he'd be able to at least pretend he was getting out of this conversation any time soon. But still, the boy persists, nagging him about the who's, what's, when's, where's, and why's until Chan caves. Explaining everything from the stolen glances that started it all, to the teary-eyed bittersweet end.

He vividly remembers the way regret pooled in his chest the moment your front door shut. Making his chest feel cold and empty, a feeling that stuck around nearly every day after. Reminding him of what he let go of for the past three years. The conversation plays on in a loop in his head, and since then, he's thought up about a thousand ways he would've done differently.

"Are you saying you want to break up?" Your voice was so small it ripped Chan's heart in two. 

"No! I just— I mean, but... shouldn't we?"

"Our lives started growing in different directions faster than we could keep up." He explains to Seungkwan, who's been uncharacteristically quiet. Not once stopping to interject his opinion or pop in another question. "They were offered a really good internship a few cities away. I was given the opportunity to be mentored by a renowned choreographer. We'd both be so busy. It didn't seem fair to hold each other back from our dreams. There wasn't much of a choice."

But that's not true. Chan ripped the bandaid off long before it could prove to stand the test of time because he was scared. He assumed the love you felt for him would slowly wither and die with the distance. Drawn out in a slow and painful process he couldn't bear the burden of. So he ran, like a coward, and left you to deal with the fallout by yourself.

It's funny, how the universe deals out karma.

"Probably the dumbest decision I've ever made."

Seungkwan hums, relaxing back into his wooden rocking chair, seemingly deep in thought. A silence settles over the room, only the sound of dying embers softly crackling fills the air.

You stir next to him, nose cutely scrunched up as you search for a more comfortable position. Chan hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you to fully lean against him, being extra cautious not to accidentally jostle you awake. You finally settle, and he can't help but notice your body still fits against his perfectly. Just like to used to.

And when Chan lifts his head back to meet Seungkwan's eyes, he catches the tail end of a fond smile. He rises from the chair, making his way around behind the sofa.

"You made it back, that's all that matters." He whispers, hand on Chan's shoulder. "You don't get a lot of second chances in life— much less in the middle of the apocalypse. Maybe it's time you stop just trying to survive and start letting yourself live. Whatever that looks like for you."

Spring rounds the corner like an old friend. Marking officially one year since the world went to shit and bringing with it much-needed rain in the form of rolling storms. One brews on the horizon, dark clouds gradually closing in on the afternoon sun. The cool breeze feels refreshing against Chan's damp skin. A pleasant contrast to the heavy bag slung over his shoulder, filled with scavenged treasures from the latest scout.

"You know, I offered to carry it halfway," you tease, significantly less out of breath than Chan on your trek back home. The exterior of the townhouse hadn't fared well with the harsh storms, yet it's a welcomed sight nonetheless.

"Yeah, but that would require him relinquishing about this much pride," Seungkwan laughs while pinching his fingers together, squinting through the narrow gap between them.

"It's not even that heavy," Chan scoffs, and if you clock his lie, you don't make it known.

"Whatever you say, golden boy," Seungkwan snickers, the corner of his lip quirked up in a smirk before veering off to the small plot just to the left of the entrance steps.

Seungkwan, arguably the most excited for Spring to arrive, had taken up gardening. Plowing up the soil with a water-logged wooden shovel and planting various packs of seeds he'd once found on a scout. They were mostly just flowers, anything useful like fruits and veggies having already been snatched up by other scavengers. However, he'd been lucky enough to find one packet of tomato seeds, one of green onion seeds, and another of squash seeds. The boy has a surprisingly green thumb, having created a flourishing garden in just a month.

"It's looking beautiful, Seungkwan. Another few weeks and we may actually have something to eat that isn't out of a can." You praise, admiring the colorful arrangement as well.

Sure, the fruits and veggies are nice, but Chan much prefers the cluster of voluminous purple hyacinths. Their vibrant color reminds him of the rich sunsets he'd use as a child to gauge when to return home for dinner.

He swiftly plucks a single bloom from the arrangement and places it behind your ear. You smile at the gesture, and it somehow shines brighter than the flower itself. A sight he believes is capable of parting the gray clouds stretching across the sky.

"Stop killing my babies, Lee Chan." Seungkwan chastises, annoyance evident in his tone.

"Sorry," he sheepishly grins, remembering Seungkwan's no-touching rule he had applied to the garden.

In the distance, there's a low rumbling that draws your attention to the sky. "We should go in before it starts pouring." You take Chan's hand, tugging him inside while his heart beats out of his chest. You call out for Seungkwan as well, urging him that his babies will be fine in the rapidly approaching storm.

Rain slowly begins to patter against the rafters the second the front door squeaks shut. Crescendoing to a downpour within a matter of minutes. Sounds like the three of you are in for a long one tonight.

It was hard to notice at first. The occasional slip-ups here and there. Easy enough to blame the rising Summer heat on Seungkwan's mood swings. Even if the boy had been more readily agitated lately, his bubbly moments stuck around in an abundance that excused the outbursts.

Though Chan can't quite get over that look on your face the first time Seungkwan snapped at you. Something about his bush of hydrangeas being disturbed despite you insisting you hadn't laid so much as a finger on his garden. But the moment tears slipped from your irises, Seungkwan crumbled. His eyes blown wide in horror as the realization hit. He uttered endless apologies, begging for forgiveness until you assured him everything was okay.

And to his credit, he hadn't had an outburst that big since. But still, you made sure to be extra cautious around his garden from then on out.

The red patches painting his arms are harder to ignore, though. Especially with the incessant noise of nails obsessively itching at dry skin.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks, finally voicing his concerns after watching the boy go at his skin with an inhuman determination for the past half hour. The sight reminding him of a rabid dog infested with fleas. With little care for its own health, left only with the insatiable urge to make the itching stop.

Seungkwan's head snaps up with feral eyes, though they dissolve into cheery crescents quick enough to fool Chan into believing he was just imagining things. Perhaps he'd been a little too on guard around his friend. The sweltering heat surely didn't help his nerves.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "I must've gotten into some poison ivy, it's been driving me mad."

It only got worse.

The scratching.

It keeps Chan awake in the late night hours. That dry sound echoing in his head over and over and over and over. And during the day, despite it being the peak of Summer, Seungkwan wears long sleeves. They do well in muffling the sound and hiding whatever visuals resulted from the night before. Yet, he forgets to scrub the dried blood from under his nails.

There's an unease that settles in Chan's chest and makes a nest there. A feeling that comes in waves, yet never fully leaves him. It consumes his thoughts and taints the air in his lungs until he feels like he may choke on it. Unable to breathe a single word about his worries without accidentally manifesting them into fruition. Because perhaps nothing is awry. Perhaps Chan is the one slowly losing his mind.

After all, you've yet to mention anything. Content with humoring Seungkwan's better moments in spite of his worst.

Perhaps, Chan is still stuck in his mirage.

It happened again.

Seungkwan snapped and this time Chan had to intervene.

Over his garden again.

The once glorious flowers were sad and wilting, through no fault of anyone's, but the elements. The heat was harsh on them and there hadn't been enough rain in a while to revive them. Not to mention, Seungkwan simply hadn't been tending to them as much as he thought he had. He spent most of his days now obsessing over illusions instead.

Swore he saw spiders in the rations. Heard scratching in the walls. Had caught shadows of looters pacing outside at night.

You called it dehydration.

But he'd somehow gotten it into his head you'd been poisoning the soil when he wasn't looking. He swung the front door open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges, yelling obscenities about how you betrayed him. How rotten and horrid you were for killing the one thing that'd given him any semblance of joy. Chan swears he's never seen someone so unhinged as Seungkwan in that moment.

All it took was three large steps in your direction for Chan to brace himself in front of you. However, all it really took to freeze Seungkwan in his steps was his name. Loud and firm. Lighting a clarity in his eyes that's been missing for a few days now. He ushers the boy outside with haste. Too afraid to look back at your crumbling face.

Seungkwan collapses down on the stone steps. He pulls his knees to his chest and digs his palms into his eyes, hard. "I fucked up, didn't I?" He whimpers.

Chan doesn't know what to say. He did. But confirming it when he's in such a state seems cruel. And he doesn't care to twist the knife any further. He just takes a seat next to what's left of his friend and lays a comforting hand on his back.

"I'm scared." Seungkwan's head tips back to the sky. Chan had always been under the assumption that Seungkwan was oblivious to his deteriorating state. But the steady stream of tears down the boy's cheeks says otherwise.

"I can feel my mind slowly becoming not my own."

"Maybe it's not—"

"I already tried telling myself that." Chan's heart sinks as the boy hikes up his sleeves. Revealing the angry red tracks and rust-colored scabs covering a majority of his forearms. Some wounds still look fresh, and painfully deep.

"That's the first symptom, right? Feeling like there's ants under your skin. Being easily irritated. Foggy memories, whole days missing..." He looks ahead at the setting sun. "I'm already seeing things. Was it one or two months the broadcast said the infected have once those start?"

Chan tries to remember back to when his radio crackled to life for the first time. He's pretty sure it's one.

"I can't remember."

Seungkwan pushes a bitter laugh through his nostrils. "Me either."

Chan glances at the sad plot of greenery beside him. He frowns at the way the tulips droop and their petals hang limp. At least those who are still trying to hold on. Desperate to escape the same fate as their counterparts that have already begun decaying into the soil.

He looks back to Seungkwan and wonders what it's like. To have the tulips weep for you. For them to bow their heads and shed their petals like tears. He also wonders if you'll grieve for Seungkwan as gracefully as they do.

"Promise me one thing?" Seungkwan whispers. His eyes already look like they're glazing over again.

"Anything."

He speaks your name with longing. "Take care of them, yeah? I know it seems like they have their shit together, but that's not how it always was."

"What do you mean?" Chan asks, skin crawling. But Seungkwan continues to stare ahead, eyes focused on who knows what in the distance. He blinks slowly, "It's not my story to tell. Just... promise."

"I promise. Don't worry, it's not something you even have to ask."

"The garden, too." His lips lift at the corners. Chan thinks it's a smile, but it's too uncanny to recognize. "If you're taking requests."

He agrees, partly to provide Seungkwan with what little peace of mind he can offer him, but also because he already has been. Chan tries on occasion to care for the sad little plants. Wetting the soil with what little water he can spare.

Part of him naively hoped that maybe somehow, some way, if the garden could be nursed back to its former glory, so could Seungkwan. But deep down, Chan has learned to tell the difference between a dream and reality by now.

And the reality is, Seungkwan reeks of borrowed time.

The world stole your smile when it stole Seungkwan. It ripped his soul from your grasp as Chan held you in his. Kicking and screaming.

Endless tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought to hold you back. Your pleas grew more desperate and wrangled. Mixing with the garbled, wretched, shrieks of your friend. Fingers clawing at his eyes. The virus embedded so deep in his brain he was no longer Seungkwan.

Just another host.

Your voice was the last to call Seungkwan's name that day. Raspy and hollow as you begged for his life. Begged the universe to not take the last ray of sunshine the world had to offer. Begged Seungkwan to fight just one more day. Begged Chan to let you save him despite all hope having set when the sun did. The scratches you'd left on his forearms remained a week after. But the hole Seungkwan's presence left has yet to fade.

Neither of you spoke of the boy in that time. He still doesn't know if that's for better or worse. Chan's terrified you'll shatter if he so much as whispers the boy's name. But to act like he never existed in the wake of it... well, that just doesn't feel right either.

But Chan knows there's no proper way to grieve. He figured that out at the beginning. He'd had damn near a year to mourn everyone he ever loved, you've only had a week. He knows with time, acceptance will come. But it kills him not knowing how to help.

So instead, Chan does the hard stuff.

He buries Seungkwan. Next to his garden, so that next Spring he can watch it grow. He stacks rocks as a makeshift headstone and plucks dried, stiff asphodel from the garden to make it look neat. He rearranges the bookshelf into a tiny shrine of Seungkwan's things. His favorite books he'd read over and over. A silver ring, with some date Chan doesn't know the meaning of carved into it. A liquor bottle that he used as a makeshift vase with the last flowers he picked still in it. Long dead, but the petals somehow still holding on. Replaces one of the bronze picture frames of strangers with a photo he found tucked away in Seungkwan's bag. One of him and two other people he assumes are his parents.

And when he's done, he lights a candle, the flame drawing you out like a moth.

"What is this?" you croak. It's the first you've spoken to Chan since it happened.

"Something to honor him," Chan whispers, keeping his gaze locked on the flickering light. He's too scared to see your reaction. Afraid you'll break down again. Afraid you'll hate it and scream that he has no right to mourn someone you loved for longer. Afraid that if he sees your tears flowing, he won't be able to stop his own.

Because he also knows part of you still resents him for that night. For grabbing your waist and stopping your momentum from hurtling towards Seungkwan. Robbing you of the chance to hold and comfort your friend one last time. Your screams echo in his head as a reminder whenever your gaze refuses to meet his or you shrug away from his touch.

But then your head falls to his shoulder like an olive branch stretching across a battlefield. Your sniffles break through the silence. Chan hesitantly pulls you closer, and when you don't flinch away, he does even more so until your full weight is against him.

When Seungkwan was here, there was rarely a moment of silence. But now, the house, and you, are quiet. And all Chan can hear are the sounds of heartbreak. Never before had he thought it could be so incredibly loud.

The cold air sneaks in sometime around mid-November. Bringing with it longer nights and temperatures low enough to warrant nightly fires again.

You haven't talked much since the night you cried your heart out on Chan's shoulder. Operating more like a zombie replicating past routines from life before. Wake up. Scavenge. Eat. Sleep. So when you offer up the first ounce of interest in something other than your daily routine, Chan nearly jumps out of his skin.

"I miss the ocean," you mumble, solemn eyes looking down at the crackling fire. The tip of your nose red from the chill.

"We can go if you want... If it would make you happy." He says though he'd settle for content. To bring you back, he'd do anything.

You nod. "Yeah, I'd like that."

And Chan makes it happen.

Maps out the closest beach. Rigs up two rusty old bikes he found in a shed. Packs enough provisions just in case. All for the sake of maybe returning with a sliver of the person you used to be.

The two of you easily find the rocky formation looking over the dark sea, waves raging below. It's here, that Chan truly realizes just how much of a shell you've become of your former self. The way you inch closer and closer to the sharp edge is lifeless. Like a magnet being pulled at with no will of your own. It lodges a dagger of dread through the center of his chest.

"Don't go so close, you could slip." Chan doesn't know if you can't hear him over the crashing waves below or if you simply choose not to. But your feet keep moving and Chan's feel cemented to the ground.

"That's close enough!" He calls.

Again, nothing.

Your toes hang over the edge now, hands in your jacket pockets. Raging waves slam against the cliff, reaching up for you. You close your eyes and point your nose to the sky.

Wind rushes around Chan. His shoes slip on the slick rocks below as instinct takes charge of his momentum while his brain remains frozen in panic. His lungs refuse to work until his arm can hook around your torso. Yanking you back with such a force it throws the both of you off balance. It isn't until his back meets solid rock that he finally gasps in a sputtering breath. The dull throbbing is instant, but the full weight of you atop his chest is comforting.

Chan desperately scrambles to collect you in his arms. Pulling your back against his chest so that he can curl around you like a protective barrier from the world.

"I wasn't going to jump." You whisper. But he feels no comfort from your empty words.

"Please don't make me lose you twice." He pleads like a child, rocking you in his grasp. The salty spray from the ocean mixes with his tears until he can't tell what is what. Right now, the only thing he's certain of is the one in his grasp. The feeling of you in his arms, safe, and he doesn't want to ever lose that. Call it selfish if you must. Lee Chan will wear that title proudly.

There's a rush of déjà vu as you crumble, muttering Seungkwan's name between wretched sobs, nails deep in his forearms. Sobbing about how you miss him, how unfair it is, everything you've been holding in since. Chan holds you tighter. Scared you'll slip away like the tide. Like Seungkwan did. Plunged into cold, thrashing darkness.

He prays to whatever merciful forces have forsaken him to please not do the same to you.

It's a silent trip back to the townhouse and you all but collapse from exhaustion the second you're through the door. Dragging yourself over to the couch and immediately curling into a ball. Chan takes the liberty of lighting the fire before sitting down beside you. He opens his arms, and to his surprise, you accept, letting your head fall into his lap. His arm securely drapes over your torso, though you're quick to cradle his hand. Hugging it to your chest so that his palm can feel the rhythmic thumping of your heart.

Chan lets out a long-held sigh, counting each beat like a lullaby. Then focuses on the rise and fall of your chest. Letting the steady swells ease the adrenaline from his system.

For a second, life is okay. Happy, even. Like how it was back before the world ended. Before he broke your heart. When he didn't care about anything except you and passing chemistry.

"I'm scared to lose you." When you say it, it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. "I always thought maybe, because we'd made it this far, that meant we were somehow immune. That the worst was over for us."

You pause to take a deep breath. But Chan doesn't push, simply thankful you've finally decided to let him shoulder the weight you carry.

"But if Seungkwan can die, that means you can too. Then who do I have?"

"I'd never leave–"

"You can't promise that," you drop to a whisper. Compensating for the waver in your voice. And you're right, he can't. Not in a world as cruel as this.

But he wants to.

"I don't believe in this world anymore. Not after what it did to him."

"Can you believe in me?"

Your answer doesn't come in the verbal form. Nor does it come quickly, which makes Chan think he's officially lost you. But then your fingers thread with his, squeezing in a way that he can only describe as feeling like pure hope.

Chan can't remember when the turning point was. All he knows is that today, months after the ocean, life feels peaceful once more. The Spring breeze is gentle against his skin as he lays in the soft grass with your head on his stomach. Surrounded by the aroma of the newly bloomed tulips that far outshine the rest of the garden.

He doesn't have as nearly green of a thumb as Seungkwan did, but he's proud. The garden is lush, green, and full of life. A little chaotic, but beautiful nonetheless.

Chan had even managed to revive the hydrangeas Seungkwan was so fond of.

You point to clouds with upturned lips, remarking on their resemblance to various animals. It's not the first time he's been lucky enough to catch you smiling in the subsequent months. But he knows to cherish each one more than he once did.

There's still a chill to the spring air and Chan tugs at his sleeves. Ignoring the incessant urge to animalistically claw at his arm. At the itch so deep under his skin, it feels like it's in the bone.

[velchronica]

imperfect love ♬~*.°₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ itoshi sae

maybe i'll cry for a love that isn't perfect yet

but i wanna make endless stories

like the ones hidden inside an old book

or, since meeting you, all itoshi sae wants is a sappy happily ever after with you.

content: established relationship, gn!reader, fluff, sfw

wc: 1.0k

sae falls asleep to the sound of your breaths, the rise and fall of your chest underneath the weight of his arm over your waist. he’d rather fall asleep next to you every night—and most nights he does—but sometimes it simply cannot he helped, so when he’s away from home, he facetimes you until one of you falls asleep or has to go.

he easily falls asleep to your voice over call, phone on the bedside table next to him, and you only hang up once he’s quiet for at least half an hour and is no longer responding to you with a barely-there ‘mhm.’ after all, sae has never been much of a chatterbox to begin with, per se, so it’s not unusual for him to just listen, to savour your voice telling him about your day, to bask in the mimicry of nomalcy as you go about your day as usual on the phone to him, as if he’s there with you.

people are, more often than not, surprised by the sweet and affectionate nature of your longstanding relationship. while you’re all soft smiles, sunshines and rainbows, he’s terse, with sharp edges and a mind and mouth just as sharp. he’s cold, and spares no effort to sugarcoat his opinions nor fake humility to the masses, whereas you are warm and modest, never asking for anything in return for your kindness and hard work. still, despite this, your relationship is built upon strong and sturdy foundations, and the home you have built together is full of love and joy.

where he is can be too closed up, sometimes too wrapped up in himself, you encourage him to be more open-minded and compassionate. where you can be careless and impulsive, he is there to tie up any loose ends you’ve left behind. though your worlds do not excessively collide, they do overlap. while you don’t necessarily need each other to complete your own individual existence, you bring out the better and the best out of one another. you’ve learned through time and patience that symbiosis is often the better alternative to codependency.

there have been ups and downs to your relationships. you’re both only human after all, and no relationship is perfect; with personal flaws can come misunderstandings or miscommunication. the thing that sets successful couples apart from those that break up, however, is how you maintains and manages the things that strain your relationship. to maintain a balance between your independence and your time together is key, especially when sae is away from home so often.

it’s not uncommon for you to fall asleep in sae’s arms, only for the bed to be cold and half-empty in the morning. sometimes his voice or his face over the phone isn’t enough to keep out the doubt and anxiety gnawing at your heart. you don’t want to welcome him home with frustration and tears, but on the rare occasion you do, sae understands. he knows how much trust and faith it takes for you to wait for someone who will leave not long after.

but you also know it was your choice. you knew, when you agreed to start dating sae, that it wasn’t always going to be candy-floss and kitten fluff. you knew how much sae treasured his dreams, his work, his success, how much effort he had poured into crafting the formula to take over the field. you admire him for his tenacity and diligence, and you would never expect him to give up football for you.

you’d never understood why people say you should be willing to sacrifice in a relationship. compromise, yes, but sacrifice? if the person you love can’t accept you for what you are and do, then they don’t love you, not really. at least, that’s what you think.

but that’s why sae is your forever and always. sae loves you for your flaws, not despite them, and that makes all the difference in the world. he never expects you to show him the ‘best side’ of yourself at all times, because he knows how much faith you have in him to bare yourself wholeheartedly to him, to not shy away.

you’re lucky, you think, so unbelievably lucky to have sae in your life. for him to love you. for every day you spend with sae.

unbeknownst to you, sae thinks the same thing. he thinks it so often, hundreds of times a day, and he thinks you’ll say yes if he grabs that little box out of his suitcase and gets on one knee someday soon.

he hopes you’ll cry—tears of joy, not anguish or pain. that way he can wipe them away for you, hold your face in his hands and kiss you like there’s no tomorrow. hold you in his arms like the fool in love he is, so utterly enamoured and enchanted by you.

he doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s not complaining that it did. somewhere along the line he’d ended up completely bewitched by your mellifluous laughter, your sunny smile. there’s something perfect in coming home to you, knowing someone yearns for him in such a way. perhaps it isn’t this penthouse that’s home, but your warm and loving presence. he’s not quite sure. almost, though.

but what he is sure he knows is that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. where he once wanted to write his name into history with a football career like no other, something deep inside would be wholly content to just have the memories of being yours. he wants to spend every day cherishing you, loving you, never yearning from thousands of miles away, but rather holding you close, lovesick and sappier than ever. happier than ever. happier than he’s ever known.

itoshi sae’s happily ever after is a forever after with you.

he can’t believe what you’ve turned him into. a lovesick, lovelorn fool. but still, waking up to the sound of your shallow, breaths, your body curled up into his, and the warmth of your presence—it’s fine.

this is his happily ever after, an imperfect love it may be.

© velchronica 2024

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Is It Over Now? || Kylian Mbappé

Plot: Kylian and y/n have been fighting for so long, she's not even sure she knows what they're fighting for anymore. Angst.

Warnings: toxic relationship

Word count: 3458

Masterlist

y/n well done on your goal, amour x will you want dinner when you get home? i'm making myself some pasta so i'll do extra for you x do you know what time you'll be home? i've left some food in the fridge for you x kylian can you reply please? i'm worried it's getting late, where are you?

A deep frown was etched on her face, she stared at her ignored texts, the oldest sent five hours ago and the most recent nearly an hour ago. None of them had received a response and neither had her calls.

She hadn't been able to go to his match today, as she'd already arranged to go out for her friend's birthday in the morning. Kylian hadn't minded though, it wasn't a particularly important match and she rarely missed any of his games, so she could be forgiven for this. Surely that wasn't why he was ignoring her. Well, knowing him at the moment she could easily conclude that there was no reason behind the radio silence. He was just being Kylian.

Dick.

She knew he probably had no reason to ignore her; he was most likely just over at Achraf's and didn't value her emotions enough to dain her with a text back. Still, having been alone in the house for so many hours with only her thoughts to keep her company, she couldn't stop her mind from wandering. It only felt natural to pick up her phone and she really couldn't help herself from opening Instagram. Her thumbs had a mind of their own, opening one of his fan accounts.

Then there he was, grainy footage of him on their story at some club in Paris, surrounded by his teammates. And then there was somebody else. Some girl sat at his side- on his side more really- his arm flopped lazily over the back of the booth behind her.

She was saying something and he was laughing. He was laughing in a way that he never did with y/n anymore. Wow, he was really laughing- surely nothing she said could be that funny.

The video was short, maybe five seconds, but she restarted it, watching it again, feeling a fire raging within her. The next story was a photo that some stranger in the club had taken. The pair were on the dance floor, none of his friends were in sight now. Her hands were up in the air and only now did y/n notice the girl's outfit. She wore a little red dress, just like the one that hung up in y/n and Kylian's shared closet. It was his favourite dress and she knew it.

At the sight, the fire that burned within her suddenly settled, an eery calm setting over her. After a few moments, she headed upstairs and drew a bath, watching the water slowly rise up the tub's sides. She loved that bath; the tub was huge, yet elegant, and sat right in front of a huge window which gave the most amazing view of the Eiffel Tower. Besides that, she and Kylian had spent some memorable nights in this bathtub. Not for a while though, she thought.

Now that she really considered it, she wasn't sure how many good memories she had with Kylian in the last six months. Maybe after three years together, she'd just grown used to the knowledge that she loved him and hadn't considered if he still deserved it. Maybe she hadn't considered if he still deserved her.

Maybe she'd been so caught up in the idea of the perfect man she'd met in that bar three years ago. She still remembered that innocent smile so vividly, the way he'd lift his glass to sip, almost hiding behind the thing. How every time she'd flirt with him, he'd blush like a schoolboy, and then suddenly shoot back with the most outrageous comment.

How a month after they'd started dating, the pandemic hit, and he'd turned up at her door, much to her disapproval. Then, he'd immediately asked her to move in with him. She still remembered his words.

Take a chance. If we're gonna go down, let's go down in flames. I don't wanna forget you, baby.

That aged like room-temperature milk.

He'd convinced her so easily, his charming smile and smooth words always getting the best of her. And he'd been right. Those had been the best few months of her life.

And even after lockdown, when she was back at work and football became more full on, everything had just seemed so right. He just seemed so right.

Every time he'd go away for matches, he'd always find some stupid trinket to bring home for her. The tradition had started the week they'd met, when she'd asked him out on another date and he'd had to turn her down, as he was playing away in Italy. He'd brought her back a little keyring- a pizza with Italia written on it. It was so tacky and so cheesy that she immediately fell in love... with the keyring. Their fridge was still littered with far too many magnets to count, very out of place in his black and white, minimalist kitchen.

Of course, she remembered the first gift, and she remembered the first time he'd forgotten. It was after an away match to Manchester City. An away match that had knocked PSG out of the Champions League- in the semi-finals.

It wasn't that she'd been expecting a gift- no, she completely understood. It was difficult for him; he'd been injured and therefore couldn't play the second leg. He'd had to go all the way to Manchester and didn't even get to kick the ball. He just had to sit on the bench and watch his dream fade before his eyes.

Despite not playing, she knew he blamed himself. He always blamed himself. For the injury. For not scoring in the first leg. For everything.

At the time, she hadn't been upset that he hadn't bought her some shitty magnet for their already cluttered fridge or a bottle opener for their already stuffed drawer. Besides, Manchester didn't have much to offer in the tourism department besides football, so she could forgive him for not wanting to search through shops full of his opponents' memorabilia, just to uphold their tradition.

Looking back on it though, that was the moment he snapped. Three weeks later, he'd returned from Reims empty-handed; when she'd playfully questioned him, asking how she was supposed to sleep at night without an 'I &lt;3 Reims' t-shirt, he'd grunted something about being busy with work and she tried not to let her face fall, wishing he'd have just made some stupid joke in response.

Y/n, I can't afford to keep buying you all these presents.

Honey, nobody hearts Reims.

Well, I had some grapes for you but I got peckish.

But no, he'd just grumbled some excuse and gone up to their room. They'd won the game too. The last match of the season. Sure, they hadn't won the league but that fate had been sealed weeks ago.

Of course, at the time, she hadn't sat up at night, tossing and turning because her relationship was over. She'd understood. For him, she'd understood.

Then, the trinkets began to come every other away match, then once a month, once every few months, and then they stopped coming. The last remnant of their once-sacred tradition still sat on her fridge. He'd brought it back after an unremarkable league tie against Nice. A little magnet in the shape of a palm tree, in the colours of the French flag, with two words on it.

Trés Nice!

What did that even mean? Neither of them were sure. She loved it.

After that, however, the keyrings, and magnets, and bottle openers, and t-shirts, and pens had suddenly stopped. Not trés Nice!

The bath was full, the bubble bath she'd added working a treat. Slowly, she eased herself into the warm water, sighing as she settled back in the tub. She didn't even have her phone but she really didn't care. For what must have been an hour, she stared out the window at the city below her. From his castle, she watched his kingdom, knowing she didn't have a place in it anymore.

She stared at the dark streets they used to haunt, giggling hand in hand as they snook out of their apartment for late-night strolls (though it was always technically morning) down streets that at any other hour would be packed with hundreds of people, pointing at Kylian. Or when they used to go to tourist attractions in the middle of the winter and he'd pull on a balaclava, dragging her up the Eiffel Tower or the Champs Elysees, insisting her liked the thrill. In truth, so did she.

She liked standing hand in hand with him, knowing the crowds around them had no idea Kylian Mbappé was in their midst, and they never would because he was her Kylian. For that moment, at least.

It was late when she heard the door downstairs, the security system blaring loudly. She didn't panic, as it quickly turned off. He didn't say a word on his arrival. She could hear him drawing closer to their bedroom, his feet heavy on the stairs, in the hallway, in their room, approaching the bathroom door.

She thought he'd let his guard down when they first met, telling her his worries and fears, but maybe he only truly knocked down his walls that night in the bathroom months ago, showing his true self.

Maybe she only truly got to know him after Qatar, when he really snapped. When she'd tried to comfort him and he'd yelled at her because she'd never truly understand what he was going through. She'd told him she was sorry. She'd apologised. For what? She still wasn't quite sure.

Maybe she only truly knew Kylian when she'd been struggling at work, doing overtime to catch up on her ridiculous workload at home. She'd missed his match and he'd lost; then, when he returned home and she hadn't been in the mood for kisses and cuddles, he'd been furious. He'd said it was her fault she was stressed- she'd brought it on herself. She could quit her job any day and never worry about money again. She'd tried to explain but he couldn't comprehend her need for self-reliance. If anything, he was insulted that she didn't trust him enough to let him take care of her. He'd never been overly traditional or had an obviously fragile masculinity but that night she'd questioned everything she thought she knew about him.

Of course, he'd apologised the next morning and she'd forgiven him. They were both stressed and there was no reason to let one pressure-fueled spat escalate into more than it needed to. Then those one-off spats became more and more common until they were the norm. If they weren't in silence, they were fighting.

They only found peace when they were fucking. Even that physicality wasn't what it once was, no longer the same slow, gentle love-making. Now it was always quick, desperate, his once soft kisses now left bruises and his whispers of sweet nothings had morphed into wordless grunts and moans.

Is that all this relationship was anymore? Physical.

Light flooded the dimly-lit bathroom, as he swung the door open carelessly. He looked almost taken back at the sight of her, his eyebrows raising a little, as though he hadn't expected to see her here- in her own house.

Then again, maybe it wasn't her house. Sure, she'd lived here for almost as long as they'd been together but it was never really her house. It was Kylian's house in Kylian's city, and she was here too.

He stared at her for a few seconds before smirking, "Hey." he mumbled, already stripping down to join her.

She sunk further down in the tub, allowing the thick layer of bubbles to give her back her modesty. Silently, she watched him, her lips a flat line, her eyes on his face, not his naked body. He wasn't looking back at her. He was too focused on hastily ripping of his trousers and his shirt.

Without hesitation or any more words exchanged, he climbed in the tub and she leant forward as he slipped behind her. She wanted to be held in his arms just one more time, to feel his body against hers. He positioned his legs on either side of her, his arms flopping over her shoulders, as he pulled her back into his chest. Resting his face on her shoulder, he let out a noise, somewhere between a contented hum and a whine.

She ignored him, turning her head to stare out of the window. The city's skyline was dark and at this time, the tower's lights were off. Now, it was just a dark silhouette against a dark horizon, only made visible by the bright light of the full moon.

"What are you sulking about?"

As he spoke, she could smell the alcohol on his breath and she almost wretched at the scent. Her voice was calm and steady, as she asked, "Where have you been?"

Her voice sounded like she had an innocent curiosity in the question as if she didn't already know the answer, or she was merely asking to make small talk.

"Oh, some of the team wanted to go out to celebrate the win."

He didn't lift his head from her shoulder, placing a soft kiss on the damp skin. He lied with such ease. Well, he hadn't entirely lied, just withheld some important elements of the truth. Maybe she'd have preferred it if he'd just lied to her. At least then he would have had to make a conscious effort to deceive her. No, this felt so much worse; he spoke with such ease, as though it was the whole truth, and maybe he too believed it. Maybe he believed that she didn't need to know about the girl in the red dress, just like he'd believed she didn't need a text back, or a kiss goodbye before he left the house this morning, or a goodnight before she fell asleep last night or the night before that or the night before that.

"And who was that girl?" she asked, her voice still chirpy, not a hint of bitterness showing in her tone.

"Huh?" he twisted his head, the side of it on her shoulder, gazing up at her face.

"The girl you were with. She was in a red dress, like the one I have. Blonde hair and-"

"Oh," he cut her off quickly, "she's one of Ousmane's friends, I think."

"You think?"

"Mhm, I don't really know. I didn't speak to her that much."

Now, that wasn't a half-truth, that was simply a lie.

"Oh, okay. Just 'cause you seemed really friendly with her."

He scoffed, lifting his head, his tone suddenly switching, "What, were you stalking me?"

"No, but you didn't reply to my texts and you came home seven hours after the match finished, so I wanted to make sure you weren't dead in some ditch."

"Of course, I wasn't. Can I not have a night out with my friends?"

"Yeah, that's fine but you didn't fucking text me back and the next thing I see you've got some random girl in your lap at the club and you don't even have the courtesy to tell me about it."

"It wasn't like that! Why would I come home and tell my girlfriend that some nobody had been coming onto me in the club?" he snapped.

"Because you were coming onto her too! Don't you think I deserved to be warned that people were going to post pictures of my boyfriend with someone else! It's fucking humiliating!"

She stood up and climbed out of the bath, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. She quickly grabbed her robe from where it hung and wrap it around herself. She sat on the little ottoman in the corner, hugging her arms around herself.

"What are you saying? You know I wouldn't cheat on you!"

He yelled the statement as though it were a fact. Maybe he believed it. He seemed to believe a lot of things. Maybe he just didn't think about her perspective much.

"No, I don't! What reason have you given me to trust you?"

His face fell into an expression of fury, "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know, Kylian!" she almost yelled and almost sighed, somewhere in the middle, "I don't know. What are we even doing this for?"

"You tell me! You're the one picking a fight for no reason!"

"No, not this just... why are we here? We keep fighting and I don't know what for."

He stood up, "What..."

"I'm not happy! You're not happy! What's the point!"

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he rushed over to her, "I'm happy, of course I am!"

"Well, I'm not." she murmured, standing up from the seat and heading for the bathroom door.

"What are you doing, where are you going?" he asked, panic setting over him.

"Away," she muttered, heading to the closet.

"No, you're not." he declared, chasing after her, "Look, baby, I'm sorry, okay?" Ignoring him, she began to change into some joggers and a hoodie. "Y/n, you're not leaving me."

"Why not? All we ever do is fight! There's no point in us being together if we make each other fucking miserable!"

"I told you, you make me happy! You make me happier than anyone else in the world!"

"Why don't you treat me like it then? Why don't you treat me like I'm worth anything? Like I'm a fucking human being!"

He was quiet, watching her as she grabbed a bag and started to toss clothes into it. "Y/n, I love you. I-"

"Do you, though? Really?"

"I do. Look I know I've been busy with work but you know how stressful my job is. I'm trying to be here for you and do my best for the team-"

"No, you're not. I know how hard you work but I have needs too. I can't keep doing this."

She dropped to her knees, zipping up the bag, packed with enough clothes for a few days. He stood in the doorway, blocking her exit as she tried to get her toothbrush from the bathroom.

As she stood in front of him, he took her hands in his, "Please, baby, I'll change. I'll do it for you, I swear."

"It's too late, Ky," she said, shoving past him. He didn't budge, "Kylian, get out of my way."

He clutched her hands as though his life depended on it, placing soft kisses on both of them, "I need you. You can't leave me."

"You should have thought about that before, shouldn't you?"

She shoved him out of the way and grabbed a few things from the bathroom before heading for the front door. He chased after her, his mind racing and his heart pumping a mile a minute in his chest. He swore it was working so hard he could hear his heartbeat in his ears- or was it the sound of her feet on the stairs?

"Y/n," God, her name sounded so right on his lips, he wanted to say her name forevermore, "she meant nothing. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have entertained her like that." Tears were forming in his hazel eyes, he watched her putting on her shoes, "Y/n, you can't leave me, I love you. I- I don't want to live without you. I don't want to be on my own."

"Kylian," she stood up and cupped his cheek. Her hand was so warm and fit so perfectly around his face, as though it was moulded just for it, "you know I'll always love you."

Covering her hand with his own, he shook his head, a single tear rolling down his cheek, "Don't do this to me, amour."

She hated seeing him like this: he barely ever cried. In all of their time together, she'd seen him cry maybe four times and it had never been because of her.

Her soft thumb wiped away the tear, "Don't cry. You'll be okay."

Then she was gone. The door was open and then it was closed. She was there and then she was gone.

He watched the space she'd been stood in for far too long, as though she'd swing the door open at any moment and declare that she'd had a sudden change of heart. But she wouldn't.

She was gone. It was over.

Masterlist

[haesunflower]

jiwoong's 'shared' friend? | a friends with benefits story ft. matthew

genre: smut, threesome, minors dni

pairing: jiwoong x female reader, matthew x female reader

about/tags: in which jiwoong and y/n invite matthew to play (2.2k+)

this is explicit smut, minors dni, begging, toys, spitting, orgasm denial, use of 'sir' and 'daddy', slight jealousy, fluff at the end

┈•┈୨୧┈•┈ PART 1 HERE

The dorm is empty except for you and Jiwoong (and well, Matthew). Usually, you’d have your casual weekend fucks at your own apartment – away from all the members. But you’d insisted on spending your time in his place instead during the long weekend. Especially as most members chose to spend their break at their hometowns. 

While Hanbin brought Hao, Gyuvin brought Ricky, leaving Matthew alone with Jiwoong. Jiwoong had also “made plans” to go home that weekend, inviting Matthew and convincing him with fun stories about his family. He honestly feels bad for lying to him. 

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. SMUT UNDER THE CUT.

But how mad would Matthew be when you’re practically begging to be touched, your whines heard all the way from the other side of the dorm. And he’s benefitting from the sounds you emit, shamelessly jacking off in his room. 

Jiwoong is making himself busy and actively not paying any attention to you. He’s left his bedroom door wide open, with you tied up to the bannister with flimsy ribbon. Truth be told, you can easily undo the knots of the restraints. But you don’t, you’re a good girl after all. However it’s becoming incredibly difficult to hold yourself together. The vibrator against your clit is driving you insane, and all you is to be fucked. 

“Jiwoong, please. I’ll be good, I promise.”

Still, he pays you no mind. Instead, he’s stirring the cup of coffee he just made. He faces towards you, and with the door left open he sees you struggle not to cum. Your eyes are closed, and you’re biting your lip so hard he thinks you’ll bleed. Like the sadist he is, he doesn’t do anything. Casually sipping his coffee “like I said, babe. If you want to be touched, you’re going to have to ask Matthew.”

And at the sound of his name, the younger boy freezes. His movements on his shaft come to a stop, and out of fear, he pulls up his shorts quickly. Jiwoong turns to the other side of the kitchen where Matthew’s room is at. He knows that his door has been left slightly open with just enough room to peek at the situation in Jiwoong’s room. Said situation that almost drove Matthew to cum in his hands just a few seconds ago.

“Mattchu-ah, I know you’ve been watching it’s okay, you don’t need to hide.”

Matthew feels a mix of shame and arousal when he comes out of his room, unsure of what to do with himself. He’s never been in a threesome before. Jiwoong signals him to come closer, leaning against the counter as he lays down the ground rules. 

“She’s requested you, and since you’re too scared to make a move – I decided to play middle man and get things started for the both of you.” Matthew is gobsmacked at Jiwoong’s revelation. I mean, he did say he was more than okay with sharing, but Matthew didn’t know he was being dead serious. 

He pushes the coffee aside, “first, no kissing on the lips, she hates that. I usually let her decide whether she wants to. second, you’ll have to ask her where she wants to take you, if you’ll get to fuck her that way at all. And third, her safeword is daffodil. what are things you’re uncomfortable with?” Jiwoong asks nonchalantly. 

Matthew blinks once, twice, thrice. Poor boy had difficulty processing all the information with his mind already clouded with horniness. He wasn’t sure if this is a decision he should be making at all. 

“Matthew, if you want in, you’re gonna have to respond to me. Otherwise I’m more than happy to deal with y/n on my own.” Jiwoong gestures to where you are, and your moans bring him back to reality. Matthew glances at the door briefly – catching you in tears, vibrator in place, begging for him “Matt, please. It hurts…” 

With a gulp, he looks Jiwoong in the eye “okay understood, daffodil I got it.” Then, Jiwoong leads Matthew into his room. 

┈•┈୨୧┈•┈ 

Jiwoong shuts the door behind him, and sits down on the bed next to you. He mercifully turns off the vibrator, as he brushes your hair away from your tear stained face. 

“Poor baby, I’m proud of you for holding off for so long”. You let out a pathetic whine at the sudden loss of vibration. But at least Jiwoong is here finally, touching you. He places a soft kiss on your shoulder, “Matthew’s here baby, he wants to help you.” 

That was Matthew’s cue to come closer. You have no pride left as you try to claw at him, completely forgetting about your ribboned restraints. Matthew looks at Jiwoong for one last approval, and upon seeing him nod – gently undoes the knots around your wrists. When you're set free, he tentatively watches as you wrap your arms around his neck. "Touch me please, Matt" you whisper into his ear, as he eagerly removes his shirt and latches his lips to your neck. Matthew's brain is clouded, and all he can think about is how he finally gets to see and touch you like this – he thinks you're so beautiful, naked, and begging to be touched. Small whines escape your lips as he litters small purple kisses across your chest.

Jiwoong takes a backseat on the office chair across the bed and simply watches as Matthew explores your body.

“Matt, please. Please please please” is all you could let out. Your brain getting all fuzzy with how turned on you are – Matthew latching on to your breast and Jiwoong burning holes into your skin with his stare, slowly palming himself through his pants. Matthew's touches leaves you with goosebumps, and you let out a loud groan when he swirls his tongue on your nipple. You want him to take his tongue elsewhere.

“Waited so long to touch you, so I’ll take my time.” You didn’t know Matthew had it in him to be a little mean. You wonder where the shy boy had gone as he shoves two fingers in your mouth, commanding you to suck. Pliant, eager to please, and hoping to cum, you do as you’re told. Sucking and swirling your tongue around his fingers. Matthew’s eyes darken and he removes his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva following it. You’re drooling and about to cry, and with that Matthew couldn’t resist anymore - he thinks you're so cute looking all desperate.

He remembers the time where you left him hard on the couch, the night when Jiwoong was running late. You had teased him with bold statements, straddling him and whispering dirty things to his ear. In an act of revenge he manhandles you, flipping you over and placing your body atop his in a second. You're so far gone that you don’t register the change in position until you feel Matthew’s hot tongue on your clit. 

The first few licks, gentle. He’s testing how you’ll react. You’re whimpering like a puppy at this point, and chanting “please” like a broken record. He wastes no time in sucking harshly at your clit, gripping your thighs in place to prevent you from squirming or moving away. "Right there please, don't stop". Matthew wants to see you suffer the same way you did to him, and releases you from his grip ruining your impending orgasm. "ngh no, why?" you cry, gripping on to the headboard as support.

From across the room, Jiwoong chuckles "seems like Matthew's just getting his revenge from all your teasing last week baby". You look to Jiwoong, and hopes he can come save you. But he already knows what those eyes mean, and he's not going to give in so easily. "No baby. like I said if you want to be touched you'll have to convince Matthew."

You look at the younger boy and you feel small next to him. You swallow your pride, and beg one last time – "please sir, I'll do whatever you want. please just let me cum". Maybe it's the way you parted your swollen lips, quivering as you utter the word 'sir' that flicked a switch in Matthew. He's done trying to torture you, he wants you just as bad.

"Since you asked so nicely, I'll reward you" he says as he shoves two fingers inside you, thumb lapping at your clit. He finds that gummy spot inside you, and you shudder against his ministrations. You cum embarrassingly fast, and Matthew pinches at your clit mid-high, overstimulating you. You yelp, and fall limply on Matthew’s chest, shaking from the waves of your orgasm. 

Matthew’s fingers are coated with your arousal, and he sits you up properly to check on your previously limp figure. As if Jiwoong read his mind, “Y/n can you take more or are you done for the night?” Your head snaps, and you take a look at Matthew’s flushed face, his eyes hooded and cheeks red. Your post-orgasm brain is starting to clear up, and you want to thank Matthew properly. "I can take more" you say, determined.

You look down and find Matthew’s tent in his shorts, instantly feeling bad that you’re the only person in the room who got to cum. Undoing his zipper, you let out his cock and he hisses at contact of cold air. You make brief eye contact with Jiwoong, and he’s surprised too. While Matthew isn’t longer in length, he’s definitely girthier than what you’re used to. “Sir you’ve been so nice to me, let me repay the favor.” You hold his cock in your hand, and it spasms - precum leaking out. You begin stroking him gently and he throws his head back in relief. “F-fuck, y/n” he hisses. 

“Cmon baby, you’re the one that wanted Matthew in your bed, that’s the best you can do?” Jiwoong taunts. He’s right, you can do so much better. You didn’t plan on doing this, but you place yourself to straddle him – taking a glance at Jiwoong, as if asking permission that it would be okay. He nods gently to give you the validation that you need. 

“Y/N are you sur-'' Matthew's sentence is cut short as you sink down on him. Biting your lips to prevent yourself from groaning in pain – you’ll need adjustment to his size. He holds your hips steady, knowing that you’ll need some time before you both move. With you on his lap, eyes closed and breathing out slow breaths, he knows you’re trying your best to adjust quicker. Matthew wants to kiss you for trying so hard to make him feel good, but he knows that’s your boundary. 

Instead, he distracts the both of you by placing kisses on your neck, marking down to your breasts. He playfully and gently bites on your nipple, and that’s enough to bring you to reality. You start to bounce up and down his cock, moaning his name freely. His head is thrown back, though he has to remind himself to keep watching you –wanting to keep the image of you on his cock burned into his brain. Obscene squelches resonate throughout the room, your vision gets a little blurry as you lose sense of your surroundings. Matthew notices you slowing down, taking charge of the pace as he harshly thrusts into you as you sink down on him. You let out a loud moan, “Oh my god, do that again.” 

Then, Matthew remembers he’s not the only other person in the room. “Jiwoon hyung, you’re not going to join?”. You're still desperately grinding on to Matthew, and he halts your hips in order to reposition the both of you in favor of his hyung. Now, you’re on all fours. Jiwoong walks over to where your head is, he lifts your chin up with his finger and looks you in the eye. He has an unreadable look on his face – stoic, unfeeling. He is a good actor after all. So you suggest something that you know cheers him up each time.  

“Kiss me?” you ask, fluttering your lashes at Jiwoong. He leans down to your face, lips ghosting over yours before saying “only good girls get kisses”. Then, Jiwoong grabs your face by the jaw, forcing your mouth open. “You’ll take what daddy gives you” as he spits in your mouth. Immediately, you swallow. 

“Thank you daddy” you beam as you make yourself useful. Jiwoong looks somewhat satisfied as you reach down his pants to free his cock. You spare all the teasing as you know he's not in the mood for it, and take him wholly by your mouth. Jiwoong fucks your mouth mercilessly, tip hitting the back of your throat several times. Meanwhile, Matthew is still thrusting into you from behind. It takes extreme focus to keep at your task with Jiwoong, you don't wanna disappoint daddy.

It's getting increasingly difficult to stop yourself from gagging at Jiwoong's movements. After a particularly hard thrust from Matthew, you yelp, momentarily releasing Jiwoong from your mouth. “Faster Matthew, she can take it” Jiwoong commands. The younger obeys, and quickens his pace into you. Jiwoong forces your jaw open and inserts himself in your mouth once again. Your moans are muffled, sending vibrations to Jiwoong’s length. 

Based on your expression, Jiwoong knows you’re close. “Baby, are you gonna cum?” he fucks into your throat, and you gag as a response. Still, you keep him in your mouth, head bobbing and cheeks hollowing out. As you make good work at Jiwoong’s length, Matthew lets out a deep groan. That’s when you notice Matthew stilling in his place, pulling out and painting your ass cheeks in white. “Shit. fuck.” he curses under his breath. Matthew’s body limps as he rests against the headboard. 

With that, Jiwoong calls it off. “Aww, looks like play time’s over for both of you” Jiwoong states.

Jiwoong removes your hands and mouth from his length and pulls his boxers back up. “Wait, but you’re still hard, let me make you feel good daddy” you protest, but he’s stern when he looks at you. “I said, play time’s over, princess.” 

Again, you can't read that tone and that stoic face he has plastered on. You’re mostly confused, especially with the sudden lack of physical touch from well, any one. Daddy always lets you cum at least twice, so you try to bargain “but I didn’t get to cum for a second time...” Jiwoong looks down at you smugly, “I said Matthew could help you, not me. And by the looks of it, he’s in no position to help”. 

He’s right by the way, Matthew looks spent. You’re used to multiple rounds with Jiwoong, and Matthew’s endurance isn’t as high in that regard. Jiwoong throws Matthew his shirt and shorts, and tells him to clean himself up. Matthew mumbles something about having a great time, and he’s off to the shower. 

You’re left naked on Jiwoong’s bed as he fetches a glass of water. He reenters the room, water and washcloth in hand, and silently takes one of his shirts to clothe you in it. He hasn’t said anything else since Matthew left the room, and you wonder if this was a good idea at all. You’ve never had a threesome with any of Jiwoong’s close friends, and you have a feeling that it bothered him more than he thought it would. 

He’s wiping your thighs with a washcloth, when you take it from him. You look him in the eye when you ask “is something wrong, Jiwoong?”. He sighs loudly, comfortably taking a seat next to you. "Sorry I didn't let you cum" he looks really apologetic, ashamed even, with eyes glued to the floor. "It's okay, I still enjoyed it", reassuring that it's no big deal. In this moment, Jiwoong's feelings are more important.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" you gently ask, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to get him to look at you. Head down, as if physically paining him to admit “I think...I hated that, surprisingly I couldn’t stand seeing Mathew with you like that..didn't look like you needed me at all actually...” he trails off. He can’t seem to look you in the eye, so he places his head by the crook of your neck instead. You run your hands through his hair, “well thank you for thinking of me, but you didn’t need to push through with it if you weren’t comfortable with it, woong.” 

“I know, I know. I just thought I wouldn’t be bothered by it. This was never an issue before.” Jiwoong responds, pertaining to your past escapades with other people. He removes his head from your neck and looks at you, then your lips. You give him time to say something, but he doesn’t. 

“Let’s talk about it some other time, woong. I think we’re both tired.” He hums gently, agreeing with you. Again, he looks at your lips. With that, you lean forward and kiss him. You feel the tension in his shoulders and neck melt away at the kiss, and you open your mouth slightly for his tongue to enter. He pulls at your bottom lip, and you let out a small smile. 

“For the record Jiwoong, you don’t have to ask permission anymore if you want to kiss me. Kiss me whenever, wherever.” He’s slightly surprised, and he’s hoping that his happiness doesn’t show too much as presses his lips against yours again – but you can literally feel his grin as he kisses you sweetly.

Jiwoong’s bedroom door is still open, and Matthew watches as you and Jiwoong kiss each other with smiles on your faces. He has a feeling that what happened just a few minutes ago would be the first and last time. 

So, I guess Jiwoong does have a sharing problem after all. 

-- -- --

PART 1 HERE

A/N: special mention to rose who fed me a few ideas!! also YEAH maybe Jiwoong does like Y/N that way

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

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[flowercrowngods]

Loving Eddie Munson is a full body experience. Steve can feel the lightness in his chest and the heaviness in his arms, can feel his hands tingling and his legs itching — itching to stay, to follow, to buckle and fall and float.

Eddie’s touch leaves goosebumps on Steve’s skin, his smile leaves a giddiness, his laugh a shortness of breath because, suddenly, Steve is laughing, too. Because of Eddie. With Eddie. Forgetting to breathe because he takes it away with gentle touch and playful wink, rendering Steve useless and utterly devoted.

But even when his eyes closed and they’re not touching, Steve isn’t safe from feeling this love in his entire body. Because Eddie is there. He’s always there; in his thoughts, his memories, this week‘s calendar, yesterday‘s Polaroid picture, tomorrow’s dreams.

Or here, right now, in bed, so close that warmth is radiating off him, but not close enough to touch yet. But Steve only needs to reach out with his pinkie and he could wrap it around Eddie‘s. Only needs to shift his leg just so to brush his knee against Eddie‘s thigh.

He’s there, he’s here, and Steve can feel him. Can hear Eddie’s smile in the air, can feel the the love in the safety of their little box-spring bubble, can smell belonging in his own shampoo mixed with Eddie‘s scent, can taste the words still that Eddie pressed to his lips earlier.

Loving Eddie Munson is a full body experience. All senses and more. Past, present, future. It’s all there, in the centre of Steve’s chest, slightly to the left as if always reaching for Eddie, drawn to him. Like the Fates knew upon the creation of humans that Steve’s heart would long for Eddie’s. His body would defy the laws of anatomy if it had to, he knows.

It makes him smile. It makes him want to cry, too.

Eddie is so close, so warm, so perfect and so still for once. And Steve wants to cry because the lightness in his chest needs to be filled somehow.

“You have your thinking face on, Stevie,” Eddie whispers then before Steve can lose himself in it, before he can let go and fall; fall so hard, fall without a landing, and still have Eddie catch him.

Eddie always catches him. Even when Steve isn’t falling. That’s another thing about loving Eddie Munson.

He doesn’t open his eyes, leaves them closed, the dim light of the room painting the world behind his eyelids in a beautiful sepia tone. That’s what he wants his future to look like. Not bright and loud and colourful. Just like this. Calm, serene, quiet, and with Eddie by his side. He deserves it. They deserve it. After everything, they deserve a future that will become a sepia past, the kind that will make people feel it in their whole body, too. The kind of story that will make them smile and cry at the same time, the kind that leaves behind lightness and space and the feeling that love could conquer worlds. The story of Steve and Eddie. Sepia-pretty, full of love and adoration and tingling hands.

He hums. “Not my thinking face.”

There’s no elaboration; because while Eddie knows Steve loves him, is in love with him, irrefutably, and can’t imagine loving anything or anyone as much as he loves Eddie, Steve still can’t tell him this. It’s his little secret. His safety belt in a world that moves so fast outside of this bedroom, outside the dim light, outside the safety they’ve made for themselves and each other.

“What’s that face then?” Eddie asks, but Steve just smiles. Hums. Dismisses the question, locks away the answer.

It’s the face that says, I love you so much, I can’t even stand to look at the world because that would be one sensation too many and I would break. Surely, I would break.

Eddie, however, refuses to let him go that easily.

“Stevie,” he sing-songs, moving closer until warmth turns to touch and lips are brushing over his face in butterfly kisses.

Steve smiles, a laugh bubbling out of his chest that’s still entirely too light, and leans both into and away from the touch, shy and brave at the same time.

“Stevie, baby,” Eddie continues, brushing kiss after kiss to his eyes, his brows, the tip of his nose. So warm, so close, so much and yet not enough, but still the perfect amount.

It doesn’t make sense and it doesn’t have to, not when Eddie kisses his smiles into Steve’s skin and leaves them in his memory for all eternity. Breath has left Steve’s lungs and he only lives because Eddie kisses him, loves him, adores him so entirely.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Eddie begs ridiculously — still smiling, still grinning, still laughing into Steve’s skin. Every time Eddie laughs, Steve feels so young. As though he were a little boy, because only children feel this kind of joy, this kind of safety and invincibility. That’s what people say, at least. They’re wrong. Obviously, they’re wrong, but Steve doesn’t fault them, because they don’t have Eddie Munson in their bed — and they never will.

So maybe it’s another secret of his now.

“It’s nothing,” he says, playfully pushing away Eddie’s face, only to chase after it just a second later, hovering above him. It’s Steve now who laughs into Eddie’s skin, who chases faint blushes on sepia skin with his lips and leaves a trail of kisses in a familiar path from his forehead down to Eddie’s lips; right into his heart.

He rolls his hips into Eddie’s and swallows the breathy sigh, the hum, the moan, only realising now that he was starving. He was bursting with emotion and still he was starving.

“Doesn’t feel like nothing,” Eddie breathes into his mouth, reaching for Steve’s hands with his own until their laced fingers rest above his head and he’s meeting Steve’s eyes with this rare look of quiet devotion. Staring for just one second. Two. Three.

It’s that look that makes Steve fall. It’s that look that catches him.

That makes him say, “I love you so much it’s like my body doesn’t know what to do with it.”

He doesn’t elaborate, wouldn’t know how even if he wanted to. But the way Eddie’s face shifts into something soft, something so vulnerable, makes Steve feel like maybe he’s not alone with it.

He swallows and buries his burning face in the crook of Eddie’s neck. Not shying away from vulnerability — not with Eddie, not anymore — but not quite strong enough yet to meet it head-on. Face first. Eyes open.

“That’s what that face was.”

Eddie frees his hands from Steve’s grasp only to wrap his arms around his middle, holding him tightly and securely. Like he’s loving him with his whole body, too.

“I love you, Stevie,” he says. Quietly, like it’s not for the world to hear, not right now. Like it’s only for him. Only for Steve. “So much. So, so much. I don’t even know what to do with it most of the time, either. You’re okay, baby, you’re so perfect. Don’t even have the words for it.”

“Words are overrated,” Steve says, lifting his face to press his lips to Eddie’s in a conquering kiss. Licking his way into Eddie’s mouth, he swallows any and all words that might have followed, just to make a point. But Eddie doesn’t seem to mind.

Steve pulls away just for a beat, his body still on top of Eddie’s, and rolls his hips once more.

“But you can show me.”

Oh, and Eddie does.

[shadowdaddies]

Hey girly, I had a dream last night and I feel like it’d make a good story. This time it’s cassian! So we want to go into battle with everyone and fight but cassian is set on us staying so we get into this big argument the night before we leave. While in battle, the reader gets seriously hurt and possibly kidnapped or taken and cassian can feel them through the bond getting hurt and is freaking out. Obviously the inner circle ends up finding us and cassian drags her into their room and starts apologizing and telling her how sorry he is and they make a pact to never go into battle angry and maybe it ends with some smut if you wanted to. Thank you so much!

thank you for the request love! I've been dying to write more Cassian lately

Stay Together

Cassian x Reader

Warnings: explicit torture, battle, weapons, injury, etc

You could not believe the conversation that you were having with Cassian. “What was the purpose of all the training I’ve gone through if you’re going to try to stop me from joining you in battle, Cass? I’m not just going to stay here while everyone else puts their lives on the line.” Arms crossed, you gave him your most stern look, daring him to challenge you further.

Cassian often didn’t know when to let things go, and now proved to be one of those moments. He towered over you, speaking in a lethally calm tone. This was not your mate, this was the General speaking to you now. “You will not go into battle tomorrow. It is against my official orders, and in this moment I am telling you as your superior officer that you are not prepared for this fight.” 

Seething with anger, you stormed from your tent. A lower ranking officer who was positioned outside eyed you with concern as you dodged any attempt at conversation, stalking past him. In need of space from Cassian and knowing that Mor was off with Emerie, you went to her tent to stay the night, eventually falling asleep still waiting for her to return. 

You awoke to alarms ringing and shouting from all over the camp, the sounds of people running past your tent signaling that there had been an advance from the other army. They’d come early. You sprung out of the cot you’d slept on, realizing Mor never came back last night. You could only hope she’d stayed with Emerie as you ran to find your own mate, hopeful to locate him in the chaos. 

Most everyone had evacuated the camp by now, headed to the battlefront. You couldn’t fathom how we had been caught off guard so easily - how could the entire other army have moved that quickly? Throwing the flap open to your tent, Cassian was nowhere to be found. Of course he wouldn’t be here - he would be on the front lines - and your last words to each other were an argument. 

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you searched frantically for your armor - pausing when you heard shuffling and whispers outside the tent. Who would be heading back into camp in the middle of an attack? You grabbed your dagger, creeping outside to peer around the corner where you’d heard the noise.

The same officer from last night stood in front of you, smiling as he casually flipped his own dagger in his hand. “What are you doing here? Most everyone has left for the battlefront by now,” you questioned him, looking around for anyone else in the area. You panicked as you realized that you were alone, the knowing look on his face telling you everything you needed to know.

“You think we’d send our entire army against you so soon? We just needed a distraction.” You gripped the hilt of your dagger, barely holding yourself back from attacking this male who’d revealed himself as a spy. You needed to get more information first. He continued, “With enough spies in your camp, it was too easy to convince everyone that the other army was on the move. You really should be more aware of who might be listening - your little fight with your mate last night gave us the perfect opportunity. Now we’ll be able to not only destroy the camp and weaken your forces before our attack, but we’ll have a member of the High Court, the General’s mate, as leverage.” 

You scoffed. “You think you can take me? You know who trained me.” He slowly nodded. “I don’t need to.” Suddenly you sensed a presence behind you, turning to see several males just before the world went black.

You awoke, blinking your eyes rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the lack of light in the room. You were seated at a table - chained to a chair, your arms cuffed to the tabletop - your entire body feeling weak and throbbing in pain. Instinctively, you tugged on the bond in hopes of reaching Cassian, but felt nothing. Panicked, you lowered your mental shields to contact Rhys or Feyre. Nothing again. Realizing you must have been given faebane, your next move was to find a way out of your chains. As you studied your binds, the door opened, a large, uniformed male and female entering the room.

“Good, you’re awake. Now we can begin,” the male said, yellow eyes shining with twisted pleasure as he took the seat across from you. The female stood to the side, unrolling a pack to reveal a number of tools and knives. You were here to be tortured for information. 

Taking a deep breath, you schooled your features into a neutral expression, focusing on detaching from the physical pain that was coming. You didn’t bother to look at the tool the female held up in your peripheral vision as she made a show of inspecting it. The male leaned forward, a sick grin showing several missing teeth as he asked you a question. You tuned him out, ignoring everything he said so that you wouldn’t give anything away.

Heavy silence hung in the air, the male seemingly repeating the question before sighing in resignation. He nodded to the female, who roughly grabbed your hand in hers, and the pain tore through every nerve in your body as your fingernail was ripped from you. A scream echoed through the air - presumably your own - as your vision flashed white. 

It felt like hours had passed, as they found creative new ways to draw pain from you. Your body slumped forward as much as the chains would allow, you began seeing visions in the darkness. Azriel appeared in the corner of the room, and you were grateful for this trick your mind was playing on you, just so you could see a familiar face. You smiled, feeling a sense of comfort rush through you before the male’s hand made contact with the side of your face. 

Reeling from the impact, your vision began to fade as you slowly lost consciousness again - only seeing flashes of Azriel’s face as he killed your captors. You felt the warmth of your mate, Cassian’s voice sounding from a distance in your head. This must be the end, you thought, welcoming death - or whatever may come - as long as you were with Cassian.

Your first thought as you looked around your bedroom was that this was clearly not Hel. Your muscles were sore, but otherwise you felt whole. You could feel your mating bond again, tugging on it as hard as you could just to see Cassian burst through the bathroom door with wide, puffy eyes. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, running across the room to kneel at your side. Tears ran down his face as he held your hands in his. “I’m so - I’m so sorry,” he choked out through sobs. “I should have listened to you, I never should have let you leave like that. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please, please forgive me.” Your heart broke with his, feeling his remorse and fear through the bond. “I’m sorry too, Cass. I thought I was going to die having left you after an argument. That feeling was worse than any pain I went through.” 

Cassian looked up at you, his broad hand holding your face as he swore, “I will never leave you in a fight again.” You nodded. “I promise, I will never leave you in a fight either.” The bargain mark burned the back of your neck, a sharp diamond with intricate swirls now permanently on both of your bodies. Cassian leaned in, kissing you softly until you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, communicating all that words could never express. 

You pulled him into the bed with you, the two of you holding each other close. You would face the looming threat of the spies and the war soon enough - but tonight, you had your mate, and you would never have to face those threats without him again.

[sunlightmurdock]

The Parent Trap | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Ex-Wife!Reader

♡ Prologue | Next Chapter | Masterlist

♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it. (warnings will be added as story progresses).

…

“Alright! They’re here.” Maverick drops the curtain back into place and turns back towards his granddaughters. “Be cool.”

Peyton looks up, scrunches her nose just a fraction — she takes a moment to analyse what this might entail. Maverick sits back against the couch and opens his book up, picking a random page a couple of chapters in, settling into his position. Parker settles in equally easily, she drops down so that she’s sitting cross-crossed and immediately gets to work penciling in answers on her worksheet. Peyton inhales, then almost forgets to exhale, her mind racing as the sound of footsteps on the porch ring out over the top of Maverick’s soft soul album playing.

Finally, she drops down next to her sister and grabs a pencil.

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen Mav,” You muse, breathing out softly as you follow Bradley up onto the porch. It’s been forever since you’ve even been here, you’ve only seen Maverick a handful of times since you divorced Rooster. He was always kind to you. “He might not even recognise me.” You joke.

Rooster almost scoffs. Recognise you? — He hardly ever shuts up about you. It’s a good thing, probably, that his friends and family are so fond of you. It means he picked a good person to share his life with. It just makes things even more difficult now that the two of you have decided to go your own ways.

“He’s not that old.” Rooster settles with instead, keeping things lighthearted as he turns the door handle and opens the front door. He steps in first and holds the door open behind him for you. Taking a few steps forwards, he has a good view into the living room on the left.

The girls are both sitting on the floor, working on some school work together. Peyton’s helping her sister with math. Maverick is reading a fictional romance novel. One of Penny’s. Peyton is way worse than Parker at math. Damn it.

Maverick glances up from his book and even through the suddenly blurred lenses of his reading glasses, he can see the disappointment on Rooster’s face. Busted. But, as far as Rooster knows, this just means that the three of them spent the afternoon having fun and watching TV. Which isn’t entirely incorrect.

“Hi, Mav.” You step around Rooster sheepishly and lift your hand, waving it at him. Rooster looks you up and down, brows scrunching slightly. This is the man who drove you to the hospital when you were in labour and Rooster was an hour away in traffic. The same one who held you whilst you sobbed at the thought of not being a good enough mother and told you it was all going to be okay. The first person that the two of you told you were expecting.

And here you are, acting like he has become a stranger.

There are lots of aspects of divorce that hurt more than Rooster was expecting them to. Those hour long gaps in his Sundays now that he doesn’t have to go and put gas in your car. Getting home from work on a night that the girls are with you and his home being empty.

Now, Rooster doesn’t have much of a family. It was just Mav for a little while, and then Penny and Amelia came along. But, then he had you — and the girls, and you were all a big family. Now, Maverick is someone that you can only awkwardly say hello to. No longer family.

“Hey, honey! How’ve you been?” The book is discarded and Maverick is pushing himself up off of the couch, arms opened and walking towards you. Your body unstiffens, exhaling quickly as you let him envelope you in a hug. It takes everything in you not to rush out a pained ‘oh my god, I thought you hated me’.

Your mind jumbles, searching for the right words as Maverick squeezes you. He’s greyer than the last time you saw him, he still smells like the same cologne he wore when you met him. That means Penny’s still unsuccessful in making him stop buying the same pine scented spray that he wore in the eighties.

“Good! I’m — busy, but I’m good.” You manage out. He pulls back to look at you, catching your arms like you’ll disappear again if he doesn’t ground you right here with him. He looks over your face fondly. Both of you a little bit older, probably none the wiser.

Pete grins and nods his head. “I’m glad, I’m so glad.”

Rooster looks between the two of you, then back at the kids looking up at them curiously. As he glances back to Maverick, he knows that it’s only a matter of time before the old man starts spouting off some crap about how the two of you would probably be happier together.

“Mav, could we have a second alone with the kids? — We still have to get them home before their bedtime and stuff.” Rooster reminds his uncle gentle. Maverick jumps to his senses and pulls back nodding.

“Oh, right. Of course. I’ll — I’m going to go and start making dinner for Penny. I’ll be in the kitchen.” As he turns, his back to the two of you, his eyes on the kids, Maverick gives them an overzealous wink. It’s up to them from here on out. Then, he leaves and heads for the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

Bradley moves first. He walks calmly into the living room and sits down in front of the two of them. You follow suit. There’s a beat of silence, the four of you looking at each other.

Finally, you’re the first to speak. “First, your dad and I just wanted to say that we’re glad you two can talk to each other, and that you wanted to help out your sister. But you know that this was completely the wrong way to go about it. Right?”

“We know…” Peyton agrees dejectedly, guilt in her tone and her body language as she twirls her pencil between her fingers.

You do your best not to make it a lecture, knowing that they’ll just zone out if you drone on at them too much. They’re still little and long lectures can be draining on their developing minds. You do your best to engage, asking them questions, keeping them involved.

It’s clear that they know what they did was wrong. You’ve got a sneaking feeling that this probably won’t be the last time they do something like it, but for now it’s resolved either way.

They’re going to write an apology to their teachers for switching classes again. You and Rooster had been texting about this all afternoon, you’ve considered making them write an apology to William — but he’s kind of a little asshole and his mother is even worse.

You check your watch and it’s already a little after seven. Their bedtime is eight. Luckily, Mav gave them dinner, so all you have to do is get them home and into bed. Then, you can get started with the mountain of work that you have left to do tonight.

“Alright, go say goodnight to Grandpa Mav, we should get going.”

“Can I drive home with Dad?” Parker asks suddenly. A quick glance towards your ex-husband, clearly tired after the day, relaxed back against the couch. He moved a while ago, complaining that sitting on the floor was hurting his back. You shake your head quickly.

“No, not today. It’s out of his way, and you two need to get to bed soon.”

“I just wanted to talk to him about the stuff with Billy,” She turns those big brown eyes towards Rooster and looks up at him, guilt filled and sorrowful. “I feel bad for not telling you about it. Can we talk?”

You open your mouth to correct her. Rooster, already suckered, sits forwards and nods his head. “Yeah, Peanut. We can talk about it.”

“You don’t have to, I mean, it’s—“

“It’s alright, I can take them back with me and we’ll just meet you at your place.” Rooster decides, running his fingers through his auburn hair and sitting up, readying to stand.

For the millionth time that day, your children catch you off guard. Peyton looks up, scowling, completely serious as she shouts, “No, I want to go with Mom!”

Rooster glances across at you, then back at her. Ultimately, he shrugs — it has been a long day and the twins’ favourite parent switches up routinely, he has learned to just take it in his stride. “Alright, so we’ll take one each. Just me and you, Parks.”

You’re more skeptical of this behavior, and your daughters recognise it immediately. You squint as you look between the two of them, and their sweet little faces. They’re probably up to something, but like their dad, you’re exhausted and don’t have time to investigate.

“Okay. One each.” You agree with a tired shrug, pushing yourself up from the floor. The girls rush off to say their goodbyes to Maverick, Bradley thanks him for watching them, then you’re all bundling out to the cars. You pause at the realization that Rooster has his bronco.

He catches your scowl as you pass him one of the booster seats. “She’ll be fine, I’ll drive slow.”

“I can take her, it’s not a problem.” You shake your head at the thought of her climbing up into that almost fifty year old, mostly metal, box. Rooster has always defended that truck to you, insisting that it’s safe. Still, you had made him buy something safer for when he has the kids. Their booster seats are still in the backseat of the fourth gen dodge Ram on his driveway, he never takes them in this.

“I’m going with Dad.” Parker insists. You both turn, looking up to find her already climbing on the side of the truck, having lifted herself up onto the step, now struggling to get the door open.

“We’ll see you at your place.” Rooster nods. With that, he turns away from you and wraps and arm around Parker’s middle, scooping her off of the side of his truck and opening the door with her under one arm.

You swallow softly and slide into the driver’s side of your car. Before you’ve even turned the key in the ignition, Peyton pipes up from behind you. “Was it weird being at Grandpa Mav’s house? — Did you guys used to be friends?”

“Alright, you buckled in?” Rooster looks up and checks his rear view mirror, finding his daughter’s smiling face looking back at him. He misses seeing those faces every day. She nods calmly and tugs at the seatbelt to prove it. Rooster nods, turning the radio down a little so that he’ll be able to hear her. The soft top cover will help, since the wind won’t be in their ears.

“Did you see that Mommy got her hair cut? — I like it like that, it’s pretty.” Parker comments, dragging her backpack across the seat towards her and starting to rifle through it as Bradley pulls away from the curb. He glances up at her through the mirror, brows scrunching just slightly, lips quirked.

“I thought we were going to talk about this Billy kid.” He reminds her.

“We are,” She shrugs her shoulders and pulls her notebook from the backpack, along with a blue pencil. “I’m just saying, Mommy looked really pretty today, don’t you think?”

“Your Mom always looks pretty. Just like you, Peanut.” At first glance, it’s a nice thing to say. But, it’s what he always says. With the two of them sharing so many of your features, he’d never dream of saying anything bad about the way you look. Not that he has anything bad to say anyway. Still, Parker is looking for something a little better than that.

She stares at him, squinting for a moment, then persists. “Yeah. But don’t you think she looks especially pretty now?”

Rooster glances up again, lips quirking more, brows scrunching in amused confusion at the serious expression on her face. “Yeah, I guess. — What’s this about?”

“I’m just asking. Don’t you think about Mom when you aren’t with her?” Parker frowns, folding her arms over her chest. Rooster pulls to a stop at a red light and looks back at his daughter, baffled. He always knew that getting a divorce was going to bring up some questions from the kids, he just wasn’t expecting this level of interrogation today.

He gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I think about you guys all the time. Y’know, how you’re doing, if you’re safe—“

“No, not us. Mommy.” Parker interrupts. Rooster glances back again, finding her staring back at him with her pencil resting on the page, her expression impatient. He pulls away from the now green light and shifts in his seat, completely confused.

“Um… yeah, I guess I think about her when we aren’t together. Parks, where’s all this coming from?” He frowns.

“Nowhere. So, anyway… Billy.” She tosses the notebook to the side and rests her hands in her lap.

Peyton twirls a curl around her finger, bopping her head to the lyrics of a song from the noughties. “I just think it’s cool that Daddy gets to fly planes. Did you think it was cool when you met him?”

When you met Rooster, you were still a bartender, working part time in a local boutique. You worked for Penny back then. You were somewhat young, especially impressionable — and he was perfect. Tanned skin, sunglasses and sea-salt tangled curls, asking you how your weekend was going every week.

Listening to your stories, asking you out, telling you about his adventures. It was all so quick in the beginning and yes, he was so cool.

“He was alright.” You answer back, glancing up into the rear view mirror with a soft smile toying at your lips. Peyton grins, she knows what that means.

She’s heard this story a million times and yet she asks again, “What was your first date like?”

Things with Rooster had never been exactly traditional. You’d already slept with him a couple of times before he finally murmured into your skin that he wanted to take you out for real, that he needed to know more about you.

But, that aspect obviously remains between just you and Rooster. You tell your kids about the date by the beach, him trying to impress you with somewhat of a picnic. Pushing him over in the water, him carrying you back to the car when you cut your foot on a rock by the shore.

He was so attentive in the beginning.

By the time you’re pulling onto the driveway, you check the rear view mirror and Peyton’s got her head leaned against the car door, lips parted, dead asleep. You smile softly, shaking your head as you unbuckle yourself and let yourself out.

Rooster pulls up as you close the door behind you. He turns off the ignition and hops down from the truck, standing under the glow of a streetlight.

“Parker’s asleep, I’ll carry her in.” He calls to you, already walking around to grab her door. You shake your head fondly as you turn back towards your car.

“Peyton too.” You chuckle.

Rooster unbuckles his daughter and lifts her into one of his arms, grabbing her backpack from the backseat with the other. He tucks her in against his side, her head lulling onto his shoulder, not stirring from her sleep in the slightest.

You groan as you hoist Peyton up onto your hip, struggling to balance her and shut the car door at the same time. It tugs at your heart strings as you realise out loud, “They’re going to be too big for us to do this soon.”

Rooster chuckles and steps around you to shut the car door for you. He makes it look so easy. “No, they’re going to be too big for you to do this soon. I’ve got a couple more years.”

You hug her closer to you, struggling to keep her tight against you, wondering when she got so big as you fumble for your keys in the tight back pocket of your shorts.

“I’ve got it.” Nudging your wrist out of the way, Rooster dips his hand into your back pocket and takes the keys. It’s a quick interaction, probably not him trying to cop a feel — it’s too fleeting for that, but it leaves you stunned nonetheless. He works the door open and glances back to check that you’re coming, still balancing your daughter with ease as he sets the keys on the end table inside.

Realising quickly that you must look like an idiot just standing there and staring at him, your feet carry you forwards and you kick the door shut behind you. He carries Parker up the stairs ahead of you. It hasn’t been that long since he lived here, it looks kind of different — the pictures on the stairway wall are different, but not unfamiliar.

He rounds the corner and pushes the door to their room open. Now, this is different. White walls dotted with little painted blue flowers, big-girl beds. Long gone is the nursery and toddler furniture that the two of you had filled this room with. It makes sense, their room at his place isn’t that different from this one, but still, he wonders why you didn’t ask him to help.

He sets Parker down on the bed closest to the door, slipping her shoes off of her feet and dropping them down to the floor beside her bedside table. The room would be bigger if they had bunk beds, but after last summer’s top bunk fight, you had forever abandoned that idea.

“I’ll go switch the car seats back over, if you wanna get them ready for bed.” Rooster says gently as you walk past him to set Peyton down in her own bed. You lift your head and nod gratefully at him across the dark room. Leaning forwards, you flick the switch for Peyton’s nightlight, it’s soft white glow illuminating the room enough for you to see the smile on his face.

“Thanks. Could you come back in afterwards? — I wanted to talk to you about something.” You’re busy unlacing Peyton’s tennis shoe and so you don’t notice the elated smile that’s on her face as she feigns unconsciousness. Rooster nods calmly.

“Sure. I’ll wait downstairs.”

Getting them both into their pyjamas, tucking them safely under their covers and slipping their respective stuffed animals in with them, kissing them both goodnight, it’s all part of the usual routine. Rooster’s leaning against the kitchen counter when you return back downstairs, arms folded over his chest as he frowns at the sink.

Slowly, you come to a stop a little bit away from him, unsure of how to say what comes next. You inhale, fiddling with your hands in front of you. He isn’t even looking at you, it’s like he knows already.

“Does it always drip like that?” He asks, pushing himself up and crossing the room to inspect the faucet. Your lips part, brows furrowing slightly. You hadn’t even noticed. He cranes his neck to get a better look. “You should’ve said, I can fix it this weekend or something, if you’re around.”

“Um… I actually wanted to see if you were free this weekend.” You explain calmly. Parker’s mouth gapes open as she and her sister huddle together at the bottom of the stairs, trying to listen to the soft conversation happening a room away. Rooster glances at you over his shoulder, just as taken back by the idea as his kids are. “There’s someone that I want you to meet.”

Rooster turns around to face you, leaning back against the counter and resting his hands on the wooden countertop. “Me? — Who would you want - Oh. You’re seeing someone?”

Realisation covers his face; it’s neither a good or bad reaction, and after years of knowing him as intimately as you do - did - you wish you could tell. You try to act as natural as he does about it.

“Well, I’ve been on a few dates with someone,” You explain gently. It’s a sensitive topic, telling your ex that you’re trying to move on. You’re not naive, you know that Rooster has hooked up with people since the divorce, you have too. But it’s different now, it’s bigger. “I really like him, and I’m thinking of introducing him to the girls. But I want you to meet him first.”

Parker slaps a hand over her sister’s mouth to contain the gasp, both of them ducking behind the railing by the stairs, like they won’t be seen through the gaps. They exchange looks, a thousand thoughts at once, plans being drawn up internally already.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, bar the sound of the faucet dripping behind him. His eyes, a dark hickory, search over your features. It’s unclear exactly what answer he’s searching for in your expression, but it doesn’t take him long to find it.

“Alright,” He nods his head. He signed those divorce papers just like you did. He was there for the custody hearing, the division of assets, explaining it to the kids. Rooster’s been present and aware of what this divorce means every step of the way. It’s been two years of pretty much radio silence. Neither one of you have exactly hidden the little flings you’ve had in the meantime, but you’ve kept that from the kids and you haven’t made a point of telling each other either.

Rooster’s trusted your judgment for as long as he has known you. If you think you’ve found someone worth introducing to the kids, then he should be happy. It wouldn’t be fair to hold you back.

He gives another curt nod, “That’s… it’s great. Congratulations.”

Your racing heart settles just slightly at his approval. Its pace slows but the pounding remains the same as you slowly raise your eyebrows at him. “So, this weekend?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m free.” He agrees, nodding his head slowly. He taps his fingers on the countertops and glances around the home that the two of you had bought together just under a decade ago, silently wondering if your new boyfriend has been over.

It’s nothing to be upset about, the divorce was for the best, you both agreed that there shouldn’t be any hard feelings about it — these things happen. But, still.

“So, what’s he like?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet. “Um… well, he’s a carpenter, and he owns a DIY place down the street from my store. His name’s Chris, he’s about our age. He’s nice, I think you two would get along.”

Not a convict, not too old or too young for you, owns his own business. Rooster can’t find much to complain about. Peyton’s brows furrow as she waits for her dad to fix this, to tell you to stop seeing that guy and be with him instead. Rooster’s face softens as he nods his head again.

“He sounds great,” He decides finally, his voice gentle as he takes a step towards you and opens his arms. “I’m really happy for you.”

You exhale deeply, relieved as he wraps you in a loose hug, every fibre of the interaction platonic. Just as quickly as you’re tucked in his strong, warm arms, he lets you go again.

“Text me a time and a place, the three of us can do something this weekend,” Rooster brushes some loose curls back off of his forehead and squeezes your arm as he steps past. Parker sighs, leaning her head back, crushed. He’s doing it all wrong. “And… um, thanks for keeping me in the loop about all this. I really appreciate it.”

Your lips quirk up into a soft smile as you nod at him. His footsteps grow closer, reminding the girls that they’re supposed to be in bed. It’s a quiet scramble, trying not to trip over each other as they race back to their bedroom.

…

@fadingbelieverexpert @jessirosebud @cowboybarbie @pinkpantheris @thedroneranger @a-serene-place-to-be @xoxabs88xox @unordinare

[bird-inacage]

Love Sea Episode 9: Lost at Sea before the Finale

Sigh. I had high hopes for this episode, which reached it's apex in the main conflict with Rak's dad (our honorary big bad). But yet again it's at a crucial juncture in the story, where writing and execution have fallen short when it really mattered.

Despite building tension for the past few weeks in service of this moment, it's swiftly deflated with little fuss. I thought the contract-tearing scene would provide a riveting layer of complexity for our characters to navigate. But it's barely a hiccup. The entire pay off we've been hurtling towards just unceremoniously fizzles out.

Here are my observations as to why this episode missed the mark (some of which I hope to dig into when I do a full review of the series).

The 'saviour' plot device. Where a character repeatedly saves the day in service of other characters (regardless of their credentials to do so). This is the role they've boxed Mut in. He swoops in - solves, fixes, pursues, soothes. He's faultless. He's unwavering. He's Rak's hero in shining armour. This isn't fundamentally bad except his capacity is reduced mainly to just that, and the cost is little to no development of his own. I take enormous issue with this because I dearly love Mut. He has great scope for a far more compelling trajectory. We had wonderful insights into his outlook on life in the earlier episodes, which have since taken a noticeable backseat. We are yet to see significant exploration of Mut's struggles, flaws or weaknesses. There appears to be some focus on this in episode 10, but why so little so late?

The women are rendered superfluous. Which isn't helped when we already have a lacklustre GL portrayal. As things go awry - Kwan, Vi and Mook are varying degrees of 'just there'. I would have loved to see the plot utilise the women who know Rak best, to contribute towards bringing Jak down. But the show's priority to aid Mut's heroic efforts, means the women are left with very little to do.

Mut VS Jak. If you compare the two men, Jak is taller and in fairly good shape. Physically, you'd expect more resistance in a fight. When Jak goes down, he barely tries to get up (even when Mut's back is turned). Thus, the outcome of the fight feels unearned, especially if we are to believe this man has violent tendencies that have traumatised his children. (He may not be murderously insane, but still volatile enough to maim his own son). By being so easily overpowered, the takeaway ends up being: 'oh, we needn't have worried'. And this exchange didn't have to be strictly physical either, it could have been psychological. Jak could have taunted Mut like he did in the café, and tried to chip at his resolve. Alternatively, if Rak were the one to overcome his father (in a bid to save Mut), it would show that Rak's love can power through his fear, and he'd gain that lesson through his own agency rather than Mut telling him he should no longer be afraid. (Another symptom of this series is subjugating Rak to a huge degree of passivity).

I'm not sold on Jak's character motivations, based on what we've seen. He's not quite smart or menacing enough to be a calculated sociopath, and he's a shade too conniving for an apathetic loser. If he's as lazy as we've been told, why would he go this far to secure Prin's money, when he's already syphoning finances from Rak and his mother? Couldn't he just sit back and continue to leech with no effort? If his desperation were a result of poor spending, it would at least ground his motive. Or if he's fuelled by the thrill of tormenting his family, we'd need to see mental depravity. Instead, much of Jak's actions feel - dare I say - 'because plot'? (Make your villains more formidable and their eventual downfall will pack more punch).

The few too many plot conveniences. The sillier one being how on earth Rak left the house without anyone noticing? The enormous glass staircase which sits front and centre in an open plan property makes it near impossible to go undetected. Unless he parkoured from his bedroom?

I'm gutted because the show veers towards the more questionable choices at their disposal. The set ups are there. The ideas are there. The parameters are there. It's what they decide to do with them that sadly misfires. This has caused my investment in the story to plummet towards the latter half.

I continue to watch for Fortpeat, and I feel for them because they've worked so hard. There's some lovely acting sprinkled throughout this episode but at this late stage in the series, the plot should be driving things home. Whereas the metaphorical tide keeps moving those goal posts in and out of sight. I hope they can at least round things off on a high note next week.

[nctstar]

Hello! I saw that your requests are opened. Can you please write something or a smut with Doyoung siren? It sounds so incredible in the beginning of golden age 🤯

hi! I know this is SOO late but I'm still getting used to this whole request thing...hopefully will be much better at it next year :) anyway, I think it's probably different to what you envisioned but it does involve siren Doyoung so :D

the girl of the Surface

I leant over to kiss Doyoung on the cheek. Sure enough, the skin on his face felt wet against my lips, and he tasted like salt. When I pulled away, his cheeks were flushed deep orange.

“May I see you again, Doyoung.” I walked away after that, not knowing this was the start of an endless story, a loop, if you will.

pairing: siren!doyoung x fem!reader

other members: the 127 members :)

word count: 3k

genre: low fantasy, smut

warnings: sexual content so minors please dni! yes the sexual content is between sirens and humans so if that makes you uncomfy then don't read, penetrative sex, riding, kissing, fingering, profanity (use of the f word mainly)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my (filthy) imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also do not condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic. I'm also not a siren expert so feel free to educate me kindly if I'm wrong about certain things - I did do some research for this but there's obviously a lot out there on stuff like this

a/n: honestly i'm a bit iffy about the quality of this - I feel like it's not my best writing but I'm still eager to get this out bc I feel like it's intriguing at the least. I feel like subconsciously I adapt my writing style to suit whoever I'm reading rn - and rn I'm reading the starless sea so I tried to be more whimsical - but reading back on this I don't think I can pull off this style like queen erin morgenstern can so...anyway it's a work in progress :D also completely forget about golden age oops

also let's just say the jungwoo alien fic walked so this one could run lmao

Every day, Doyoung sneaked away to meet the girl of the Surface.

That’s what everyone else called her, like she owned the place. Nobody knew her name, voice, what she wore or even what she carried. The outlines of her face and body were always blurry, just out of focus.

He wasn’t supposed to go see her. Not on the first day, and definitely not on the days after that.

Doyoung mainly spent most of his days cooped up in his bedroom, nose buried in the pages of a book, words swimming around in his head at all hours of the day. While his siblings rushed here and there, tails flapping and knocking knick-knacks off the makeshift shelves he had built, gossiping about the latest happenings at the market, he travelled the world in his head. Not just the one below, but above the Surface.

Many nights were spent awake, wondering, what is so bad about the Surface?

One night, way before he had ventured above and first laid eyes on her, excited shouts had awoken him from a floaty slumber, and he swam out of his house to find the body of a human male falling through the water, his white shirt billowing out of his body, one shoe coming off his feet, threatening to be lost in the depths of the water.

His brother, Jaehyun, nudged him. “Hey.”

He nodded, acknowledging his presence, but his eyes never left that shoe, not until it fell off completely and started to float away. At the same time, he watched the water around the body stain red, spreading quickly like he imagined paint would on canvas. Above the Surface, of course.

“You think this is how it is above the Surface?”

“Like what?” His brother was eating already. Not the human – well, not yet, anyway.

“Do they also feed on-“

“Hey! Doyoung! Get over here. We need more sirens.”

∞

The day after that, Doyoung and Jaehyun were initiated and sent up for the very first time.

“Hyung, how are you moving so easily with these things?” Jaehyun rubbed his sides in annoyance, wincing when his fingers met the quickly hardening ridges of fins. “I can’t believe I’m going to have this for the rest of my life.”

Doyoung was quiet, the swish-swish of his body travelling upwards, closer towards the Surface. His thoughts were flooded, the voices of the other sirens refusing to settle in his brain. Do not rise above the Surface.

But the people in the books, with their dances and songs – different to the ones he knew. Songs that inspired, that brought peace, that declared love.

Not songs that represented betrayal, violent ends for the ones who dared to stop and listen.

 Would he be able to hear those songs?

“It’ll be fun. You know,” He caught up to Doyoung now, arms brushing as they swam in sync. “the others said you can have fun with them before the song ends.”

Doyoung looked at his younger brother, whose eyes were glinting with something akin to pride, or mischief. “What kind of fun?”

Jaehyun smiled at him. “Remember that time Johnny-hyung made that huge thing crash, and it had hundreds of humans on it? Well, he said he had a lot of fun that day.”

“It’s called a ship.” Doyoung looked ahead as the water began to lighten, signalling their arrival. “Those huge things are ships.”

“Okay…” He trailed off, frowning slightly before getting distracted by his new fins again, now fully hard and sharp enough to cut the skin of his hands if he pressed down too hard. “Anyway, we can always hope for people on the shore too. In fact, they say there’s a human who lives on the shore of the land nearby.”

“What land?” Doyoung watched the rays of the light source above, the sun as the humans called it, let beams of light strike through the water.  They moved on their own accord, freely, like how he pictured the legs of the dancers as they moved to music above the Surface.

“Hyung it’s called an island, actually.” Jaehyun smirked, teasingly flicking his tail against Doyoung. The pressure of the fins in his sides started to push into his chest, making him feel a little lightheaded. A human…on an island? Above the Surface?

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of a legend. Like, legend has it she exists, but she never responds to a siren’s call.”

Something turned in Doyoung’s stomach. “She doesn’t…” he whispered, looking down, thoughts plaguing him.

“Yeah. They tried everything, but…not a single time did she even step closer, or indicate she was affected by the call. Hyung, they even,” Jaehyun grabbed Doyoung’s arm, letting his body float around to face him. “rose above the Surface. A siren-hyung was desperate. And then-“

“And then what?”

“He was never seen again.” For a moment it was silent, Jaehyun’s eyes staring unblinking into his own. Then, his torso erupted in fits of laughter, the fins in his sides uncomfortably moulded to his shaking body. “I can’t believe you fell for that, Hyung.” Doyoung sighed, shrugging off the arms of his younger brother. Above him, the sun burned ferociously, the water lining the edge of the Surface getting lighter.

∞

I had no idea I would meet Doyoung that day at the shore.

I was expecting a stretch of time with nothing to keep me company but the sounds of the rushing waves and the mess of my own thoughts. But alas, the figure became clearer as I walked barefoot across the sands.

Stopping in my tracks, wanting desperately to have some sort of weapon handy instead of a hefty book (though, a book could easily become a weapon if you try hard enough), I called out, chest feeling tight all of a sudden. “Who are you?”

The man was naked excepting the wrap of brown fabric around his hips, and my eyes ran across the weird lines on the sides of his toned chest. He was completely dry.

He didn’t move, and, I couldn’t see his face yet, so it was a surprise to hear his voice for the first time. Not only because I didn’t expect him to speak, but because his voice came as a deep, sonorous sound right into my ears, as if I had earbuds in and had just hit play.

“My name is Doyoung. I’m a siren.”

I should have turned away immediately, ignored him, or even stayed in place, waiting for him to leave. But instead, I did the worst thing you could ever do in such a situation.

In storybooks, sirens use songs that capture you, much like a physical trap, until you’re so far deep you fail to comprehend what you got yourself into. Yet, Doyoung was silent after he finished speaking, after admitting the sin of his existence.

“Are you serious?” The feeling of his chest was rubbery and wet underneath my fingers, despite him looking completely dry. “How is this-“

“Why did you come to me?”

I looked up at his face. He was handsome, but not in the mysterious way that you would expect a mythical creature. Redness and scars peppered across his skin, eyes furrowed in human-like confusion, legs as long as sundown stretched for on this island. His hair was messy, lips tinted red, parted slightly as if he was really breathing. My hands ached to touch his face, but I held back, not wanting to fondle this random…male specimen I had literally just met any longer.

“You’re the girl of the Surface. Like in the stories.”

You squinted, the sun beating down mercilessly between your bare shoulder blades. Getting nervous ay once under his intense gaze, I toyed with the shell necklace around my neck, averting his gaze. “Um, thanks, I guess. But I’m just, well, I’m _.”

“Legend has it siren calls don’t work on you.” Doyoung kept speaking like a narrator in an old timey film, stating facts rather than working to keep a real conversation going. “You look really blurry all the time, but you seem to take on the form of a human female. A young adult one. In all the decades you’ve been here, no one has been able to take you to the seas. You’re an enigma. No one can figure you out.”

I paused, my brain refusing to accept any of this information, but my heart warmed with something gentle and forgiving. I leant over to kiss Doyoung on the cheek. Sure enough, the skin on his face felt wet against my lips, and he tasted like salt. When I pulled away, his cheeks were flushed deep orange.

“May I see you again, Doyoung.” I walked away after that, not knowing this was the start of an endless story, a loop, if you will.

∞

Days and days and days later, I lay down on the sand with Doyoung for the first time.

He lay on top of me, and I hooked one arm around his neck, pulling his face near mine so he could kiss me. He did not. Instead, he rocked his hips against mine, and I felt his hard-on against my clothed core, making me whine. Pieces of sand travelled through strands of my hair, settling on my scalp.

Was this wrong?

He sank his teeth into my teeth, making me shake under him. Iron grip around my wrist and arm, he sucked and nipped the skin of my neck, and I cried out in pleasure. “Oh my god, don’t stop, p-please.” He groaned, his nose nestled into the crook of my neck. Letting go of one of my hands, he brought one between my legs, both of us working together to shrug off my bikini bottoms. Fingers nestled inside me all in one go with no warning, I felt the length of his fingers push against my sensitive walls. I bucked my hips upwards, involuntarily letting him travel knuckle deep inside me. When I climaxed, I dug my teeth into the salty skin of his neck. His eyes were closed the entire time.

“Is this wrong?” Ironically, even as he paused, his hard-on pressed urgently against me, as if answering for me. I shook my head, wanting to feel him inside me, wanting no more than to let my mind and body turn into jelly, to be overwhelmed by sensations akin to ones that made my world shake. I kissed him deeply, fingers digging into his scalp. Despite being so obviously turned on, and proceeding to fuck me at inhumane speeds for the next hour, Doyoung didn’t make a single noise the entire time after that.

∞

You couldn’t stop reading, even as the clock on your bedside shone angrily. Beside you, your husband groaned. “Babe.” One hand was slung messily across his eyes, the sheets revealing a slip of stomach and leg as he shuffled, half asleep. “You’re not reading your diary again, are you?”

“Doie, it’s just so cute. I love reading how we met. And what we did.” You brought your face closer to Doyoung’s, his eyes now sharper, even in the dim lights of your shared bedroom. You made sure the moonlight hit the curve of your hips and ass as you moved to kneel next to him. From his lips to the skin of his face and torso, you watched his body breathe sleepily. So beautiful, you thought.

It had been five years since that day he had crawled out of the water and met you.

Now you were, as Doyoung would say, living life above the Surface, like commoners in a children’s story about witches or pirates. People who fell in love, got married, had babies, then lay to rest on Earth forever.

By some magic, Doyoung was no longer a siren.

But the thought that he might still be one, might still accidentally have trapped you all these years, haunt him.

As you felt Doyoung’s length fully sheath inside you, you frowned, moans spilling senselessly out of your mouth as you rode him. You knew him so well, physically, and emotionally. Leaning over, you kissed him over and over again, the sounds of your hips hitting his pelvis becoming louder as you tried to reach your high. “Shhh…baby…you’re perfect. ” A lone tear slid down his face as he stared into your eyes, as if they were endless voids and not the eyes of his beloved wife. He began to whimper, and the sound of him shaking as he came made you reach your high too, slumping over him as you heaved. “Fuck yes.” You noisily kissed him as your hips began to bounce again, making him throw his head back and moan loudly.

“H-how can this be real?” The ceiling was warping into swirls, and the air was getting hotter. The weight of your thighs that pressed against the sides of his hips were beginning to fade away, and he felt paralysed. Distant voices wafted into the room, as if a filter was suddenly being lifted. Someone shouting his name. He pressed his eyes closed, tight, his hips stuttering as he came down from his second high.

You were gone. But for some reason, he could still feel the smooth surface of the shell that hung from your neck tickle against his neck, as if you were still there on top of him.

“HYUNG!”

His eyes snapped open. He felt a rush of air. Someone sighing, their blurry figure materialising as he came to. “Fuck, you scared us!”

The sun bore down on his face, and Doyoung felt his skin burning under its unforgiving rays. Despite the ache that yelled angrily through his entire body, he sat up, now faced with the rest of his members. Taeyong squatted next to him, holding a cold waterbottle, droplets riding down the outside surface. “Here. Drink this.”

Johnny’s broad figure towered above him, still hazy, but as his face got closer, his voice became clearer. “Where did she go?”

Doyoung frowned, and Johnny matched his expression. Everyone was silent, Doyoung shakily responding. “What are you talking about?” Taeyong tapped him, bringing the bottle closer to his lips.

As the ice-cold liquid rushed down to his stomach, Doyoung was awash with a new sense of clarity. He physically shuddered, as hidden memories of the past five years came to light. His face dropped, his eyes filled with horror. “W-where is she? The girl?”

“As I said, she left after she saw me. It was strange…” Johnny paused, and then pressed his lips together, looking down. The others were silent, and Doyoung whipped his head to all of them. They were all holding back. “What is it?”

Taeyong rested one hand on Doyoung’s bare shoulder, making him flinch. Nodding apologetically, he continued. “She looked vastly different to all of us.”

Jaehyun scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure this is all an elaborate prank, Hyung. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Hyung.” The maknae spoke, looking genuinely scared. Yuta patted him gently, as if silently agreeing with his next words. “Jaehyun-hyung saw Taeyong-hyung.”

“I wasn’t there, I swear.” Taeyong lifted both his hands up, his eyes watery and confused. “I swear to you guys.”

“Well, I saw Sarah. From my high school.”

“The girl that you lo-“ Doyoung stopped. Icicles formed in his stomach, the realisation making him sick. “Oh my god.”

“I saw Lavender, Doyoung.” He didn’t need that confirmation, but Taeyong’s voice was shaky now. “I saw her, clear as day. But…there was something off about her. I know this sounds crazy, but, she…she didn’t seem like herself.”

“But…whoever we saw,” Jaehyun still seemed skeptical, side-eyeing Johnny. “They all ran away after the first glance.”

Taeyong’s face was reddened by the harsh sun as Doyoung sat frozen in shock.

“Did she – or he – leave anything behind?”

As the words left his mouth, Doyoung’s hands were already inside the pocket of his pants. He let his fingers run over the shell in his pocket as the rest of the boys muttered their answers.

The words were becoming background noise, his thoughts all-encompassing, consuming him like water on a cold swim. He stood up, much to the surprise of the others. “I’m fine, guys. Meet you at the car? I’ll just be a few minutes.”

He would’ve found another way, even if his members hadn’t reluctantly left him that day at the beach. After all, you had left the necklace in his pocket for a reason. You loved him. You weren’t tricking him. You let him live because you loved him.

“Welcome home, baby.”

Right?

∞

To you, the stories had always fascinated you. The people of the Surface, with their friendly songs and parties, and stupid, blind trust in things that looked like them.

Especially things that looked like desirable women.

It quickly became your life’s mission to have as many as you could, not to share, never…to share. No, this was all for yourself. Nobody else got the Surface like you did. Nobody could scan and hunt on dry land like you did. You were always one step ahead, always planning your next move. In fact, the cute little maknae on the beach today was next on your radar.

But Doyoung…Doyoung was so much fun.

And what is it that they always said?

Oh right.

You’re allowed to have a little bit of fun…until the song ends, of course.

The song was almost over for Doyoung. Despite everything, you were starting to feel…bad, something you had read about in human books. Guilt. You wanted to give him a chance, a chance to walk away, because he honestly seemed like a good human. But obviously, he liked you too much to forget so easily.

You forgot that humans could be naïve like that.

At least you tried. Now, as the sun set on the horizon, it was almost time to head home. You were quickly getting bored, and tired of singing for the day.

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Would you write a short story about Haytham reuniting with his childhood sweetheart. Maybe they both meet, in an old barn, for refuge from the redcoats?

Of course, I can! I will do my best at this, but I hope you enjoy this! Also, sorry it took me so long. Procrastination and other things just said hello to me and I invited them in, lol.

Here you are, again, being chased by the egotistical Redcoats. It was all so simple to you: You were walking along the streets of New York, minding your own business, when a four-group army of Redcoats decided you were in their way. One of them dared to push you aside, and, of course, you would not ignore their rude behavior. One thing led to another, and soon enough, more Redcoats came by, but you did not have the skills to take on all 13 of them. 

After a mere moment of blocking yourself from their attacks, and using other Redcoats as human shields from gunfire, you decided to make haste and, risked getting shot at as you quickly navigated your way through the big city, taking any shortcuts you could find. It felt like an hour passed as you kept running, your legs were aching and almost to the point of numbness if you did not stop soon. 

At last, you found yourself in the middle of an open field, and a red, empty barn with a big, white barn door open was up ahead. You made your way in without hesitation, and without a sudden thought, you quickly pushed on the door to shut it and lock it tight. From that moment on, you decided to lean your body against the barn door, letting out some deep breaths you held in for so long. Your eyes glanced around the barn, only to see it was all filled with hay and wooden crates that took up space in empty horse stalls. 

You also thought you were alone, completely and safely alone. You saw a shadow from the corner of your eye, from behind a pile of crates. Slowly the shadow started to disappear, your heart started to beat faster, and your mind was sending out fear signals, to the point where you had to, yet again, defend yourself from whoever or whatever was in this very barn with you. As you pulled out your gun, you could hear footsteps getting closer and closer to you. In the blink of an eye, your gun was pointing at the person who stepped once more in front of your view. 

For a moment, all you could see was red, another Redcoat it seemed. But, as your finger was close to the trigger, almost to the point of pressing it, you saw a face, a face from your past. The features of this person were of an attractive man, with eyes of a dark gray color, and eyebrows lowered to make him intimidating. His lips are steady, and his nose is the one thing that makes everything else attractive to you. However, it was what came out of his mouth that only confirmed your suspicions of who this man is.

“It is somewhat a rare coincidence that we introduce ourselves again, Y/N L/N.”

His voice is that of a noble British accent, only one man that you know has this voice. 

“Haytham Kenway.”

His name falls off your lips quite nicely, and with this, both his and your lips curl up into a small smile. Your hand is still raised with the gun in it pointed at his face. 

“Grand Master now, are you not? It is quite an honor to see you so… languorous.” 

“I think I should be the one to say such a word.”

He lets out a small laugh and with his left hand, he raises it to wrap it around the gun. You let your finger move away from the trigger, and you easily let him disarm you with a gentle touch. You feel your fingers brush against each other’s, something that you have missed for some time now, but you don’t act upon it for now. Your eyes watch as his hands hold your gun and his eyes inspect the color and design of it. 

“Not a bad firearm to have. Did you have someone buy it for you?”

“I stole it.”

His gaze on the gun disappears as he tilts his head up with his eyebrows raised to look at your serious face.

“I took it off a Redcoat a couple of days ago. Better looking than the other one I had.” You continued.

He only nods his head in understanding, not saying anything else as he gives the gun back to you. You place it back in its holster, looking at his face the entire time which goes back to the serious look he always has on.

“How has New York treated you?”

He questions as he starts to pace around the barn, glancing at you as you finally sit down on a bale of hay and rest your legs on another one next to you. From this, you can feel your feet relieved from the pain, but the aching is still there. 

“I have been managing myself. Though, it is not as easy as you think.”

You see Haytham makes his way over to you as you answer him, his soft stare starting to melt your heart. His eyes are now a bright gray with a hint of some blue in there too; he looks like a dream. 

He sits down beside you on another bale of hay and he gently and slowly moves your legs to rest on his. As he glances at your features, his voice also grows soft, and his large hands start to caress your legs, but you do not flinch or make a sound, actually liking the care he is giving you. Your body starts to relax, but your cheeks leave a tinted red there, a small blush that he cannot help but chuckle at. 

“I can see that.”

He pauses for a moment, the silence filling up the barn as you two glance at each other. In your mind, you are in heaven, living in a dream that has come true. 

“I do wonder though, how you have survived all this after leaving the Order.”

“I only learned from the best, Haytham.”

Your smile at his thoughtful statement has him smiling along with you. Just then, you feel his other hand touch your right cheek, caressing it so gently that you could cry. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment, as you can tell from how blue his eyes have become, but you do not mind it at all. He has always been such a gentleman, from all those years you two have been together. It only seems like it was yesterday that you left and that he came all this way just to meet you in this very spot, away from Redcoats nonetheless. Though he wears a Redcoat outfit himself, you do not question it, already knowing that it is probably a disguise mission gone wrong. 

The tension in the air is soft; just polite stares and sweet smiles on each other’s faces. You lean forward, along with him, looking into each other’s eyes, wondering, from each other’s point of view, who is going to do what first. A gentle brush of his lips against yours, a small kiss planted on your or his cheek, even something more like a gentle thumb brushing over your nose and his lips pressing against the tip of it in a loving, caring manner. Yet, that does not happen. Instead, he slowly and gently presses his forehead against yours, and a loving smile on his lips. 

“Bienvenido a casa, mi amor.”

That is all he whispers to you. Nothing else needed to be said. 

[fluidity-stupidity]

More Witch Tips

I posted a few witch tips just a while ago, though I haven't gotten as much experience since then, much of what I offer is still up for your consideration. Some of these tips are just me calling divine individuals out on their bullshit (I have a story time brewing soon, may post tomorrow).

Putting protective sigils on the inside of everyday objects will help with protection or otherwise. Putting a protective sigil inside of your laptop bag or your purse will help technology stay fast and reliable. I've found from my astral projection travels that divine individuals will use our technology at the same time, it will slow down our technology incredibly (P.S. they should ask before taking, just as we ask of humans, our privacy is our privacy, not theirs).

Take car air re-fresheners and put in the thought of safe travel spells inside of them. Air refresheners like the little trees can be peeled and put sigils inside, air diffusers can have herbs put inside for a nice little travel spell.

Not all the time but for a lot of humans that have appeared in the Bible that neo-witches want to work with are never going to be who we think they are. Typically they are just archangels trying to get our attention to just let these human figures rest in peace.

Not all divine or non-divine(humans) are going to be able to adjust to technology, sometimes they randomly get remembered not too often and they have to catch up to modern times, allow them to catch up or just allow them to rest in their aftermentionisms.

Make your own divinatory tools. Whether it's runes made from tree branches from your backyard, or using a telescope with scrying capabilities, you have the creativity - every body does - and you can do so much more with it.

Create simple spells with pre-existing words from pop culture media. Examples: Accendio - confidence boosts, helping with getting a better grade in school, climbing up the ladder at your place of work; T.A.R.D.I.S. - travel spell, the "I'm opening myself up for new adventures" spell; Naevis calling - friendship/relationship spells.

Go outside! I stress this knowing damn well I'm a homebody. I hate going outside, but guess what! I find so much to treasure outside, one of the first things I did when I first got into my practice was going outside and grabbing the first fallen tree branch I found. It was perfect in width, I could grab it and have just enough branch left to use it in various different energy work, spells, altar set-ups. I found gemstones like geodes going out to local lakes and crystals in the forest floor after tripping and falling. (Get your hands dirty!)

Handicrafts like baking, sewing, pottery, etc., can be a great way to get into energy work easily. Noticing how you have to speed up the pottery wheel with the pedal while your hands move slowly, or how when your hand-sewing you slow, accurate, controlled precision while on a sewing machine, you can feel the humming of the machine while it's going.

[woundlingus]

Okay, Unfinished Business 13x20 THEE Gabriel master thesis of episodes for his characterisation tells me one very important fact about him, and that’s that he is an unreliable narrator.

This is perhaps not even his fault, years and years of suffering the worst kind of abuse it’s hard to think clearly about much at all, let alone the intricacies of what happened to put you where you are and trying to understand other perspectives. It’s hard when you’ve spent a near decade (or undisclosed amount of time being shifted between Earth and Hell) with only the worst kind of torture at the forefront of your mind.

Or maybe, he does know. He is the trickster in every way that matters regardless of if he’s the original Loki or not. I’d find it pretty hard to believe that the trickster who haunts Sam Winchester’s nightmares would be unaware of the irony of his situation and the symbolism of his own torture, I imagine that makes the punishment all the more humiliating and bitter. Gabriel is also a show boat. A peacock. He’s always paraded himself around as tough and unknowable, he’s also a known liar and both of those traits work together to create a very convincing story in whatever episodes story it is he wants to tell. But he is a liar.

What sounds better? Gabriel ran away to hide under the skirt of his pagan friends?

Or, Gabriel was living a luxurious life where he was pampered and beloved;

(That’s right, the pornstars obviously)

That these so called friends wined and dined him, fed him his fill, and then when he was at his most vulnerable after they’d made well sure he felt comfortable enough to let his guard down- THEN, and only then, did they strike out against him. He could have never seen it coming. The ultimate betrayal.

Gabriel can’t keep his story straight the whole episode. He opens with a bold faced lie (can you spot the resemblance to any other lies so far?)

He knows this looks bad. He’s already so fragile, and he knows the Winchesters want him for his grace so I can’t imagine him knocking on their door for help was a decision he came to easily. So these two men who are bigger than him, stronger than him, and have a bone to pick with him, bring him into their motel room while he’s bleeding his guts out and can barely stand. He peacocks. I’m fine, “you should see the other guy”, wink wink. God forbid they know he’s weak, god forbid they think he’s any more pathetic than they already do.

He’s guarding his very fragile ego right now, frankly, it’s the only thing he has left.

I don’t doubt for a moment that Loki’s POV is any less clouded by his own personal prejudices and ego, they’re very much the same after all. Loki was in that cave, Gabriel did rescue him.

These are facts. That doesn’t change that Loki freed Gabriel from a cave of his own and saved him from his family as well.

They are equals in this fact. But neither willing to admit to it. Loki I understand, he’s given very little time to plead his case and so he gets right to the point. I saved Gabriel’s life, he killed my father.

Gabriel however, has plenty of time to explain himself and wastes it spinning a story in which he can both simultaneously look cool and still find himself to be the ultimate victim in. He wastes time keeping the Winchesters in the dark and it could have cost them their lives when they ran in after Gabriel without the whole story. Lucky for them, no one here cares about the Winchesters lol Loki is as occupied with Gabriel and he is with Loki. But they could’ve been hurt!

I’m not saying Gabriel doesn’t deserve catharsis, that he shouldn’t get to kill Loki and his children. I don’t need to, Gabriel does-

Maybe that was the tricksters best trick so far, that Gabriel managed to warp his own memories and perception of what happened to fuel his own survival, and now that he’s out and the world is real again he can’t make himself let go of what he had to tell himself. That Loki was unnecessarily cruel. That Loki snapped out of nowhere. That his closest confidant sold him out for money of all things. He can’t let himself remember it was more complex than that, he tells himself he needs this, because if he doesn’t he’ll have to admit that under all this peacocking and lying he is that weak and broken and scared. If Gabriel has to sit down with the reality that he’s never going to be that cool and sexy guy who gets everyone he wants and couldn’t care less, he’d probably want to kill himself (which is what really starts to get him down in the following episodes because guess what, killing Loki didn’t fix anything he’s still broken, :( always will be)

I think he believes if he can lie hard enough, this fabrication could be real. It can be real to him at least, so he doesn’t have to face the humiliation of either admitting to his own stupid naïveté and he didn’t see the obvious coming, or that he knowing and wilfully begged Loki for a place by his side and got throw down hard for his cowardice. But it’s not like there’s anyone left to contest his story now.