#everything is too much all the time this is about like sixteen different things

[septembersghost]

gothic literature heroines are so right for collapsing fainting sobbing screaming wandering the moors standing at the cliff's edge walking into the ocean grabbing smelling salts tearing gowns to pieces locking themselves in attics setting fires kissing monsters and going mad

[peachesofteal]

Light On - single mom/neighbors fic Simon Riley/female reader - reader POV

You have a problem.

You miss your neighbor.

He's been gone for two and a half weeks, and every day you catch yourself holding your breath, listening for him next door. Watching for the light on his balcony, checking your phone relentlessly.

You've been worrying, anxiety turning into a gnawing ache beneath your ribs, wondering about how he is, what he's doing, if he's okay. If he's safe.

He'll text you. Right? When he's home? He said he would, didn't he? You're not sure. Not sure of anything when it comes to him, confusing thoughts and feelings turning over and over in your head every second, twisted up and tangled in your heart.

You've friend zoned yourself, you know it. Relying on him too much, asking him for help all the time, inviting him for dinners but too afraid to try to take the next step. And didn't you do it to yourself anyway? Didn't you ask him to babysit for you, so you could go out on a date with some asshole that didn't even show? He's your friend. He's your neighbor.

Yeah but he asked you to go for dinner, the night you were sick. And he rushed to you and Emma when that creep was following you in the park. Doesn't that mean something?

He asked you AND Emmaline to dinner, not like on a romantic date. And he did the same thing anyone would do, if they thought their friend was in trouble, didn't he?

He doesn't act like your neighbor. He acts more like... a husband, than anything else.

Not knowing is confusing, and on top of your grief, it makes you feel a little more vulnerable than you care to admit, but you can't deny your own truth. You like him. Even Emmaline likes him, little face smiling up at him every chance she gets, staring at him like he's the whole world. Maybe he is. You can't help but swoon over the way she interacts with him, how she settles so easily with him, how she coos and babbles at him like she's having a whole conversation with him. When he walks into a room, she lights up like the sun, happy baby giggles and everything, the sweet sounds of her glee at her favorite person's face like music to your ears. So unfair. You suffered for sixteen hours trying to give birth to her, alone... and he comes around for a few months and all the sudden you've been replaced.

You can't blame her too much, you guess. You get it. He's... something else. Something you're not sure you understand. Something you don't know you're ready for.

Still, you think he might feel the same way.

You shake your head. Stop. You're getting so far ahead of yourself.

Which is why you've convinced yourself that when he's home, the next time you see him, you're just going to buck up and do it. You're going to tell him how you feel. No matter how hard it is.

You've even practiced what you'll say. Staring at yourself in the mirror nervously, reciting different ways to say 'hey Simon I really like you and was wondering if you want to go out on a date even though I have a baby and am basically a widow.'

Emmaline cries, announcing that she's awake, and you're so quick to soothe her, holding her to your chest, whispering a good morning to her, rubbing her back and tummy as you always do. You think some people might say you're spoiling her, that you're not letting her cry long enough, that you're teaching her bad habits or manners but you can't help it. Her father died before she was even born. You're the only thing she has in this world, the only person that gives her love, that makes her feel safe-

or at least, you used to be.

You hear your neighbor in his flat hours and hours later. Well past sunset, Emmaline already sleeping in her crib, your dishes already done, little chores taken care of, and you're sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, watching a movie at a low hum.

Was that- is he?

You sit straight up, straining to listen. It takes a second, but eventually, you recognize the tell tale sound of an interior door closing, and then the balcony glows with the light from the inside.

He's home. You take a large gulp of wine, and a deep breath. Just go over there, and tell him how you feel.

Your fingers curl into a fist, hesitantly knocking at his door, holding your breath. When there's no response, you try again, a little louder, and then feel immense relief when the lock clicks.

Until it opens.

Simon doesn't look like himself. He looks lost. Haunted. There's remnant of black grease around his eyes and instead of being maskless or wearing the usual cloth one, his head is mostly covered by a balaclava bearing a skull, and his eyes are blank. Dark. Something is off.

"Hi." You squeak, and cringe inwardly, stomach flipping like you're on a carnival ride. You raise the two bottles of beer that you brought over with a meek smile, gesturing to them and the monitor. "Thought we could um... try this again?"

"No." His refusal is flat, rough, and you blink in surprise. No?

"Oh- I uh... just thought-"

"It's not a good time." He cuts you off, and then before you can even get another word out, the front door closes in your face, leaving you outside in the hall, bewildered. Hurt.

Guess he doesn't like you after all.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Could you write something where Danny is a teen dad to de aged Ellie? Bonus points if he lives in Crimr Alley and beats the Joker to a pulp for hurting his kid

Danny is trying his best.

It's not easy being a father at age sixteen. It's not easy having to leave his home in fear of what his parents will do to his clone-turned-daughter.

It's not easy watching her every day, wondering if her core will break down further, and instead of just de-aging this time, she'll end up dead. It's not easy worrying about her health in the most crime-infested city with a terrible job and relying on his pitiful check or the funds his sister can sneak to him.

But nothing good in this world is easy, and he wouldn't trade Dani for anything. Yes, she had lost her memories and acted like a real two-year-old, but he adored watching her eyes light up as she relearned the world.

Danny loved her to bits, and even buying her those cheap coloring books and crayons from the dollar store made Dani smile brighter than any star. They may struggle to pay rent and bills or buy food, but Danny can always scrape by, keeping her warm, fed, and house.

He worked at three different dinners, each part-time, since none of them were legally allowed to hire him full-time because of his age. Danny didn't have a single day off, but he had a few hours every day with Dani, which was enough.

While he worked, he asked his next-door neighbor to watch Dani. Now, it may not be the best thing to trust a stranger with his daughter but said neighbor is a ghost and one of the friendly kind.

Danny met her when he first moved in. Apparently, her haunting was one of the reasons the rent was so cheap. She never gave him her real name, but she stayed with Dani all day and had enough ectoplasm to physically touch things. Danny could sense her intentions with his core and knew her motherly adoration for Dani was authentic.

Privately, Danny called her Three since she haunted apartment three, and she sort of looked like she stepped out of the nineteen-thirties, complete with an attractive Transatlantic accent. She was an up-and-coming radio co-host, taking a segment to read stories to housewives before being murdered in her home.

Three never said why or how it happened, but she had been haunting the apparent complex for so long; her lore was well documented among the locals.

They say one of the Waynes had killed her after learning that his wife had fancied Three. But it was never proven and it became another theory that the rich would laugh at every once in a while.

(Three's face always twisted whenever she heard the name Wayne. Her hand would always reach up for a heart-shaped locket she refused to take off even in death.)

Since most people couldn't see ghosts unless exposed to ectoplasm for enough time, the stories of her attacks on anyone trying to get close to her apartment snowballed out of control. Danny thought it was unfair how evil they made her sound. Though it's true she had a strong distaste for men, she had a soft spot for children.

Danny had just been through the wringer; he had double shifts, one stacked right after the other. One of the dinners had let two people go after they had been arrested for moving illegal substances, and Danny had to cover until they found a replacement.

A woman had yelled at him for almost thirty minutes straight about a wait time for her surprise party of fifteen. A man threw up on their counter, and to top it all off, a kid had run into him while he was carrying a tray of food, causing him to spill everything.

Thankfully, the mother was horrified and apologized profoundly, but it had been almost too much for him. So when he was sweeping up broken plates and saw Three franticly flying at him screaming about some clown, well, Danny was doing his best.

And his best was fighting things far stronger than he.

____________________________________________________________

Jim Gordon's early afternoon gets interrupted by the Joker only three minutes after he is supposed to head home for the day. After escaping from Arkham a few months ago, the clown went to the ground, and everyone was nervous about what he was planning.

Jim's team hadn't heard any whispers or had any idea what the Joker was up to, which made everything worse. Usually, when something big and wrong was going to happen, they would catch at least one thing beforehand.

That's why the sudden broadcast of the lunatic had everyone jumping out of their skins.

"Good evening, Gotham. I want to welcome you to tonight's show. It's going to be killer." Joker cackles. He has somehow hacked into almost every screen in the city, his white devilish face appearing on TVs, phones, tablets, and even roadside advertising.

His voice echoes through the city as Jim barks at his employees to trace the signal.

"Recently, I felt it necessary to remind everyone that one is never too young to have a funny bone." The Joker continues, holding up a plush toy to the camera. He waves it a little, pressing the ginning bunny as close as possible so people can see its mouth has been sewed into a sickly wide smile. "I'm sure a few of you have noticed that certain school buses never arrived home."

The blood in his veins goes cold. How many buses? Which school? What kids were they? How old? Why had they not heard of the kids not arriving until now?

There are too many questions and nowhere near enough answers. Jim hates how useless he feels playing this sick man's game.

"But not to worry! You'll see your little ones again! After being guests on my very own game show! Every thirty minutes, one lucky child will get to compete for your amusement, and if they survive, they get an extraordinary prize-!"

His words are cut short by a dark figure flinging itself at the Joker and punching him to the ground. Thank every dark cloud in the sky that the Bat was on the case.

"Basty! Have you come to play- wait. You aren't Batsy." Joker's delighted tone melts into anger as the figure straightens to a young teenage boy.

"You have my daughter. Give her back." The teen tells the clown, voice flat and cold. "Three said your goons took her from her balcony."

"My boys take a lot of people." Joker laughs hoping up a flower. With a press of his finger, the teenager is covered in Joker Vemon. Jim's heart falls as the boy stumbles back, rubbing at his eyes. Joker laughs harder until the kid picks up a chair and slams it onto his head.

There wasn't even a chuckle from the boy. Huh.

"You have my daughter. Give. Her. Back."

"Or what?" The Joker taunts, snapping his fingers. There are sounds of people moving, likely the goons. "Kill him."

The boy doesn't seem to react to the men rushing at him. Someone knocks the camera stand over, and the view of the fight is taken away as it rolls on the ground. Thankfully, it ends up pointed at a wall, where they watch the shadows of the teenager and the Joker's goons fight.

It's hard to tell who's winning, with all the shadows blending together whenever they get close, but the fact that he hasn't heard the kid drop yet means he's holding his own. Jim's eyes narrow at the wallpaper, trying to figure out why it looks so familiar.

It hits him just as a little girl phases through the wall. Yes, phases, as if walking through it like a ghost. This would make sense since -

"That's Nightowl Apparemtents!" Ricky, the new cop from Crime Alley, cries, echoing Jim's thoughts.

"It's what?" Asks Sara

"Nightowl apparements. It's the oldest place in Crime Alley and one of the most haunted. They said a lover of a Wayne was killed there. She kills anyone who tries to rent the place. They do ghost tours occasionally, but no one dares to her hallway. That wallpaper is famous because it's the only one in Gotham with the original founding families' symbols." Ricky explains, watching the little girl tilt her head and then start to flout. Everyone shivers as a second figure bleeds out of the wall behind her.

This one is much more blurry, but the faith outline of a beautiful woman covered in blood hovers behind the girl staring at the fight. She's dressed in clothes that Jim is sure was decades ago, and unlike the little girl, she makes him feel very unsafe.

The ghost of Apparement three. Barbara had gone through a paranormal phase when she was fifteen and dragged Jim to all the haunted places in Gotham. Nowhere had made him feel as uneased as Gotham's cemetery- the most haunted place- but those apartments were a close second.

The ghost spots the camera, sneering at it and Jim actually jumps back.

"Oh, gods!" Ricky shouts, turning his head away. "I'm so sorry for looking into your eyes without permission!"

"It's not a telephone! It can't hear you, Ricky!"

"That's not the point, Sara!"

"Daddy!" the little girl cries, holding up her finger. "I got an ow-ow."

At once, the sounds of combat stopped, and then the screams began. It's nothing like Jim has ever heard. He's been on the force long enough to know what a human in pain sounds like, and those sounds—well, he prays that the Joker had decided to bring in animals.

If it makes him sick to his stomach he is worried about the regular people watching.

The little girl doesn't look away, tilting her head to the side like a curious child of two would and still holding her tiny up. After a moment, Jim realizes the screaming has stopped. There is silence before Joker falls beside the girl, beaten beyond recognition.

If it weren't for his purple sit, Jim would have thought him a goon.

The little girl doesn't blink an eye as the teenager rushes to her, kicking the Joker.

"Let me the ow-ow." The teenager demands, taking her hand in his. There is a moment of tense silence as the woman's ghost louts around him with a sneer. "A papercut! You gave my daughter a papercut!"

The ghost woman screeches, rage in every part of her cry. Jim feels his heart beating out of his chest, frozen in absolute terror as she reaches down for the Joker and drags him through the floor.

The man's screams are heard even through the muffled flooring.

"Holy shit," Sara breathes, voice trembling.

"This is why no one with a brain messes with Nightowl's ghost," Ricky hisses, rubbing at his cross. "How that kid go it to attack the Joker and not him and his daughter-"

The teenager gathers the toddler into his arms, his image fading with a hiss.

"-That was a ghost. The teenager that beat the Joker to near death was a ghost." Ricky swallows. "I am never stepping foot down that street again."

Somewhere in Gotham, a woman is sweating bullets after the feed is cut by Batman, who arrives with the rest of the Bats minutes afterward.

"Say, Mom, wasn't that the boy you were yelling at today in Teddy's Diner for Uncle Ron's birthday."

The woman's eyes swing back to the TV, where the waiter's face is frozen on the screen, his green glowing eyes almost staring into her soul. "Yes.....yes it was."

"Oh crud. I think we're cursed now, Mom. Way to go."

[priniya]

🔮 OPPOSITES ATTRACT

synopsis. a quiet slytherin and a loud gryffindor find themselves on a chilly evening, which results in something unexpected — at least for people around them. the oldest weasley’s daughter finds herself infatuated with nott’s only child and vice versa, even if their worlds seem so different, being apart just doesn’t feel right.

notes. theodore nott x weasley!reader. slightly sunshine x grumpy (pretend you’re a ginger if ur not). part 2 containing the date, thoughts?

theodore nott never thought he would be given a chance to love and be loved, upon all the terrible mistakes he has made. and maybe it seemed silly for a sixteen years old to say, but with an upcoming war, he wasn’t so sure if he could live through it.

theodore nott never thought he would have someone to call his own, someone to help him, when times get tough or someone who would understand him wordlessly. to be fair, theodore nott never thought he deserved anything like that, so the surprise on his face, when he found someone who was involuntarily willing to be his person was enormous.

he was walking around the crowded streets of the city, the dim lighting allowing him to see muggles running around with different expression on every other face he has passed — some of them were happy, cheering the slowly creeping holiday on them, some of them were exhausted and/or angry, probably from trying to find a perfect gift for someone and failing. just watching them gave him some sort of comfort, he had never had to look for gifts too much, his father wasn’t keen on being all festive and christmas was just any other day. the exception itself was looking for presents for his friends, which never had troubled him so much he looked exhausted.

he was in his thoughts, when he felt like he collided with someone. his eyebrows were squinted as he looked down on the red-haired girl, whose face was all red, either from cold or embarrassment. though, there was something so familiar about the girl that made him study her face for a brief second, the tea stain on his unzipped jacket didn’t seem to bother him at all, not as much as the familiarity of the girl.

“oh my god, i am so sorry, sir.” she let out ashamed that she didn’t look where she was going and that she probably ruined someone’s evening with her no sugar, lemon tea. it was then, when the familiar girl finally gave up and looked at the person she rudely bumped into.

“nott?” her words weren’t coated with layers of disgust and regret that out of all the people in london that night, she bumped into theodore nott. her words had surprised and confused undertones, almost as if she didn’t mind seeing him there. now, he obviously recognized his attacker — y/n weasley, a girl he sits behind in history of magic, a twin sister of potter’s best friend, someone who should hate him with burning passion.

“are you alright?” redhead’s question took him off guard.

theo was expecting something else, like a mockery of the fact that he was walking amongst muggles without hexing them all. though to be honest, theodore never hated muggles, well, yeah, he said some stupid shit, when he was younger and he was far from proud, but it was the need to appease his father. he definitely didn’t expect to see the worried manner in her, her brows scrunched as she tried to read his emotions, while standing in front of him in silence.

“theo…?” repeated y/n. he wasn’t alright and he didn’t know if he should show it. for merlin’s sake, he really wanted to get so much things out of his system, but venting to a weasley? he knew better than that — she would probably go around, and spread out the word about everything she heard from him.

nott was about to mumble something in response, when her eyes flickered with concern, demolishing all his justification why shouldn’t he talk to her for longer than needed. she was genuine, not caring that ron and harry weren’t on a good terms with him, she wanted to know, and help if possible.

so, theo simply gave up the act. “uh, no. not really.” he confessed, confirming all the suspicions she got to gather from observing him for a few minutes, when he thought of an answer. her expression changed from concerned to slightly sad, even.

before the boy could realize, he was sat in one of the small coffee shops beside her, a half empty, steamy cup of hot chocolate in his hands as they talked. something was so incredibly off about the way they conversed, first time in a while, he never wanted to conversation to end, just like when he was talking to his friends. his body itched at the thought that soon both of them would have to come to their respective houses and the talk would be just a memory that never happened again.

he had to admit that y/n’s presence was soothing. it was like the smell of a freshly printed new book, a cigarette on a foggy morning, a sensation of someone’s nails gently scratching the inside of his palm. the last one was a habit his mom developed to calm him down before she died, leaving him with an aching need for someone to find out about his perk and do it when he needs.

her muffled laughter filled his ears as he watched the girl cover her lips with a palm, he couldn’t help but smile. the gloomy atmosphere that he brought with his tiny vent was long gone, since she declared it her mission to make him feel better. so, since he wasn’t a big talker himself, she let him listen to all the stories from when she was growing up. even though he never experienced a family like hers, a family that cared for each other, it was comforting.

his eyes darted to the clock hung up on a wall, followed by hers and a long sigh that left his lips. his fingers ran through his curls as he parted his lips to bid goodbyes, though y/n was faster. “we could meet up here some other time, if you want.” she gave him a shy smile, the one he never thought he would see on her face.

y/n weasley wasn’t the shy type of girl, she was a big talker, a smart-ass with witty comebacks and a obnoxiously loud aura coating her small frame, though right now, upon his gaze that wandered around her face for quite some time now, she grew shyer.

“uh.” stuttered theo. “yeah, i guess it’s a good idea.” his reply made her smile go bigger, and in the back of his head, it felt like a reward for the decision he just made, some kind of reassurance that he did something good.

“perfect.” she grinned, taking the two of their cups and taking them to the shop’s kitchen, revealing that either she works there, or she’s just insanely crazy for barging into someone’s workplace as an unwanted stranger. “there’s a fireplace in the back.” weasley added, taking his hand in hers before he could even refuse (he wouldn’t though).

the tips of her long nails gently grazed his palm, when she led him the back, greeting a few of her coworkers. her touch on his skin ached, almost burnt, although if that’s what the insides of a normal, fireplace without floo powder felt like, he could grow to like it, only if a part of her body was pressed against his. few minutes later theo’s hand felt empty as he watched her disappear in green flames, having bid their goodbyes.

***

theo hated that feeling. this warm, strange feeling that coated his heart whenever he thought about the obnoxious gryffindor, who he met at those muggle streets. nevertheless, he found himself unable to think about someone else. he was replying to a letter pansy has sent him, and the only thing he had on his mind was y/n, he wondered if ginny told her about her little getaways with theo’s best friend, if all her brothers got back to their house, and — if she thought about him.

his hands throbbed. his fingers wrapped tightly around the quill, before putting it down on his deck. why on earth would he text her? it was one accidental meeting at some crowded street, one conversation that shouldn’t mean anything to them.

nott squeezed his eyes, the muscles on his face tensed as he focused on the paper in front of him, scribbling down a few words in his neat handwriting. a long sigh has left his lips, his eyes tracing the sentence he wrote for her. shit, why would he even do that? if any of his friends knew, he’d have been doomed — one weasley hanging around their friend group was enough, but he didn’t want to push draco nor blaise’s limits.

on a christmas’ eve, he went out for another walk, slightly hoping in the back of his mind that he’d accidentally bump into her again. this time, theodore would make sure to hear her laugh more often, to see her teeth, when she smiles or to watch as she gets shyer upon his gaze on her face.

his feet got him into a familiar looking café, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion — he couldn’t pinpoint from where he knew the place — and looked around. then, he heard it.

“theo!” a female voice rang in his ears. the boy turned his face, a smile slipping onto his lips as he realized where he was. the god damned café y/n was working at. “what can i get you?” a grin spread across her face, visibly delighted to see him there, almost as if she hoped for it.

her forearms laid on the counter as her body leaned a little closer, her hair pinned up in a ponytail that probably got ruined during her shift from running around the place, having a chat with each customer every now and then, a pinkish tint on her cheeks, maybe from the heat in the back or maybe, because he was there.

it took him a second to realize that he was staring with his mouth slightly parted. “uh—” he stuttered, getting a small, barely audiable giggle in response. “i just came to see you.” he blurted out. thank god his ears were covered by the beanie, because just by saying those six words got him all flustered.

“theo.” his name sounded so well coming from her. theodore wanted to hear it again, again, and again. it was melodic, like most beautiful song he’s ever heared. how could he get so whipped after one hangout?

“i hoped you’d come by.” she confessed shyly. “i have something for you in the back, could you give me five minutes? i gotta tell the manager i’m taking a break.” she beamed at him sweetly, rushing off to the back, taking off the green apron that hung on her waist in the meantime.

when she came back, she was still wearing the café’s shirt with a small, green logo, black jeans, and was carefully walking towards his table with a neatly wrapped package and on a top of that a plate with a big piece of some sort of chocolate cake, two drinks (the same as last time), and a cookie. her hair wasn’t in a ponytail anymore, ginger strands falling into her shoulders as she gave him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

“you– you got me something?” a question left theo’s mouth, leaving him all surprised — the strange feeling warming him up from the inside. he took a big sip of the hot chocolate in front of him, hardly minding that he burnt his tongue, he didn’t want to say anything stupid. “y/n, we talked once and you… got me something?” he asked once again, not believing his own eyes.

the girl just smiled wider, passing the box towards him. “uh. yeah.” she answered, shrugging. “last time, you said that you never really celebrated christmas the right way, so… please open it.” she tried explaing herself, but gave up at the end, pushing the box further with her fingertips. “please?”

shit.

if she didn’t ask, if she didn’t give him those eyes and that smile. maybe he would be able to refuse, think of some lame excuse that wouldn’t hurt her feelings and give her the box back. but y/n was so sweet, and thought of him hard enough to prepare him a gift.

for half a second, theodore could see something flicker in her eyes, when his lean fingers gently pulled the green ribbon, ripping the gift paper afterwards. the gift turned out to be a sweater, a hand-made one that made the feeling come back to him.

the sweater was dark green, in the similar shade of his tie or the snake symbol on his robes, it had a large, dark blue letter T with a silver outline. his eyes scanned the piece of clothing, the corner of his lips going slightly upwards. “you got me your mom’s iconic sweater?” asked theo.

his mind was filled with different thoughts and emotions right now. he could never call y/n weasley a sweet girl, not because it wasn’t true, but because it would be an understatement — she was the sweetest, or at least somewhere in that range. his cheeks almost hurt from smiling at her, and never in his life nott had felt it.

“actually…” her cheeks started getting a little more pinkish than usual. “it’s based on my mom’s sweaters, i did it on my own. it might not be perfect—" y/n started rambling in nervousness, afraid that the boy won’t be happy about getting a meaningless piece of fabric from her.

“y/n, i love it.” theodore’s words were like honey to y/n’s ears, she gave him a small smile, not really expecting him to gently grab her hand out of sudden. the reason behind it? even theo didn’t know (probably to ease her nerves).

when he realized what he did, he wanted to take his hand back and mutter a quiet apology, the crime scene awkward as much as only possible. although, from the corner of his eye, he noticed that the pink on her face intensified, few more minutes of skin-to-skin contact, and she would turn into a tomato, so his hand stayed on hers, taking the chance and intertwining their fingers together.

“would you– uh,” the redhead started, stumbling over her own words, easily losing focus, each time his thumb stroked her hand, a tiny smirk hovering over his lips. “like to, uh, come here once in a while, you know… until the break’s over? keep me company, maybe?”

and he did. how couldn’t he? this girl was constantly on his mind ever since she bumped into him on the streets and spent literal hours at the café.

although, beside just keeping her company during the winter break — but also at school. he grew so fond of her (and believe me, it worked both ways) that cutting their fresh friendship short was something he couldn’t let happen. so… even though her younger sister was already swaying her way into theodore’s friend group, y/n seemed like a different topic.

theodore nott liked sharing. as unbelievable as it sounds, he really did. whenever he had something he enjoyed, he was willing to share, he was the type of person to give away his last cigarette to one of his friends, but the thought of sharing y/n weasley never crossed his mind. he wanted her all to himself, so… their hangouts always contained just the two of them.

small study dates in the library, late night walks around the courtyard, meet-ups in the room of requirement, picnics in the astronomy tower, while smoking some pot and cigarettes together.

back then, it felt strictly platonic. even if they called it their little dates, nott had a feeling they weren’t moving past the friendship line, while his emotions towards the girl were getting more and more serious. nevertheless, theodore was confident, but not confident enough to ask her out — to confess his silly crush without the fear creeping up on him that y/n would reject him and turn his dreams into nightmares.

***

the weather outside was getting better with each day until spending time inside the castle was unbearable. it was around the time, theo decided to finally push his luck and ask the girl of his dream out. ever since he woke up, he was nervously fidgeting with everything that got to his hands and when then classes were to start, it only got worse.

“you alright, theo?” a whisper left y/n’s mouth as she stood next to him in potions, her elbow nudging him lightly, trying to catch his attention.

merlin. the way his name sounded so wonderful on her tongue. if it wasn’t for the small attention-grabber, he would definitely accidentally ignore the question to daydream about how sweetly her voice is.

“no, i mean– yes, yes i am.” he stuttered. “i just– can i ask you a question?” she nodded, making his stomach turn around. “would you, uh– like to go out to hogsmeade with me? like on a date?” the question left his lips.

his throat went dry as he waited years for an answer (which was actually just about two seconds, theo’s brain just got really dramatic from stress), legs giving up, so he had to lean his palms on the table.

“f’course.” weasley grinned, not minding the blush that spread all over her face, just from the ask. “i thought you’d never ask, really.” she giggled, turning her eyes away for a second, before flashing him another beam of hers.

nott’s face was now bright pink. “i– what?” he was struggling to form a logical sentence. “you wanted me to–?” the boy was supposed to finish his thought, though it didn’t really sit well with snape who interrupted their little talk, postponing it until the evening.

the two of them were walking somewhere outside, laughing about something so insignificant, when the situation from classes popped into his mind. “so… about that date. you really want to?” asked nott.

he expected any kind of answer — yes, no, maybe, you should guess, nah — whatever was only possible. however, the feeling of her lips on his wouldn’t cross his mind. she kissed him. y/n has kissed him, leaving him breathless, when she pulled away.

“does that answer your question?” redhead chuckled, her fingers still curled up against the collar of his white shirt. he shook his head, still mind-blown. “yes, theodore faustus nott, i was dying to hear you ask me out on a date. whatever we have between us, i wanted it to move forward and go on a date with you.”

she laughed. “you really think i’d spend hours crotcheting a sweater for a guy i met few days earlier if i didn’t feel something? theo, i almost passed out when you touched my hand months ago.” another laugh left her lips that were now so close to his, clouding his mind with one certain thing.

upon hearing all those words, the boy couldn’t stop himself anymore, he pressed his mouth against hers, savouring the moment. cherishing the fact that she wanted him like he wanted her.

“the date is still a thing, yeah?” y/n smiled as her nose brushed his.

“you’re gonna love it.” he answered, grinning.

[saerins]

─── 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄

+ sae x f!reader | wc 4.9k | content: angst, fluff, some making out, implied sex, stupid teenager phase

notes: sobs this was not supposed to be this long … one of y’all need to stop me from writing about this man !! i love him too much, pls send help </3 extra: this is the song playing in the last scene :’)

summary: sae has few interests, and one of them is you. but sometimes, being special just isn’t enough.

you’ve always been special.

ever since age three when your family moved across the street from where the itoshis lived. ever since age five when you finally gathered the courage to talk to the pair of brothers. ever since age six when sae invited you to play with him and rin. ever since age seven when you cried because someone bullied you at the playground and sae wiped away your tears. ever since age ten when both of you played with paper rings. ever since age eleven when you and sae would talk endlessly at night through the phone and get nagged at by your parents when they found out.

ever since age twelve when you told sae you’d watch him become the best soccer player in the world by his side.

your presence bleeds into sae’s life and he can’t think about anything without relating it to you; like how his breakfast tastes like ass when you’re not smearing your stupid peanut butter on it because apparently peanut better goes well with everything is your phase at that point of time. like how he’s walking home and he’ll always have to crane his head to the right just to check if you’re on your front porch swing, because if you are, he’ll wave and then you’ll smile and wave back, and sae would feel like it’s a special code you two share.

you’re probably the only thing he pays his spare attention to. and rin. you, rin, soccer. that’s all.

you complain way too much, especially at the fact that sae doesn’t smile often. he counters, “that’s none of your business.”

and you tell him one day you’ll be the reason he smiles everyday.

sae thinks it’s kind of stupid though, because you already are. you just aren’t around to see it. he’ll probably never let you see it too. he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he did.

it isn’t long before you’re age fifteen and graduating middle school and you’re excited to start high school. it didn’t really make a difference for sae, as long as he got to play soccer, he really couldn’t care less.

when you’re age sixteen you tell sae that a boy from class broke your heart because he didn’t accept your valentines’ chocolates. it was as good as a rejection, apparently. or whatever girl code says it is.

frankly, sae’s just offended. you’ve never given him any valentines’ shit. all of a sudden some no name guy is getting it?

maybe it’s true what people say, teenage girls cry over stupid things they consider love that’s not actually love. now you’re getting his soccer jersey wet with your tears and you’re crooning on and on about how boys suck but somehow sae’s still the best.

you’re sixteen and crying on sae’s shoulder, while he’s seventeen and wishing he could torture the son of a bitch who made you cry.

this is the closest you’ve ever been, physically. your heart’s not really broken because whoever you’re crying about has never really had it. but sae doesn’t know that.

teenage girls make really stupid decisions sometimes. and other times, they making stupid passing comments, like when you say “glad i didn’t let him kiss me. would suck for my first kiss to be with a dick who didn’t give a shit about me.”

sometimes teenage boys make stupid decisions too.

sae doesn’t really know what possesses him to do this, but he doesn’t stop it. he doesn’t stop his hand from reaching out to you, doesn’t stop his fingers from tilting your chin up. there’s only confusion in your eyes when he looks into them. there’s only hesitation in his.

sae’s not anything to you except for a childhood friend, and you’re not anything to him, except for one of the most beautiful people he’s ever met. that’s why he does this slowly, so you have time to stop this.

he has no right to do this. he wishes you would just stop him.

you’re both teenagers when sae becomes your first kiss, when your tears stain his cheeks and he tastes like the fruits he just ate. you’re both delirious off of the feeling, like neither of you want this to end because your lips stay connected even when you’re not moving, and your lashes are fluttering against one another’s and sae really wants to kiss you again.

but it’s late and your parents are probably the ones knocking on his door right now so he stops himself and pulls away while rin bounds down the stairs to open the door.

sae sees nothing but you, you and your pretty face and your pretty lips and your perfect perfect person.

“there, now your first kiss is with a dick who does care about you.”

it’s that same summer and you’ve forgotten all about the stupid boy that supposedly broke your heart. you have sae with you whenever he’s free, when he decides to bring you out after practice and explore rooftops to find the best view for the fireworks.

you’re not together, but it sure feels like you are.

then it’s autumn and the leaves are turning orange and red, and you swear you see sae’s cheeks and ears turn nearly the same shade when he holds your hand for the first time as you walk through the park, a white cat crossing in front of you.

sae blames it on his practice earlier and that he’s tired because there’s no way he’ll ever admit it’s because of you.

when winter comes, sae’s still taking care of you. nothing stops him from playing soccer, but nothing can stop him from finding you either. sae’s starting to regret his decisions when you force him to go ice skating and look at him expectantly whenever you see a mistletoe.

you’re a lot of work, maybe you’re worth it.

and then you kiss him again and he thinks yes, maybe he can do this. he can juggle soccer and you, it’ll magically work out.

finally it’s spring and you’re excited because you love the cherry blossoms, and sae thinks maybe he loves something else but he’s not going to go there yet. and while everyone’s watching the solar eclipse that one night, sae’s watching you.

for once, he wants to believe in superstitions, wants to believe what watching the solar eclipse means.

“what’s the matter?”

you’re always so perceptive. you’d make a great playmaker, he feels.

of course you pick up on the tension, barely a minute after you walk into his room. sae doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever this is, whether it’s love or something less, or maybe something more.

but it’s not a democracy, and the answer is crystal clear in sae’s mind. his answer’s always been the same, but it’s not like you don’t exist in his world.

“the club in spain gave me an offer.”

that’s all he needs to say to make you understand. and if you weren’t the most understanding person he knows, you might’ve reacted differently, but you’re still the same supportive, kind girl he met at age four.

“when do you go?” your voice is shaky and he knows you’re trying to hold it together.

sae’s sorry, really.

“next month.”

it’s not a lot of time, but probably enough to say goodbye. then you throw your arms around him and you work your magic, you say you want to try despite the distance, despite the unknown timeline. and who is sae if not someone who’d give it a try?

he’s not even sure he can ever say no to you.

it doesn’t seem real until the night before he leaves, because you’re eighteen and standing in his near barren room, everything already packed into boxes and loaded.

maybe it’s the fact he’ll be gone for a very long time, doesn’t know when he’ll see you again. maybe it’s the adrenaline rushing through his veins when he feels you pressed up against him. maybe it’s the fact he’s denying the depth of his feelings for you and it’s getting him frustrated.

or maybe it’s because he’s selfish and he doesn’t want anyone else to have you, just like how he gave you your first kiss.

he’s your first kiss, and he’ll be your first time, with your hands clawing at his clothes. and you’ll be his, with the way he’s grabbing onto your bare back so desperately.

you’re eighteen and you think nothing’s prettier than the sounds sae makes, especially when his lips are right next to your ear, with his hot breath fanning against you.

sae’s nineteen and he thinks you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted, in all sense of the word. he thinks you look pretty in pink, still pretty when you wear nothing too.

and suddenly sae thinks that maybe it doesn’t feel so crazy to think that the both of you might make it through this.

long distance can work for some people. but sometimes it’s just meant to drive two people further away.

sae’s gaining momentum in europe, and you’re proud of him. you’re proud of your boyfriend, doing his best and showing off his talents and having his hard work pay off.

you’re really, genuinely happy for him. but the bigger of a star he is, the further away he feels, and maybe it’s selfish of you to want him here, to want him to be just your neighbour itoshi sae like how things started out.

maybe it’s selfish and wishful thinking, but you can’t help yourself.

sometimes sae doesn’t even have time to look at his phone. he’s tired and overwhelmed and understandably too. and you feel guilty everytime you subject him to your insecurities.

but you’re nineteen and you don’t know better.

rin’s not much fun to hang around with, especially when he got more stoic and awkward. he’s like a mirror of his brother, and that may fool a lot of people, except you knew him before that. but you’re not going to butt your head in things that don’t concern you, so you leave him be.

and suddenly the itoshis seem further away than they’ve ever been. for the first time in your life, you’re not sure if trying will be enough anymore.

sae misses you. that’s whenever he has the free time to think, when he’s not hounded by trainings after trainings, when he’s not busy from day to night with whatever new training regime they’ve got him on.

is he aware that he’s probably being the world’s worst boyfriend now? yes. but sae can’t force himself to choose that over his dreams. can’t force himself not to choose soccer.

[17:08] she’s fine, idk what you’re worried about.

rin’s message doesn’t alleviate his worries. sae knows you better than anyone, and he doesn’t believe you’re fine.

[08:08] hey sae :)

[17:34] going to bed now, gn!! &lt;3

sae stares at your message for a while in the locker room, while everyone else is showering. you’ve cooled off on the pet names, you’re worried you’re overstepping. you’re worried he’s lost his feelings.

he’s not.

he’d be crazy to.

but he can’t find the energy to convince himself that this would turn out fine. he can’t convince himself that he’s not hurting you every single day by not being able to be everything you need, by not being able to be physically there for you.

this half-assed relationship isn’t what you deserve. and where he is right now, with his bird’s eye view of the world, he doesn’t know if he can ever give you anything else.

[17:49] goodnight. call you tomorrow.

the moment sae breaks up with you, you feel like that kid at sixteen all over again, except this time you don’t have your favourite person’s shoulder to cry on and this time it’s actually love.

all you can think of when you hear him pick up the phone is that morning right before he left for the airport, how his hair’s a mess and how his lashes are way too pretty and how he sounded when he’s all groggy and tired.

but then he tells you the one thing you do not want to hear, and the illusion is shattered into pieces.

“this isn’t working out.”

“what are you talking about?” he’s silent, and you’re anxious. “we’re fine, sae.”

you can hear him sighing over the phone. you so desperately want to fix this, and so does sae but he can’t think of anything more selfish than to ask you to wait for him until he’s ready—he knows what’s the right thing to do. it sucks, but he’s made up his mind.

“that’s bullshit, y/n,” he responds, calmly, and you feel him slipping further and further from you.

“i- look, i-i know it’s hard but we can—”

“give it a break, woman,” sae chuckles, low and deep, and you’re beginning to doubt that you know him at all right now. “we’re done.”

the dial tone is all you can hear after that.

twenty years old is where you have your first actual heartbreak.

and all that talk about how time heals all feels like bullshit when you’re right in the middle of it all. five days in and you’re still a wreck. twenty days later and you’re still staring at the pictures you and sae took together. a month passes and you’re visiting the places you went to together. just a sad, pathetic girl crying on the benches, reliving what she once had.

three months later you’re still watching his matches on tv. you’re still cheering for him inside. four months later and it’s sae’s birthday and he doesn’t even respond to your birthday message. half a year after the breakup and you finally stop crying when you think of him.

but it’s easy to delude yourself when you’re not in the presence of what you grieve. because eight months after you broke up, you see reports that sae’s dating a sports photographer. the next few days, a picture is released of them kissing in a restaurant.

then you get glimpses of other girls being able to be intimate with him. other girls getting to taste his lips and feel his love. other girls getting his attention when that right used to solely belong to you.

and you’ve never felt worse.

“why so glum?”

sae blinks at the woman, indifferent. he can’t even remember her name.

“nadia,” she says, like she’s reading his goddamn mind, holding her hand out. “i’ve been your team’s photographer for a few months now.”

sae shakes her hand out of courtesy because he really doesn’t want his publicist to chew him out again. “didn’t ask.”

“you know, you’re a lot more crabby these days,” she comments, and it’s like he can see the lightbulb going off in her head. “oh, is it girlfriend issues?”

“i don’t have one, so shut it.”

“come on, i promise i’m good at making people forget.” she says this so seductively that sae’s a little disturbed. he just wants to get this shoot done with and go home, maybe even check up on you a little. all in incognito mode, of course, because he can’t risk you knowing he still cares. can’t risk getting your hopes up.

somehow the stars have spent all their time aligning sae’s soccer career and everything else is in tatters because his publicist forces him to take nadia up on her offer and go out with her.

what was supposed to be a one time thing turned out to be something more. she wasn’t even close to you, but she could be close. turns out when he’s not being such a dick, nadia can be moderately interesting.

different, maybe that’s what he needs.

he thinks back to when she kissed him on their first date. sae still finds himself hoping you didn’t see that.

but no, he’s not in love with you anymore. sae’s officially an adult at twenty-one and he’s still the same stubborn guy in denial because he’s looking at pictures of you while nadia’s sitting right next to him.

it’s not healthy, it really isn’t.

you’re twenty-one now and you’re actually going on a date with the sole intention of trying to get over the one and only itoshi sae.

can you even trust your friend? all you know is that the guy is a friend of a best friend’s and that’s all she told you.

“my best friend’s a good guy, so by extension, so is his best friend,” was all she said.

now you’re here, at the amusement park, waiting for your date to show himself because apparently, in your friend’s bid for suspense, she was reluctant to share anything about him except that he’s dreamy and pretty and that his friend describes him as a genius.

and also “oh, he’s a soccer player too so that’s right up your alley, right?”

when the call from date guy comes in (because to stop you from profiling your date she also didn’t give you his name), you kind of like his voice.

“hey, where are you?”

you find out his name is nagi. and that he’s only here because reo stole his switch and he won’t give it back until the date’s over. which kind of works because you tell him you’re only here because you wanted to get over someone.

to which he says it’s a hassle.

there’s nothing you expect out of this, but then you find yourself enjoying your date.

it’s clear by the first fifteen minutes why nagi chose this place to meet. he’s absurdly good at games. he’s won you tons of plushies that you had to give away to some very happy kids. it’s a pattern; every game that he doesn’t know, he only loses once and then he proceeds to dominate.

no wonder his friend calls him a genius.

with nagi it’s easy, fluid. you’ve been spending the whole night there with him, playing together and eating together—well, mostly it’s just you feeding nagi because it turns out he finds a lot of things a hassle.

three days later, you find out that apparently you’re not a hassle in his books. not really, because he asks you out again.

it’s irrational.

sae shouldn’t be this bothered, but he is. he hates seeing your stupid updates about how you’re on a date with this nagi guy. he hates seeing your posts with the two of you wearing matching sweaters for christmas.

he gives it a like.

nadia’s already gone. sae doesn’t have time or energy to waste on people that don’t matter. and you shouldn’t matter. not right now. but here he is, wishing the circumstances were different.

if you and nadia switched places. if you had something to bring you to spain. it’s fucking selfish, he knows. doesn’t stop him from wishing for it. he can’t think of anyone else like how he thinks of you. doesn’t want to.

he really is clueless about everything outside of soccer, because he’s twenty-two when he realises that no one could ever make him forget about you, and maybe he should just live with it.

sae turns twenty-three when he’s in the running for being the world’s best midfielder. he’s gotten rid of the hopes of moving on and he’ll just fake it till he makes it.

maybe that’s why this year is particularly special to him. or maybe it’s because for the first time in a long while, you wish him happy birthday.

at midnight, in japan. because you’re thoughtful that way.

this time he responds.

thanks. how r u?

it’s criminal how easy it is for you to get his heart beating like this. he sees you typing and it’s enough to lift his mood.

great, school’s kicking my ass though.

sae finds himself wishing that he could hear your voice right now. for some stupidly non-complex reason that he finds completely absurd.

i saw your match last week, good game, genius.

fuck. after all this time, he still wants you.

his fingers type i miss you, just for the hell of it. just to see it there on his screen before he inevitably deletes it and replaces it with something mediocre like thanks or i know.

because he can’t just say that after being the one who broke things off. he can’t do that when he still thinks it won’t work out.

all he does is sigh and hit the delete button—except fuck, he accidentally hit send. and he would’ve deleted it if you weren’t already online and read it and he sees you typing for a moment before you stop completely and go offline.

sae has never felt more numb.

it’s been three months since sae said he missed you. you still can’t get that out of your head. the most upfront he’s been about his feelings and he chooses then of all times to be honest?

when your boyfriend was right beside you?

maybe it was your fault. you didn’t even know why you wished him a happy birthday. maybe you missed him too and was just lying to yourself.

god, maybe you’re the asshole in this after all. did you really love nagi? or was he just exceptionally well at making you forget? you really really like him, that’s all you know.

“hey, what’s wrong?” nagi’s looking at you, pushing his hair back, and you can’t help but think you’re lucky to have him these past few months.

but the turmoil inside you wins, and maybe you understand a little bit of how sae felt that night when he broke up with you.

it’s not fair to nagi for you to do this, but it’s not fair to him either to keep him around.

“we need to talk.”

it’s a surreal feeling, to be back in japan.

sae was nineteen when he left. now he’s twenty-seven when he breathes the tokyo air again. he lugs around his carry-on baggage because he’s not staying here for long. not yet. he’s coming back soon, and he doesn’t really know why. he’s milked everything he could from spain, from the rest of europe, some of the americas, and maybe he’s homesick now.

plain and simple.

the cab driver asks him why he looks so sharp, and he simply says, “wedding.”

it’s been seven years since he broke up with you. and your grip on him is as firm as ever. a grip he’ll never let you know you have on him because he’s made this mistake before—said i miss you and then scared you away.

by the next day he couldn’t even find you online because everything is wiped and maybe you hate him, hate his guts. that’s fine. he can live with that.

to him, you’re still the same lovable person as you were at age five. still the same girl at age sixteen that he fell in love with. you’re still his person and it’s fine if he has to just admire you from afar.

when he arrives, he takes a long hard look around the room, filled with guests socialising and drinking their wines and it’s so pathetic but he’s wondering if you’re still around. he’s late, and it’s his plane’s fault but it’s no use playing the blame game.

“hey,” rin calls out when he sees his brother. “you missed the ceremony.”

“yeah, stupid plane got delayed,” sae says, mind still distracted.

rin formally introduces his new wife to sae and she seems nice, polite, the kind that can put his brother in his place if she needs to. that’s nice. sae can’t help envisioning you in the wedding dress though. you’d look nice.

nicer if he was the one beside you.

“oh! as a gift to my now brother-in-law, i have a friend i want to set you up with,” she grins, and as much of an ass that sae is, he just figures he’ll reject the poor girl later. for now, he’ll entertain his new sister-in-law.

rin claps him on the shoulder before smirking and walking off, presumably to get a drink because no matter how much rin has changed, sae doubts he’ll ever become friendly enough to mingle in this crowd.

sae feels someone poking his shoulder and turns around, first to find his sister-in-law grinning from ear to ear, and next to find you next to her, just like he remembers.

pretty in pink, stupid bashful smile, still fucking beautiful.

“have fun,” rin’s wife says before she walks off with a knowing look. she’s already winning points with sae for bringing you to him.

“hey, genius,” you try to suppress your smile but it’s not working.

he thinks he’s dreaming. he’s not. he’s here. and so are you. and this might just be what he missed all this time.

you hold your hand out and he takes it wordlessly, obediently. sae follows you to the dance floor, trying to calm his erratic heartbeats, savouring the feeling of your hand in his once again, remembering that moment back in autumn when he first felt it.

when you wrap your hands around his neck and he wraps his around your waist, it feels like finally, something is real. like there’s something in this country that can really keep him here this time. because now he’s twenty-seven and he finally understands, he’s always loved you but he’s never been ready until now.

“can’t believe you let your brother get married before you,” you say, sarcasm because you’re breaking into a grin. “he actually beat you at something.”

sae pouts slightly, averting his gaze. “what’s the big deal anyway?”

you shrug. “i’d have thought you’d be the first. maybe with one of the girls you met abroad or something.”

there’s a certain bitterness in your tone that he likes, only because it means you minded all this time. the thought of him with someone else. he suddenly remembers something, and searches the room for a familiar face.

gray eyes meet his teal ones before they turn away, disinterested.

“you sure your boyfriend won’t mind you dancing with your ex?”

“probably not, since i don’t have one.” you smirk, sensing the bitterness in his tone too. it’s funny, seeing sae jealous like this.

he has no reason to though, since you broke up with nagi after being honest with yourself—that you’re not over sae and you probably never will be. you’d decided to just live with your decision.

“shame. thought you guys looked cute in those matching sweaters.”

so that was a jealous like, you think to yourself.

“thought you looked cute with that sports photographer girl too, kissing and all,” you say, though it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. “why didn’t that work out?”

for the first time in his life, sae decides to be outright honest with you—

“because she’s not you.” because everytime she said his name, he’d overlay it with your voice in his head. because everytime she’d tried to get close, he’d resent her more for not being you. because no matter how hard anyone tries, they will never be you and that will never work, not for sae.

—to a certain degree.

he’s twenty-seven when he’s finally old enough to understand that it was never a problem with feelings because he’s always loved you all the same all this time. it was just a matter of being ready at the right time. it’s like luck in the world of soccer, where coincidences can only fall to those who are prepared.

and he’s here now. he’s ready.

call him crazy for thinking you’re on the same page because you’re getting closer and closer and closer.

“itoshi sae,” you whisper his name against his lips and he’s reminded of the first time he had you. you drive him crazy and he thinks he’ll keep on letting you. “i missed you too.”

you did. you used to be too young and inexperienced to put yourself in sae’s shoes. too young and naive thinking emotions were enough for two people to stay. sometimes, some things just aren’t meant to be… in the moment. and other times, when you’re both ready, everything suddenly falls into place.

you were sixteen when sae first kissed you. now ten years later, ten years wiser, you kiss again, and this feels significantly better than before. because now you both know.

sae has known you ever since you were three. and he thinks he’ll keep on knowing you, every day, every hour, every minute. he wants to know you forever. and he’s thinking maybe that superstition worked out after all. maybe it was destined to be like this all along.

two people coming together and falling apart only to end up in each other’s arms.

and he thinks fuck superstition, fuck the white cats and solar eclipses and everything else. even if things threaten not to work, this time he’ll make it work.

sae’s known you for so long he overlooked one simple thing. when he kisses you even deeper and is greeted with your lips smiling against his, he knows.

he hasn’t become the world’s best soccer player yet, but when he does, you’ll be by his side.

one day those paper rings the both of you played with when you were little would be real.

you’ve always been special, and you always will be.

now he’s finally home.

[luveline]

If you’re taking any requests could I request prince Steve and his soulmate wanting to have their first kiss before the wedding since they’re shy about so many people witnessing it

for you my love ♡ prince!steve au

You glance over the pages of your book to watch the Prince. He's stretching by the balcony, the summer air ruffling his hair, the sun kissing his skin. He's tan from weeks of being outside, and when he moves, it's almost like watching the sun itself. Too much. Your eyes burn after a few moments and you look down again. 

“Steve?” you ask, turning a page. 

He stops stretching his shoulders to smile at you. His button up rolled at the sleeves and tight on the arms, he's a poster boy. He's everything a Prince should be, and very soon he's going to be your husband. He's barely even your boyfriend. 

Your soulmark jitters through colours. It's an odd thing, gaussian and scratchy at once, wrapped around your wrist like poorly wound bandages made of light. His, whenever he's with you, glows a steady pinky-purple. You've no idea what it means. 

When you see him, yours is almost always white burning blue. But he smiles fondly and it melds to a softer pink, almost too pale to detect. “What?” 

“We're getting married in sixteen days.”

He crosses the room to sit beside you on the bed. Your sheets are white as the soulmark, crinkled under his weight. “There's still time to send you away.” You laugh a startled laugh and try to keep that lightness about you when he clasps your knee. “But I'd die alone, after that, and the kingdom would collapse, and I'd be miserable, so…” He smiles at you, a silky smoothness to his voice as he continues, “I'd rather you stayed.” 

“I want to stay. I want–” You bite the soft inside of your bottom lip. “I wanted to ask for a favour.” 

“Anything you want. Unless it's to help you with your tutoring. That's never going to happen. I'd make it worse–” 

“No, it's not that.” Bite the bullet. Ask the question, even if you're sitting in bed together, even if he's the most beautiful boy this side of the ocean. “I was wondering if you'd kiss me.” 

Steve stares at you, slack-jawed for a sliver of a second, but he realises himself and his teeth click as he closes his mouth. 

“I don't want the first time we kiss to be– to be in front of so many people. I don't even know what to do.” 

“You don't?” he asks. 

“No.” You rub your thumb against the pages of your book before sitting up to escape. “It was a stupid thing to ask you for, I'm sorry.” 

He takes your arm into his hand. “It's not stupid. I'll kiss you. I want to kiss you, I really want to. I've been worried about it, too. Kissing isn't one size fits all, you know? It's different for everyone.” 

“Right.” Your heart beats in your ears. “So you will?” 

“I will,” he says, quieter than either of you had been speaking before. He takes the book from your hand carefully and puts it aside, pulling at your arm with similar care as he shuffles close to you on the bed. 

You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands. You hadn't thought he'd kiss you straight away, but what difference does it make? You want him to kiss you now, you want—

“You sure?” he asks. 

You nod, not trusting your tongue to make words, the weight of it like lead in your mouth. Steve's hand climbs carefully from the bracelet at your wrist to your elbow, but eventually it slides between your arm and your side to the place just below your breasts. 

The other. He almost kills you, his other hand, brought so tentatively to your face. He doesn't cup your cheek but his palm turns upward, and his fingertips trail from the skin shy of your nose to just under your chin, and then he closes his eyes and you follow suit, too afraid to see anything after that, your skin alive with his touch. 

He kisses like a prince. 

Soft. Delicate. Steve clasps your shoulder very gently and guides your face to his, your lips pressing together, the thrum of a spark between you like a firecracker, a Catherine wheel, that spinning expense of energy with nowhere to go but your mouth. His lips part the slightest bit against yours as he kisses up into your lips. 

When he pulls away a handful of seconds later, your faces are awash with a lavender light. 

“Was that okay?” he asks. 

The light turns darker, a terrible heat flushing through you. You wish you had the bravery to ask for another kiss. “Yes,” you say, nearly whispering. “That was fine.” 

“We can do better than fine, yeah?”

You almost choke on air. "Yeah. Yes."

He's smiling as he leans back in.

[anghraine]

This is unnecessarily long, but: I was just thinking about Wickham's predation on fifteen-year-old Georgiana Darcy and then, almost exactly a year later, Wickham's predation on sixteen-year-old Lydia Bennet.

There are obvious parallels between the two incidents. In fact, they're so obvious that I think the incidents are sometimes treated as equivalent, with the consequences only differing by happenstance. I don't think that's true, personally.

There are some mechanistic sort of differences—Wickham put a lot more effort and planning into the Georgiana situation. He wanted to marry her for her money and to make her brother suffer. She had to be isolated from people who would look out for her interests, he had Mrs Younge in place, he had known Georgiana as a child and was able to exploit his own previous kindness to her as her father's godson, etc.

And Georgiana, despite all of this, and despite being swept away by a teenage infatuation with an extremely attractive man, was still uncomfortable with it. She was worried about disappointing a brother who raised her and whom she deeply loves and admires. When her brother actually showed up by surprise, she decided to tell him everything; Darcy takes pains to give her credit for this. Adaptations generally downplay Georgiana's active decision-making here, but the only element of chance is Darcy deciding to go to Ramsgate at all. He insists that he was only able to act because Georgiana chose to tell him what was going on.

This isn't meant to be an indictment of Lydia, though. Does she admire the parents who raised her? No. But why would she? Especially why would she admire a father who treats her mother and sisters and herself with profound contempt and no sense of responsibility? Why would she ever confide in him?

It's not like Lydia doesn't confide in anyone. In fact, she too confides in an older sibling, her sister Kitty. And in one sense, her trust in Kitty is not undeserved. Kitty does keep the secret. Presumably, she does this because, despite her occasional annoyance with Lydia, she is very much under her influence and goes along with whatever Lydia does. Regardless, she is trustworthy in that sense. Moreover, we see at the end of the book that Kitty is easily improved by being placed in better environments and taught how to behave. She just didn't know better.

How was she going to judge Lydia's situation correctly? Who was teaching her to judge anything correctly? Certainly not their parents.

If Mr Bennet had bothered to interest himself in his younger daughters and try and influence them for the better, impressionable Kitty is probably the one who would have benefited the most. The whole Lydia/Wickham thing would have fallen apart before it went anywhere if all the girls had been been properly raised, even if Lydia did exactly the same things.

And Lydia likely wouldn't do the same things if she'd been brought up properly and, you know, treated with a baseline of respect rather than being openly mocked by her father, the person most able to affect her development. Instead, at barely sixteen, she's been continually rejected by her father, over-indulged by her mother, and flattered by adult men (28-y-o Darcy says he and Wickham are nearly the same age). And she still tells someone what's going on, even though she doesn't care about her parents' opinions or the consequences of her actions. And she was under the protection of a colonel and his wife at the time, who also could have told someone or acted, and didn't.

It's not that nobody could have done anything about the Lydia/Wickham situation. It's that nobody did until Darcy found out and tried to extract her. But it was, in one sense, too late. To Lydia, he's just some unfun acquaintance who says boring things like "go home to your family and I'll do what I can to cover for you." That is, he tries to do what he did for Georgiana.

But Lydia is not Georgiana—she did not choose to tell him about any of this. She did not want to be extracted because she didn't know and couldn't be quickly made to understand what marriage to Wickham would mean in the long term. And she didn't care what her family thought because she had no reason to, pragmatically or psychologically.

Georgiana, otoh, did care about her family's welfare and the good opinion and affection of the head of her family. But despite their radical differences in personality, the most fundamental difference between the girls IMO is that Georgiana had every reason to believe that disappointing Darcy and losing his respect would be a change from the norm.

Normally he is affectionate and attentive towards her. They write each other long letters, he defends her to other family members, and praises her frequently. Georgiana, quiet and intimidated though she may be, talks more when he's around. Disappointing him had actual stakes for her.

Put another way, the potential loss of his good opinion mattered to her because he's gone to the trouble of raising her as well as he can and forming a good relationship with her. She chose to tell Darcy the whole thing because he had earned her affection and trust in a way that Mr Bennet has utterly failed to do. Even Darcy happening to visit Georgiana at Ramsgate comes from his affection and attention to Georgiana's welfare, even if he couldn't have known what would follow from checking on his sister at that particular moment.

Chance is always part of life, and it's part of the novel and these situations. But a lot of how these scenarios wound out was not determined by chance but by long-existing patterns in these girls' educations and relationships.

[monzamash]

tears and scraped knees — daniel ricciardo

fatherhood is about learning the art of letting go. dad!daniel ricciardo x you | 2k warnings – cute shit, mentions of injuries and swearing. masterlist

She was the light of his life the moment she entered it, screaming the house down and crying her lungs out. Pure love personified. She was the apple of his eye, the most precious gift he had ever been given and simultaneously the reason for the grey hair speckling his dark curls; the ones identical to hers. Like him, she was a firecracker, the joker, and the life of the party everywhere she went; smile bright, eyes warm. A rich chestnut brown, flecked with yellow, charming and stunning just like his.

To Daniel, she was your little twin. Your beauty was reflected in her in different ways – in her long locks and dark sense of humour, her tenacity and moral compass. She was strong like you, stoic in her beliefs and confident in her skin.

Smart, magnetic, a bit book-ish like you.

Sporty, energetic and kind like him.

Looking at your daughter was a daily reminder that he was half him and half you – a beautiful symbol of your love, your miracle.

“How ya doin’ back there kiddo?”

“Fine,” She mumbled under her breath, eyes focused on the perfect distraction from the morning ahead – her phone. 

You and Daniel shared a knowing glance; traffic building at the lights as you waited for the signal. There was no doubt in your mind that your daughter was saving herself from a stirring speech by bottling up her feelings. Her father was basically a glorified inspirational speaker in his retirement and she had been on the receiving end of too many over the years – each one cheesier than the last, she would confess to you whenever he was out of ear shot.

“Does Dad realise that I’m not one of his rookie drivers? Like, I know what I need to do to win.”

Strong in her convictions, just like him. A carbon copy.

“Remember to keep your elbows out today, especially around that Maddy girl. I know her dad and I reckon she’s dirty like him so watch her at the sta – ouch.”

Your fingernails digging into his forearm cut off Daniel’s spiel, his eyebrows furrowed and silently asking, ‘what the fuck was that for’.

“Just have fun out there, sweetheart,” You interrupted, saving your daughter from her father’s pep-talk, “Keep your elbows tucked in, shoulders with the part like you were taught.”

Daniel sighed and turned his attention back to the busy streets of Fremantle, weaving his way through the traffic like he was back in Monaco, living out the glory days. He was the first to admit that he was living vicariously through her and passionate about what the world had in store for his not-so-little girl. He saw so much of himself in her now, sixteen and on the cusp of what could be.

But you saw things differently to him. Her path wasn’t paved so clearly in your eyes and you made sure that she remained open to whatever life had to bring. She had it all in front of her; possibilities endless with opportunity and success but that didn’t have to be racing. Your dreams for her weren’t as rigid as Daniel’s; his plan to move the family back to the UK had been vetoed by you when your daughter came to you in tears, begging to stay in school and graduate with her friends.

“But babe, those friends don’t last. It’s all just in the moment when this could be her chance at getting her foot in the door,” He argued until he was red in the face.

“Says the guy who just had Blake and his wife around last week for dinner? Come on, Dan – it’s only a year away.”

“Realistically we should’ve moved when she showed an interest in bikes…” He grumbled, frustration simmering behind his closed eyes.

“What? When she was four? Baby, she’s only sixteen but still, she has her dreams set on riding and when the time is right, we will do everything we can to help her make that a reality…”

Your voice was soft; calming as you rounded the dining table and nestled into the open arms of your husband, “Just let her take the lead.”

Daniel dropped his head onto the top of yours and sighed, “You’re right.”

“I almost always am.”

That wasn’t the last conversation you and your husband had about Joey’s future, her grandfather and namesake chiming in with what he thought was the best thing for her budding career. She was the pride and joy of the whole family; everyone saw her talent from a young age but that kind of pressure had to be managed and that had become your life’s work. Her youth had been so hyper focussed on honing her craft that sometimes you felt like she had lost her childhood to the trials and tribulations of racing.

So you put your foot down where you could; namely saving your daughter from having to sit through another car ride hearing all about her dad’s accomplishments and mistakes – hoping she would learn from him but you both knew better than that. She was so young and so ready to make her own mistakes to learn from, like it should be.

She was stronger than both you ever were – a perfect amalgamation of your love.

One of hardest part about race day for Daniel was taking a step back. Of course everyone knew who Joey’s dad was and of course she copped shit for it. Your dad’s a flog and the only reason you’re here is because of him, had been a couple of the unsavoury post-race reports your daughter eventually confessed to you – teary eyed while she begged for you not to tell Daniel but you did because if anyone knew the power of harnessing negative energy, it was your husband.

But the hardest part of all for Daniel was controlling his emotions. He had Italian blood coursing through his veins after all, passionate and fiercely protective of both his girls. Once Joey came along, you knew the papa bear within that had been lying dormant would arise and alas, you were right. All of those crazy nights in bars all around the world, fighting off sleazy men had prepared him to be a girl-dad.

That side to him was glorious to you, endlessly sexy and usually rendered you useless when he decided to bust out the dad moves but to his teenage daughter, he was a total embarrassment.

“Racing under number 33 is Joey James Ricciardo.”

“Give ‘em hell, JJ!”

Daniel’s loud woo echoed through the small crowd, heads turning in your direction including your daughters and you could sense her scowl under the helmet – mortified.

“Daniel,” You scolded, smacking your husband gently, “She’ll kill us both.”

“I know I know,” He grimaced, “Fuck, I’m sorry – I can’t help it... That’s our baby girl out there.”

The image of your daughter, barely two years old, always flashed in your memory when he said things like that. It reminded you of the weeks spent teaching her how to walk. She was so small but so tenacious and you could see that same proud glimmer in Daniel’s eyes now as he did watching her take her first steps. It was mixed with the same wash of fear he had when he let go of her bike seat down that old gravelled road for the first time, praying to god she didn’t hurt herself and end up with tears and scraped knees.

And sure, that happened. Many Band-Aids and tubes of antiseptic were applied to her bloodied elbows and knees but she was a kid after all, feeling every bump in the road until she found her strengths and soared above the rest. She was as quick as a whip and even faster on track – destined to be her own hero but always inspired by her first.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Daniel mumbled as the two of you waited for the race to begin, his foot tapping on the dead grass and nails already chewed down to the skin.

His white cap was still pulled down, disguised as a promise to his daughter who wanted him to just blend in. Wishful thinking. But there was a time that she didn’t want him to come to her meets, insisting that her life would be so much easier if her dad wasn’t ‘the Daniel Ricciardo’ but you couldn’t buckle on that one.

“Your dad is a strong man but that would kill him, J.”

“But he yells out and brags to all the parents about me and the other kids bully me for it… He doesn’t understand how hard it is being a Ricciardo.”

“Hey,” Daniel’s soft voice startled you both, heads flying towards your daughter’s bedroom door, “If that’s what you want, honey I can stay home.”

She sighed heavily and clutched the lilac pillow on her lap, “I want you there, Dad but people are so mean to me and I just want to be normal for once.”

The mattress dipped as Daniel sat down beside you and reached out for his daughters hands, “You can be anyone you want to be, darlin’ – just say the word and we’ll make it happen. We can be normal… or try to be normal.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at your husband and give him a teasing nudge, “Try being the operative word.”

Daniel smiled and shrugged, “I’ll even wear a disguise. How about that?”

And here you were, hidden behind a couple of gum trees watching your daughter flying through the air and making her fathers hair greyer with every passing second. She was a force to be reckoned with and karmic retribution for all the years you spent white knuckling in garages across the globe.

“Now you know how I felt back when you were racing. Karma is a bitch, my love.”

“Maybe encouraging her to do this was a bad idea after all…” Daniel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his shaky fingers as you slid an arm around his waist and pulled him close.

“This is sleepover camp all over again. You have to learn how to somehow let her go and spread her wings. That’s all she ever says to me, you know? I wanna be like dad – not afraid, free.”

“I didn’t even realise she felt like that…”

You softly smiled at your husband and pressed a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek, “Don’t tell her I told you.”

my hope for this little story is to build a cute world around it. i have a really nice outline for another part of this story so let me know if that's something you would like. and thank you to @vetteltea for her supportive nudge to post this x

[profoundmakerdreamerss-blog]

Tomarry AU where Harry knows everything but it's not because he is a time traveller, neither because he is a seer —

Pages and words have always been Harry's best friend. Living inside a cupboard did not help with his obsession. Rather, it was due to those pages that he survived. (He was 14 when he got his room instead of a bloody cupboard to sleep in.). The library was the only place Harry was able to hide from Dudley before they were sent to different schools.

When he was fourteen, and hiding from Dudley in the public library (he was mad that his gaming room was given to him.) he ends up reading a book he came to like very much.

It was a book about an orphan boy (like him.) who ends up going to this magic world (oh, how Harry wished) but sadly Tom ended up being hated there as well. Harry was awed by Tom's strength, but also angry (at the world how they let Tom down.) and angry at Tom for destroying himself to destroy what hurt him (or maybe he was angry at himself for not being able to do the same, maybe he was angry that he couldn't save Tom —) Harry was fourteen and it would seem he was angry at a lot of things.

(—that day Harry punched Dudley back after Dudley hit him. He didn't get to eat for a week straight.)

Jealousy is something he never let himself feel, because it wasn't a privilege he was given — not really. But one thing he was jealous of was the fact that Tom got to fly. (Harry wondered some nights — hungry and unable to sleep — what would he do if he got a magic letter? Would he have friends? How nice it would be to get to eat 3 times a day — how nice it would be to just fly away.).

Harry Potter loved Tom Riddle. Harry Potter also loved Lord Voldemort. The boy who died to be born as a monster. The boy who swallowed all the hatred so that he could hate the world in return (oh, how Harry wish he could burn down the world too sometimes — how he wish he could just hate hate hate and not care care care; maybe then he would finally stop trying look for approval in his aunt's eyes). Harry knew when started reading the book Tom was as cruel as he was strong. And he knew as he read the text, there would come a day Tom would burn the world like he was also burned. Even though he didn't agree with Tom's decisions most of the time he knew Tom. So yes, Harry Potter might not agree with Voldemort but he still loved him. And he wished that he could tell him that. Wished he could tell the man who was still a boy that wanted a family so bad that he stayed up for hours at night searching, hungry to find any living family there was, hungry for a belonging that he wasn't even deigned in the magic world. He wished he could tell Voldemort that no matter what he became, Harry would love him.

So imagine his surprise when he wakes up in a moving train — right after going to bed (instead of a cake he got a can of soup) the night he turned sixteen. Imagine how surprised as he sat there, in robes that he doesn't remember he ever owned. Imagine him freaking out that he got kidnapped as the door of his train compartment opened, and in came Tom Riddle.

[rimunagenius]

Wait For Me

Paring: Kayce Dutton x reader!

Words: 2.1k words

Warnings: Angst, fluff ending, curse words?? if that’s even a warning, mentions of branding and burning, abuse, over use of baby (i love it, i love imagining him calling me that, do nit judge me🤨😒)

Summary: Growing up you and Kayce were inseparable. You didn’t know the love you shared was more than friends until sixteen, but what happens when John pushes Kayce too hard, and your relationship hangs in the balance?

ఌ If you want to check out my other works for other fandoms and this one, check out my masterlist!!

A/n: no gender or body specification made in the story, so this could be read from any gender/personal preference. This is very self indulgent for me, I love Kayce Dutton and have since i started Yellowstone and I was deeply upset with the lack of fics for him so I had to take matters into my own hands while this godsend of an author writes my requests!!🥹 anyways, hope you enjoy!!

not my gif!!

__________

You knew it was stupid.

You knew you couldn’t have him.

You can’t love someone into loving you back. You knew it. He knew it. He knew it would never happen between you; he wanted it to. He did love you, too much, though.

This summer had to be your favorite on the Dutton Ranch. Favorite in Montana. Your favorite in the world, same thing. As long as Kayce was there, it was the perfect anything.

You had loved him your whole life. Ever since you were kids anything he would do would mesmerize you. His hair caught in the breeze when you’d chase him around the arena for tag, his smile when you’d tell the same joke he was tired of but laughed because he knew it meant something to you.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen inlove. You always had been, but this time you actually knew what it was. You knew why. It was Kayce. Any woman would be a fool to not love everything about him.

But…

He had fallen inlove too.

“Oh my god! That’s not-“ You looked at the boy next to you, absolutely falling more inlove the more you looked. Having by far the funniest conversation all summer.

“Oh, please! That’s seriously what I told him!” He laughed, his body leaning on yours, his head halfway into your lap.

“Kayce, your such an idiot.” You looked down at him, his eyes already trained on you. Your chuckle had died in your throat as you saw the look in his eyes. He’s never looked at you like this before—you didn’t see the other times he had. Those moments were just for him.

Your hand landed on his forehead, sliding it back over the expanse of his scalp, his long hair following the pattern your hand tread on his head.

“Oh, yeah?” He said. His signature small smile already creasing the corners of his lips. “I’m okay with that. You still love me, though.”

You looked up at the sky, the stars illuminating your features, entrancing the teenager below you. He was looking at you as if you had hung them yourself. “The sky is beautiful tonight, Kayce. Don’t you think?” Your eyes following and connecting the dots in the sky as his eyes never once dared to move away from you.

“I do. She’s absolutely gorgeous.” In a quick second, he started to sit up, his absence from your lap, drawing your eyes down to him.

Your eyes caught his, as he immediately pulled you into a kiss. His hand on your cheek, your hand tipping his hat off his head, carding your fingers through the growing locks of golden brown locks.

This was just the start.

You knew now was different than when you both were just 16. You had spent two years with eachother, loving eachother. You didn’t think anything would tear you apart.

Kayce had started disobeying Mr. Dutton when you two had just turned 18. Something about them always butting heads and having different life plans. Kayce didn’t want this life, he wanted you, but not at the price John had been setting.

It was either you and the Ranch, or he’d be gone and forbidden to see you. You knew it was a crock of shit, John just trying to scare his son. And you had believed it. You should’ve known the youngest Dutton. Especially now that the behavior was super out of character.

You walked the rocky path up to the main house, on the Dutton Ranch, collecting the smallest size pebbles you could find to throw at Kayce’s window.

You approached the front of the house, stopping before the porch steps and launched pebble after pebble. You had gone through the whole collection and then some. He would come to the window by now, you thought.

He wasn’t asleep, his light was on. Then you heard yelling and screaming, crashing and smashing. You had saw a small glimpse of Kayce and John, and you had heard Lee, you think.

Then you heard nothing. Just saw John’s face in the window, looking down at you as he shut the blinds. You had started on your walk back home, worried sick, right down the road from the ranch before you heard the front door swing open, John dragging Kayce by the collar of his shirt.

They ended up behind the barn, you watching from a healthy distance to not be seen by Mr. Dutton, before you saw a burning orange ‘Y’ iron. The sound of burning flesh and muffled cries and screaming followed.

You obviously didn’t see Kayce that night but you had saw him two days after, breaking a horse.

You stood up on the bottom wood log of the arena with your arms draped over the top one. “Where have you been, baby?” Your boyfriend just looked up at you. A heartbreaking attempt at a smile casted over his beautiful face.

“Talk to me, Kayc. Is everything okay?” You knew it wasn’t. You knew what you saw, not expecting that from John.

“I’m fine, darlin.’ Don’t worry your pretty little head too much, yeah?” He looked back to the horse, grabbing the reigns and walking him through the exit of the arena, signaling you to follow him to the barn.

You didn’t want to pry, you knew he wasn’t okay but you’d let him tell you about it when he was ready. You knew Kayce would.

“Okay, handsome. You doin’ anythin’ later.” You tucked a small strand of hair behind his ear, fixing his hat that’s shifted.

“Nah, you wanna come over? Watch a movie?” He asked. You smiled at him and nodded your head. You leaned in for a kiss and turned your heel.

“I’ll see you later, cowboy.” You looked over your shoulder, Kayce eyes trailing up your body, his eyes eventually meeting yours. “You like what you see, Kayce?” You laughed as you were almost out of line of sight.

“Hell yeah, I do, baby.” His smirk as he watched you, slowly dissipating. He was dreading the moment he had to tell you. He had to do it soon, tomorrow.

That was yesterday.

Your movie had gone great but you should have known then there was problem. He seemed on edge that night, and his room seemed a little less lively since the last time you had been in there.

You walked up to the main house, opening the front door. John wasn’t home so Kayce said you could walk through the house and to his room.

That’s when you saw it. His shit packed and loaded into duffle bags. He packed his whole life away in bags. “What’s goin’ on Kayce? Why are you packing?” Your eyes wandered around the room. His dresser now vacant of any picture you two had, of him and Lee. His favorite picture of him and Beth now gone.

“Everything’s okay, baby. I promise.”

“Then why’s your shit all gone? Where are you going?” You couldn’t help the dampness growing in the corner of your eyes. The small quiver in your lip.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry. It’s gonna be okay.” He cupped your face, forcing you to look him in the eyes. His eyes meeting yours, both damp and a little bloodshot like yours. “I just gotta go for a while, okay?”

“And your just gonna leave me here? Take me with you.” You pleaded. You didn’t think today of all days would start with Kayce Dutton possibly breaking up with you, and leaving you alone in this godforsaken state of Montana.

“I can’t, baby. Not where i’m goin’. Not this time.” He kissed your forehead and shifted his hands from your face to your waist.

“Kayce, where the hell are you going that you can’t take me with you? We haven’t separated since we were kids, why now?” You wiped the tears that fell from your eyes as you couldn’t dare tear them away from Kayce.

“I’m goin’ into the Navy. I don’t know when i’ll be back. But you have to listen to me-“

“The fuckin’ Navy!? Kayce are you serious!?” You yelled at him. He never once mentioned the Navy or any interest. It must’ve been John’s idea. They have been fighting more and more recently.

You thought it had been just father and son disagreements. But the thought should’ve clicked when the iron branded his son, your bestfriend, boyfriend, forever.

He belonged to his father. He had to do whatever he asked. It had to be John. You were pissed. “Was it John?” You whispered.

“No, sweetheart. It was me. I can’t take this ranch anymore, I feel trapped. All I do is eat, ranchwork, eat, ranchwork, sleep, repeat. I can’t do it anymore, baby. The Navy would atleast set me up with some cash so I could find a place of my own.” He sniffled as he held you, you stepping away from him to pace around the room.

It was his decision…he was leaving you.

He wiped his eyes, and in all the years that you had known Kayce Dutton and held him when he was sad, because he had done it for you, you haven’t seen him this torn up and emotional about something since his mother’s passing.

“But does that mean you can’t handle me anymore? I mean if your tired of the ranch, you must be tired of me, right?” You let a choked sob escape your lips. Stopping in your tracks, your legs feeling too wobbly to move another inch.

He immediately rushed to you, embracing you into the tightest hugs he’s possibly ever given you. “No, no, baby. That’s not it. I love you, with everythin’ in me, you know that. But-“

“But what? If your breaking up with me Kayce, don’t you dare think about saying goodbye as if we’ll never speak again. They’re always the hardest and i’m not doing that with you. I do not want to say goodbye to you. Ever.”

“Baby, you know I have to.” His big eyes even frowned with his face. The sad expression crushing you even more than humanly possible.

“No, you don’t! Why can’t you just love me from over there. It shouldn’t be any different, baby.” You grabbed his face. His eyes closing for a fleeting moment. Your cries getting harder and harder to bear quietly.

“Darlin’, I can’t ask you to wait for me in hopes i’ll make it home to you. I can’t ask that of you, and you know I can’t.” He inhaled a shaken breath, evident that this was hurting him as much as it was hurting you.

“Yes you can. You know that. I’d wait a million years and more for you, Kayce Dutton. I waited 16 years, didn’t I?” You laughed quietly, that didn’t hide the audible sob that also parted your lips.

“Godammit, sweetheart. I love you, nothin’ can change that. I’d die for you, i’d do anything for you, i’d go to the very ends of the earth for you, but please for the love of god; please stop making it harder to leave you than it already is.” Tears freely streamed down his face, him not bothering to wipe them away.

He was giving himself to you. All of him, and you couldn’t have asked for more from this man. He has always done this for you. He’s never hidden who he was, especially from you.

As you held his face, you sighed. His hand holding your hips, you could feel his fingers shaking on you. He didn’t want to go. If he was ever gonna leave he was damn sure gonna take you with him. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be.

“Kayce Dutton, I love you. More than you’ll ever know and i’ll spend my whole life showing you. I’d do anything for you, all you have to do is say what. Ask me to wait for you, and i’d wait for you.” As soon the words “ask me to wait” rolled off your lips, Kayce had his answer.

“Wait for me.”

You crashed your lips onto his, the kiss fast paced and full of emotion. The devotion his body poured unto you was otherworldly. You two stumbled back a bit from the force of the kiss. Your tongue meeting his in frantic greeting as you held onto him for dear life, and he held onto you like you were his lifeline.

As you both understood what this meant, what you two were signing up for, you knew now that there was no chance either one of you would be ripped away from the other. No fucken chance.

“I’ll wait for you. When you get back, i’ll be waiting here, you know exactly where to find me, cowboy.” You kissed his lips once again, and smiled, your arm around his shoulder and one hand on his face. His arms wrapped comepletely around your waist.

“I can’t wait, baby.” He kissed you once more and that was it.

You’d be here when he got back. He was going to come back to you. Whether he had to kill or crawl his way back to you, he was going to come home.

And you’d be right there, with open arms waiting. Just like you promised.

[httpiastri]

PERFECTLY FINE – PAUL INTRO

series masterlist

you can't recall the day that you first started crushing on paul.

ever since you became teammates when you were 15, you were drawn to him. something between you, paul and dino just clicked; you all became best friends instantly. every race weekend was spent bonding over shared victories, helping each other through the highs and lows, and of course fooling around like the teenagers you were. you were all inseparable.

one day, you fantasized about being with paul. just for fun, just to think about what it would be like.

it was like opening pandora's box. from that day on, you could never go back to how it was not daydreaming about paul.

it all happened so suddenly. instead of being regular teammates, you unexpectedly found yourself wishing you were more than just that. you found yourself accidentally staring at him in team meetings, your eyes following the curls of his hair and that sweet grin of his. you found yourself smiling a little too much around him, giggling at every semi-bad joke he told. and you found yourself craving his attention and approval, always longing for your next interaction with him.

it was so different – and yet, it felt like it was the only thing you'd ever known.

most people around you said that you were lucky to be a june child; getting to have your parties out in the warm weather, getting tanlines and beach visits as birthday presents, and your sunshine-filled day being longer than most others.

but personally, you never saw the joy in it. racing was usually the most hectic around your birthday, giving you no time off to celebrate or rest. the sun shining just meant more sweat in the racing suit and more degradation of your tyres.

another thing that sucks about it is that almost all of your friends' birthdays are much earlier in the year than yours.

jak got to experience being 18 for a whole month before you got to join the party; paul and dino turned 18 over a year before you did.

your two teammates even turned 19 before you could finally turn legal. not fair.

it was frustrating, and sometimes even a little humiliating. despite being mature for your age, you still hated being younger – maybe mostly because you were sure paul wouldn't find you as interesting anymore when he was suddenly all adult and you were still merely sixteen for a few more months.

but on the contrary, as the year of 2022 rolled around, he found you more interesting.

when he wanted to go out to celebrate after a good race, he always did his best to find ways to get you into the club, too. and if you weren't allowed, he would celebrate with you in another way.

he never let you feel forgotten or like you weren't his priority,

because you always were.

‎‎‎ ‎

your birthday gift for your seventeenth birthday wasn't just a beach party.

for your seventeenth birthday, paul gave you a kiss. and then another.

and then you gave him one back, as if to thank him. and from there on, there was never a doubt.

the kisses he gave you always swept you off your feet. there was something about the way his hand rested underneath your jaw, the way his nose brushed against yours before sealing your lips, the way he tilted his head to gain perfect access. something about it was so different, so special.

he may have not been your first kiss – damn that boy in your sixth-year maths class for stealing that honor from paul – but he was your first everything else.

your first real relationship. first real fight.

the first boy you ever loved; the first boy you ever cried over.

the first time you let someone see the raw, unfiltered version of yourself.

your first "i hate you!" to a boy you loved; and then your first kiss in the rain, clothes and hair soaked through, with warm tears streaming down your cheeks as you thought about how stupid you were to ever doubt being with him.

your first real brush with vulnerability.

the first boy who made you feel truly alive, yet painfully aware of your own mortality.

the first one to teach you that love isn't always easy, but it's worth suffering for.

the first person you went to for help when the world crumbled beneath you.

the first person who told you that your love was beautiful; the first person to convince you that it was so stunning it could be a masterpiece, painted with the colors of your pretty laughter and soft smiles.

‎‎‎ ‎

the first boy to ever try to climb up to your third-floor balcony in milton keynes because you were ignoring him after a fight. the first boy to ever fall down a tree after using it to climb up to said balcony. the first time you rushed down the stairs in your apartment building in less than a minute because you were so scared you almost couldn't breathe. the first time you kissed a boy's hurting wrist that he used to break his fall with after the earlier mentioned fall. the first time you ever made up with a boy on the patch of grass outside of your apartment after you both had apologized profusely, hugging more tightly than ever because you were terrified of the thought of ever losing each other.

granted, your apartment building is no skyscraper, but your balcony is many meters up in the air. only a lunatic would attempt to climb all the way up to you.

the thing is... for you, paul was a lunatic.

for that eighteenth birthday you'd longed so much for, you got an early gift.

a broken relationship.

things had been headed south for a long time. the passion wasn't strong enough of a glue to hold all of the broken pieces of your heart together anymore. things were getting too much, too heavy, too tiring.

it was just a few nights before your birthday that you sat down together in his hotel room in barcelona, both quiet for a long time. there was not much left to say.

the last few weeks had been a roller coaster; you'd cried, screamed, and made up on repeat. but you knew you couldn't go on like this.

"we're tearing each other apart," you had told him, not daring to meet his eyes. "can't you tell?"

he didn't answer.

"i'm exhausted. i need a break."

"from what? from me?"

"from everything."

and then it was over. at least, on paper it was – but in your heart? probably not.

you weren't sure if your feelings for him could ever be over.

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part twenty-one

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty

-

For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, Sephiroth sends out a text message.

After an evening and night spent meditating, reading and cultivating, figuring out the ins and outs of his hardened meridian system and going through the files Genesis had had delivered to him, Sephiroth's come to the conclusion that meditation isn't enough. He needs to condition his body properly, and that means forms, that means movements - that means he really misses easy access to all the collected cultivation manuals of Qing Jing Peak's impressive libraries.

Ultimately what it really means is that he needs more space than his single room apartment has.

"If we're banned from the training room, where can I go train?"

"Goddess beyond, Sephiroth, it's supposed to be your day off," Genesis replies and then, soon after, "Just go to the training room. Who could stop you?"

He's really not sure about training in front of people. "Is that really the only option?"

"Well, you could do what you always do and just take a mission."

Mission, like the dozen or so on his phone involving Wutai? Which had a lot of kill everyone and exterminate the opposition and leave no one alive!?

Yeah, okay. Training room it is, then!

After carefully selecting an outfit that would look reasonably in character for the future Big Bad while also being a bit more comfortable than three different things of leather. And he still pulls on the, now slightly better fitting, leather coat with its huge shoulder guards, too! He should look… more or less in character.

People still stare as he makes his way through floor 49, other SOLDIERs in their much more comfortable looking uniforms and not so comfortable looking helmets. There's a handful of them hanging around, sitting by the window or chatting, SOLDIER Seconds and Thirds waiting for assignments. There are some people in lab coats hanging around there too, just as a reminder of the true nature of the program.

Sephiroth had read about that too - everything Genesis had sent him about SOLDIER and the things he is supposed to already know. 

SOLDIER, as much as they are the elite warriors of Shinra, their OP human weapons in the war to conquer the planet… are also lab rats. They'd all signed up on it in order to get those enhancements, and now Shinra's Science Department can do… just about whatever they want with them!

They're constantly being tested for performance and given experimental training, treatments and gear to test out. Almost all Materia and medicine Shinra produces goes through SOLDIER field testing before going into mass production. Because it's better that it's a SOLDIER dealing with the fallout if the Materia blows up in his face or the medicine makes him projectile vomit. They can handle it!

Ah, corporate dystopia with minimal human rights. Fun stuff.

Sephiroth walks past them all, barely acknowledging them, and aims for the training room. Which… really seems more like a testing ground, now that there's actual personnel there.

There's no one in the training room itself - but there are two technicians in the observatory adjacent.

"S-Sephiroth!" a lab technician stutters as he enters  - the only way into the training room goes through the observatory, past all the monitoring equipment and computers. "What can we do for you?"

"I want to train," Sephiroth says in his best villain drawl, motioning to the training room with Masamune.

"Ah, that's - director Deusericus told us -"

Sephiroth narrows his eyes. "Oh, so I can't?"

The second lab tech elbows the first out of the way. "Of course you can, of course! Professor Hojo would be thrilled to have your training data," he assures, though the words are clearly aimed, very pointedly, at the other tech. "What kind of program settings would you like? We have a selection of new enemy AI and different environments - including numerous Wutai-inspired sequences!"

Sephiroth hesitates. That… could be interesting, actually. "Something from Wutai, with buildings - no enemies." That might give him a sense of what Wutai was like, culture-wise.

"... How are you going to train without enemies?"

Do SOLDIER not do forms? "Hmph," Sephiroth answers and turns to the training room, waving the electronic sliding door open. "Just start the simulation."

Seems like he got his villainous demanding attitude right, because they do. Seems like short and to the point is really the best way to hide a supposed amnesia!

Soon Sephiroth finds himself standing in a courtyard of what looks vaguely like some noble family's estate, feeling strangely like he's in a dream where everything is just a little bit off.

The simulation is… well, it kind of feels like a weird amusement park version of Asia, a mix of Japanese and Chinese aesthetics. The buildings have Japanese architecture for the most part, with bare unpainted wood and stone - but the roofs are all elaborate hip roofs. The written language, what little he can see of it, is in Mandarin, but the calligraphy style is very Japanese, very lyrical and artistic but without much form.

There's no bamboo in sight. Shame.

But at least the false environment makes it feel a little less like he's being watched - though he can still tell he is. Even with Sephiroth's burnt spiritual veins, he has pretty good senses.

Well, it's not like he hasn't trained with an audience before.

Unsheathing Masamune, Sephiroth holds the sheath in his off hand and takes a pose, breathing deeply in and concentrating. He still can't quite circulate his Qi, but he can sort it… flash it through himself in pulses, which lights up his meridian system and brings out the faults and snags therein.

Sephiroth is strong, hardy, seemingly endlessly durable. He's also fast, his overactive muscles easily going past the limitations of your usual normal human conditions. The issue is not quite his overall flexibility - but his… suppleness, maybe?

You need your veins to flex and contract for healthy circulation, and that's the same with energy. Thanks to the Mako treatments and the emphasis on stamina and strength, Sephiroth's whole system is just… hard. Every part of him is hardened to endure who knows what, and it gives his meridian system very little give. 

So that's what his form needs to focus on, increasing his meridian system's pliancy.  

All the while wondering if all SOLDIERs were working with these kinds of toughened meridians, Sephiroth pulses his energy and begins to move. Qing Jing Peak sword forms work well enough for him, it turns out - as spiritual cultivators, they also have to maintain certain spiritual flexibility, after all. He needs to adjust the forms to the sword he has, but that's not too difficult. A lot of spiritual swordsmen use sword glares to extend the shape and size of their cutting edge, so the forms already have some wiggle room.

Soon Sephiroth has a set of moves that work the best, making his pulses of energy work better and better, until his whole meridian system buzzes, active and alive. He can even feel the beginnings of activity in his frankly neglected dantians, as energy wooshes through him in waves. It feels… pretty great.

What he doesn't know is that on the outside it looks rather like Sephiroth just activated a Limit Break - by will alone.

-

Someone making waves, hehe

[creedslove]

HEARTLESS 💔 - PART SEVENTEEN

Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels) x f!reader

Summary: the morning after the night you and the cowboy spent together had everything to be full of love, but a visit is going to ruin your plans

(this is the seventeenth chapter of the HEARTLESS 💔 series)

• Part one to sixteen on my MASTERLIST

Warnings: sad thoughts, mentions of depression, mentions of suicide attempt, fluff, angst, mom!reader

A/N: what can I tell you besties? I know it took me a long time but here's our cowboy for another ride... some of you didn't like the angst was back, but well, we know their love is stronger than anything that goes on, right?!

4.3k words

"I love you"

Those three simple words echoed through the cowboy's head as he watched you close your exhausted eyes and drift off to sleep. He pulled you closer to him, your head resting against his chest, heart beating fast, nose buried into your beautiful hair while his hands rubbed your back and traced invisible patterns all over your skin while he thought of everything that went on between the two of you. He had exhausted you, hell, he was exhausted himself and yet he couldn't fall asleep, the emotions of the latest events still running through his veins like adrenaline stopping him from simply closing his eyes and relaxing. You loved him, he knew that, in fact, everyone did, even though the heartbreak you had was the biggest, saddest and most intense situation you had ever gone through, it still wasn't enough to erase the feelings you felt for a certain cowboy; just as his desperate, pathetic and insisting trials of moving on, forgetting about you or even trying to hate on were just as big of a failure as he was. He loved you deeply, simply and raw. The kind of love that unabled him from moving on, from trying again, the kind of love that took away all the thrill in going out for one night stands like he often did before you walked into his life. The kind of love that made him think it wasn't worth living anymore, not while he was lacking that love, when he made the worst mistake of his life, choosing his own grief over his actual family, too scared to move on and being trapped in the past because it didn't scare him as much, when he thought the safest for the three of you would be going separate ways, so you wouldn't hurt him with the constant memory of his first wife and unborn son, so he wouldn't torture himself with the fear of betraying her memory and not being able to be there wholeheartedly for you and your son. He was scared, not only that, he was terrified and in his clouded judgment, he really believed he was doing the right thing, of course now he had a healthier mindset he could clearly see the kind of shit he engaged himself into and nearly lost for good the chance of being happy once more. He loved you so much, but he realized he had always taken it for granted, assuming you would always be around, and once he kicked you out of his life, a part of him assumed - and even hoped for - there would be a return; that you would crawl back to him, beg him to take you and your son back, but he was proven wrong once more when he met your power, your strength, and just then, when he didn't have you, he realized how much he truly loved you. Perhaps it was because of all the years of loneliness that followed the death of his wife and son, and Jack associated love with absence, that was one of the fruity, fancy things his therapist had said. He had tried several times starting therapy, but he never really engaged in it, he never really cared for it, and he was so sure it wouldn't be different when Champ set his cards on the table and told Whiskey would get only a suspension, therapy sessions and a shitty excuse of being brain damaged after being shot in the head, instead of being fired from the Statesman, kicked out like an old dog and sent to prison. At that moment, Jack sort of thought that was exactly what he deserved.

He was hopeless, knowing that he had made the worst mistake of his life, pushing away the family God had gifted him, his second chance of being happy and protecting the ones he loved and yet, he had been blind to see it. At that point of his life, his son growing from a tiny little dot in an ultrasound, to a small baby and finally evolving into a cute toddler he couldn't lie to himself any longer, not like when he told himself that dropping amounts of cash in your bank account here and there were enough. He knew they weren't. For the first time, he understood the weight of the stares and the silent judgments from people around him: Helen, his sister, Champ, Ginger, Tequila. It was no secret what happened, and it was also no secret he had made his family go away.

He was lost, he was lonely, he didn't have anything to live for. He thought that by sabotaging the mission he would be able to finally get some sort of revenge over whoever killed his wife and son - the cops could never identify them - but when he had the control of the situation, even for a brief period of time, he didn't feel anything, he was numb. Perhaps the excuse they came up with for the official Statesman reports wasn't so wrong, maybe Jack had had some kind of brain damage because of the shot, the first evidence would be Ginger resetting his memory by using a picture of you and Wyatt; he never knew how she got that picture of the two of you in the first place, his guess would be you being under the Statesman's protection program that covered the agent's families.

When he woke up from his comatose, he was so full of energy, as if he was twenty something again; seeing that hot chick in a lab coat with that sterile environment around that was somehow both so familiar and yet completely unknown to him, all he felt like doing was jumping off that bed and wooing her into bed with him, that was when she showed him a picture of a pretty lady. He looked at her, she was gorgeous, he knew he had seen her before but he couldn't remember at all. The lab coat lady watched him with confusion but took another picture out of her pocket and the moment Jack laid eyes on it, it felt like his head was exploding. Everything coming back to him at the same time, all of the memories returning, the tragedies, the happy moments, broken hearts and mended hearts all at once. His head was pounding as if someone pierced through his skull with a knife until he was brought back into his senses, but then, he was numb again.

He was numb because he had lost two families, one of them was taken away from him and the other he had pushed it away, and he would never forgive himself for that. He was a broken man, he was hopeless, he was a coward. He had tried ending his miserable, empty and useless life a couple of times, but he was just too much of a coward to do it right. It was like he somehow asked for help, when he thought he only deserved to be six feet under. He had no reason to live, so he took the opportunity he needed in order to try his final act. He went after Eggsy and Harry, knowing eventually someone would stop him. Deep down, Jack knew his plan was kind of stupid and it didn't even make that much sense, but he had to tried, in his mind, the best case scenario was someone ending his everlasting pain and he could finally find peace, and he was sure he was going to make it, the moment his lasso got stuck and he was meeting the meat grinder, he closed his eyes, praying it would be painless and fast, and the last image that crossed his mind was you.

You running to him like you often did, getting off Silver Pony and rushing to meet him, wrapping your arms around his neck and crash your lips gently for a welcome home kiss. This time, however, Wyatt would be with you, looking exactly like he did the last time Jack decided to follow the two of you through the street, and his heart tightened, it was too fast for him to notice it had been you, and not his late wife that crossed his mind in his final moments, and his heart tightened, he didn't have time left, but perhaps in the afterlife, he would be as happy as he could've been with you and your son.

And then that young man pulled him back.

His cowboy hat had already been shredded when he felt himself being lifted up and taken away from that real life nightmare. Whiskey knew he wasn't the best person in the world and he had had his fair share of bad actions, but he didn't think he deserved to die that way, not in such a cruel and gruesome way, that would be heartbreaking to everyone. He couldn't even imagine how Helen or his beloved sister would take the news that they couldn't even see his body because technically there wouldn't be much left of him, so for that, he was relieved. His memories of that day were kind of foggy, after he'd been knocked out by Eggsy, he only woke up at the Statesman's headquarters.

The first few days after the mission were pretty odd, everyone stared at him as if he was a traitor, and to be honest he was, not to Statesman, it wasn't anything personal, he would always love that company, the people who worked there and also his job, but he had betrayed himself. Whenever he walked down the hallways for his humiliating therapy sessions, he thought about how he needed to see you, but there was no way he could find you at that moment, not with the surveillance Champ had placed behind him all the time, after what happened, he worried the other agents would assume he was going to try to harm you and Wyatt somehow.

So Jack went to therapy instead, at first thinking he was just wasting his time and rolling his eyes at everything the therapist said, that until his words began hitting him deep, and slowly the cowboy started opening up, and before he could tell, the tears ran freely down his cheeks as he poured his heart out, in hopes he could be fixed.

All that painful path was what led Jack back with his family, after doing things wrong like he very often did, he managed to crawl back into your heart, after he showed you he loved and cared so much about you, despite being a dick, and you also gave in, because you were tired of fighting off the feelings you had for him and above all, the longing to have a real, stable family with him, so he cherish and appreciated those moments, even if they still seemed too good to be true, he vowed himself to make you happy for the rest of your life and never take you and Wyatt for granted. In the painful memories, his arms tightened the grip around you, making sure you were there, safe in his embrace and you shifted softly, smiling at the fact you had always had a deep sleep.

He watched you as you slept, he had always loved doing that, seeing your chest raising up and down at your calm breathing, he rested his head on him, closing his eyes and concentrating into your heartbeat, you were alive, well, in his arms, that cowboy couldn't wish anything else in his life, and yet, he did. He had one more desire, something you had already denied, you'd been adamant about it even, but that all had happened before you had changed your mind, before you broke the cowboy hat rule and told him you wanted to be with him, you wanted your family to work. He wanted a baby with you, another member of the Daniels family, he wasn't in a hurry, now that he had you and that you weren't going anywhere, now that you were staying next to him, watching Wyatt grow up and taking care of him. He wanted to make things right, like he was supposed to have done it once you two were together at first, he should've stepped in, become a man and treated you exactly the way you deserved it: like his wife.

And once you two were settled on that, he wanted you to have another baby, a baby girl if he could choose, because that cowboy wouldn't resist a tiny little princess looking like her mommy, the love of his life. He just knew, without even trying too hard that the moment that little girl opened her eyes, she would have that old cowboy wrapped around her tiny little finger in a heartbeat. He chuckled at the mere picture of it, shifting your body so you would lay your back on the mattress and rested his head on your stomach, closing his eyes as he imagined and prayed hard a little dot could be growing inside of your womb already. He just wanted to be there for you, for Wyatt and for the new baby you could maybe have together. His lips trailed a path of kisses right under your belly button, his mustache tickling your skin softly, but not enough to wake you up.

"Come to us soon, my baby" he whispered into your womb and fell asleep.

•••

You washed your face with fresh water and stared at yourself in the mirror, liking what you were seeing: no dark bags under your eyes, silky hair looking good after your brushed it - after all, your cowboy had a huge soft spot for your hair - and a glow that you recognized from the times you were feeling extremely happy and alive. Giggling as you analyzed yourself in the mirror, you could see the marks that hungry cowboy had left on you. You neck marked with a trail of hickeys that drove you insane at the moment you got them; feeling another wave of warmth down your core, you decided not to cover it up with makeup or any accessory, there was no need to it, after all, you and your son would be staying on the ranch for the next days and it was so secret to anyone there - or anyone outside of it once you returned to the city - you were the cowboy's and he was yours.

It was madness to think that everything you felt the night before could become a routine like it had been once, that all the pleasure Jack gave you, he could give you again over and over every single day; that man could be a little distant if one didn't know him yet, but from the moment you get to know him and he takes a like on you, Jack Daniels vows himself to please you as best as he can. It wasn't different with you, he knew exactly what to do to you, your weak spots, it was his sweet way of domination, and now that you woke up drunk in love, you would be glad to let that man dominate you for the rest of your life.

Jack was still sleeping when you exited the bathroom, his face buried deep into your pillow, making you giggle, he had always been a needy sweet man after all. You lifted the blankets and got rid of your slippers so you could join your cowboy in bed when soft knocked interrupted you; you widened your eyes, knowing it could only be your son. A wave of guilt rushed through your body as you hadn't even thought of him for the past hours, being so deep into the experience you shared with your man, but thinking about it, Wyatt was safe and sound, asleep after the best weekend of his little life and his mommy and daddy did deserve some time on their own.

You opened the door to him, smiling as your son hugged your waist and giggled

"Hi mommy!" He said with his sweet bright eyes, not letting go of you until you took him into his arms and lifted him up. Wyatt looked inside the room curiously and gasped as he saw his daddy asleep, staring into his eyes he giggled "why did you have a sleepover with daddy and not me, mommy?" He tilted his head and wrapped his tiny arms around your neck "I miss you mommy" he whispered into your ear and snuggled and you felt like your heart was bursting with love. Your son was just so sweet and adorable and you also missed him, it had been just the two of you against everything and everybody for most of his life and you saw it then that the two of you missed it.

"I miss you too very very much, my little cowboy… would you like to snuggle with mommy and daddy some more?" You asked and he nodded eagerly, not letting go of you even if his little life depended on it. You got yourself under the blankets, your son immediately tucked between you and his daddy, but he was facing you, staring at you with his beautiful, soft eyes "you are so pretty mommy" he said sweetly and rested his face against your chest falling asleep.

Jack chuckled and looked at you "seems like you found your love bug, sugar" he winked and ran his fingers through Wyatt's curls, looking at his son with pride in swallowing his heart. You took Jack's hand, entwining your fingers together and sighing "you're so handsome, I hope you know that" you whispered and pecked his neck gently, loving the taste of his skin, just like you love everything else about your sweet cowboy. Whiskey could see how sleepy you were and smiled gently at you "sleep sugar, rest and close your beautiful eyes that I'll be here when you wake up" your cowboy's silky voice was enough to soothe you and make you close your exhausted eyes, falling asleep with your lovely little family.

•••

Wyatt shook his head and frowned confused at the words he had just heard, he had even stopped nibbling on the delicious bread and butter during his breakfast.

"No grandma, daddy loves me!" He said confused and looked up at the older woman, who chuckled and shook her head, you mom just rubbed his back gently and sighed

"I'm sorry baby boy, but daddy doesn't love you.. as grandma said, when mommy had you in her belly, he told mommy to leave and said he never wanted to see you or her again! He doesn't love mommy either, daddy is very selfish and he only cares about himself. Mommy didn't even let grandma come to your birthday party because of him" she said but Wyatt refused to believe her, his daddy loved him and he knew it.

"Why wasn't your daddy around you? Because he didn't love you nor mommy" she shrugged and he jumped off her lap "no, you are lying, grandma!!!"

"I'm not! Don't be a naughty boy!" She censored him raising her voice at the same time you and Jack came downstairs. He had his arms around your waist, pulling you closer and pinching your sides playfully making you giggle and squirm. Jack had his hat in his free hand and he only had eyes for you, however, he noticed immediately how your soft and carefree expression changed into a frown and your jaw clenched, but before he could say anything else, the two of you were welcomed by your son's cries as he looked at you

"It's not true, grandma! Mommy, tell grandma it's not true!" He whined and clung to you, looking up at Jack with eyes filled with tears and sniffling sadly.

Your mom just laughed softly and shrugged "I didn't lie my love, I wish I did but it's the truth" and then she eyed you up and down, the disgust in her face at the clear proximity to the cowboy, how his hand still lingered on your hips and of course how you hadn't even bothered to cover up the hickeys he had left along your skin, she couldn't believe and accept you were back with that man already, and in her twisted mind, she needed to do something about it.

"What did you tell my son, you witch? Huh? My little cowboy was perfectly fine earlier this morning, he was happy and chirping like a damn little bird and now he's crying? What did you do?!" Jack roared, his fatherly instincts kicking in the moment he saw the distress, and knowing how his mother-in-law hated him and apparently wouldn't even spare her own grandson from her petty feelings. The woman just laughed again and folded her arms

"What do you think I said?! I told him the truth about how his daddy had a family he loved very much, the only family he ever loved and when he lost them, he just got another replacement which was his mommy but when she got pregnant with Wyatt, he told her to go away because he didn't love her or her son, he just loved his other family" she shrugged and looked at him. You thought Jack was about to explode, you had never seen him so angry, his face was livid, red with anger and if he could would've attacked her right there and then, but he used all his strength to hold himself back. At the same time you asked your mom harshly what she was doing there, the three of you were stopped by Wyatt's loud sob. He looked up at his dad as tears ran down his face and he cried his little heart out.

"I-Is it true daddy? You don't love me? You love your other family?"

And Jack's heart shattered as hard as he had never felt before, it felt it had been ripped off his chest and shredded to pieces, he couldn't handle the disappointment and hurt into his son's eyes, and all because of him. He shook his head and got on his knees, bloody red eyes full of tears, staring into his son, he tilted his head at the same time his strong hands pulled Wyatt closer "n-no son, daddy loves you and mommy, more than anything. There was a family yes, but they are gone and daddy made a lot of mistakes but I've never stopped loving you, I-"

His heartfelt words were interrupted by the quarrel you and your mom initiated, if Jack was able to control his anger, you couldn't say you owned the same skill he did, quite the opposite, you were shaking with anger and all you could see was your son's hurt feelings, if you felt that way, you couldn't even believe how your cowboy must have felt. Not only that, how your poor son must've been hurt by it, his daddy had been his world ever since they met and now, after your mom's venomous words your son cried his little heart out.

Wyatt couldn't handle that, he liked to see his mommy and daddy happy, playing with him and not crying and yelling at his grandma, so he turned around and ran outside the door, wanting to find the only thing that could calm him down.

You cried and tried controlling your anger, no matter how many times Jack had held you by the waist and tried to convince you to stop yelling and causing a scene, but you couldn't rest and stop until you saw your mother out of Jack's ranch, only when you couldn't see her car down the road was when you felt a little better, still you had a lot of damage control. You cried with anger and sadness, your mom had no right to do what she did, she could hate your future husband as much as she wanted but she could not bring her grandson into it. The way your sweet little boy cried was haunting you and how hurt his poor little heart was. Jack was at a loss of words, he hated he had disappointed his son that way; he felt like a complete failure as a man, and as a father. He couldn't even think of how he ever wanted to have another child, if he could barely handle the one son he already had. You paced the kitchen and finished your glass of water, sighing relieved as Jack walked inside. You frowned softly "where's Wyatt?!" You questioned him and he just mumbled something about him being outside playing with Silver Star.

"Is everything okay?" You asked even though you knew everything was not okay, everything was far from okay, after your mom waltzed into your seeming perfect happy ending and screwed things up; even Jack changed his demeanor, if before he was just all lovey dovey towards you, now it was clear he needed some time on his own. He turned around and faced you, frustration was written all over his face, his body was so tense it was visible so he just clenched his jaw before sighing "Wyatt won't talk to me, you should check up on him, maybe he'll talk to you…" after all your mother fucked it up that was what he wanted to say, but he knew it would be mean, that wasn't himself talking, it was his anger and he could see you were just as stressed as you were, it was not fair he would take it out on you, you didn't deserve this. Jack cleared his throat and looked at you with much softer eyes, taking a step forward and wrapping his arms around you, his embrace was comforting and soothing, as he rubbed your back up and down

"Talk to him, sugar, maybe he won't hate me if you do…" his voice cracked and so did your heart; you couldn't accept your mom was such a heartless person who was willing to end your family's happiness like that, you needed to do something about it.

____

[ineffabildaddy]

on today's episode of understanding good omens through my own life:

a story about my ineffable inevitable queer teenage experience with an intense, volatile, fiercely affectionate 'friendship' that was definitely not just a friendship in retrospect.

when i was eleven, i started secondary school, and i met a girl who quickly became my best friend (i'm a trans man, and i also understood myself as a girl at the time. i still understand myself as a girl at that time). we became known as a unit because we couldn't get enough of each other, and we did absolutely everything together.

on the first day of our second year, we saw each other for the first time in several weeks because she had been away in her home country that summer. i had been counting down the seconds until she came back. when she was in the process of giving out souvenirs from her trip to all our friends, she waited until she saw i was alone and approached me. she handed me a ziploc bag full of shells and rock fragments.

"i picked these out for you at the beach," she said.

i thanked her and asked her to show me the bags of shells she'd made up for the others.

"i didn't do this for the others. i only did it for you," she responded, and walked away.

i had never felt anything like what i felt in that moment, and i haven't since. i was a lonely kid, especially before that age. what i mean to say is... no one had ever done anything just for me. no one had ever thought of me when i wasn't there; no one had ever taken the time to give me something that they had so carefully picked out; no one had ever stated with such conviction, in what was said or what was unsaid, that what they had done for me was not to be enjoyed by anyone else.

i like to remember this when i try to understand this moment in good omens:

i can't begin to comprehend what aziraphale must have felt in that moment, but remembering that day of my own life is the closest thing i've got.

mere months after that day, we started to argue. we had a huge falling out. i told her that no one on earth was capable of hurting me quite like she was (thirteen year-old me, in her own twisted way, thought that was a compliment). she told me in no uncertain terms that she couldn't stand me. we stopped talking.

a few months after that, we reconciled and we became closer than ever, but that tension, that unrest, was always lying under the surface, just waiting to gnash its teeth - and sometimes it did. these were also the years in which we were discovering our queer identities, and it took us a long time to really understand each other's journeys in that regard.

at sixteen, we both left our school and moved to a different institution till we graduated at eighteen. though we were at the same sixth form college, we just had different lives and didn't hang out anymore, though we remained on good terms. now, we text every once in a while, and we always say we'll meet up, but we never do. in october of last year, i bumped into her for the first time in maybe four years while coming home from a pavement gig. she was sitting on the doorstep of her parents' place with a roll-up cigarette. it was like no time had passed.

looking back, i can say with full confidence that i was in love with her. i do not know how else to understand our relationship. she drove me up the wall the way she did because i had never felt anything like what i felt for her for anyone else - and i haven't to this day.

even now, every time she is even mentioned in conversation, i dream about her the night following. and i still have those shells, hidden away in a wooden box i've never shown anyone; it's not too far from the shoebox that contains every note she ever passed me, every doodle she ever drew for me, every card she ever wrote me. in other words, i was permanently altered by our relationship, and her absence from my life has never diminished that. the same can naturally be said of crowley and aziraphale, to a much, much greater extent. i relive my memories of us because they help me understand many things about myself and others, and i've recently found that good omens has encouraged this.

this ended up longer than i intended but i hope you got something out of it.<3

[virescent-v]

Hello! As someone who struggled with a SH Addiction…as wild as it sounds. I was wondering if you could do Reader(Sh Addiciton) is clean but had urges again and is struggling to fight them with Emily helping them? It would help me as someone whose struggling rn lol

Siren Call

A/N: Hi lovie, I tried my best with this. I have struggled with depression since my teenage years, and suicide ideations throughout that time. To be transparent, I've never dealt with self-harm. I hope I managed to capture those feelings for you and do this justice.

To anyone reading this: Check the trigger warnings. Protect yourself. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're not alone and the world is better with you in it. <3

SAMHSA's National Hotline: 1-800-662- 4357, or text your zip code to 435748 for help near you.

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm/cutting, mentions of razors. It's not very graphic imo, but again, protect yourself if these are not things you feel okay reading.

Word Count: 1.4k

It was a rollercoaster of emotion flowing through you. Ups and downs and turns that you could hardly keep up with. Numbness, but at the same time, a devastating whirlwind of thought. You weren’t sure how you could feel so empty but so full of emotion at one time, but you were. 

The depression was not new, a thing carried along with you every day from your adolescence, like a shadow or a tumor. Always there, sometimes bothersome, sometimes silent, and just waiting for a moment to shatter any progress you’ve made.  

Everyone you’ve talked to has dealt with their mental health differently; therapy, medications, denial. And, sometimes, those did work for you. You met with your therapist once a week (less, if you couldn’t afford it), you were on your third antidepressant, and you tried so hard to ignore how your mind betrayed you. 

The one thing that was consistent, that always helped with the emotions coursing through you, was physically releasing them. 

The first time you cut yourself, you were sixteen. You’d only learned about it from the darker corners of the internet, a place you shouldn’t have been. Too young, too impressionable. But, the first slice of the razor against the skin of your thigh felt good. As the skin tore apart from itself, as the blood oozed from the wound, all of your negative feelings went too. 

With each drop of blood, you felt the freedom from doubt, worry, anger, sadness. Each cut brought a feeling of euphoria, the dopamine replacing all of the emotions that were burying you. 

It was a habit that continued throughout your teenage years, and even early twenties. When the destructive thoughts got too much, the razor was there to bring color back into your life. But, as you got older, you got smarter, more diligent in the way those terrible thoughts would creep into your mind, suffocating the joy from you. You learned better coping mechanisms, learned how to manage the craving of the sharpness of a blade against your fragile skin. 

But still, the release would call to you, a siren of a dreadful sea you did not want to be a voyager on. 

On such nights, when the waves of despair rocked you too roughly, your girlfriend Emily was usually there to distract you, a life preserver to stop you from drowning. 

Unfortunately, Emily wasn’t always there. Her job was demanding, important, much more important than your broken brain. Which made tonight, a particularly rough night, hard for you. 

Everything seemed to be weighing down on you, going wrong, unavoidable mishap after mishap. The shadows seemed to wrap themselves around your brain, spindly fingers digging their claws in with no sign of letting go.

The siren call beckoned, a melodious tune that pulled you in, easing the racing thoughts in your mind. 

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, the reflection in front of you hardly recognizable. Your skin pallor, dry, dark under your eyes. You licked around your chapped lips, feeling the fuzziness of your unbrushed teeth. Your clothes hung off of your body, loose from multiple days of wear. Unkempt hair, a tangled mess atop your head. You looked as rough as you felt, the lack of sleep and self-care exacerbating your inner turmoil. 

Taking a shaky breath, you looked down at your hands, the newly purchased razor blade sitting in the box. Pretty, new, waiting for use. You imagined the shine of the blade against your skin, how the silver would contrast the uneven, blotchy shade of you. How the deep red hemoglobin would look, how it would bring color back to you. 

The call got louder. 

As you were about to tear open the box, a single word, a single thought, broke through the haze of your mind. 

Emily. 

The cacophony of noise halted. You knew that she wouldn’t be disappointed. She’s the only one who ever really understood this habit, this… addiction. Understood how the silence and the noise bantered back and forth in a way that was sensory overload, how sometimes the only way to get it to stop was to cut. To feel something else. 

While she wouldn’t be disappointed, you could imagine the look on her face, how her eyes would hold all of her thoughts. She’d get you through it, she always has, but sometimes her looks haunted you more than your own thoughts did. 

Instead, you picked up the phone. 

It rang twice; she never sent you to voicemail unless she absolutely could not answer. 

“Baby?” She whispered. You’d woken her up. “Everything okay?” 

You tried to talk. The air was trapped in your lungs, the only noise escaping you a hollow breath, a crushed whimper. 

You could hear Emily sit up in bed, the click of a lamp. “Love? Answer me.” Her voice was more alert, commanding, an edge of fear. 

You swallowed hard. Your breath coming quicker, everything threatening to rush out of you. “Em,” another shaky whimper, a plea. 

“Take a breath for me, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’m right here.” You could hear the rustling of clothes being pulled on. 

The box in your hands rattled as it fumbled onto the bathroom sink, your trembling hands unable to hold it. Another thing you couldn’t do your mind hissed at you. 

“I can’t - can’t ma-make it s-stop.” You forced the words out, stumbling them into each breath you inhaled. 

“I’m coming, baby. Stay on the phone with me. You’re okay.” A car door slammed, the engine roaring to life. A siren. 

“Listen to me. I’ll be right there. Listen to my voice.” Emily continued to talk, walking you through the case she was working on. How the weather was. Her favorite movie. Nonsensical ramblings to keep you focused on her. You’d grunt occasionally in response, a way to ensure her you were still listening, still there. 

Your vision tunneled, black around the edges, as your grip on the sink tightened. You could feel the rush of blood through your body in your ears, your limbs starting to tingle as the  numbness started. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you heard the front door slam, hasty footsteps through the hallway. A hand covering yours. 

Emily turned your body towards hers, her hands cupping your cheeks, trying to bring your eyes to hers. 

You felt paralyzed, stuck in a mud so thick and deep you couldn’t move. You tried to focus on Emily’s voice, the rubbing of her thumbs across your cheekbones. You tried to blink, tried to get your eyes to focus. 

Noticing that she wasn’t getting through to you, Emily wrapped you in the tightest hug she could, squeezing you as hard as her arms could handle. A way to help calm down your overactive nervous system, as if she was trying to transfer your energy to her. 

Eventually the shaking calmed down, the pins and needles in your limbs still pushing and pulling, beating to the accelerated pace of your heart. You were finally able to look at Emily, her eyes shining in worry, but also protectiveness. A lighthouse in a stormy sea. 

She tucked your hair behind your ear, checking over your body for signs of harm. Finding none, seeing the unopened box on the counter, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Let's go lay down, love.” 

She all but dragged you to bed, shoving you under the covers before turning off the overhead light. She walked back into the bathroom, presumably to get rid of the box of razors. 

Your eyes remained closed the entire time, listening to her fiddle around with things in your bedroom, the sound of her jeans hitting the carpeted floor before she joined you in bed. Her strong, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to her, your head on her chest. 

Her hands traversed your body, as if taking note of each inch of your scarred, but intact skin. She paid extra attention to your previous cuts, the scars healed and raised and pink, a testament of your ability to withstand. Each line a reminder that you made it. That while the emotion swelled over you, overtook you, that you came out on the other side stronger. 

“Sleep, love. I’ll be here. We can talk about it in the morning.” 

All at once, exhaustion engulfed you. You settled more into Emily, breathing in her perfume, realizing at once that she was your saving grace, your protector. You were capable of overcoming anything with her at your side. 

Slowly, as you started to drift off to sleep, the blacks and grays of the shadows disappeared, replaced by a kaleidoscope of colors. Emily’s steady heart lulled you into a sense of comfort. In her arms, the noises and silence settled, the siren call faded into a calming ebb and flow of waves. What was once a tumultuous, dark and violent sea became a mellow, sparkling tide. With Emily, you were home and you were safe from the shadows that haunted you.

[willowser]

i think that childhood best friends to lovers with kiri would actually be — an incredibly sad journey LOL

you're perfect in his eyes. quirkless, exactly as you're meant to be, with the potential to do anything. everything. the world is at your feet and he knows you'll go after it — it's him that falls flat, that can't follow in your footsteps. his quirk isn't anything special, nothing manly, and it won't make him a hero like his heroes. instead he's just in this odd, empty space in between. floating.

you accepting him that way — i think it would mean everything to him.

neither of you really know what to expect, when he goes off to ua. of course you're excited for him; even if his hair is new and he seems a little different, you can feel the build of confidence in him, the motivation he has to try, and that means more to you than the distance ever could. of all things, you want kiri to be happy, even if your friendship takes a backseat to bigger, better things.

days turn to weeks turn to months and the calls become less frequent. the first time he comes home in a while — maybe half a year — he brings his new friends and they're...incredible. strong and powerful and full of life, full of excitement, spontaneous and fun. the kind of people that become heroes. the kind of people kiri needs around him.

you don't think he means to be so distant; what little time the two of you get together is the same as it always is. cheesy movies and multi-player RPG's until the late, late hours of the night. pizza and energy drinks and jokes that are still as funny as they were when you were six. he sleeps on the couch instead of your bed now and doesn't sit as close as he used to, doesn't take his shirt off just because anymore — but you don't mind. you try not to. you try not to care about how much he sweats when you stare at him, or how red the back of his neck gets, or how it seems like he can't look you in the eye anymore.

you don't think he means it, and so you can't be angry at him. angry, no, hurt though...that's a little harder. because everything seems the same with him; it's not like he's upset with you or even wanting to leave you behind. he always apologizes for not keeping up, genuinely, looking like a sad little puppy even though you for forgive him, easily. you're not sure what has changed exactly, you're only sure that everything has.

kirishima's able to go pro very quickly, has a spot secured even before he's graduated. by the time he was sixteen, he'd already been in the news a handful of times, celebrated for the incredible hero he's always been capable of being, and the public loves him by the time he's eighteen. while he's out saving lives and making an impact on the entirety of japan, you're studying or trying to find a new date to the summer festival, because you know he won't be able to go. he doesn't make your graduation — and sounds really sorry about it, when he calls a few weeks after — and you get petty enough that you don't go to his either.

it's stupid, and you feel bad, but kirishima doesn't even notice.

a long time goes by, before you see each other again. all the attempts he makes to meet up with you are fruitless; either he can't make it or you don't want to try, too tired and embarrassed after being stood up time and time again. his apologies become redundant, and even if you know he means them, it doesn't make them any easier to hear.

naturally, you see him again at the worst moment: coming out of the gym, sweaty, without makeup and fighting off a painful zit on your chin. he's with his bestie — bakugou, who is even more terrifying at twenty-four than he was at fifteen — and kiri has his hair up in a cute half man-bun and it's longer than you remember and he's bigger than you remember and in a shirt that should hardly count as a shirt.

and he's overjoyed to see you.

"oh my god!" he laughs, smacking a hand to his forehead as you stand awkwardly in the doorway, trying to tuck your face down in the most nonchalant way.

it's the wrong move, because you don't see him step in to hug you.

"kirishima!" you squeal, trying to jerk away as you feel his cheek press against your damp hairline. you feel gross, even worse when you see the face bakugou makes. "quit it!"

"sorry! i just can't believe—" and when he sees the look on your face, the happiness on his drops, replaced by something like humiliation as he glances between you and his friend.

there's something terrible about the slow end of a friendship, and you can see it manifest in his expression. how much of a stranger the two of you have become over time, due to neglect, and it seems like all the ugly feelings are soaked up by him like a sponge.

you don't even know what to say. you don't even know if there's anything to say—no, no, that's not true; there are a million and one things to say, but you just don't know where to begin.