#golden sun is another game too. the game ever

[sexysilverstrider]

i love games where it has battle elements and characters who bond with the player. ill have a character all bloody and going nuts in the battlefield and then in the next scene theyre saying stuff like 'you complete me' or 'im so happy to he hanging out with you! :D' to me. i love when the characters i love and form a bond with in game wins in a battle that i plan out or after i build properly their stats or give them the right gears. i love battle strategizing (which is just sometimes mash buttons fuck all) and i love feeling giddy at the characters going uwu at me

[cho-aaacho]

Jealousy isn't really your style, is it?

Masterlist

Characters : Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi, and Choso.

Gojo Satoru

He becomes increasingly silent—too silent until you can't detect his emotion. His appetite vanished as waves of jealousy showered on his mind. You don't even notice that at first, thinking he might be tired from work.

However, as the sun goes down to the horizon and is replaced by the moonlight, his smile fades whenever your eyes meet his. He refrains from calling you endearing nicknames, skips the usual sensual morning kiss, and avoids his favorite cookies. When you suggest playing video games, Gojo simply groans and leaves you alone.

What's happening to him? Did you hurt your sweetheart? No. Until the sky falls, you don't have a heart to hurt your sweetheart.

You can't let the stillness linger; you can't leave everything unresolved. It's so hurtful, to be honest. Why would Gojo be so selfish like this? You need to find out what's going on with your little sweetheart.

That night, Gojo stood in his favorite spot within the apartment, drowning in the beautiful goldfish in the aquarium. Golden and yellow, reflected in his eyes like sunflower petals.

He gently tapped his finger on the aquarium's glass, making the whole atmosphere feel so cold. Gojo seemed unusually relaxed, in contrast to the person he once was. 

"I know I might come off as a boring and annoying man. People often say that, and I usually don't care about it at all because I understand it's not important. But when it comes from you—please... I don't want to hear that."

You do not quite understand what he means, but Gojo appears deeply hurt. His azure eyes, his words, his breath, the cologne he uses this time, the way he gazes at you—something feels off and unplaced.

This is the first time you've seen him so blue and so pained that the warmth in his lovely presence is almost undetectable. Everything is gone.

"Hey, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but it hurts me when you smile at other guys. I want you to be mine, and only mine, and no one else. Please don't do that again, because you're irreplaceable. If I lose you, I can't find another like you."

Geto Suguru 

At first, he doesn't show his jealousy because Geto is the sweetest.

However, there comes a moment when he becomes more affectionate—increased physical touch, frequent kisses, hugs, showering you with praise, texting you almost every hour.

And when he does these things, he always leaves a sarcastic comment like, "I'm a better man, aren't I?" or "Can you see how much I care about you more than anyone else?"

and "I hope you're not blind enough to understand my affection."

also "I know you're not stupid enough to leave me alone. Because I hate being a loner."

It's somewhat annoying because Geto rarely behaves like this. It's simply... so strange, leaving you confused about whether it's a prank by the twins, if something horrible has hit him, or maybe he is too much into reading a weird romantic novel.

That morning, when you are sleeping on his lap, feeling his love, warmth, and kindness, he delicately traces his fingertips across your cheeks, down to your jawline, then meanders to your nose, pinching it gently, leaving a small chuckle before circling back to playfully tease the contour of your lips.

He leaned closer, sealing a gentle kiss on the nose tip and moving before grazing your lips with a small nibble. "Did Satoru ever kiss you like this? I doubt he has done this to you."

Your eyes fluttered open, confusion etching your expression. "What do you mean, Suguru-kun?"

He sighed. "Don't think I haven't noticed, cutie. I may not match Satoru's strength, but I'm not stupid. What were you up to with him last week? You seemed quite charmed with him, didn't you?"

He added. "Should I end both of you, so he can't have you and you can't have him? But I lack the heart to harm you, sweet love. Stop talking with that man. Because I hate sharing my love with someone else."

Nanami Kento

A tough man, he doesn't even realize if jealousy is starting to invade him; perhaps you might label it as denial. 

He puts on a facade that everything is fine, brushing off any concerns by assuming them to be mere imagination or work-induced stress.

No, you didn't cheat or talk with another man. You're always a nice woman to Nanami Kento, and of course, never in your wildest dreams will you hurt your man. 

However, a weird sensation starts to trouble him the next day when his coworkers engage in silly gossip about him and you. 

Whispers float behind him, dripping with a sarcastic tone like, "How could a good woman like her date someone like Nanami-san? He's so boring."

and someone chimes in. "Yeah, I heard she dumped Gojo-san and went with him; why does she think like that?"

From that moment onward, everything feels upside down.

Each day, each time, every time he sees your face, catches your gaze, and hears your voice echoing in his ears, all of these hurt him. 

He feels like he doesn't deserve you and thinks that perhaps you can find another guy, someone special, someplace that would make you safe and happy, someone who could make you feel at home whenever you run to them. 

And that man is not me.

"I realize I might not be as caring as other men, or perhaps I come off as too boring for someone like you. Honestly, I don't wish for your kindness to be shared with anyone else—even a fleeting smile from you stirs a deep ache within me. Maybe it's an obsession, but if you allow me to share my jealousy, I don't want you to meet that guy, Gojo Satoru. For heaven's sake, I fear losing all control and ending up hurting you. I love you." 

Fushiguro Megumi

Honestly, his anger management is the worst. There are scenes when he appears calm, collected, and cute, but, again, it's merely a facade he is creating, especially in your presence. 

When the flames of jealousy shower on Megumi, flirting with his life, everything transforms into a hellish field.

He loses his temper and becomes easily offended whenever Yuuji attempts to engage in conversation with him, roasting everyone in sight. The situation continues until Maki beats him and tells him how annoying he is.

He has a terrible urge to throw punches at everyone, driven by the need to tell them that you belong to him. He needs to make it clear that you're already committed to someone else and that your heart is sealed with Fushiguro Megumi. Only with that man and no one else.

His intention is not just to show his obsession but also to dissuade others from bothering both of you. He longs to compel them to kneel, satisfying his fleeting sense of pride.

It's pretty hilarious because whenever Gojo catches wind of it, he bursts into laughter and playfully teases Megumi all day. Well, it's natural for anyone to have jealousy within them, but... doesn't Megumi take it a bit too far?

You've observed this pattern and tried to convince your dear boyfriend that everything around him is just his imagination. He shouldn't be worrying, and he just hurts himself by treating people like that.

Yet, Megumi is Megumi.

"I don't think I'm overreacting to this. When I'm upset, I express it openly. It's frustrating when people assume I'm obsessed with you—I'm not. I just don't want you to get involved with someone who isn't worth it for you. I fear you'll end up hurt. You can choose me; I can prove not only to you but to everyone that I am the one who truly deserves you."

Choso

Choso isn't typically the jealous type, but when he notices a certain closeness between you and his brothers, everything changes. 

He genuinely cares for his brothers, going to great lengths to ensure their happiness and love. He values the bond you share with his brothers and cherishes the love and affection you have for each other.

However...

It's hard for him to put it into words. Everything is stuck in his throat and sealed inside his head. 

Every time he sees you with his brothers blossoming an indescribable feeling within him, it's a burning sensation that's hard to bear. The flame is starting to burn him alive.

The way you share meals with them or laugh at their jokes—all of these irritate him to the point that they make his heart beat so fast. Choso is aware that these emotions are too complicated; he can't hate his brothers, but the heart has a way of contradicting logic. 

How could God put love in his heart?

He fondly recalls the first snow you experienced together, the gentle embrace of summer against his skin, and the golden glow of spring's sun. 

But he still wonders when he falls in love with you. Maybe since the first time he met you? Or else?

"I find immense joy in sharing my time and days with you. My brothers seem to love you as well. Everything about you is beautiful, and I cherish the moments we share. I fear losing you and our precious time; that's why I act this way when you're with them. I want to be the one you choose."

[harmonysanreads]

“A little bird told me that today is a certain someone's birthday.”

You feel the distinct prickle of two fangs halt halfway through the curve of your throat, a breath stuttering against the now marred skin. The tassels of Aventurine's earning tickles your nape, before his lips replace its unsought touches, soothing over the bite.

“I don't quite recall this,” he drawls upon your neck, gloved fingers slide up from the plush of your thighs and slant against your waist ; a clear message. “Being the resting place of wanton birds.”

You heart kicks against your ribcage as the implications of his words soak into your brain. Your eyes connect with enigmatic swirls when you swivel with a gasp, “It's just one little bird, Aventurine.”

He hums, a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, reaching out and failing to grasp his eyes. You feel his other arm wrap around your abdomen and tugging you closer closer closer— until not even whimsical air can intervene in your moment. For a time insignificant compared to the expanding cosmos, he leers and he waits — for you to stumble and forfeit your fortune to him. You've observed this game unfold many times, which is why, you don't so much as blink in the face of his scrutiny.

Aventurine tilts his head, the golden strands that frame his face shift in stride, “It's ‘one little bird’ for now, my jewel. Soon, it'll fly to-and-fro and invite its companions. One bird will become two birds, then three, four, five — until this flower of mine will be torn to shreds.”

Your skin erupts in pins and needles where the blonde's hand rests, the teases of pain make you lean your head against his chest in reflex, but they don't coax pained breaths to escape your lips. Your eyes gloss over upon capturing the dimming orbs heralding the colors of a bygone lineage. You feel as though you were lost in a dark landscape, with a shadowed fox breathing down your neck, claws already sunk midway — but you don't feel like the struggling rabbit, like a prey.

Your palm cradles Aventurine's face, “That's why we keep guns below our pillows, isn't that correct?”

The phantom finally reaches his eyes, his grin spreads across his face and the sun casts aside the darkness from the forest. Aventurine answers your query by tackling you with a flurry of kisses, you feel him at every corner of your body, grasping at every crevice of your soul — but it's not enough, neither for him nor for you.

When the intensity of his advance wanes momentarily, you sneak your hand past his grip to rest atop his chest, “Tell me your wish,” this time his heart revolts against the confines of bone, yearning to be freed and caged into your palm. “What gift do you want for your birthday?”

Aventurine chuckles, though it sounds quite strained this time. His fingers encircle your wrist and press your hand further on his chest for a moment (his shirt does little to mute the rapid marching of his soul) before he drags it to his face, his lips ghost over your pulse point.

“You don't think me to be that greedy, do you?” the humorous lilt of his voice prompts a smile to bloom on your face, too. He sighs as though he breathes in the gardens of heaven, lips firmly pressed to the beat of your existence.

“How can I ever wish for anything more when I have the whole world in my hands?” his eyes twinkle, hugged by a smile. They remind you of autumn sunsets blending into an awestruck ocean, before disappearing behind nightfall.

And just like them, you embrace and merge into one another, as well.

Happy birthday to the luckiest, prettiest, Aventurine <3

[aurora-starwars]

When Something Gets Broken, It Can Be Fixed

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Hecate daughter!reader

Summary: When Clarisse breaks her spear, your there to fix it

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Not proof read, not very good, oh well. Just fluff and very slight angst.

Request by @magicalengineerdonut:

I have a request for Clarisse. The reader could be a daughter of Hecate and it takes place during capture the flag and clarisse’s spear breaks and reader comforts her and the next day she comes back to clarisse with her spear that reader fixed and it ends with a cute moment between them

A/n: Thank you for requesting! I hope you like it! I am very excited to be getting into the PJO fandom. My friends have been raving about if for years! I am on the third book right now and I love the series so far. And I love Dior. Anyway, I would love to write more for this girl! So please request!

Masterlist

As the sun rose, it cast a soft, golden glow over Camp Half-Blood, signalling the start of another bustling day. The day of 'capture the flag' always stirred up excitement and anticipation among the campers, transforming the usually tranquil camp into a hive of activity.

It was a day that held great significance within the camp's traditions, and the palpable hustle and bustle was a testament to its importance. [Name] walked from her cabin to the training grounds in hopes to get a few more minutes to go over some defensive positions.

However, her contemplative silence was abruptly shattered by the commanding bark of instructions echoing from a voice she recognized all too well. The words were harsh, direct, and specific, as the head of the Ares cabin usually was. [Name] smiled at the sound of Clarisse La Rue’s pointed yelling, her direct and impersonal insults at the red team were a sign of her good mood.

If that was not enough of a sign, Clarisse looked over at [Name] when she finished speaking and smiled. It was a slight smile, [Name] will admit, but she saw it.

[Name] knew Clarisse very well. There was little that [Name] didn’t know about the girl at this point. And [Name] knew Clarisse had a plan.

“Where are you off to?” Clarisse asked, sauntering over as her hair, in a ponytail, swung behind her. [Name] always thought she was a sight to behold.

“Just on my way to the training grounds, care to join?” [Name] asked, already starting to make her way to the grounds, Clarisse falling into step beside her.

[Name] watched Clarisse face closely as they walked, hoping the girl might give up what she was thinking about. What she was planning.

When she didn’t say anything, [Name] took matters into her own hands.

“What are you planning?” [Name] smirked, her voice playful as watched Clarisse’s mouth twitch, the corners of her mouth turning upward ever so slightly. It looked like she was trying not to smile.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, just planning on winning,” Clarisse smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. Something twinkled in them though, something like mischief…

“And this could have nothing to do with our new camper? The one kicked your ass in the washroom?” There was a careful teasing in [Name]’s voice, she was determined to get her point across but she was not willing to feel the force of Clarisse La Rue’s rage.

Clarisse only rolls her eyes. She scoffs and looks away. [Name] sniffles a giggle at vision of Clarisse, soaked in toilet water, running out of the washroom like a wet puppy. Clarisse abruptly stops and turns to [Name], bringing her thoughts from Clarisse to the reason she was there, the defensive positions. ”You know your job. I know you will do well,” Clarisse puts simply, her face remaining stoic, but her eyes betray her, conveying the fondness she tries so hard to hide.

[Name] nods as she walks away.

The game started as usual, the only difference was the direction Clarisse and some of her siblings ran, which [Name] thought was strange but knew not to question Clarisse about these things. The game moved quickly at the start, everyone running off into a different direction, [Name] doing the same. But after running a little further in the forest, she found her spot not far from the Red flag. There were only a few Ares kids protecting the Flag a few metres away but other than that, the forest was surprisingly empty. A stark contrast to a few minutes prior. There, [Name] took her stand, waiting for the blue team to come barreling in. The young Athena girl on the blue team had a brilliant plan for her to just run in with her invisibility cap and just take the flag. A plan she has used before, Clarisse was hoping that this time [Name]’s magic could somehow make it so the red team could actually see the young girl.

[Name] figured she could just make a small spell to not let magical items/gifts go past a barrier. It wasn’t strong and it would only work once, but it was better than nothing. Unfortunately, the spell could only protect the front of the flag, which left the back completely defenceless.

And, of course, Annabeth Chase would know that.

[Name] breaks out into a run after the floating red flag watching as the blue team breaks out into cheers as they see the flag floating quickly in their direction. [Name] slows down to a jog, knowing that if the Are’s kids couldn’t keep up with them, they had already won. And a well-deserved win at that. She could almost smile at the fact but as she comes up to the beach she hears the ear piercing scream of Clarisse. [Name] rushes in as Clarisse attempts to take the head off the new twelve year old. Grabbing her shoulders, [Name] pulls her away from the terrified boy. [Name]’s eyes lock on the broken spear on the floor as she walks Clarisse out and tries not to wince.

Her spear, her gift from her dad.

Turning Clarisse, [Name] gets a good look at her face. Clarisse’s face is rigid with anger, unmoving and unsurprisingly shocked, her eyes lock with [Name]’s. With her hands on Clarisse’s shoulders, she could feel the heavy breaths Clarisse was trying to take.

“Clarisse.”

“M-m…” She started quietly, her brows shifting from turned down to turned up and back again. Her eyes looking just past the daughter of Hecate in front of her, unfocused.

“Clarisse,” [Name] calls again.

“My… My spear,” Clarisse pants, her fists tightening around nothing.

“Clarisse!” [Name] calls louder, moving her hands from the Are’s girl’s shoulders to cup her face.

Clarisse finally snaps out of it, her eyes falling on the girl in front of her, her shoulders fall and she takes a deep breath.

“Oh Clarisse, I am so sorry,” [Name] brings her into a hug, one arm wrapped around the bigger girl and one holding her head, being careful of her curls.

She tucks her head into [Name]’s neck and takes a deep breath, when she lets it out her grip on the Hecate girl tightens, but her shoulders relax.

“Okay, love. Let’s get you back to your cabin,” [Name] whispers, gently caressing the strong girl’s face, finding that her hand comes back slightly damp, and [Name] knows its not from sweat.

The next afternoon, Clarisse was simmering moping on a bench by the training grounds when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Clarisse whipped around, standing up quickly, arms crossed, “What?! Oh, it’s just you.”

“Just me,” [Name] repeats, smile on her face.

Her smile causes Clarisse to drop her accusatory glare in favour of a curious head tilt.

“Where were you all day?”

[Name] shrugs, “Around, why? Missed me?”

Clarisse just pouts, brows furrowed, her face somewhere between annoyed and amused.

“Aww, was spending last night in my arms not enough for big, strong, Clarisse?” [Name] giggles, eyes watching the girl before her with fondness. Clarisse was always easy to read.

Clarisse remained silent, but her eyes screamed, ‘yes, it was not enough’.

“Well, don’t you worry. I am here now, and I brought a gift. Hopefully this makes you feel better,” [Name] pulls out Clarisse’s spear—completely fixed as if it hadn’t been broken to begin with— from behind her back, that she was somehow able to conceal.

Clarisse’s eyes blow wide, her arms dropping along with her jaw. She quickly takes the spear from [Name]’s hands, examining it. Feeling how the weight feels in her hands.

“How did you do this,” She questions, still looking at the spear with amazement.

[Name] shrugs, “I may not be a daughter of Hephaestus, but being the daughter of Goddess of witchcraft and sorcery has its benefits when it comes to magical artifacts.”

Clarisse puts the spear on the bench carefully before turning her attention to [Name], taking her face into her hands.

“You are the most beautiful, wonderful, talented, gorgeous,” she kisses [Name] passionately, pulling her closer, before parting again. “-adorable, skilled girl I have ever met.”

She connects their lips again, this time softer, gentler, lovingly.

“You know that?” she questions, looking into [Name]’s eyes.

[Name] giggles, “So, you like it?”

“Yes, dummy,” she kisses her again, a big smile evident as she presses her lips to [Name].

“Now it is time to wave my hot girl and my awesome spear in that little twerps face.”

Master-list

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I love you! <3333 Feel free to request! Check out my request guidelines, it might make it easier! <333333

[yandere-wishes]

｡⸝❀Desert Rose ❀⸜｡

𐙚 Yandere! Paul Muad'Dib Atreides x Reader x Yandere! Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: You miss the desert. Miss the sun and the sand and the place where they buried your heart. So you run and pray that they won't catch you. 

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies blood and gore, bloodplay, knifeplay, injuries, Feyd being Feyd. Paul is high on spice for 60% of the story. Part two will be much more fluffy. 

The thing they don't tell you about the desert is that it's alive. A breathing creature with feelings and a beating heart.~💜

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious. 

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. 

How terrifying it is to be betrayed by that which you love most. How terrifying it is when you've forgotten how to harmonize with that which love most. 

That applies to the desert.

That applies to people too. 

There's something about the sun that's never been more poetic. It's harsh in its lashes, a cruel master, reminding you of what you'd been born into. It beats down something terrible and you can't help but suppress the frantic giggle that escapes your dry lips."You're so mean" you mumble, the glimmers muddle your focus. You see silhouettes of blue-eyed warlords and tar-painted gladiators. Feel phantom kisses rummage across the hollow of your bones. 

All of this is too familiar.

It makes you sick. 

Back then your father had reveled in Muad'Dib's coming. Proud to meet a warrior such as he. He'd spent hours refining his war plans, polishing his battle tactics. It's always such a strange site to see excitement in such a strict man. 

He introduced himself as destiny's child when he arrived. Dissolved and dehydrated with curls coated in sand. He was the desert's golden boy sent to fulfill every prophecy you'd ever been told. 

And yet, to you, he'd simply looked like just another heartthrob.

Just another boy's name to whisper to your friends during blasphemous games under the starry night sky. He had been no different than any tribal leader or warrior's son. That was truly such a miraculous time, back when such an atrocious thing had been merely a girlhood toy. 

Your father hadn't proposed marriage or alliances. That's not the Freman way, not during war. That doesn't stop the renegade gaze you've felt since he arrived. There's something stalking the desert, something too powerful to contain. You feel its chill, like the space between breaths before the breaching of the shai hulud. 

"You can call me Paul..." 

Lisan Al Gaib

The desert is a cacophony of dreams and nightmares. Deadly once the blood-deep navigation atrophies from constant complacency. You try to remember the prom of each foot. When to straighten, when to bend. Each step feels like treading through a mirage, murky and viscous. Too thick, too loose, you think you might sink. Fall through a false bottom into something great and endless. 

There is no bottom, no end. 

Only darkness, vast and perpetual. 

You wonder if that's what it feels like to be swallowed by a sandworm. If there is security in its infinite stomach. If it's better than the Arrakeen Palace. Daunting, soulless structure, home to monsters and killers. 

The sand grows thin. 

It's always the thinnest nearest a Sietch.

You made it...

You wonder why it had all felt so gruesome, so unholy. Paul's cacoon of naivety was breached, its remnants nesting underneath his feet, their spines snapping with each ground-quaking step he took. Arrakis had given birth to something monstrous, something ravenous. Yet all you had seen was a youthful face that tells not of horrors or suffering. It only promises freedom. 

Freedom was supposed to taste sweet, satisfying. The first sip from a childhood oasis. And you guess it had, for a little while. Before the realizations set in. Anyone who so openly grants freedom can take it away too. 

Paul inhales the reverence of the crowd. Savors the saccharine taste of victory on his tongue, before he spits out the essence of his hatred. Watching the blood scorch away under the desert sun. 

He swears he sees the sand dunes bow from the corner of his eye, they're towering magnificently bestowing something lethal onto him. Something they've yearned for, something fragile, something ancient. He deems it responsibility, duty, divinity and spins it into an enamelware crown.

Paul had become king. Not emperor, not sovereign, not overlord. Not yet at least. He's not the boy-prince from a distant planet anymore either. There no longer exists a boyhood carved of temperamental weathers and jagged salt-covered rocks. No more fairy tales of great dukes fighting bulls by the seaside and young princes running off on fighter jets to save mystical witches. There is only the sand and the giants underneath it, only a prophecy cracked whose ichor covers him in gold and stardust. 

He is Muad'Dib, savoir of Dune. 

Paul's eyes rummage through the crowd. Hungry, desperate

seeking out something, someone whose devotion does not show. 

He memorizes the scowl on your face, the dip of your lips. How he longs to feel them under his thumb. 

Duels concluded in death. When the ground has been fed its blood depts. When Jannah and Jahannam are granted another soul. That is when the victor arises. Duels end in death, in a chipped knife and a broken body on the floor. 

This one did not...

The memory still haunts you. 

Not in its breach of rite.

Nor its contradictions to morality.

But in what comes after.

The fear of the thing that was allowed to live...

Paul hadn't killed Feyd. Beaten, mauled, tamed. But not killed.

There is a rostrum made of sand and burnt bones. It was meant to serve as a victory throne, a symbol of a war and a revolt. You aren't so sure about that anymore. Not when it's being desecrated, by a survivor of the very thing it vowed to eradicate. Atop the dias, Paul stands, fingers swathed tightly around a pale, maimed wrist. The crowd stares, speechless as the prophetic son appoints a battered and bleeding Harkonnen Na-baron as his aid, his duke.  

Feyd-Rautha is all jet blacks and blood reds. His eyes hold daggers, impaling anyone who dares to look into them. You can not fathom why Paul, the one who promised a paradise and an end to the Harkonnen oppression would do such a thing. You never thought him holy, you didn't consider him cruel either. 

Paul hands over the spice trade to Feyd. He speaks of concentrated zones away from life. Somewhere deep and forgotten. He says "virtuous" as if it's a sermon only he can comprehend. "We need the funds, we need to rebuild, to fight. The spice is valuable and it will not hinder the awakening of Dune. My cousin will oversee its harvest and trade. The finances will be brought back to Arrakis, back to the Freman."

Maybe it's sorrow, a slithering nuance that won't leave. Maybe it's guilt twice folded and misplaced. Desperation for a kinsmanship

with a family, he had thought all lost. The way he looks at Feyd speaks of hope and trust and everything else a little boy feels when he's dragging his friend by the hand through a forest made of splendor and ideation. But Paul isn't a little boy anymore and Feyd has never been naught save a killer. And you, you can't help but notice how the Muad'dib begins to lose his golden hue. 

The Sietch is cavernous, domed ceiling that expands into the rocks and sandy tiles that stretch as far as the eye can see. Unaltered spice particles dance in the gentle filtered rays of the sun. It feels like home. Like freedom and paradise and everything else those two men had stripped you of. Your body slumps by one of the etched walls. Awaiting your fellow Freman to find you. 

There is a stiffness in the Freman, an elegance that must be mastered. You'd once thought it inherited, a mere bone structure passed on from mother to child. You're not so sure anymore. The stiffness reverberates off the Sietch walls, it's obvious now that it's never been about straight spines and high-held heads. It's the ideals, the loyalties that Fremen carve into their souls. Sooner or later someone will inform the king of where his darling hides. 

All of Arrakis knows who you belong to. 

One of the older women tunnels water down your throat, she cradles your head and shushes you when you try to speak. She spills advice, motherly advice, into your veins. Telling you of how blessed you are to be chosen by the Lisan Al Gaib and his blood. Her embrace is a vice, coddling suffocating and not at all unpleasant. There is a sleek comfort between the witherd silk of her chador. It heartens fatigue residing stubbornly between your bones. It causes your eyes to fade and your mind to race. You forgot the terrors that lay outside, the advancing menace carrying crystalknifes and a voice that shakes worlds. Darkness beckons, a welcomed change. For the first time in months, you feel safe...

You are still a Freman, born of sand and spice. There is a future somewhere with palm trees and rosa persica. You intend to find it, to hold it between your hands running tired fingers over soft cloud-light edges. Arrakis has stood for longer than most planets have existed. You refuse to abandon its fate to a spice addict and a manic.

It's obvious, isn't it?

Maybe it always was...

Arrakeen palace is shaped like a heart, something eternal ungraved. It was young when you first marched through its grand gates. It had felt no less threatening than the sandworms beneath your feet. The spice that flew through the halls was suffocating, a distant, permutated relative of the elixir that had raised you. 

Paul's chancery is something empty, a cut out of Kaahgel masquerading as a citadel of dominance and perspicuity. It, much like the rest of the palace is novice and new. Paul sits in an awkwardly placed plush parlor chair, one retrieved from Caladan no doubt. He squirms in his seat as if his body has too many angles to fit properly in the rounded chair. He's far too accustomed to soft sands and jagged boulders. To sitting cross-legged on something loose and malleable. This luxury is unwelcomed, uncomfortable. You only notice Feyd when his demonic eyes suddenly land on you. He's languidly draped on the carpeted floor. His back half propped up by a quarter-painted wall. He's feeding slices of fruit into his mouth, savering the nick of the knife along his tongue. 

They look so innocent. Sinless, carless little boys playing in a sanctuary fort. Hiding from life and its crushing expectations.

Paul follows his cousin's gaze, he's out of his seat and across the room before you have time to knock. You note the blackness under Paul's eyes, how the synthetic blue feels distant and sunken. Almost as if they're looking at you from meters inside a cave. He's wandering through the twilight of exhaustion. Paradying awakeness like a lost bat caught in the afternoon sun. He's only surviving on artificial energy from the spice he so readily consumes. 

There is an exhilarating lilt in the timber of his voice. A galvanization in the way your name spills from between his lips. "What brings you here?" Paul's fingers dance across your shoulders, gripping them as one does their favorite toy. His eyes hold a fragile reverence, something unstable, denating with the slightest breath. "Lord Usul..." you begin, eyes bouncing between the sandy beiges of the walls. "You don't need to be so formal. Just say my name, like the first time we met." His nails start to dig into your arms, a jovian strength only a divine may possess. You don't remember leaving a deep impression. 

"Paul, I-I need to talk to you about..." Your vision cuts to Feyd, a hidden flare penetrates his legs, you don't dare look the Harkonnen in the eyes. He's far too feral for such raw exhibitions of hate. Yet you want him to feel your abhorrence, your detest. Paul understands, he knows what you're going to say before you've even finished rehearsing in your head. "Feyd doesn't mind, you can talk freely in his presence, I promise you, he won't bite." You swallow the need to argue, to protest, he bites, he definitely bites, and lacerates and kills...

It's easy to fall between the crevices of his voice, to allow the gentle nudges to sway your decisions for you. You wonder if the words coming from your mouth are even truly your own. They had sounded so absolute in your head. So firm. Now they sound dented, feeble, like a child begging to remain awake. You tell the king of how you disapprove of the spice trade, that it should be ceased. Its termination can only benefit the war, hindering the galactical navigation of your enemies. Paul listens with a distracted sort of attendance. His eyes melt into you, tracing your features with a delicate precision. You feel like a map, laid bare, feeding him information. Information he ignores, opting to busy himself with tracing continents and oceans. "Paul please listen" you beg. "Please". You notice an ignited flicker in his eyes, snapping him out of his lucid trance. "You know, since you feel so strongly about...everything. Maybe, maybe you should stay here. With us. Be the queen or duchess or whatever. You can help us rebuild. You can-" 

"What?" Your body jerks back, his fingers don't leave your forearms, pulling you back, closer. "Lord Usual...Paul...what are-" Something slithers between your bones, your skin, your muscles. Pushing past the cracks and sliding inside you. His mind grasps yours, echoing his desire, mapping out its constellation between your crux. 

Paul feels in blues, blues that make up the nuance between worlds. 

The ocean behind the largest dune

The lake beneath the greatest mountain.

The lamination of spice over one's eyes. 

It somehow ends with you. Covered in a color that mimics ambitions and dreams and something practically attainable. 

You feel him reach out, pushing you back into the physical world. Away from the luminous tints and flickering landscapes. 

"I'm saying that everything I do reminds me of you. It's hard not to dedicate every single breath to your memory." Paul's eyes are blown wide, there's a lament carved into his voice. He's pleading, desperate, like trying to chisel rock with a pebble. You don't like where this is going, don't like the mania, the love that's painted so vividly on his face. Your stomach churns, false ecstasy pumping in agonizing doses. This is wrong, you shouldn't feel flattered, gleeful. This isn't a miracle or a blessing. It's a curse, you know this, you have to run to escape. But something in you freezes, a sickly silver of devotion, of habit, a tradition force-fed into your soul keeps your legs stiff and still. 

Devotion is such a slippery thing. Always so close to suffocating. Sometimes all it's good for is a knife that kills. Just a grain of salt in a pulsing wound. 

Your eyes flicker across the room, trying to look at something, anything but him, anything but the Muad'dib who could make you grovel at his feet like a doll without even opening his mouth. It's only in your frantic search for an affix point, that you notice the beast is missing. His dominion left empty. You feel a chill in the room. Something stalking closer, something lethal and rogue. You scream shriveling into Paul's arms as someone grips your waist from behind, encaging you. "You were right cousin, she's as beautiful as you described...and as brave." Your breath hitches, he's touching you. Your body twitches as a cold sweat breaks. "Paul" you plead looking up into his electric blue eyes. He only smiles, contorting his features into something they're not, something soft and arrogant. You see triumph shimmer through his mind. He's won a game you didn't know you were playing. Crowned victor by fate and circumstance and...

and prophecy.

Paul cradles your cheek in his hand, tilting your head up to look at you. 

 "The first time I set eyes upon you, I knew you were the girl in my dreams. The desert rose beckoning me to Arrakis, to Dune. Don't you see, we've been bound by fate?" 

No. 

Feyd slowly licks the shell of your ear, he hums in satisfaction, an action you didn't know could be laced with so much malice. He murmurs something into your jugular, something too violent to decode. 

No.

Please no. 

It's easier to love than to be loved. 

There's a jolt that rings you awake, something violent crawling under your skin. You feel it before you witness it, witness the cold and loneliness not viable in the desert temples. 

The halls scream in silence, 

Hollow, employed out. 

"Hello?" The eerie reverberation of your words leaves you shivering. Scraping along the walls, tumbling into doorless rooms trying to find someone, anyone. You can't remember the last time you'd been alone. 

Utterly alone.

You didn't notice it at first. Didn't notice the unnatural stillness and the deafening silence. there is no life here, but it takes a practically mangled corpse for you to look down at the floor. 

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious. 

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. You turn and you run, back from that which you came, feet thundering across the sand-dusted floor. You don't know where you're going, why even run? Helplessness swells inside you, coiling in intricate knots. Only to snap violently when you cross the third threshold. 

The corpses lie at his feet. your frenzied brain tries to count them, only going up to eight before it forgets what comes after. There is more, more bodies, more blood...more bones? But you can't focus on anything else except the glabrous man standing over them, knife pointed downwards, dripping into an endless sea of red. 

Your father used to tell you tales of rivers made of blood. Of mad men claiming divine crusades as they fed bodies into the endless stream. 

You never thought you'd witness it.

It shouldn't feel as conflicting as it does. 

"Darling..." Feyd's voice is gravel on gravel. Rough and coursed. It grinds against your skin reawakening every half-healed scar. 

"no, dear maker, please no" Feyd's gaze rakes over you, lingering on every detail. Toying and probing, much like a predator sizing up its frightened prey. "I missed you" his voice is purely threatening, mocking, he wants you back, needs you back. You can't be forgiven for this deliberate offense.

You try to bolt passed him, it's like a gallon of adrenaline has been shot straight into your chest. There's a scream in the air, you're not sure who it belongs to. you make it to the hallway leading to the contraction arena. Where the bearers of the water of life are nursed. You can see the stone-carved stairs and someone sitting there...

The ground slips beneath your feet, the red liquid having leaked under your soles. In the next breath, you're plunging into redness, shrouded and engulfed and bathed in the blood of your own kind. It feels warm and safe and disgusting. Like watching the stars of your favorite constellation collapse within themselves. It's a destructive kind of comfort, one that only ends in pain and bruises and fractured bones in places you can never wholly identify.

You're drowning, 

the more you thrash the harder it gets to stand. 

You feel the blood entangling you, weaving around your body like a net. 

and then like a shadow, he's over you. 

Looming with the promise of pain, of the misery of the savagery only he can offer.

"Feyd..." his name is razorblades upon your tongue. Your eyes catch his, distant voids colliding. Since when did you start looking into his eyes? When did the torture become worth it? His fingers ensnare your jaw, pushing cheeks and bones together. Feyd straddles your body, knees splashing into the blood. He tugs your head forward violently, before pounding it onto the floor. You moan out in pain a mangled, distorted noise. He only chuckles. Before repeating the motion. "You ran from us, you left us. I should kill you here and now. Bleed you out with the rest of these traitors!" it's hard not to notice the pain his voice harbors, odd how even a monster like Feyd can have his feelings hurt. He lifts his knife, wrapping both hands around the handle before plunging it into your abdomen. You choke, on a shriveled scream or a throat filled with blood you do not know. The colors are dulling and pulsating, somehow too dark and too bright at the same time. Everything feels like it's made of flowing water. Precious streaming water. You can feel the throbbing at the back of your skull, you feel the giddy patter of your heart, and the nervous ticks of your hips under Feyd. 

Feyd...

Has he always been so beautiful?

Your body feels so hot and your mind feels so distant. 

Everything feeds into his endless beauty. 

Why are your lips pulsing? 

your teeth sink in, trying to still the need to kiss. 

"What's wrong princess, trying to play innocent? I know your tricks."

Feyd traces your lips with his. Fingers snake into your hair, pulling at odd intervals. "my sweet stupid little girl" he whispers, a curse and a blessing. He sucks on your bottom lip biting it harshly. Slipping his tongue between your teeth. His kiss is possessive, and swallowing. You feel yourself sinking deeper, wanting him to consume you whole. When he pulls back you feel like you can't breathe, you only existed within his kiss. It's the last thing binding you to this world. 

But then his head dips down. Leaving open-mouthed kisses upon the gushing injury. Feyd drinks deeply from your open wound, ravaging the blood and pushing in silver of a forgotten moonlight. The way his tongue laps at the gaping hole and torn ligament sends a shutter up your spin. When he lifts his head again you watch mesmerized by the way your essence drips from his lips. He kisses you again ferocious and deep and all conusiming. 

You feel so lost and so found.

Grounded and afloat. 

It's only when a scream, a familiar one, in a distance distorted sort of way, rings across the hall that you start to pull away. You push yourself up, palms slipping on the liquid life. From behind Feyd, you notice a man and a women. Young, scared. There is revulse in their blue eyes, yet you can't navigate its direction. You're sure if you weren't bleeding out you could identify them, you're sure you knew them in this lifetime. You hear the blood gushing, hear the crisp whistle of the blade as it slices through flesh. 

Once

Twice. 

Only then does the alluring migraine sober. The metallic tang of blood wafting through the air makes you sick. It's odd how the repugnant scent had alluded you until now.  Even if you'd been lying right in it. You wonder if such a scent would bother them. You doubt it, they tend to revel in the red glory and its hypnotizing associations. 

"Took you long enough, cousin" Feyd's head is turned watching as Paul steps past the corpses. His eyes are vibrant, a sapphire blue that cuts through time and space. He kneels next to you, gaze devouring you in your pitiful state. "why did you run?" he is cold, hurt. His blue eyes betray a degree of relief hidden by a defrauding glower. "I-we love you, you mean everything to us." You look away too exhausted to put up an argument. "I missed being home." You mumble. You swore for a minute something akin to comprehension ripples through the air. You're too delusional to believe in anything solid anymore. But maybe Paul understands, maybe he yearns for the desert too. Maybe he'll go easy on you...

Paul's fingers glide across your stomach, scattering the dust particles that have landed on your still form. The light from the high windows glimmers off the three of you painting something holy, something right, in another world, in another lifetime. When he sees the wound Feyd created he chuckles. " Stars Feyd, at least try to keep her alive." Paul's nails gently rack across the torn ligament, idly playing with the loose skin. Feyd laughs deep and psychotic -is it wrong to say you missed it?- "I couldn't help myself, you should have seen her. Eyes blown wide covered in blood. Stars I just want-" you interrupt him with a low moan. Paul rubs his calloused thumb over your wound, soothing the cut before he presses down. Hard.  

 when he hears the moan he presses harder. Making you wither and hiss. "This is a punishment, (y/n), you're not supposed to be enjoying it." His fingers slither into the open wound, stretching out the ligament " You jolt and holler and cry, begging him to stop. "You're my oasis, the only thing I love in this world. But you ran. YOU LEFT US." His words glitch and crack, the voice shining through penetrating you with a knife seeped in guilt. "I'm sorry." you choke out, only to be rewarded by another harsh cut from Feyd's knife. "I'm the daughter of the desert..." you protest, tears slipping past your hooded eyes. "You're our lover" Feyd barks defensively, aggravated. When the tears begin to leak the pain stops. "Don't waste your water" Paul mutters, wiping away a tear and sucking it between his lips savoring your delicate taste. 

Paul cradles your bleeding head in his lap, lowering his to kiss your crimson-soaked lips, "I love you" he mumbles against you, trying to press the core of his words into you. Making you feel him, making you believe. Feyd tucks your hair out of your face. Slowly pulling you up by your shoulders. The thin smile he offers is such a rare sight it makes your heart explode.

Why did you run away?

Why did you leave the ones you love most?

Your heart is laying on a bed of nails.

Somehow that feels fitting. 

Feyd pulls off the top of his stillsuit, discarding the armor-like pieces. Slowly he lays in the gore, he pulls you over him. His motions slow, mesmeric. You follow just another wave trapped in the current. You're so torn and hurt, broken in ways that can never properly heal. You let it happen, it's easier this way. Slowly he licks his blade clean of your blood, he grabs your wrist places the hilt in your hands, and tucks your fingers over it. "Hold on tight," he advises as he draws your hand back and brings the knife down between his defined muscles. The moan he lets out is profane, it makes you feel euphoric, filled to the brim with the merriment of guilt. Feyd kisses you again, his tongue pushes past your teeth, his conquest of you feels Harkonnen in every way. His tongue down your throat feels like a heavenly bliss. From behind Paul breaks the back of your stillsuit, he licks a strip up and down your spine. You moan into the kiss with Feyd. Slowly Paul starts to whisper firefly kisses into each vertebrae. Sucking melodies into the frail bones. His teeth snick between the cartilage, all scorpion stings, and cobra bites. It feels so right.

Feyd is a cannibalistic star, relishing in the way your wounds bleed into his. He feeds off your pain, feeds off the pain you grant. He's delusional with a cosmic kind of lust. Pulling celestials from their homes to burn into his own body. He loves you, loves how you penetrate him with a knife clad in anathema and adherence too turbulent to understand. 

Paul is, in many ways Feyd's opposite and in many others his equal. The quintessence of the path to hell being paved with good intentions. His kisses are the desert's curse and it's love. He's an entire solar system revolving around the only two people he has left to love. 

Slowly the world grows dark. You feel it hard to remain awake. "Sweet dreams princess" you hear Paul whisper as Feyd shuffles under you. You fall into his expecting arms. Safe and strong. The day has been so long and bootless. so tiring. so vexing. 

Yet somehow, in the endlessness of the moment, it matters all so little. Paul is here and he can hang the stars upon the night sky. Feyd is here and he can slaughter the universe and call it entertainment. You are safe with them, safe and happy and satisfied. 

ngl this is the longest tag list I've ever gotten. THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!💜💜 Let me know if you want to be added to future taglists

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[extremedelusions17]

sunsets and football

l.williamson x reader

again really small fic - 801 words

fluff

a/n: Leah won the poll so here it is, hope you enjoy xx

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

Leah Williamson and you had been inseparable since childhood. You had met when you had kicked a ball through the fence of the old, worn down fence that surrounded the grass field you would play at and someone kicked it back, since then your bond was unbreakable. As the years passed, your friendship evolved into something deeper, a connection that went beyond a simple friendship. Little did younger you know that kicking a soccer ball through a hole in a run down fence would be one of the best mishaps to ever happen to you.

It was now years later on a trip back home that you revisited that field. It was a warm summer evening, the golden hues of the setting sun casting a glow over the soccer field where Leah and you had spent countless hours practicing your skills. The familiar sound of cleats against the grass echoed as you dribbled the ball while she tried to steal it, laughter filling the air.

"Watch out!" Leah called out, attempting to steal the ball from you.

You skillfully maneuvered around her, keeping possession. "Nice try, Lee!"

As the game went on, you guys were panting, caught between the thrill of the competition and the joy of each other's company. After a seriously close play, you both just flopped onto the grass, laughing your hearts out.

"That was intense," Leah gasped, her eyes reflecting the genuine happiness she felt in these moments.

"Yeah, but it's always fun with you," you replied, catching your breath. Leaning on your side, your gaze traced Leah's form, she was still laying on her back watching the sunset.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant shades of pink and orange. You stole another glance at Leah, her features illuminated by the warm glow. In that moment, it hit you like a tidal wave– your feelings for Leah had evolved into something more than friendship, you liked Leah williamson

Sitting up, you sighed, trying to mask the sudden shift in your emotions. Leah noticed and sat up to, concerned she furrowed her brow. "Hey, what's wrong? What are you thinking about?"

You hesitated, uncertain about whether to share your newfound realization. "It's nothing, just... I appreciate our friendship, you know?"

Leah studied you for a moment, her gaze penetrating. "Are you sure about that?"

Avoiding eye contact, you mumbled out a quick, "Yeah, of course."

But Leah wasn't convinced. With a gentle touch, she turned your face towards hers. "Stop looking at me like you love me," she said, her tone soft yet piercing.

Caught off guard, you felt a flush of embarrassment. "I...I don't know what you're talking about."

Leah chuckled, her thumb brushing against your cheek. "You can't hide anything from me. We've been best friends forever. If there's something on your mind, just tell me."

Taking a deep breath, you met her gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Lee, I think... I think I might be in love with you."

A pause lingered in the air, the weight of the confession sinking in. Leah's eyes softened, and a warm smile graced her lips. "About time you realized that. I love you too, you know? More than just as a friend."

In the quiet pause that followed Leah's heartfelt words, the air between you two felt charged with a mix of emotions. Leah's eyes softened, and a genuine smile played on her lips, easing the weight of the moment. "About time you realized that. I love you too, you know? More than just as a friend."

As the words settled, the atmosphere shifted. It was as if an unspoken agreement wrapped around both of you, drawing you even closer. Without saying anything more, Leah's hand slowly found yours, fingers intertwining wordlessly, a promise of the love that had quietly grown between you. 

In that moment, as the surroundings blurred, you both savored the simplicity of a shared glance, lingering in the beauty of a quiet revelation that shifted the course of your lifelong friendship.

Leah's words still hanging in the air, the atmosphere shifted. A shared understanding emerged, a silent agreement that something more was about to unfold. Your eyes met in an unspoken connection, and Leah, sensing the shift, closed the gap between you. Her hand rose gently and cupped your cheek, and the world around you faded into the background as her lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss.

Time seemed to slow down on that soccer field, and in the simplicity of that first kiss, the years of friendship, laughter, and unspoken feelings found a new expression. The soccer field, once witness to your ever growing relationship, now held the memory of a turning point, the beginning of a love story that had been patiently waiting to unfold.

[songbirdseung]

hold your peace / lee heeseung

synopsis: watching the one you love being wedded to someone else.

pairing: ex-lovers heeseung and reader

warning: sadness and then sadness and then more sadness, fluff at the end, i promise.

wc: 2k

In the heart of a quaint town nestled amidst rolling hills and whispering trees stood a venerable old church, its weathered stones bearing the weight of centuries of prayers and whispered confessions. Within its hallowed halls, amidst the flickering candlelight and the solemn hymns, YN found herself seated in one of the wooden pews, her gaze fixed upon the altar where Heeseung, her once-beloved, stood exchanging vows with another.

The echoes of memories danced around her, haunting whispers of a love that once bloomed like the roses in the churchyard, now withered and forgotten. YN's heart ached as she watched Heeseung, his eyes alight with joy as he clasped hands with his bride. How she longed to be the one standing by his side, to feel his touch, to hear his voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the quiet park where Heeseung and YN sat side by side on a weathered bench, their laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves overhead. They were just teenagers then, their hearts as untamed as the wind that swept through the trees, yet already they knew that their bond was something rare and precious. Heeseung's hand brushed against YN's as they shared stolen glances beneath the fading light, his gaze soft and earnest as he spoke. "You know, YN, I've been thinking…" "What is it, Heeseung?" YN asked, turning to face him with a curious smile playing upon her lips. "I think… I think we're meant to be each other's end games," Heeseung said, his voice barely above a whisper as if afraid to speak the words aloud. YN's heart skipped a beat at his words, her breath catching in her throat. "End games?" Heeseung nodded, his eyes shining with a determination that belied his tender age. "Yeah, you know, like in those movies we watch. The ones where the two people are meant to be together no matter what happens. That's us, YN. We're each other's end games." A soft smile tugged at YN's lips as she reached out to take Heeseung's hand in hers, their fingers intertwining like vines in a hidden garden. "I like the sound of that, Heeseung. You and me, against the world." Heeseung's grin widened at her words, his heart swelling with a love so fierce it threatened to consume him whole. "And YN, one day… one day, I'm going to marry you. I promise." YN's cheeks flushed with a rosy hue as she leaned in closer, her breath warm against Heeseung's ear. "I'll hold you to that, Heeseung. I'll hold you to that." And in that fleeting moment, beneath the fading light of the setting sun, Heeseung and YN made a vow to each other that would echo through the corridors of time. For they knew that their love was not bound by the constraints of reality but rather by the unyielding force of destiny, guiding them ever closer to their shared end game of forever.

But fate had other plans, tearing them apart like pages ripped from a cherished book. YN's mind wandered back to the days when they first met, a chance encounter in the bustling streets of the town square. Heeseung had been a beacon of light in her dark world, his smile a balm to her wounded soul. They had shared dreams and secrets beneath the stars, promising each other forever in whispered vows of love.

Yet, as swiftly as the seasons changed, so too did their love unravel. Distance and time became their adversaries, tearing at the fragile threads that bound them together. And despite their desperate attempts to cling to what they once had, the inevitable tide of life swept them apart, leaving YN adrift in a sea of loneliness and regret.

Now, as she sat in the quiet sanctuary of the church, YN couldn't help but wonder what could have been. Would they have found their way back to each other if circumstances had been different? Or was their love nothing more than a fleeting moment in the tapestry of time?

As Heeseung stood at the altar, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes scanned the crowded church until they landed on YN, sitting amidst the congregation. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as he gazed at her, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't expected to see her there, a haunting reminder of the past he had tried so hard to forget.

A wave of sadness washed over Heeseung as he realized that YN was not meant to be a guest at this wedding but rather the bride by his side. His mother's fondness for YN had prompted the invitation, a gesture of kindness that now felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Heeseung's gaze lingered on YN, his mind drifting back to the days when they had dreamed of a future together, promising each other forever beneath the stars. How different things might have been if they had stayed true to those vows, if he had been brave enough to defy the odds and follow his heart.

But now, as he stood on the precipice of a new beginning, Heeseung knew that he had to let go of the past and embrace the future that lay before him. With a heavy sigh, he tore his gaze away from YN and forced himself to focus on the ceremony unfolding before him.

Just as he began to regain his composure, the priest cleared his throat, drawing Heeseung's attention back to the present. He offered a sheepish apology, blaming his momentary lapse in concentration on nerves.

The priest chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Ah, young love. It has a way of making even the bravest among us tremble with fear. But fear not, my son. For love conquers all, even nerves on a wedding day."

Heeseung managed a weak smile in response, grateful for the priest's lighthearted jest. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just witnessed a glimpse of the life he could have had with YN, a life that now existed only in the shadows of his memories. YN's heart clenched at the sight, tears shimmering in her eyes like pearls in the morning dew. She knew then that she had lost him forever, condemned to forever be a silent observer in the theater of his life.

As the ceremony continued, YN found herself overcome with a flood of emotions, tears welling up in her eyes like raindrops on a stormy night. She tried to blink them away, to hide the ache in her heart behind a veil of smiles, but the weight of her unspoken sorrow threatened to consume her.

To those around her, it seemed as though YN was shedding tears of joy, her emotions overflowing at the sight of her dear friend finding happiness. But Heeseung's mother, seated beside her, knew the truth behind those glistening tears. With a gentle understanding born of a mother's intuition, she reached out and pulled YN into a tender side hug, offering silent comfort in her time of need.

YN leaned into the embrace, grateful for the warmth and compassion of Heeseung's mother. In that moment, she felt a sense of solace amidst the turmoil of her emotions, knowing that she was not alone in her silent grief.

Across the aisle, Heeseung couldn't help but steal a glance at YN, his heart breaking at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks. He longed to reach out to her, to wipe away her tears and whisper words of reassurance, but he knew that he had no right to intrude upon her pain.

While Heeseung's heart was torn between the past and the present, his bride, unaware of the turmoil within him, cast a sidelong glance in his direction, her brow furrowed with concern. She had noticed his momentary lapse in focus, his gaze lingering on someone in the crowd, and it stirred a flicker of annoyance within her.

As the ceremony progressed, she leaned in close to Heeseung, her voice a hushed whisper against his ear. "Is everything alright, Heeseung? You seem distracted."

Heeseung forced a smile, his mind still lingering on YN and the memories they had shared. "I'm fine. Just lost in the moment, that's all."

As the priest's solemn voice echoed through the hallowed halls of the church, announcing the pivotal moment in the ceremony, a heavy silence descended upon the congregation.

Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

All eyes turned towards the altar, anticipation hanging thick in the air like the scent of incense. Heeseung's heart pounded in his chest as he glanced back and forth between YN and his bride, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. In that fleeting moment, he felt the weight of a thousand regrets pressing down upon him, each one urging him to speak the words that had been left unspoken for far too long.

Just as the priest was about to continue, his lips parting to recite the sacred vows that would bind Heeseung and his bride together for eternity, Heeseung's voice rang out, clear and resolute in the silence.

"I… I have something to say."

The congregation held its breath as Heeseung took a step forward, his heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat. His eyes locked with YN's, a silent plea lingering in their depths, begging for understanding.

"I… I cannot continue with this marriage," Heeseung declared, his voice trembling with emotion. "I cannot pledge my life to someone when my heart belongs to another."

Gasps of shock rippled through the church as Heeseung's confession hung in the air like a heavy fog. His bride's eyes widened in disbelief, her hand flying to her mouth in a gesture of stunned silence.

But amidst the chaos, amidst the whispers and the murmurs of disbelief, YN remained perfectly still, her gaze locked with Heeseung's, a single tear shimmering in the corner of her eye.

For in that moment, she knew that the love they had shared had never truly died, that the bond between them was stronger than the vows spoken in haste and the promises made in vain. And as Heeseung stepped down from the altar and made his way towards her, his heart laid bare for all to see, YN reached out and took his hand in hers, silently promising to stand by his side through whatever trials lay ahead.

As Heeseung's supposed bride's voice rose in a crescendo of anger and disbelief, her words cutting through the air like a knife, Heeseung's family remained steadfast in their support. His parents, sibling, and relatives stood by his side, their expressions a mixture of determination and defiance in the face of opposition.

Heeseung's supposed father-in-law joined the chorus of protests, his voice booming with indignation as he demanded an explanation for this sudden betrayal. But Heeseung's family remained unmoved, their loyalty unwavering as they stood united in their belief that love should never be sacrificed on the altar of convention.

"You can't do this, Heeseung! You made a commitment to me!" she cried, her voice cracking with emotion as she struggled to comprehend the sudden turn of events.

Heeseung's supposed father-in-law joined in the fray, his face flushed with rage as he pointed an accusatory finger at Heeseung. "You're making a grave mistake, boy! You'll regret this for the rest of your life!"

But amidst the cacophony of voices, Heeseung remained steadfast, his gaze fixed upon YN, his heart unyielding in its resolve. As he reached her side, he took her hand in his, his touch gentle yet firm.

"I'm sorry, YN," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned to face her. "I couldn't go through with it. Not when my heart belongs to you."

YN's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked up at Heeseung, her heart swelling with a mixture of love and gratitude. "I understand, Heeseung. And I'm here for you, no matter what."

Amidst the chaos, Heeseung's mother stepped forward, her voice calm yet firm as she addressed the gathering. "Love cannot be forced, nor can it be contained within the confines of tradition. Our son has made his choice, and we stand by him, regardless of the consequences."

Heeseung's father nodded in agreement, his gaze steady as he met the accusing stares of those who questioned their decision. "We raised our son to follow his heart, to be true to himself above all else. And if his heart leads him to YN, then so be it."

Heeseung's supposed bride's protests faltered in the face of such unwavering conviction. With a final glare directed at Heeseung and YN, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the church, her dreams of a fairytale wedding shattered by the harsh reality of love's unpredictable whims.

As the dust settled and the echoes of the confrontation faded away, Heeseung stood beside YN, his hand clasped tightly in hers, a sense of peace washing over him like a gentle breeze. For in that moment, surrounded by the love and support of his family, he knew that he had made the right choice, that true love was worth any sacrifice, no matter how great.

And as they walked out of the church together, hand in hand, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, Heeseung and YN knew that their love was a force to be reckoned with, a bond that could withstand even the harshest storms. For in the end, love always finds a way, lighting the path towards a future filled with hope, promise, and the sweetest kind of redemption.

For sometimes, love is not measured by the grand gestures or the elaborate ceremonies, but by the courage to speak the truth and follow the heart's deepest desires, no matter the cost. And in the quiet sanctuary of the church, amidst the echoes of a love that refused to be silenced, Heeseung and YN found their own happily ever after, bound together by the timeless threads of fate and the unyielding power of true love.

As the dust settled and the echoes of the confrontation faded away, Heeseung and YN found themselves standing outside the church, the cool breeze of the evening wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. They turned to each other, their eyes locking in a silent exchange of understanding and gratitude.

Heeseung was the first to speak, his voice filled with emotion as he reached out to cup YN's cheek tenderly. "You remember what I told you, right? That I'd marry you and only you."

A soft smile tugged at the corners of YN's lips as she leaned into his touch, her heart swelling with affection. "Yeah, I remember. You almost did, didn't you?"

Heeseung's expression softened as he shook his head, his eyes glistening with sincerity. "It wasn't by choice, YN. You know that. I never wanted to hurt you."

YN reached out and took Heeseung's hand in hers, squeezing it gently as she met his gaze with unwavering understanding. "I know, Heeseung. And I'm not blaming you. Sometimes life just has a way of throwing us curveballs."

Heeseung nodded, a sense of relief washing over him as he realized that YN harbored no ill will towards him. "I'm just glad you're here, YN. With me."

YN's smile widened as she leaned in closer, pressing a tender kiss to Heeseung's lips. "Me too, Heeseung. Me too."

And as they stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, Heeseung and YN knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, hand in hand, united in their love and their unwavering commitment to each other. For in the end, their bond was stronger than any obstacle, a beacon of hope and resilience in a world filled with uncertainty.

[cxptain-capsicle]

Beyond the Sea | Luke Castellan | IV

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Unclaimed Poseidon!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, established relationship, Gods being terrible parents

The mess hall was quiet, you had gotten to the Hermes table early, the sun was shining warm golden rays on your skin. It was a beautiful morning, relaxing even. 

“Y/n!” Annabeth nearly screamed from across the pavilion. There went your relaxation.

“Good morning to you too Annabeth.” You smiled at her as she stormed the table. “What’s wrong?”

“Ya know the new kid?” She asked.

“Percy?” You confirmed.

“Something happened last night.” She said cryptically.

“Oh?” You sat up straighter. “He seems really sweet just make sure you’re always safe-”

“Oh my gods!” She shouted and covered her ears. “Not like that! Something else happened.”

Before Annabeth could get another word out Luke’s voice came booming behind you.

“Morning ladies!” Someone was in a good mood.

“I’ll tell you later.” She practically scowled at Percy as she walked away.

“Well, she’s a ray of sunshine.” Percy watched Annabeth as she left.

“What’re you two up to?” You asked as they took a seat with you at the table.

“Giving Percy my life story.” Luke shrugged.

“Not again.” You said sarcastically making Luke roll his eyes at you.

“Anyways, before camp, I was on the road. Me and a forbidden kid I met along the way. Her name was Thalia.” Luke smiled a little when he said her name. It made your stomach hurt and your face flush. You were jealous of a tree.  

“And what does that mean, forbidden?” Percy asked. 

“A long time ago, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades agreed their children were becoming too powerful, so they made a pact not to father anymore. And it held for a long time until Zeus broke that pact. Until Thalia.” Luke explained. 

“Forbidden kids attract trouble.” You added. “Monsters everywhere, constantly battling to stay alive.”

“One day, we, uh, find this little girl hiding in an alley. Annabeth. We were worried about taking her in, exposing her to all that danger. Then we saw her fight.” He chuckled at the memory then fell silent. “Thalia didn't make it. But Annabeth and me... we did. And we've been family ever since.”

“She's been watching me since I got here. Why?” Percy asked.

“Annabeth is the strongest warrior in camp.”

“Rude” You mumbled

“The only way left to prove herself is to go on a quest.” Luke gave you a little smirk as he continued

“And what does this have to do with me?”

“Chiron's been promising her for years,” Luke explained again. 

“One day, a demigod would arrive who was fated to go on a quest that even Chiron couldn't prevent. And when that happened, she could join it.” You explained to Percy. “Every new arrival, Annabeth watches, looking for a sign they're the one. Usually, she gives up after a day or two, but she's still watching you.” 

“Can you ask her to knock it off?” Percy said shyly.

“Yeah, sure. But what if she's right?” Luke shrugged.

“Annabeth will always do what she wants.” You chuckled. The conch shell rang and everyone turned back to see Chiron in the center of the pavilion.

“Heroes... it's time.” He announced. “The game begins.”

Everyone rose from their seats and began to follow Chiron.

“We’re doing this now?” Percy scrambled from his seat at the table. 

“Don’t worry kid, you’ll have fun.” You laughed at him.

“So what about you.” He asked, you looked at him with a raised brow. “How’d you end up here.”

“Well, I was alone for a long time.” You and Percy followed the large crowd up the hill, Luke continued ahead to talk with Annabeth. “A couple of years. I was constantly running from monsters and eventually one trapped me. I was stuck in a cave and I couldn’t get out. I was in there for a few days before they found me.”

“Who found you.” He was listening intently.

“Luke,” You smiled. “It was technically Grover’s quest, him, Luke, and Clarisse.” Percy’s nose crinkled in disgust. “Clarisse is an acquired taste.”

“So you and Luke,” Percy said slowly. “You guys…” He was making a gesture with his hands, you thought it was supposed to mimic kissing. You laughed and smacked his hands.

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.” You hadn’t called him that in a while. Dating at camp wasn’t forbidden but it wasn’t encouraged. Especially in a case like yours, living in the same cabin. Everyone knew you and Luke were together, when you first started dating you had to have some strongly worded conversations with a few aphrodite campers.

“For how long.” He seemed genuinely interested.

“Hard to say.” You shrugged. “It never really had a clear start. Just sort of happened.”

“You’ve been here three summers.” He eyed your necklace.

“This’ll be number four.” You confirmed.

“And you like it?” He asked as you finally came up over the hill.

“Happiest place on earth.”

Everyone got suited up and gathered supplies before separating to our designated sides of the river. Chiron went over the rules and the first conch blew.

“All right.” Annabeth jumped immediately into action. “We have 20 minutes before the second conch and game on. You know what you're doing?”

“Yes, ma'am.” You and Luke said in unison and prepared to take off. 

“Hey.” She stopped you. “Today feel like a winning kind of day to you?”

“As always.” You smiled.

“I'll see you on the other side.” Luke smirked. “Company, move out!”

Percy went to follow you and Luke but Annabeth stopped him. “Not you, sunshine. You're with me.” Percy looked at you like he was asked for help but all you could do was give him a sympathetic smile.

You and Luke escorted the flag carrier to the decided location then set out for the red team’s flag.

“Annabeth tell you what she has planned?” You asked Luke.

“Not really, just that she has a job for Percy.”

“That scares me.” You sighed. Before Luke could respond the sound of screaming and battle cries came from the trees behind you. A group of red soldiers came charging out of the woods towards you. You and Luke had done this so many times before it was as instinctual as breathing. You lined up back to back and fought off those dumb enough to try to attack you.

“Watch out!” Luke shouted as an arrow came down at you. The two of you rolled away from each other. When you emerged a warrior was right in front of you ready to strike you down. You took a slash at the back of her knees that sent her to the ground. You glanced over at Luke who seemed to be managing two opponents just fine. You took on each soldier one by one until finally, one girl raised her arms in surrender.

“We give up.” She panted.

“I wanna move quick.” Luke explained as he sheathed his sword. “Straight through the woods to their flag.”

“Clarisse hunts in those woods for the first few hours, you know that. She's gonna cut us down.” Chris spoke up. 

“Annabeth's got a plan.” Luke told him. “Percy's on it.”

Chris rolled his eyes a little.

“Come on, trust the kid a little.” You told him.

“When it's time, he's gonna be ready. I know it.” That seemed to instill a bit of confidence in the rest of the group because they all started towards enemy territory.

“Percy’s gonna be ready right?” He whispered to you.

“Totally.” You lacked confidence.

You and Luke caught up with the group and continued through the woods. You led the group quietly past a few small groups of soldiers having to convince Luke each time that you could take the stealth tactic and not just storm in. You came to a clearing in the woods and where it was. A bright red flag planted in the ground, waving in the wind.

“This has to be a trap.” You looked around. “No one’s here.”

“I agree,” Luke whispered. “I don’t trust it.”

“Perfect. You volunteer then.” You used the butt of your sword to push Luke out of the woods and into the clearing. He stumbled to his feet, raised his sword, and looked around waiting for the enemy to attack. 

“I don’t see anyone.” He said in a hushed voice to you. Almost as if on cue a flash of red came falling out of the tree above him. A girl with a sword came hurdling down on top of Luke knocking his sword out of his hands and sending it flying to the ground. You rushed the two of them, pushing the girl off of Luke and pinning her to the ground. You had a knee on her left arm and the other was under your hand. With your free hand, you had the blade of your sword against her cheek.

“I surrender.” She sputtered. By the time you got to your feet the rest of the group had handled the other two members of the red team that were guarding the flag. Luke grabbed the flag and turned to look at you with a big smile on his face.

“Look at this killer.” That was the nickname he gave you when you fought. You loved to fight, it made you passionate and deadly. He gestured to the flag in his hands. “Look what I got.”

“Congratulations.” His smile was contagious to you. “Getting the flag is easy, getting it back is the hard part.”

Clarisse was always hunting, waiting for us to get cocky after capturing the flag just to try to kill us on our way back. But this time that didn’t happen. We made our way back, fighting off a few opponents and reuniting with several members of our team. Soon the river was in sight and the company began to charge. Luke triumphantly placed the flag in the rocks, sealing our victory. Everyone cheered and shouted in victory and you couldn’t help but admire Luke. He raised his sword in the air and cheered, he looked like a true hero. He turned and began to search the crown with his eyes before they landed on you. He practically ran to you, pushing through other people with his shield to get to you. He dropped his sword and shield on the ground and ripped off his helmet before placing both hands on the sides of your face and pulling you in to kiss him. When he pulled away his hair was messy from underneath his helmet and his cheeks were flushed with adrenaline. You couldn’t help but laugh at his forwardness, affection around camp had to be kept to a minimum to avoid unwanted attention from Chiron or Mr. D. However every once in a while in the heat of the moment Luke didn’t care about the attention. Your loving moment was cut off by Percy’s shouts.

“What is wrong with you?” Percy was sitting in the water looking up at Annabeth who must have pushed him. You had no clue why she would do that until he stood up.

When Percy rose from the water a shimmering blue trident appeared floating above his head. Your stomach dropped, the sounds around you became muffled, your face paled. You were white hot with fury practically seeing red. You had waited nearly three years for your father to claim you, even chalking it up to him choosing not to claim you because of the pact to no longer father forbidden children. But now, this kid has been here for three days and your father claimed him. Everything you’d ever wanted in your life he got in three days. You didn’t come back to reality until you felt a hand land on your shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?” Luke asked as you jumped away from his touch. “Let's go somewhere and talk-”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You shrugged him off. You could hear the whispers now, feel the stares. You had tried to keep your powers in check but over the years there had been slip-ups. When you accidentally threw a wave at Silena Beauregard for getting a little too close and comfortable with Luke. Rumors spread fast at camp.

You pushed through the crowd as hot tears welled in your eyes. As you walked past the cabins trying your best not to look at the blue cabin at the end of the row your mind was on one thing. You hated the gods.

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taylor swift and travis kelce who ?

it’s been about two days since the party, and god, sae wishes he never went. because now, the internet is blowing up about how he would apparently be dating you, and he is sitting in front of his exasperated manager and publicist who are desperately trying to make him understand the situation.

"why the hell would i date her ?" he spits out, venom laced in his tone. wasn’t he supposed to be a bachelor or something ?

"again, sae, it wouldn’t be real. just for a few months or so, you know ?" his manager pleads, like he has done so many times before (in vain.) the auburn haired male is about to retort a negation again, but is rudely interrupted when his publicist speaks up.

"do you not understand ? your following count has gone up by like, three million ? do you even know how many people came to your game last night just in hopes to see a glimpse of (name) in the bleachers ? do you realise how much good this would do to your reputation ? she is three times more famous than you, for god’s sake ! people are actually getting involved into soccer !" he screams out, tussling his hair beneath his hands, almost ripping his roots out.

"they call me (name)’s boyfriend." he says, voice laced with such disdain it almost gives his manager a heart attack.

"okay, maybe they do, but does that really matter when your salary has doubled ?"

and that, is how he finds himself in front of you, eating lunch, situated on a table a little too close to the window for his liking. he isn’t new to paparazzi, no, but he definitely doesn’t want to expose himself to the world like he is doing right now.

the restaurant is nothing fancy. it’s four stars, but the food is mediocre. the ceiling is white and high, littered with golden edges and big artificial chandeliers. the walls are white as well, and the structure makes him think of the fancy paris appartements, old, but beautiful. you’re sitting in front of him, another dress similar to the one from the party, albeit a bit more casual placed atop your body. outside, the sky is a vibrant blue, showcasing the contrasting yellow of the bright sun. everything screams fake and dishonest. the weather is too nice to be true for the end of november, and your uneasy expression gives away both your discomfort.

"um, so, tell me about yourself." you squeak out, fork playing with the rest of your food on your plate, avoiding his glare like you’re a little kid who just did something they weren’t supposed to.

"dunno. i play soccer. i’m twenty one, and-"

"no, not that. the real you."

he stays silent, and watches as your eyes bore into his. his brows furrow, what do you mean ? did he learn his whole practice speech by heart just for you to be uninterested in it ?

you sigh, and speak up again, "for example, i find comfort in consistent sounds. like the tapping of my heel against the floor that i know has been bothering ever since we sat down."

yes, he definitely noticed, and he cared, but he wasn’t about to make some rude remark about it, not when so many people were watching him. his brows furrow again. "i like green."

you hum, and the ghost of a smile is present on your lips. that’s good, right ?

"your eyes are green." you say, matter of factly, and he deadpans because yes, he knows that too so why are you pointing it out ?

"i know." he replies with a small gruff, as he stares at you again. you laugh, hand covering your mouth like he remembers you doing two nights ago. he doesn’t really know what’s funny, but he lets you finish, because even if you’re making fun of him, he thinks you’re pretty when he can spot your big toothy smile and puffed out cheeks. he looks away, pretending to stare at the glittering buildings in the distance.

"i originally didn’t want to be a middle fielder." he adds, and you smile again. he’s opening up.

"i originally never even thought of being a singer." you somewhat reply to him, the smile never leaving your lips even though he can tell this one is more forced than the previous one he witnessed.

but he doesn’t comment on it, he just hums. he never really was much of a talker anyways.

"who’s amaya ?" he finds himself asking instead, and his fiddles with his fingers when he hears a camera shutter nearby. you notice this, and place a hand atop of his in a way of unspoken comfort. the act causes more clicks to be heard, but you both pretend you are blind to it.

then you answer, your voice low, barely above a whisper like you are about to divulge to him some incredible secret. "my manager. she’s more of a best friend though, she takes care of me when life doesn’t."

his eyes slightly widen at your response, confused and intrigued at the same time. you aren’t blind, you see it, the lost look he gives you but you just flash your teeth at him and straighten your posture. "i’m just saying, you need a pretty good lawyer if you ever want to work in the music industry. shall we get out of here ?"

he nods, and lets you guide him to the backdoor like you have leaded the conversation. fifty hours ago, your name was one sae had briefly heard on the radio, but now, you were supposedly his and a lot more to handle than he imagined.

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[despairinthedeparturelounge]

Melian

Thranduil x f!reader

So many things changed after the big battle, you hope this goes for better

Warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, mention of miscarriage, fluff and happy ending and yea... a lot of cringyness

like & Comments are very much appreciated

Autumn was late to arrive at Mirkwood realm but the early morning breeze put a smile on your face as you walked pass the garden in between quarters,

The weather was pleasent and freshening but even the gentle cold made the sensitive skin of your swollen belly to react in worst ways, you still had weeks to end the semester and the following winter was the time for the baby to be born, but this time was a bit different.

Wrapping the cloak around your body, you carefully enter the garden to find your first born training, more like playing, with the bow that was almost as tall as he was and arrows that were all over the ground, some even half deep in the grass making you question the power the little one hold.

Sun was shining through tall trees down on the golden hair prince totally unaware of your presents still, your smile soon turned into laughter when he tripped over and fell on the ground, "your ada was right about the hair, my little one, you can't see in front of you!" You hummed sitting uncomfortably on the grass, letting a shaky breath out, his head was quick to pop up "nana.."

"Soon with all the nagging?"

He shook his head taking your hand to help him stand, pouting his lips making you smile wider cleaning his dirty cheeks,

"My knee hurt..."

"Which one deary?"

He turned and dropped himself in your embrace taking your both hands and wrapped them around himself,

To you Legolas was always the golden ray of sunshine, bringing warmth and joy where ever he walked in, even when he was in your belly, the energy he radiant through you was felt by every soul you walked with

Your true blessing

Caressing his golden hair you kissed his head several times before drawing a fussy noise from him, turning around in your arms he mindlessly moved his legs around you to sit facing your frame, finally settling down, his eyes where quick to fall on your bump carefully touching it,

"Ada said, he will be here soon"

"So ada thinks he's a boy?"

He nodded looking up at your face, "what do you think?"

To your surprise he gently put his ear on your belly, "Leg-"

"Nana shhh"

Placing his small fingers on your lips you happily kissed them making him giggle in response,

"She doesn't talk to me anymore"

He admitted dropping his hand to your chest, clinging to your dress

"The baby talked to me last night, but now..."

He pouted his lips again looking for an answer in your worried eyes, you waited few seconds before placing your own hand on the side of your bump when a sudden sharp pain passed through your spine, your breath hitched in your throat trying not to scare the child in your arms,

"Let's play a game okay?" You let out a sob while smiling "let's see how fast you can get your ada for me, alright my elfling?" Patting his back you helped him stand back on his feet before running back to the chambers,

Trying your best to stand up with shaky legs another trail of pain burnt through your abdomen,

Moving your cloak aside to walk faster than the growing pain that was taking all over your body,

"Not now, no no no not now!!"

You cried walking up the stairs, "lady Y/n!" You heard someone but before taking a look around your vision wet blur.

You woke up from what it felt to be hours with a sharp pain all over your body, "my lady you must stay awake"

"It's too soon for labor" you panted looking at the healers standing next to your bed

"But it is happening and i need you to stay conscious my queen"

Dressed up in sweat and tear you were crying with every breath you took, screaming.

The quarter's doors swing open only to reveal your worried husband, "y/n.."

"Thranduil... i can't... i can't do it"

You begged and cried as you gripped his sleeve to pull him closer,

He carefully kissed your forehead while moving your hair away from your wet face, "i can't, i can't lose this one"

Your sobbing got louder as he touched the sensitive skin of your arms to help you sit accordingly, "you're not gonna lose it, you're not gonna lose anything" taking your trembling chin in his hand "look at me, meleth nìn" kissing your eyes he gave you time to calm down and catch your breath.

"If i lose this one, it will be the third" sobbing harder you squeezed his arm harder when another stroke of pain hit you, "three..."

His eyes were filled with tears watching you in this condition "The other two didn't make it this far my love, i know how you feel if i could take the pain or make it go away i would!" He sounded helpless looking in your eyes, "i would bear the pain to last bit cause i can't see you this way" bringing your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

You cried more feeling the contractions starting, "this one's stronger can't you feel it?"

He whispered holding your hand tighter,

"I can't feel anything! It was nothing like when i had our son" shaking your head you let out another painful cry fearing for your little elf to hear,

"There's a battle field, a war difference between these two,"

Holding his shoulder in your hand you placed the other hand on your bump to force a pressure on it,

"I'm not the same as i was, my body is not the same, i can't" it was healed but your body was still carrying the scars and your mind was no better, unable to process the importance of the life you were delivering.

Giving it all your energy you started pushing as the maiden rubbed your sore spine,

Screaming with pain your hand drop to the headboard of the bed as another maid reached you.

The windows were all open since you were sweating your gown wet and between all the screams and cursing you heard your son crying from behind the closed doors and you could swear you heard him calling for you,

Searching for your husband you mouthed a please before looking at the door again, "Thranduil please, he'll cry to the point of fainting"

"Lady Y/n has a strong body my lord, you can go" an elderly woman said before turning his attention back to you, "i'll be back soon" you blinked for assurance, forgetting your pain for a moment

"Almost there my lady, just one more" squeezing the mattress in your fist you gave in to just make this go away as soon as possible.

On the other side of the door Thranduil tried to comfort his first born, only to have him crying silently in his arms "can we go to nana now?"

"Soon we will dear one,"

"I don't like the baby" he stated playing with the pattern drawn on his father's collar, "may i ask why?"

"She's hurting nana, i saw her crying too it was for the baby in her" he mumbled not looking up at his father, "your nana is one of the strongest elves i've ever seen!" He said sitting on the edge of his chair putting his boy to sit on the table before him, "she fought in a battle so big! So brave. She's an excellent warrior with a talent you never seen when shooting an arrow"

Legolas was now mesmerised but his father's words, no sign of crying or tearing up

"A perfect fighter"

"Did she cried there too?" He asked curiously

"In the battlefield? No but she did cry after"

He whispered fixing the little boy's hair

"Don't tell her i said this!" He placed his index finger on his nose only for Legolas to repeat it afterward "i won't!"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He smiled in return when a knock on the door took both their attention, "my lord!"

"Y/n.." he said before standing up and running to the quarters where his wife was, he hesitated for a second before entering the room thinking about all the possible scenes he will face, not ready for any of them.

The doors flew open and the maid bow down smiling "so on time my king!" He let out the breath he was holding and walked towards the bed seeing you holding a wrap of cloth,

"Are you alright, meleth?" The whisper came out of his mouth weak but seeing your small smile was a relief, "i'm well, we both are"

Your head turned slightly to right pointing to the small creature in your arms, "it's a girl"

You cried looking back at him as he sat next to you looking at her more carefully, silver bright hair with two of the biggest blue irises ever seen, the perfect girl, your perfect girl.

"Her eyes are open!" He was surprised looking at you with a big smile

"She was so eager to be here my lord" a maiden said fixing the new gown around your shoulders

"Do you want to hold her?" You offered and he willingly accepted for his girl to be placed in his arms, "Legolas was right" you said placing your chin on his arm looking at the corner of the open door, seeing two eyes peaking inside.

You smiled leaning forward a little, "i wish Legolas was here, he knew how to treat my pains away" pressing your lips together you looked over one more time to see him still standing there, doubting.

Letting out a fake moan of pain and he was quick to run and approach you from other side of the bed, crawling to reach your frame, waisting no time he wrapped his arms around you and hugged you so tightly kissing your cheek,

"Uh my wonderful prince! You're here! Talking all my pain away" you said breathing in his sweet smell

Still holding you tightly his eyes wandered around, "is that the baby?"

"That's her," Thranduil said removing the cloth more to reveal her face.

Legolas reached his hand so carefully and touched the girl's forehead like how he did with your bump proving once more how much of an angle he is.

"What do we call her?"

You looked between them two asking,

"Melian,"

Your husband said staring at the girl in his arms, "since she is a precious gift, her name must be of the same value."

You smiled kissing his shoulder before resting your head on it.

[softdykellie]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ ivy | ellie w.

PAIRING: ellie x fem!reader

SUMMARY: although years have gone by, ellie cannot seem to get over the one that got away when a drunk night with friends lead to unexpected past places.

WARNING: somewhat nsfw and somewhat angst

WORD COUNT: 1.049

love, what’s it good for? a neurological con job, an excruciatingly slow but certain downwards spiral towards heartbreak– ellie was painfully aware of the sole two outcomes the feeling could possibly amount to, both of which meant agony ripping at her insides, a flesh eating beast doomed to haunt her ribcage as a lonely heart’s guard. she drowned out the sound of her cries permanently stuck in a lump between the clavicules with alcohol as though it would wipe her insides clean of romance’s remnants. five years was an eternity of time; she cursed the motherfucker who claimed time healed all wounds while hers remained too fresh for scabs. jesse was the one to pull her away from the destructive thoughts, a hand to the shoulder immediately flinched from.

“you know when we first became friends i lost a ten dollar bet ‘cause i was sure you’d be a fun drunk? two cups later you turned into fucking nietzsche or some shit. every time we go out just know i mourn my money”

ellie smirked in response before her body reminded itself why it has become that way.

eighteen year olds with raging hormones smuggling contraband to a half acquaintance’s garage party were the stupidest people allowed to carry hearts on their sleeve, always a truth or dare game away from confessing shakesperian feelings in stutters and chokeholds. your first kiss together was a seven minutes in heaven, where ellie swore she’d moved the empty bottle through newly acquired telekinesis.

she was cocky back then, careless too. entered the closet with a hand by your lowerback and so quickly crashed your lips together there was barely time to catch a breath. it was chapped, and desperate, and golden. she tasted of weed and every shooting star wish you ever made coming true, you tasted of cheap wine and candy rush on a five year old– your bodies pressed so close against eachother the wooden shelves trembled at the embrace. ellie used to be funny and you, god, you used to be made of giggles that put the sun to shame. she remembered your laugh into the kiss, the way it echoed down her throat, and that thought in its pureness lead to less holy memories of your moans, of how she used to rub herself against you till the wetness made you one, and her core ached. another sip of her drink to mask your taste still so effortlessly by her tongue through thought only she was sure to be going insane.

“you just need to get laid” jesse pointed out every attractive girl by the bar that drooled at her sight and blushed under her gaze, all predictable, none you. she wanted to get laid alright, she just needed it to be with you.

ellie remembered the last time you fucked; remembered the airport bathroom becoming increasingly smaller with every finger thrust, remembered whispering in your ear you would always be hers, remembered best of all you agreeing in hushed, choked out moans. you were late and you were wet dripping past your thighs, she licked you clean and savored it.

“found your little miss sunshine” dina struck her out of her thoughts so frantically ellie’s head spun even as she coaxed words to come out.

“what are you talking about?”

“her address. it’s wonders what one can do with a full name and the internet nowadays. it’s a five hour drive, if we get going now we’ll be there by two a.m for sure–“

“are you insane? what the fuck am i gonna do, ring my ex girlfriend’s doorbell at two in the morning half a decade after we last seen eachother and go hey i haven’t gotten over you since you left me five years ago to a new city, wanna get back together?” ellie mocked sincerely.

“i mean you don’t really have to do anything, we could always just stand there and think this whole thing was super funny tomorrow”

half a whiskey bottle in and two road trip! chants that coaxed the entire clueless bar of drunks to join in unknowingly later, it was a mostly convincing idea. that’s how she lost a hundred bucks to an unknown chatty bartender newly designated driver who had nothing to lose but a job shift and spent the next hours of her life being sobered up by dina’s relentlessly flirting towards the girl. ellie wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, only noticed jesse’s shoulder beneath her cheek poking her face as to wake her up once the car was at a full stop, anticipation bouncing off of every member of the drive choking her in anxiety now fully soberly aware of her actions.

the neighborhood was different, quiet, green. it was odd knowing your exact house despite never being close to it before– she knew by the garden, infested of dandelions. you called them the wishing flowers and teared up when ellie told you they were actually weeds. you two had planned a dandelion filled front porch together, and there you were, living it alone. she felt pathetic, letting the feeling sink to the pit of her stomach, refused to get out of the car and finally had her arguments interrupted by a loud meowing. and saw you. messy hair left to roam free, mismatched socks, an oversized band t-shirt, her t-shirt, and nothing else.

“joel” you cooed, raising the impatient and loud kitten up towards your arms and it nuzzled onto your tired face “you have to stop leaving in the middle of the night okay? i can’t keep waking up like this”

ellie was frozen in place, watching your every move. your baby voice so soft she barely heard it from parking, the softness of your touch melting even a cat into submission, the way you had not changed one bit immediately transporting her into the past. the spell she had been under to observe you endlessly having only been broken by the front seat window rolling open noisily, though not fast enough to stop the wreckage coming as dina opened her mouth, inconsequential.

“hey, miss sunshine! i got your ex girlfriend in the back!”

your eyes met. the kisses, the taste, the skin, the caressing, the warmth, the words, the foreheads, the flowers, everything rushed back.

“els?”

[author-morgan]

Title: Dragonknight  Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: Even darkness seeks the light, or in which Daemon considers you his northern star —his guiding light.  Warnings: Typically Westerosi shenanigans.

HE LOWERS THE blunted training sword and frowns as you bolt down the steps of the tower and around Ser Ryam the Dragon —not wishing to be the fair maiden in need of saving again. Instead, you take up another sword, too big and heavy, and stand stalwart in your choice. Prince Daemon Targaryen nigh pouts. He’s meant to be brave and valiant and save his lady from danger. “How am I to be your dragonknight if you won’t let me save you?” He laments.

“Two swords are better than one against this fearsome foe,” you tell him, but the game is already over then.  

Ser Ryam Redwyne laughs and rises from his haunches, feeling the ache in his aging joints —Clement Crabb told him it was his turn to entertain the prince and his coconspirator. At least then it would keep the pair out of too much trouble. “She is not wrong, my prince,” he remarks. Even a knight of the Kingsguard has brothers-in-arms, seeking and accepting help does not make one less of a man or less of a prince.

“You make a fine dragon, ser,” you note, remembering your courtesies.

Ser Ryam Redwyne smiles at your compliment. “Thank you, my lady,” the Kingsguard knight says, giving a half-bow to you and Prince Daemon before taking his leave to rejoin the king.

Florence Fossoway enters the courtyard, passing Ser Ryam, with her hands clasped in front of her golden-rose belt. “Prince Daemon,” she greets, lowering her head in veneration before turning her attention to you —a rowdy girl who’d rather frolic about the Red Keep and the streets of King’s Landing with Daemon Targaryen instead of practicing her stitches and letters. Your mother’s lips purse into the slightest of frowns, recalling the conversation the prior eve with her lord husband and your father, Martyn Tyrell. Soon you’ll be too old to partake in such churlish activities. The prince may be able to do as he pleases, but you will not. “It’s time for your lessons,” she reminds you. Sewing, reading, writing, and learning the harp, among other things —all of which are considered comely talents in a good wife.

THE SUN’S WARMTH shines through the canopy of summer foliage to the forest floor of the Kingswood, painting a halo of light around where you and Daemon lay, looking skyward at the passing clouds. It’s a rare thing of late, being able to spend time with him. Too often, duties and lessons keep you and Daemon separated now that you’ve grown older —not quite children any longer, but not yet adults in the eyes of the lords and ladies of the court.

Still, you’ve heard the whispers about what the small council speaks of, and so has Daemon. He sees how you worry in silence, though —always twisting your hair or picking at the skin of your palms, always trying to be a good and dutiful daughter for House Tyrell. But now, more than ever, the whispers are no longer uncertain truths or mere rumors, and in the past weeks, a heavy weight has settled on your chest and shoulders.

You’ve grown quieter as time passes, and the midmorning fades into the afternoon. Daemon looks at you and frowns when he sees unshed tears budding in your eyes. He reaches for your hand, twining his fingers with yours, and squeezes. He’s always been your dearest friend, your dragonknight. "We’ll always be together.” You want to believe him —he sounds so certain of it. “I won’t let anyone take you.” That makes you smile, but Daemon still sees your doubt. “I’m a prince, remember?” And soon to be a dragonrider, he thinks. No one would be able to stop him then. He would be able to whisk you away to the far reaches of the land —places you’ve only ever imagined in stories. 

“Promise?” It’s a trembling whisper. 

“On the Old Gods of Valyria,” he swears, then looks back to the sky and the creeping storm clouds. “One day we can go there,” he says, voicing his thoughts aloud, “on dragon back.” He’s told you about Caraxes —the Blood Wyrm— and Aemon’s former mount. A wild, unpredictable beast with a will strong as any Targaryen’s, but Daemon’s always had an eye for Caraxes. The dragonkeepers oft let the prince into the great dome to see him and the others, though he’s yet to take the Blood Wyrm for his own mount. But soon he will and you’ll both be able to fly high and far and free.

THE HOUR IS late when he knocks on your chamber door, and it rouses you from an ill-fated attempt to sleep. “Daemon?” His silver-white hair is mused from flying, his tunic and pants ruffled too —as though he’s run from Rhaenys's Hill. You pull him from the hall and into your chambers by his sleeve. You’re both too old now for him to come to you in the night —people at court will talk if anyone sees, and the walls of the Red Keep have both eyes and ears.

“I leave in the morn to help Lord Dondarrion stamp out these rumors of an unruly brotherhood in the Dornish Marches,” Daemon tells you. You’ve heard your father speak of those rumors in the prior weeks, even if he doubted the claims —King Jaehaerys’s reign is marked by peace and prosperity. Lord Baelon says he’ll be granted knighthood and the Valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister, for quelling the disturbance. “Though, before I leave–” he opens his fist to reveal a glittering white stone strung on a finely crafted rope of silver. “It was meant for your nameday celebration,” Daemon explains, the feast is to be held in a week’s time, and he knows he will not return from the Stormlands so quickly.

He holds up his gift so you can see the finer details —how the dragon’s claw curls around the stone, stamped with a hundred tiny scales. It lifts his heart to see you smile and even more so when you turn away from him, gathering your hair to the side so he may drape the necklace over your head and fasten the clasp.

The firelight catches the gem, and it twinkles around your neck as a star pulled from the heavens. It’s what you are to him, what you’ve always been —a star. A guiding light to pull him from the darkness. Daemon steps toward you, nigh closing what little distance remains, and he reaches for you, the backs of his fingertips brushing along your neck and jaw. “Iksā ñuha qēlos,” he breathes, tender as any caress. The weight of the world lifts from your chest, and Daemon can still see the gleam of childhood memories in your eyes.

“Se iksā ñuha zaldrīzes azantys,” you tell him, slowly, enunciating each word, still uncertain you are speaking the old Valyrian tongue correctly. Daemon smiles for you, his exhale a breathy laugh before he rests his forehead against yours —you’d do almost anything to live in this moment for eternity. But time does not stop for a fool’s desire. His lips, thin and wind burnt, ghost over your forehead, then linger there before he steps back to take his leave.

You stop him before he can go, hand loosely curled around his forearm. Daemon turns back and finds your lips on his —hesitant, but soft and sweet. But it’s over too quickly. “For luck, my prince,” you explain, not wishing to meet his gaze as you feel warmth rush to your cheeks in the aftermath of such a reckless action. The prince’s fingers curl beneath your chin and he surges forward at the same time. His kiss tugs at the corners of your heart, leaving you to shatter when his hands, now splayed across your back, draw you closer. And when your arms twine around his shoulders, Daemon’s certain he won’t ever be able to let you go.

LEANOR FLIES TO the Driftmark astride Seasmoke and beckons you to accompany him back to the Stepstones —for Prince Daemon has won the war, but he has not done so unscathed and there is only one person he wishes to see. They call him a madman and they hail him as a hero as you move through the victorious war camp. There are tales of how he slew twenty men, how it was only the three arrows that slowed him, but even still he cleaved the Crabfeeder in two. A maester exits the tent, his pale robes stained with blood. “How is he?” You ask.

But the voice that answers in the maester’s place is familiar, albeit rougher than usual and still laced with pain —the last dose of milk of the poppy has yet to take its numbing hold. “Come ask him yourself,” Daemon groans, recognizing your voice and shadow.

One of Corlys’s men draws back the flaps of the patched tent for you to enter. He lies on the cot, torso bound in linen strips speckled with blood, and his hair still a knotted mess of dried filth from the battle. Daemon means to sit up, but you stop him with a firm hand pressed to his shoulder and kneel at his bedside instead. “Issa sȳz naejot ūndegon ao.” It’s been many long months since you’ve last seen him —and even then, it is only fleeting moments on Dragonstone or at Driftmark before he returns to war and uncertainty.

Daemon reaches for you, his rough fingertips trailing across your cheek and jaw, then down to your neck and the silver chain resting there. You’ve scarcely parted from his gift since receiving it —letting it serve as a reminder for all those at court that your heart already belonged to another. The stone pendant still shines like a star even after the years, just as you do, always guiding him home. You take his hand and kiss his bruised and cut knuckles. “Ñuha qēlos,” Daemon whispers, and it sets your heart aflutter all over again.

It’s instinctive to lean into him when he pushes himself from the cot. Then he kisses you until the cold sea breeze falls away and your body sings with warmth —kisses you until he feels something melt inside him that nigh hurts in some strange, exquisite way. It’s all his longing and dreams and sweet anguish, and it all transforms into something enchanting, and when Daemon parts, everything makes sense once more —feels right once more. He lays back, grimacing. The Crabfeeder’s arrows struck deep. Daemon takes a long, slow breath, his eyes burning into you. “Avy jorrāelan,” he says, and he’s a fool for not saying it sooner. You kiss the corner of his lips in response, for you’ve already spake your love for your dragonknight.

“I mean to take the Stepstones as mine own,” he tells you. They will call him King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea, and he will make his own mark on Westeros and the world beyond. But the stone seat and his bed will be cold without someone to share it with —he needs a queen to share the title and burden with. Daemon holds onto your hand and holds it close to his heart. “We can be together.” Together, you smile at the thought and rest your head on his chest. Together is all you’ve ever wanted. 

High Valyrian translations: Iksā ñuha qēlos. - You are my star. Se iksā ñuha zaldrīzes azantys. - And you are my dragon knight. Issa sȳz naejot ūndegon ao. - It is good to see you. Ñuha qēlos. - My star. Avy jorrāelan. - I love you.

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[pocketramblr]

If ask game still up:

Au where One for All works like Doctor Who regeneration

Oh this gripped me

1- Yoichi died in the vault. His brother got too busy and far to make sure Yoichi ate, and he starved. He didn't stay dead.

Yoichi fades in golden energy, and then is in a new body: an angry body, a soldier's body, a body that can fight. His hair is vibrant and spiky, and doesn't look related to AfO anymore. He tears himself out of the vault and runs.

2- AfO kills the Second life of his brother, thinking this will force him back. Instead, he regenerates again. His hair is longer and lighter, but he's still strong and a fighter. This body is built for balance though, technique and not brute strength. The Third life of Yoichi remembers, and runs while his brother is distracted. He continues to fight, but he's smarter about it. Living so long will teach you that. When he's injured, he knows he can't get to a hospital. He limps into the woods to die instead, in the open air and under the sun, not a vault or battlefield.

3- his Fourth life starts young and lasts longer. He wants peace. He can sense danger, now, and he thinks if he had this earlier he would have never been trapped by his brother. But he also can't help himself from fighting, and eventually he leaves the safety of his hermit life. He's in awe to see heroes on the street, and distracted just long enough to let a villain kill him. This time, when the gold fades, his Fifth body is that of a confident hero who here to help.

4- he meets his brother again, who thought Yoichi was lost forever. AfO doesn't know it's him, until he tries to take blackwhip, such an interesting quirk. But he can't, so he tosses the hero aside and snaps his neck. He sees the glow start again and runs to get closer. This time, Yoichi regenerates into yet another hero body- but one who can hide, and his vision is obscured by smoke before he can reach him. Yoichi escapes.

5- On his seventh life, he regenerates into a very different body, but finds it's not as dysphoric as he'd have expected. He decides he could take gender or leave it either way, but it's quite nice to be pretty again. She falls in love, and is sure her brother won't find her in this body, he didn't see the last regeneration. But somehow, he catches AfO's attention anyway, annoying him in just the way siblings can. She's killed, and even in the bright light if the explosion, AfO would know that gold anywhere, a younger hero boy darting out to grab Torino and flee. This is Yoichi's eighth time around, and he's stronger than ever. He grieves more for his husband and son than his brother. She's going to kill AfO, if it kills her too.

+1- finally, he does it- AfO falls dead, and as All Might, he does too a moment later. The difference is that he gets a wave of light, and finds herself in a much smaller body. A young child, not unlike his last glimpse of Kotaro. Perhaps nine years old, and cute if not noteworthy in appearance. A child, marking a band new life now that he's free of AfO. He leaves the battlefield, and wonders what cover name he should use this time.

He's gone before AfO's body starts sparking gold too, changing. Returning. Regenerating.

[lucywrites02]

The game of cat and spider chapter 2: Nice running into you!

Main Masterlist | The game of cat and spider Masterlist | Miguel O'hara Masterlist | AO3

Miguel O'hara x black cat! Reader (gender neutral)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

A/N: Here we are with another chapter! This bad boy *slaps the fic* can fit more than 3k words in it. This chapter is about them meeting as normal people UWU. It includes: Miguel in a compression shirt, a cat who terrorises your apartment and coffee. <3. *swings a pocket watch right in front of your eyes* "If you see any grammar mistakes... no you didn't xoxo

Have fun and let me know how you liked it!

If you want to be added to the tag list, just send me an ask :)

Series Summary: You are a criminal and he's a hero. You don't know each other's names, never seen the person behind the mask. You aren't enemies- you are supposed to be but that didn't work out quite well. You liked each other a bit too much, but your relationship was strictly…. Professional? What happens if you meet as normal people, with no masks and responsibilities in your way? What did the universe plan for you? And most importantly…. Will it last?

Miguel woke up to the silence of his apartment. The very first sun rays of that day shone through the curtains the man forgot to close last night. The golden hues embraced his tired face, making the man squeeze his eyes and groan.

The rest of his room was engulfed in darkness, just like Miguel liked it. The walls were painted the same shade of blue one could see in the clouds right before it started raining. He didn't have many things in his bedroom- just a queen sized bed covered with black satin sheets and a small nightstand table with an electric clock on it. Not even a lamp. O'hara only used this room for sleeping so he didn't have many things in there. He would only sleep in his own bed if he didn't fall asleep in his lab. Or collapsed on the couch after a long day. Some nights he didn't sleep at all. That's why he didn't see a point in decorating the place.

Miguel sat up, placing his feet on the cold wooden floor. The numbers on the clock read 6:30 AM and the man knew he wouldn't get any more sleep. He stood up, adjusting his white sleeping shirt and slowly walked to the opened window that he also forgot to close last night.

Thankfully no one would even think of breaking into his apartment since it's located on the 10th floor. He pushed the heavy grey curtains away, letting more light inside and just stood there for a while, looking at the city below him. Even though it was early in the morning he could see the crowds of people on the streets. He could hear the sound of cars speeding down the highway. Sometimes Miguel liked to make up stories about those people and their lives. Maybe the couple eating breakfast outside that little bakery just got married and decided to spend their honeymoon in Nueva York. What if that taxi driver that almost didn't stop at the red light is secretly a famous poetry writer?

Miguel knew those stories were stupid and didn't make any sense whatsoever, but it was the only thing to get his mind off of his… loneliness. It never worked because watching people living their lives and being happy only made him feel even more alone.

He ran his hands through his messy brown hair and decided that he needed a better distraction. A good jog could probably make things better. There was a park 20 minutes away from his home that he liked to visit- a secluded area on the west side right by the river. It was one of his favourite spots in this neighbourhood. Miguel didn't even bother to eat breakfast or make coffee- he just took a quick shower, put on his dark red sweatpants, black compression shirt and a hoodie that matched his pants. Ever since he became the spider-man he invested in some good noise cancelling headphones because his heightened senses couldn't handle the constant stimulation that the outside world provided. He took them with him every time he left home- as a civilian, not a hero. Miguel wasn't in the mood for music so the only thing playing through the headphones in his ears was some white noise.

He shrugged and decided that it was good enough for now. The last thing he needed were his sunglasses- he would surely get a migraine if he got out in this sun with no protection against the light. He had a favourite pair that he took everywhere with him- ordinary wayfarers with tinted glass. They looked exactly like his regular reading glasses and Miguel loved them. The man sighed heavily when he couldn't find them and put on his black baseball cap instead. He has to start putting his things in places he can find them again, but that seemed like a problem for later.

"LYLA, I'm going out. Turn on the security."

The man called, not bothering to hear the robotic response of his digital assistant and closed the door behind him. He waited for the silent 'click' to make sure LYLA did what he asked. The artificial intelligence he created was in the testing phase and he still had to supervise it. It was a simple AI- Miguel gave it his vocal command and it did the job. So far the system has been running great, but there was still something missing, Miguel just couldn't figure out what. The AI was supposed to be his assistant, but Miguel felt weird when he talked to it and expected to have an actual conversation only to be met with silence. His social skills weren't the best and he knew it was stupid to even think that way, but he really wanted this AI- his creation- to be human enough to speak with him like a normal person. He wasn't sure how he could accomplish it. Maybe he would get some good ideas after his little workout. Now that he thought of it he cringed, knowing he was so desperate for social interactions he made an AI he could talk to. Even though the system wasn't that well developed yet.

He jogged at a slower pace down the road leading to the main area of the park. The mornings were getting more chilly as the seasons were changing. The trees were still green- it would take a few more weeks for them to adapt to different weather and turn different colours- and it actually made Miguel smile a bit. He wasn't a fan of fall. It was rainy and depressing. And he knew that winter came after fall which meant spending another holiday alone. Which caused more depression, of course. But now wasn't the time to think about the future.

Miguel jogged to the secluded area of the park and started running faster. It was almost a sprint as if the velocity of his steps could make the thoughts in his head disappear. It didn't.

What did make his thoughts stop racing however, was someone's body colliding with his broad frame.

Your day couldn't have started better. That statement was purely sarcastic of course because you woke up to the sound of a ceramic pot crushing into the tiled floor of your kitchen. You immediately jumped out of your bed, forgetting about the ache in your thigh and headed to the source of all that noise. The pieces of soil and terracotta were scattered across the room and you wanted to just lay down in all that dirt and cry. Your cat however was sitting down on the highest shelf in your kitchen - meant only for your poison ivies -looking pretty pleased with herself.

"I hope it was worth it because you just lost your snack privileges." You scolded your furry companion as you cleaned the floor. You took one of the biggest mugs you had and put the remaining of your plant in it. "She won't hurt you again, I promise." You spoke to the plant and gently caressed the leaves. The mug would have to suffice until you get a new pot. After throwing out all of that dirt to the trash and mopping the floor you finally took a glance at the clock hanging on your wall and groaned. It was barely 6 AM and you were already on your feet.

Well, you couldn't go back to sleep now. You weren't tired anymore. It would help if you had something to make you busy, but there was literally nothing to do. Your dishes were washed and your laundry folded. The cat has been fed and her litter box cleaned. You always did those chores at night so that your morning would be more enjoyable. But now you were yearning for some tasks.

You pushed the white curtains in your kitchen to the side, letting the morning sun into your apartment. The sticker you put on your window created beautiful rainbow areolas on the sage green tiles on your wall. You loved mornings like this even if they started on a more chaotic note. You went through your routine like always- it was your day off so you settled on more comfortable clothes. Sweatpants and hoodie was the best combination for a lazy day. Your wound didn't hurt as much as it did last night and it made moving around easier than you thought.

You spent months making your apartment feel like home and it really did feel like it. But in moments like this- sitting on the balcony all alone and looking at the people on the streets with a deep longing for some sort of connection- you felt lonely. You had Migsy who was more than happy to keep you company, but he wasn't a human being who could give you a hug after a long day at work or kiss you goodnight. You were desperate for a genuine and meaningful human connection.

People you called friends were actually just your co-workers or people you regularly interact with at the grocery store- people who had their own family and real friends to come back to after a long day at work. You gave up on dating a long time ago and the only person who made your heart skip a beat was a guy in a red-blue latex suit whose job was to send your ass to jail. It was fun to flirt with him- especially ever since he actually started to flirt back- but you knew it wasn't…. Real. It wasn't someone who would want a relationship with you. How would that even work? You always felt more confident behind your mask. But the person you were while wearing your costume wasn't really you. It was a character you created to make your life easier and if someone liked the black cat they would be so disappointed when they realise who has been hiding behind that mask. So if the spider-man harboured any sort of affection for the black cat, he wouldn't have the same feeling for the real you. That's why you would never take this 'relationship' seriously. You liked the flirting, but that was it. Because he wouldn't…

Your thoughts were entertaining a dangerous territory and you had to find a good distraction. You couldn't stay at home- this apartment even though it was your little sanctuary, reminded you of how alone you actually were.

Hmm, since your thigh wasn't hurting too much, maybe you could go on a quick walk to your favourite bakery in the park nearby. You could get breakfast there and maybe buy some flowers for yourself on your way back. Yeah…that sounded like a plan.

You made sure to pack some things into your little backpack before you went out- just the essentials like your wallet, the keys to your apartment and a sketchbook you always took with you. You styled your hair a bit before you left to look less messy and smiled when you were satisfied with the outcome.

"I'm going out, Migsy." You gave your cat a little kiss on the forehead before you put on your headphones. "Please don't terrorise any more plants while I'm gone" Your little angel meowed at you in response which made you giggle.

You left your apartment complex and chose a fitting playlist. You picked up your pace to match the beat of the song and headed to the park. There was a path along the river on the west side that was perfect for morning walks. There was a small coffee shop around the corner that you had to stop by before you could continue your little journey. You could smell the freshly brewed beverages from a mile and you knew your day would be bad if you didn't stop by to get a drink. Coffee was like a nectar for your soul and you couldn't deprive yourself of this small happiness.

The baristas behind the counter knew you and your order very well since you were one of the regulars so they started preparing your favourite drink the moment you stepped inside. They didn't try to start a conversation with you and it only evoked a deeper feeling of loneliness. Even though you interacted with those people plenty of times you still weren't worthy enough for them to even try and make some small talk. Maybe you were overthinking the interaction too much- they did smile at you when they saw you walk in and even waved at you. But you just couldn't help yourself and had to analyse every move of their muscles to make sure they didn't secretly hate you. You left the shop as soon as they handed you your order, trying to calm down. You hated when that happened- when the anxiety overwhelmed you so much you couldn't think properly.

You didn't even notice when you entered the main area of the park, too focused on your coffee and the music playing through your headphones. And you surely didn't notice a stranger running in your direction.

"I am so sorry!" Miguel quickly apologised, ripping his headphones off his ears. "Are you okay?" He looked down at the person sitting on the ground right before him. He felt so stupid for running into you and if you paid enough attention you could see how red his cheeks have turned.

You looked up at the stranger and groaned in pain. You were thankful that the coffee wasn't hot because you would have to add burns to the list of your injuries. The drink ended up all over your clothes and you had to try your hardest not to cry in front of a stranger this handsome. Wait-

"I should have paid more attention, I am really really sorry." The man kept apologising. Miguel's face was burning with embarrassment. He felt so bad for bumping into you and he knew it probably hurt a lot- colliding with all those muscles of his surely wasn't the best experience.

"I'm good." You smiled awkwardly, readjusting your wet hoodie that stuck to your skin. Miguel gave you his hand to help you up. "It's okay, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been thinking about so many things at once..."

Miguel's brown eyes finally met your gaze and the man thought about something bizarre. Your face seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He had the feeling he had met you before, but he wasn't sure, and it was driving him crazy. However, he shook his head and pushed the thought aside. Millions of people lived in the city and it was actually very possible that he had seen you before and simply forgot about it. But if that was the case why did he feel like there was something more to you than meets the eye?

"Are you okay though?" You asked, looking down at the coffee stains on your clothes. It will be a pain in the ass to clean later.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He gave you a small smile. "Are you sure you're okay? I kinda feel like you might have gotten hurt, it felt like a pretty harsh fall… and I'm sorry about the coffee, too…" He looked concerned as he looked at your face for a second, before looking elsewhere- anywhere but your eyes- as he scratched his neck.

Miguel could have sworn he has seen you before. Or maybe he didn't. But if you truly were a stranger how could he explain that weird feeling deep inside him. Or maybe you were just so pretty his brain had to somehow rationalise this foreign attraction towards you. Aaagh, he should stop making a fool of himself and stop overthinking this interaction!

"It hurts a bit, but I will be fine." You replied. The man standing before you was much taller and - you hated yourself for thinking about the person you just met that way- very very handsome. Which only made you even more embarrassed once you realise how you must have looked. "I can always get another coffee later so don't worry about that."

"I…i-i w-" The stranger stuttered, fiddling with his fingers as he spoke. He took a deep breath before he continued. "I feel bad for bumping into you. Could I maybe… make it up to you somehow?" Miguel's heart was beating against his chest like a hammer as he was stumbling on his own words. "I could buy you another coffee." He proposed and cringed, thinking he sounded desperate. "If that's fine with you, of course…."

He wasn't sure what took over him because he knew he wouldn't ever do something like that for any other person. He would probably just apologise again and run in the other direction, hoping he will never have to see that person ever again.

"I don't think I want another coffee right now" You giggled in response. "But thank you for the proposal, Mr…"

"Oh, it's Miguel." The man mumbled, giving you his hand to shake.

You introduced yourself as well and chuckled. "It was nice running into you." You joked and cringed internally. But the stranger- Miguel- actually laughed. Not giggled, laughed.

He let go of your hand to cover his mouth and cleared his throat, trying to hide his smile.

"So, you were going for a morning jog, too huh? Where were you heading, if you don't mind me asking?" The man spoke. He really wanted this little interaction to last longer.

"Yeah, I wanted to relax a bit and decided to take a walk. I was heading to the bakery down the street" You explained. "I didn't expect to be swept off my feet like that though." You felt comfortable talking with Miguel. It's as if the two of you knew each other already.

"I am really sorry about that." Miguel repeated. "If there's anything I can do to make it up to you…"

"You could give me your number" You suggested and mentally slapped yourself. You had no idea where this confidence came from and you started to get nervous. "So that you can take me ou- BUY me another coffee." You continued your mumbling and chucking awkwardly. "Because you spilled mine." Definitely not because you wanted to see him again.

Miguel smirked down at you and took out his phone. He didn't want to admit it, but he was as excited as he was nervous. The one time he decided to go out he bumped into some stranger, making them fall down, spilled that person's coffee all over them and then somehow managed to get their number? Migiel wasn't sure what he did to be this lucky, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

He handed you his phone with his number on the screen, so that you could type it into your own. You saved his contact as 'the guy who owes me a coffee'. Miguel saw that and chuckled again.

"I sent you a text so that you can have my number as well." You cleared your throat and inhaled deeply when you noticed how close the two of you were standing. "I guess I will see you around, Miguel."

"I guess you will." He saved your number in his contacts before he showed his phone into the pocket of his pants. "It was nice bumping into you. And I hope the other people will pay more attention to the road than I did." He scratched his neck and took a step back to create more space between you. "Wouldn't want you to spend any more time falling down." Miguel winked at you and slowly jogged away, not waiting for your response.

He made sure that he was out of your view before he stopped to slap his forehead. He still felt bad for running into you, but thankfully, he didn't feel any awkwardness like he did in the beginning. But for the love of God, why did he have to wink at you?

Tag list: @serpentstarr @bucketluvr @nxrdamp @strangeobsessed @atlaincorrect @rorel1a @saturnknows @onfuis @spicysleepysloth @levisbebe @ok-boke @keepitreal001

[abibliophobiaa]

for your one word prompts i’m going to cheat and pick two, sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’d like a smutty steve harrington with the words : good girl 😌

fwb king!steve harrington x fem!reader. p in v smut and a little angst if you blink because unrequited feelings slipped in. 18+ (900 words)

——

It happens like this more often than you would like to admit.

You and him at a party.

Him, with his dumb ass sunglasses on, peering out over the crowd—in search of you, if you’re honest with yourself.

Bodies shift to and fro with the music around you, hands full of red cups, bathing suits of all kinds on full display. In the pool you catch the beginnings of a game of chicken; two girls on the cheerleading team on the shoulders of some of the basketball boys.

But your eyes always end up on one boy.

Steve Harrington.

Annoyingly full lips, those two kissable birthmarks on his tanned face, bare chested and gleaming in the sunlight. As if he attracts the sun itself, bathing him in a golden hue that dances off the line of his abdominal muscles.

On your right, Tina is telling you about her current dating escapades. All waving hands and frantic movements, lip gloss freshly applied glistening off her rapidly moving lips. And even so, your eyes wander. Her voice fades into the background, muddling with the music spilling out from the speaker system in the backyard.

Steve tips his cup and dips his head toward the garden gate. A sign, if you’ve ever seen one. Lip curling into a grin, he slips out the gate and you return your focus to Tina, offering her words of encouragement before asking her to hold your drink.

After that, it’s a rush across the front yard. A rapid tap of flip flops as you dart around the side street, finding Steve Harrington leaning his back against his car door, head pointed up at the sky. He tosses his cigarette onto the ground, fingers carding through his hair, and folds his arms across his chest.

Waiting.

“They’ll be looking for us soon,” you mutter teasingly.

His eyes watch your hips sway as you approach, roam along your form as your fingers reach down to loosen the top button of your jean shorts. Steve’s arms drop from their position across his chest, barest brushes of his fingers curling around your hips, tugging you flush against his frame.

“Just means I’ll have to make the most of the few minutes we have.”

“You seem so sure of yourself,” you whisper, breaking off into a groan as he cups the back of your head in one hand, and wedges his fingers into your bikini bottom with the other. At the first teasing circle of his middle finger at your clit, he smirks, relishing in the moan that punches it’s way from your chest.

“What was that?”

“Fuck o-o-off.” Another moan, head rolling forward into his chest at the feeling of his thick fingers sinking into your slick center.

“Back seat,” he murmurs lowly, tipping your chin up and kissing you soundly. “Now.”

This part you know. The scramble out of your shorts. The toss of them onto the floor. The quick untying of his bathing suit bottom and a harsh tug downward to free his cock. The velvet feel of him, hot and heavy in your palm. The huff of his breath, the low groan, the whine as you sink down on him inch by inch.

“Always look so pretty like this,” he rasps, a kiss brushing your collar bone. It’s a slow grind down on him. The tops of his thighs hitting the backs of yours, that perfect thumb of his rolling practiced circles over your clit, always knowing what you like. “Fuck. Yes, baby. Just like that.”

Your pace hastens. Eyes on the watch he wears around his wrist, knowing you only have minutes. But then again, that’s all you’ve had these months. Stolen kisses in alleyways, under bleachers at games, in the locker room after his games. Frantic fucks in his BMW after class, late at night when everyone goes to bed on the weekends, at Lover’s Lake, hidden away amidst the trees.

Because it’s Steve.

Steve Harrington who doesn’t date.

Not really.

And neither do you.

Too focused on getting the hell out of Hawkins, trying to make it out there in the world, spread your wings and fly.

His breath is hot against your ear. A rapid pant of his praises and curses against your skin. The sound of your slick with every upward thrust up from beneath you. The tips of his fingers clutching at your hips, leaving those pretty bruises he’ll kiss better tomorrow.

But it’s these moments you pretend.

It’s in these moments, where your palm reaches out and slaps against the window, hips undulating, body rocking, head falling back, that nothing else exists but this feeling.

Whatever this is.

“Oh—oh, mmm, I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” Steve rasps, palm splaying over your bathing suit top. Over your heart. Then slides beneath, gliding over sensitive flesh, mouth swallowing your moan as he rolls your sensitive bud between his fingers. “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

The words have their desired effect, your orgasm striking like a bolt of lightning, his arm immediately coming up to hold you tight to his chest as he fucks up into you through it, his eyes pinching shut as his own release rushes through him.

Tomorrow, you’ll continue on with your normal lives. Him passing you in the hall, nodding his head, maybe flashing you a smile. Tomorrow you’ll slide a note in his locker, something cheeky, something flirty, doused in your favorite perfume. Tomorrow you’ll fall into his arms, and then his bed.

Today—today, though, you’ll pretend you don’t wish for more.

Because this is what you agreed on.

No feelings, just feeling.

——

[sunshine-theseus]

Midas' Touch

Cortnee Vine x Reader Summary: It's hard not to fall in love with a girl like that warnings: - not completely proof read. - i haven't written for fun in so long and i suck at knowing if i'm using the correct tense so i'm sorry about that😭

It's hot. Too hot to be doing much more than rondos and some light running for warm up before heading back to change into our kits and hear a few last words from Garrath.

And that's exactly what we do. Well, until I spot flaming red hair out of the corner of my eye as I'm heading back to the tunnel. The feature is familiar on its own, but odd when combined with the sky-blue jersey that adorns her.

A smile that could warm even the coldest of hearts is thrown my way and I stumble over the back of Holly's foot. I quickly apologise before scurrying back to the locker room.

I had only met Cortnee at the World Cup, when I got my first call up for The Matildas. We weren't close in comparison to people like Kyra and Charlie, but we roomed together and got to know each other reasonably well.

This was the first time I'd seen her since our defeating departure and I'm more nervous than I was during my debut. I had admittedly developed somewhat of a crush on her during the World Cup, but I'd managed to forget about it within the whirlwind of transferring back to the Brisbane Roar from Liverpool.

Until now.

~~~~~

I'm lining up when I spot Tameka approaching me with Harley, who is dressed in a number 13 Roar jersey that is 3 times too big for her. Before they get too far, Harley is running full speed into my open arms, giggling as I sprinkle her face with kisses.

Meeks was originally in the starting XI, but Garrath made the decision she would make a good boost after half time when players began to tire. That meant Harley was now my mascot, and I have no complaints because she'd the cutest little thing, unless she starts blabbering secrets. Which she tends to do, a lot, when she's excited.

"Are you sure you're okay with her? She can be a lot."

I smile softly at both of them.

"Of course it’s fine. She’s a sweetheart”, and with that, Tameka says goodbye and walks out to the sub bench with the others.

As I’m putting Harley back down so I can hold her hand on the walk out, I see the same flash of red hair pass by. I’m following her with my eyes when Harley tugs on my hand and whispers “Have you ‘n’ Cortnee kisseded yet?”

I can feel myself burning up, but simply shake my head no before grabbing her hand and following the rest of the team out onto the pitch as she giggles softly beside me.

~~~~~

It gets worse as we begin to shake hands with the Sydney. I’m last, and Harley’s starting to spew random words and facts she knows as we walk down the line. Cortnee is a mere metre away when Harley begins waving to her and jumping up and down, begging for her attention.

I shake Cortnee’s hand and I nearly choke at how beautiful she is up close. Her eyes are brighter than I remember, and her hair is golden under the burning sun, her freckles are like constellations and I nearly reach up to trace them.

But our greeting is cut short when Harley jumps into her arms and asks “is it hard being away from your girlfriend?”

Not a second later, Tameka has Harley in her arms again and Cortnee and I are blushing, but I’m moving onto the next person before we can say another word, trying not to look back at her as she jogs back and forth lightly before taking her position.

I don’t know how I forgot it. The rush of the pre-game had me occupied, but as I plant my feet on the ground, the fact I’m always her marker, even in scrimmages at camp, hits my like a truck and I know this may possibly be the hardest game I’ll ever play if I can’t get her out of my head.

~~~~~

I had been doing pretty well so far if I do say so myself. I’d managed to stay focused on the game and had converted a free kick from Sharn into a goal in the 27th minute that put us in the lead: 1-0.

But now my focus is beginning to waver, at possibly the worst possible moment. It’s the 88th minute and Sydney was just awarded a corner. We’re all gathered at the goal, marking whoever we could, to stop the ball that was about to come flying in, from crossing the line. But as I’m pushing back into the player behind me, I feel her hands on my hips and warm air hits the back of my neck.

I’m turning to tell her off, but my breath gets caught in my throat again. Why won’t she leave me alone. Let me focus on this game before smiling so sweetly at me and sending sparks through my body.

Cortnee cheekily nudges me forward as the ball curves through the air but I can’t stop myself from falling to the ground, my focus has been completely removed from the ball. And yet… I still manage to stop it as it rolls, or more so is kicked into my face rather harshly in an attempt for Sydney to score an equaliser.

A groan resounds across the pitch but I’m standing before the ref can try to call the medics over. I’m not letting a little ball to the face stop the game this close to the end, I’m exhausted and can’t take more than whatever added time we’ll already receive. Well, that’s what I’d like to think.

“Nice try Y/L/N but you know the rules! You’re getting checked for a concussion, don’t try to fight it.”

Such a nice lady, yet suddenly the bane of my existence.

The concussion assessment takes no more than 30 seconds, and by the time I’m running back on, we’ve started the (gratefully) 2 minutes of added time. The medics also add the fact I haven’t broken my nose but I will develop a nice bruise that may scare Harley and my niece and nephew for a few weeks.

~~~~~

I’m standing back in front of Cortnee when the final whistle blows, Brisbane won, we’ve won, 1-0. Before I can take off to hug and celebrate with my team, the bright hair and cheeky dimples are the only things in sight. And before I can try and comfort her for her loss, lips softer than I could have ever imagined, are pressing hard against my own.

I’m not sure I’d ever reacted faster than I had in that moment, grabbing her face while her hands wrap around my waist. But I pull back with a wince and lightly grab my nose.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since our first match at the world cup when you scored your first goal” she whispers softly.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first laid eyes on you” In that moment I think about how I’ve never seen someone as beautiful as her.

“Well, I guess Harley knew something we didn’t”.

“She knows to get what she wants. I think she secretly set us up”.

“The three-year-old?” I giggle and peck her on the lips.

“She has her ways”.

“Does this make us… girlfriends?” I quickly ask.

“I’d fucking hope so”.

I grab Cortnee’s hand and drag her over to Sharn, Tameka and Harley, the youngest of which has a cheeky smile as she screams “CORTNEE AND Y/N KISSEDED” and claps her hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT IS THE CUTEST FUCKING STORY EVER” Alex screams as we sit on the pitch, warming down from today’s training.

We’re back at camp for the Asian Olympic Qualifiers, and it’s the day before our match against the Philippines. Cortnee had wanted to have the physio check out her leg, the tension in her hamstring seeming to be causing her more grief than anyone wants, so I was sitting with Alex, Mini and Sam. It’s an odd combination but I’m glad to be getting to know more of the girls.

“That was actually fucking sickening. Kristie is going to love hearing it later.” Sam laughs at the mention of her own girlfriend.

“I genuinely think that was what Harper and Harley spent their time on all of last camp because she kept asking about you two as well. But it was about damn time.” The comment from Mini has me slightly shocked. Was there anyone who didn’t think we should get together?

Before I can ask anything, Tony is calling us to gather round to say some words and give us feedback before sending us back to the hotel. I’m standing on the end when two arms snake around my waist and a gentle kiss is pressed to the top of my head. I lean back into her but don’t say anything until we’re told to get going.

“What did she say?” I lean into her some more as we walk back to the locker room.

“It’s just a little tension, I’ll be okay to play tomorrow”

~~~~~

She most certainly was not okay to play. Cortnee was subbed on and within 10 minutes was back sitting next to me on the sub bench with an ice pack on her thigh.

To give her credit, the injury was predominantly from a collision on the pitch, but I was selfishly mad she didn’t tell me. So, while I held her hand as we took a lap around the pitch and signed shirts and took photos with fans at the end of the game, I didn’t talk to her.

Or in the locker room.

Or on the bus to the hotel.

Or at dinner.

Or as I watched her pack her bags and leave back to Sydney because she needed to start healing as soon as possible.

All I did was give her a peck on the lips and watch her uber drive away.

An hour later she texted me about a fan she’d met at the airport, who was shaking so bad she had to take the photo. I liked it but didn’t reply.

But now it was our final match day, and I don’t have Cortnee to have breakfast with, something that had become somewhat of a tradition for us whenever we could.

I have no clue as to why I’m so mad about it, but as I sat with Sam and Steph at breakfast, I knew I needed to at least call her and apologise. So I did.

The phone rings, almost too many times, but eventually the girl I love is staring back at me.

“I’m so sorry for ignoring you!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you!”

The lines are rushed out by both of us, probably louder than need be as I get weird looks from some of the girls.

“No no you have no reason to apologise Cort, I literally got so mad for no reason, I should be helping you heal not ignoring you!”

“I still should have told you, let you help me. I love you and you just want the best for me.” We’d never actually said those words. But I blurt them out before I can stop myself.

“I love you too!”

Everyone around me is giggling as I blush.

I look back to Cortnee on my screen. She’s out in her backyard, laying on the grass, her hair is splayed behind her, golden, touched by the hand of Midas. Her eyes are as blue ever, her cheeks rosy, dimples deep. Then I hear her laugh and I don’t think I could love anyone more because I’m melting in my seat as we quickly bid each other goodbye.

That night I play for her, and as we celebrate, Sam and I both call our respective partners together to let them know. And when we hang up I turn to Sam, unable to stop smiling.

“I’m going to love her forever.”