#square filled: rekindled love

[sapphireginger]

Title: Me & My Broken Heart - Chapter #5

Summary:

When Stiles’s eyes widened and a smile formed, Eli let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He hated how guilty his dad felt and figured that even if he was only fifteen going on sixteen, he could keep reminding his dad that he wasn’t alone anymore, that they had each other now. He could keep reminding his dad that he wasn’t the one at fault, neither of them was. It was like Aunt Mal said, the fault alone lied with Derek Hale, and he was the past, but this was the future.

“Great minds think alike,” Stiles said. “Those are my absolute favorite, my guilty pleasure.”

Eli couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah? That’s legit dad. I bet we have even more in common and we have lots of road to cover all of those things.”

Square Filled: Rekindled Love

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Warnings: None

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Steo [Stiles Stilinski + Theo Raeken]

Full AO3 Link

@thebo3bingo

Eli sought out Malia and told her what he overheard in the diner. The female coyote was furious, her own control slipping slightly, and she wished that she could raise her cousin from the dead just to kill him again. She sent Eli to see Jordan and then shifted to go after Stiles. His was a scent she would never forget, and it was easy to trace him to his old haunt.

Stiles was sitting on the outcrop, overlooking Beacon Hills, the silence calming him and the distance from a place of pain easing the tightness in his chest. He was drawing in a sketchpad when Malia softly padded over to him. He smiled softly without looking up, sensing who it was. “Hello, Mal,” he said softly. 

Malia pressed her nose against his stomach and then nuzzled her muzzle against his knee. When he finally looked at her, she gave him a toothy grin. 

The amber eyed man snorted and petted her with a gentle smile. “I should’ve known you’d find me.” Something in his expression shifted and Malia whined softly, her tongue flicking at the salty streaks forming on his cheeks. “Can I—”

He wasn’t even able to ask, but he didn’t have to as she already knew what he was asking for and quickly rested her head over his shoulder so he could bury his face in her fur coat. His arms wrapped around her and even if Malia could have said something she wouldn’t have. She kept silent as Stiles shook with silent sobs. 

The coyote had never seen her friend so broken down and it filled her with disdain once more for her cousin, but Derek was gone now and never again would he be able to hurt Stiles. So, she just let Stiles hold onto her and relaxed in the silence that she, like Stiles, found soothing.

✶ ✦ ⟡ ♥︎ ⟡ ✦ ✶

After what might’ve been minutes, or hours later, Stiles pulled back and averted his gaze as Malia shifted back. “Hey, Mischief,” she said after slipping on a pair of shorts and a tank top. 

“Hey, Maleficent,” he replied with a small grin at their usage of childhood nicknames.

“So…” Malia said and trailed off. “What do you say to you and Theo joining Jordan and myself for dinner?”

Stiles hesitated once more. “Will Eli be there?”

Malia nodded that he would and watched Stiles’s expression closely, glad she did, or she would’ve missed the longing look of hope. “My cousin was an asshole and is lucky I didn’t kill him first.”

“You sound like Theo,” Stiles said, wiping at his face, snorting when Malia made a face at the comparison. Stiles chewed his lip and fidgeted. “Does he want me there?”

“Are you serious?” Malia asked. “Of course, he wants you there, idiot.” The insult was said fondly and he knew that. So, Stiles didn’t take offense to it. “Stiles you’re his dad and no matter what Derek said or did, that won’t change. You won’t know unless you try.”

Knowing she was right, Stiles drew on his courage reserves and agreed, asking her to text him the address and a time before parting ways for the evening. 

✶ ✦ ⟡ ♥︎ ⟡ ✦ ✶

Saturday night came and Eli was anxious, pacing back and forth in the living room. 

Malia smiled at him. “You’re so much like your dad.”

Eli froze on the spot, spinning to face her and looked at the woman, searching her face for sincerity. “I am? Really?”

“Really, pup. It’s going to be okay.”

“How can you say that? Da—Derek lied to me and now my actual dad probably hates me. I lost nearly two decades of time with him all because of a lie. It was a lie, all of it and I was stupid enough to believe it.”

Malia shook her head and went over to him. She cupped his face, making sure he was looking at her. “You were a child, still are a child and the fault lies with Derek Hale alone. I’m sure, when the time is right, Stiles will answer your questions. He and Theo should be here soon.”

Eli nodded, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He scrunched up his nose as Malia let go and pouted when she ruffled his hair. Then, he voiced a question, something he had been curious about. “Who is Theo, Aunt Mal?”

Jordan popped his head into the room and quirked a brow at his wife, the hellhound wondering just how his mate planned to answer that question. 

When it seemed that she wouldn’t give an answer and had no idea whether or not she should attempt to offer one at all, Jordan stepped in. “Theo is a childhood friend of your dad’s. At one point, we believe there was more between them but after Stiles left, we don't really know what became of whatever was going on with them nor what became of Theo himself.”

“What about now?” Eli asked.

Malia shrugged. “Now? We have no idea. I mean, Theo was the one to call and get him here and I thought getting Stiles to return here to Beacon Hills would be an impossible feat but somehow Theo managed it. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more to them than we ever knew but it’s not our place to speculate and I know in time we’ll learn the truth.”

Jordan kissed her cheek and gestured to the stairs. “Wash up for supper, Eli. Your dad will be here soon.”

“Yes, Uncle Jordy,” Eli said. He waited until Jordan disappeared back into the kitchen before turning to face his aunt again. “Do you promise that my dad doesn’t hate me? Do you promise that he never will?”

Malia shook her head and pulled Eli into a hug. “Stiles doesn’t hate anyone. You’d have to hurt someone he loves for him to even come close to hating you. He’s here and he loves you. It won’t be easy but you’re his kid. That’s what matters most. You’ll have time now. I promise.”

✶ ✦ ⟡ ♥︎ ⟡ ✦ ✶

When Stiles and Theo arrived, it was just half past six in the evening. Both father and son were nervous but with Theo’s support Stiles knocked on the door and with Malia’s support Eli stood his ground when Jordan opened the door to usher in their guests. 

As soon as Eli laid eyes on his dad, he ignored everyone and everything else. Nothing else mattered and everything but his father faded to white noise becoming background and trivial. Eli trusted his instincts and once Theo had taken the bottle of wine from Stiles; Eli threw himself at the amber eyed man. The young were keened and whined as tears poured down his cheeks. “Ojciec!” he whimpered.

For a moment, Stiles was shocked, rooted to the spot. He had not expected such an embrace to occur nor to hear the Polish moniker roll off of his son’s tongue so easily but almost instantly, something inside him clicked into place.  Stiles wrapped his arms around his son and held him tightly, his eyes brimming with tears. He hadn’t held his son since the boy, the teen, was a newborn. Now, here he was embracing his fifteen year old son and though they had lost so much time, all that mattered was they were together now. 

As Eli continued to whimper, Stiles couldn't help the chittering sound he made to soothe the—his—young cub. “Shh. It’s okay, mały wilk. I’m here.”

“It’s not fair,” Eli whispered against his father’s chest. “I’ve lived my entire life without knowing you, fifteen years without knowing my dad. It’s not fucking fair!”

“Language,” Stiles chastened, his voice cracking with how reminiscent the scolding was to his own father. “Fifteen years is a long time, kiddo, but it is not forever. We have time now.” When Eli stilled in his arms, Stiles quickly amended his statement. “That is if you want that?”

“I want it!” Eli said adamantly, pressing his face harder against his dad’s sturdy chest, anchoring himself to the beat of Stiles’s heart, to the scent of family, pack and dad. 

“Then you shall have all the time that is within my power to give you.”

Ei looked up at his dad, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. There was a twinkle of hope in them, and he offered a watery smile. “Do you promise?”

Stiles nodded and gave a watery smile of his own. “I promise,” he said, whispering the vow against the top of his son’s forehead, burning his nose in the chocolate curls almost identical to his own. He was holding, hugging, and embracing his son. His son. His. 

Malia, Jordan and Theo gave them privacy, slipping into the kitchen to gather the food and dishes they would need. They had originally planned on eating at the dining room table but with how Eli refused to move from his place at Stiles’s side, clinging to his dad as if the man might disappear should he let go, they eventually moved everything to the living room. None of them minded where they ate, only caring that they all ate together. 

As Jordan and Malia took to the kitchen to clean up and wash dishes, Stiles finally relaxed, his eyes meeting Theo’s over a now sleeping Eli’s head. ‘Thank you,’ he mouthed.

Theo smiled, his cheeks pinking. ‘You’re welcome,’ he mouthed back.

✶ ✦ ⟡ ♥︎ ⟡ ✦ ✶

Three Weeks Later:

With the jeep packed and all the papers in order, Stiles bid Malia and Jordan goodbye. Theo had disappeared sometime after saying early the night before after saying goodbye and giving Stiles a bittersweet kiss. It hurt to feel abandoned again, but Stiles had his son to look after now. 

Speaking of—“Eli?”

“Over here, dad!” 

Stiles glanced over at the jeep and smiled. Said son was in the front seat, rifling through a wooden box, one of many they discovered while collecting Eli’s things from Derek’s house. Each of the wooden boxes held dozens of letters. It appeared that Derek had kept all the letters Stiles had sent over the years. The awe on Eli’s face upon seeing them, and the tears slipping down his cheeks, made rage flood through Stiles, on his son’s behalf. 

The fact that Derek kept every letter Stiles sent, kept every scrap of correspondence but had them hidden them from Eli made no sense. Why would Derek have kept them in the first place? The amber eyed man was grateful he never missed a chance to write to his son. Even if he never got them until now, at least Eli had proof that his dad loved him, has always loved him and always would love him. 

Still, Stiles was angry and felt betrayed by the alpha, especially when he learned that all of Derek’s promises were false and empty. At least Stiles could be grateful that the alpha wolf didn’t destroy the letters. Now Eli could see the proof with his own eyes instead of having to take Stiles’s word for it. Stiles was content with the knowledge that his son would now know for the rest of his life just how much his ojciec loved him, always had and always would.

The two were on the road by nine am and the Leaving Beacon Hills sign hit their rearview mirror around nine fifteen am. Stiles felt the tightness in his chest fading with every mile they put between themselves and that accursed town that had so deeply wounded them both.

Over the course of a couple hours, they talked, they talked a lot about anything and everything. Eli had so many questions for his dad and Stiles did his best to answer each and every one of them. The one he didn't know how to answer came around noon when they had stopped for gas. Stiles put the car in park and turned it off, but before he could get out, Eli asked said question and the question threw him off balance. “Dad? Are you in love with Theo?”

Stiles was frozen, unsure but he knew the answer even if he believed that he would never see Theo again. So, with a sad smile and a single tear slipping down his cheek, he nodded and cleared his throat. “Yes. I was in love with him before I had you and I guess once I fell, I never stopped loving him.”

He quickly got out of the car, unaware of his son’s gaze flitting between him and the backseat. He started to pump the gas and pulled out his wallet. “What kind of snacks would you like?” Stiles asked, feeling his gut churn with shame and guilt that he had no idea what his son loved to eat. 

Eli could sense his dad’s uncertainty as well as scent the rising guilt and shame. “How about Reese’s?”

When Stiles’s eyes widened and a smile formed, Eli let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He hated how guilty his dad felt and figured that even if he was only fifteen going on sixteen, he could keep reminding his dad that he wasn’t alone anymore, that they had each other now. He could keep reminding his dad that he wasn’t the one at fault, neither of them was. It was like Aunt Mal said, the fault alone lied with Derek Hale, and he was the past, but this was the future.

“Great minds think alike,” Stiles said. “Those are my absolute favorite, my guilty pleasure.”

Eli couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah? That’s legit dad. I bet we have even more in common and we have lots of road to cover all of those things.”

“We sure do,” Stiles replied with a wistful and hopeful smile. “Well, guilty pleasure Reese’s Penrith butter cups coming up for one father and one son. Could you keep an eye on the pump for me please?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Eli quipped with a salute. He beamed, his chest puffing out with pride when his dad laughed, and he watched as Stiles went inside to get them some snacks.

As soon as he was out of sight, there was a shuffling sound coming from under a blanket in the backseat. Suddenly, a nose popped out from the pile of fabric and Eli chuckled, snorting softly as he booped the black nose. “Let’s hope he doesn’t get too pissed at us. He still loves you, you know?”

The nose retreated under the blanket once more and Eli heard the creature whimper. “You love him too. I know you do. So, now’s your chance. Don’t let yourself live with never knowing. Rejection is better than regret.”

There was a bit more shuffling and then the whimpering turned to sighing as the blankets shifted to the side and a man slipped out of the car. Eli turned his attention to the box of letters once more, and tuned out the conversation that was sure to come as soon as Stiles saw just who had accompanied them.

✶ ✦ ⟡ ♥︎ ⟡ ✦ ✶

When Stiles returned, he nearly dropped everything, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide in shock. Theo was leaning against the side of the jeep, keeping an eye on the gas pump that was filling the tank. “Th-Theo?” he said softly, his hands shaking slightly, his grip turning painfully tight on the handles of the plastic bags. 

“Hey beautiful,” Theo says, blue eyes meeting amber eyes and a smile quirking on the coyote’s lips.

Stiles set the snacks down and threw his arms around Theo. “I thought–” he mumbled, his breath hitching as he buried his nose in Theo’s throat. He drank in the scent of the man he loved with every fiber of his being, thinking he had to be dreaming. “I thought you—I thought that—How are you—What are—I just—”

“I know,” Theo whispered and wrapped his arms around Stiles, kissing the man’s forehead. “I wanted to come but I didn’t want to push. You just reunited with your son and—”

“Our son,” Stiles cut in, halting Theo's words with a firm kiss, his tone one that said he wouldn’t budge.

Theo cleared his throat softly, emotional at the easy way Stiles once again stated such a thing as fact. “You just reunited with our son, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that reunion.”

“How are you here?”

Theo gestured to Eli who was smiling fondly at the two men. “Ask the little mischief.”

Stiles’s breath hitched and he looked to his son for an explanation. “Eli?”

Eli fidgeted and sighed. “Derek lied. I know that now. Plus, you love Theo, and he loves you. It’s obvious and anyone who doesn't realize it is just blind.” He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Besides, it’s the least I could do after all the awful things I’ve said and done over the years in regard to you.” 

It made Stiles’s heart swell with pride and love. “Thank you, Eli.”

“You’re welcome, Ojciec. Oh! Also, it’s a plus to have my Papcio coming too.”

Stiles nearly choked on his own spit and the action elicited a snicker from both Theo and Eli. “How did—”

Eli smirked, very reminiscent of Theo and tapped his nose. “Werefox, Ojciec.”

“Right. Of course.” Stiles glanced at the backseat and tilted his head. “Have you been in there, been in Roscoe, this whole time?”

Theo blushed and nodded, shrugging one shoulder. “Yeah. Well, Eli came to find me and snuck me in. It was easier to fit in my full shift form anyway. Coming with you was what I wanted, and I wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity. I would and always will follow you anywhere and everywhere for the rest of my life. I’m never leaving you again.”

“Are you staying with us then?” Stiles asked, hope blooming in his chest, but Theo left him once. Who's to say he wouldn’t leave again?

Warm hands cupped Stiles’s jaw, the gesture one of reassurance almost as if Theo knew exactly what Stiles was thinking. Stiles wouldn't be surprised if the coyote knew. Theo had always known Stiles’s mind nearly as well as Stiles did. 

So, as Theo rested their foreheads together, Stiles let himself believe the coyote’s next words, his next promise, to be true. “I never should have left you or abandoned you and I am sorry for what I did, but I’m here now and you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Never?” Stiles breathed.

“Never, little fox.”

Their lips brushed and they kissed as if they had all the time in the world. However, it didn't last long as Eli started laughing, sounding so much like Stiles when he did and then honked the horn. “Get in losers. We’re going home.”

With a smile and matching red cheeks, both men climbed back into the jeep, Theo taking shotgun now that Eli loved to the backseat surrounded by piles of letters. With them all settled the small family of three did indeed start driving home. 

Home.

They were all three a little broken in their own way, but together as a family, as a pack, the broken hearts, broken spirits and the darkness would be mended with time, love and by the strength of their pack bonds. 

The strings of golden light connecting all of them to each, reflected in the fox spark’s eyes, though if you looked at Stiles head on, you would think it was a trick of the light of the setting sun. That was okay though. 

Such things weren’t for you to see. They were for them, for their family, and for their pack. The bonds were for Stiles and Eli Stilinski and for Theo Raeken. All three of them were ready for and eager to see what the future held for their small pack, their small family of three. There would still be tears, there’d still be pain but so long as they had each other there would be no more me and my broken heart.  

[kairoot]

𝑴𝑶𝑶𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐊 — 西村力.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: during the village’s annual moon festival, the moon shines big and bright. legend says that it reveals a person’s true emotions under its light and can rekindle lost feelings. when you move to the little romance village, it’s bustling with talk of the festival and a famous local painter. deciding to see what the gossip was about, you attend said moon festival. but what happens when you run into this unknown artist under the moon’s light?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: niki x 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : fluff , s2l, soulmates (???), folklore kinda thing.. 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 : no 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : riki is kind of a loner .. ( 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 ) : special thank you to nini ^^ @flwrstqr for proofreading for me, I love u ♡︎. pls leave reblogs, they are much appreciated !! ♡︎ WC: 3.3K

**

THE VILLAGE SQUARE WAS a kaleidoscope of lights, colors, and laughter. Lanterns hung from just about every surface, casting a warm, golden glow over the cobblestone streets. The air was full of sweet scents, coming from every corner of the small town.

You weaved through the large crowd, taking in all of the sights and sounds. It was beyond anything you’d ever experienced. Being a new resident to the town, you couldn’t understand what all of the excitement was about over one festival but now you felt the same way everyone else did.

Melodic strains of the village’s music played, causing people all around to dance together, not caring if they were strangers to one another. You smiled, the sight somehow bringing you joy.

After walking a few miles, an older shop catches your eye. The traditional decorations hanging outside the tiny building, with a crescent moon sketched on the wooden door. You opened it to walk in, the small bell ringing as the door moved.

You were greeted with the sharp tang of an earthy aroma of dried clay and the rich smell of more wood from the easels, frames, and shelves. The subtle hint of fresh pencil shavings, and the crisp scent of new canvases waiting to be transformed.

A few employees smiled and waved at you, their kindness making you feel welcome as you got ready to explore this new environment. The store was quiet; the only noise being a few painters conversing with one another, the low traditional music that played in the background, and pencils or paintbrushes moving against the canvases.

You walked further into the shop, wandering around the shelves to look at different tools and paintings that had been hung up on display.

You ran your hand over the wooden shelf, another crescent moon etched into the dark surface.

This town is serious about the moon, you thought.

You continued your mini journey through the aisles, amazed by some of the artistry inside of them.

But a certain painting seems to pique your interest. You let your feet guide you to the image, captivated by the delicate brushstrokes that brought the scene to life. Just as you let your fingertips graze the painting, another hand brushed against yours. Startled, you pulled your hand away at the same time as the other person’s, causing the art to fall to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologize to the stranger, before you both chuckle at the small incident. The stranger crouches to pick the canvas up from the ground, holding it with a firm grasp.

You look up, only to see a much taller male in front of you, dressed in all black with a paint splattered apron tied around his waist. His eyes sharp but filled with surprise as he stared back at you.

His beauty captivated you in a way. In a way where you couldn’t even find your words or perhaps even start a conversation.

You both stood silently until he sucked in a breath, hesitant on whether he wanted to say something.

“So, uh—, arts’ your thing, too?” He glanced at the painting in his hands and then back at you, a gentle smile making its way to his face.

“I guess I’ve found it kind of interesting lately,” you beamed, feeling a bit more at ease. “What about you?”

“Yeah, uh, this is mine actually..” He trailed off. Your eyes widened in surprise, suddenly feeling guilty for the incident that had occurred a few minutes earlier.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to knock it down, I was just curious, and—“

He looked down, chuckling, “It’s no problem. I was thinking of chunking it anyway.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “But it’s way too good for you to just throw away like that.”

He shrugged, still smiling a bit. “I don’t know.. I’m just not too fond of it.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Why’s that? It seems really beautiful to me.”

He looked at you with a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. “Well, if you’re interested, you can make your own. I give mini-lessons from time to time. If you’re free, I’d be happy to show you some techniques.”

A smile crept onto your face. “I’d love that.”

“I’m Riki, by the way.” He extended his larger hand.

You shook his hand, the warm and firm grip making you feel as if you had butterflies in your stomach.

“Y/n.”

The sunlight filtered gently through the shop's windows, casting a warm, inviting glow over the art supplies and canvases. You arrived at the store a bit early, your excitement barely contained. Riki was setting up a small workspace in the back corner, his movements precise and deliberate. The room was filled with the rich scents of paint and wood, a comforting backdrop for the lesson ahead.

“Hey,” Riki greeted as you walked in, his smile making your heart flutter. “Ready for your mini-lesson?”

You nodded, trying to maintain a calm exterior but feeling a tingle of nerves. “Definitely!”

Riki’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he motioned for you to join him at the small table. “Alright, grab an apron and we’ll start with some basics. I’ll show you how to create depth and texture in your painting.”

You took one of the dark aprons off of the hook by the door and took a seat. Riki’s proximity made you acutely aware of his presence. He stood close enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the earthy aroma of the paint. As he demonstrated the brushstrokes, his hand occasionally brushed against yours, sending a shy smile to your lips.

“Alright, so you want to use a light touch for the highlights,” Riki said, his voice warm and encouraging. He leaned in slightly to show you the technique up close, his face just inches from yours. The closeness made your cheeks warm, and you found it hard to focus on the painting as you became acutely aware of the soft sound of his breath and the gentle way he spoke.

“Like this,” he continued, guiding your hand with his own. His fingers were careful and steady, and you felt a gentle pressure as he helped you maneuver the brush. “The key is to layer the colors gradually, so it builds up the texture without looking too harsh.”

His hand lingered on yours for a moment longer than necessary, and you couldn’t help but glance up at him. Riki’s eyes were soft, and his smile was reassuring. “You’re doing great. Just remember to relax and let the brush do the work.”

You nodded, trying to steady your breath as you followed his instructions. The way he spoke to you, with such patience and attentiveness, made your heart race. Each time he leaned in to offer guidance, you felt a flutter of shyness but also an endearing sense of comfort.

Riki moved to the other side of the table, giving you space but still offering occasional tips and encouragement. “You’re really picking this up fast,” he said with genuine admiration, his voice carrying a note of pride. “You have a natural eye for detail..”

You blushed at his compliment, focusing on your painting with renewed determination. “Thanks. I’ve really enjoyed learning from you.”

He smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting a hint of something more than just professional interest. “I’ve enjoyed having you as my ‘student’.”

As the lesson continued, you found yourself growing more confident. Riki’s careful instruction and the way he interacted with you made the experience both educational and heartwarming. Every time he offered a correction or praised your work, it felt like a gentle nudge toward something greater.

By the end of the session, you were both smiling, the painting before you a testament to the techniques Riki had shared. “I think you’re ready for more advanced techniques next time,” he said, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. “But for now, you’ve done really great.”

You beamed, feeling a mix of accomplishment and affection for the kind-hearted teacher who had made your art journey so special. “Thank you. I can’t wait for our next lesson.”

As you packed up your things, Riki’s gaze lingered on you with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. “I’m looking forward to it too,” he said softly. “See you soon.”

You left the shop with a smile, carrying not just the knowledge of painting but also the warmth of a shared connection.

A few days later, the festival was in full swing again, but this time it was a different night. You decided to take a quiet walk to a nearby beach, not too far from the festival setup. The moon hung low in the sky, casting its silver light over the ocean waves.

You carried with you a small set of painting materials, inspired by the techniques Riki had taught you. Setting up on the sand, you began to paint the scene before you: the moonlit waves and the gentle shimmer of the water. With each brushstroke, you used the tips he had given you, trying to capture the serene beauty of the moment.

The night was quiet, save for the soft sound of the waves and the occasional distant laughter from the festival. As you worked, you felt a sense of peace and contentment, lost in the beauty of the moment.

After a while, you sensed someone approaching. Turning slightly, you saw Riki walking towards you, his eyes bright with curiosity and admiration. He stopped a few feet away, watching you paint with a soft smile on his face.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice gentle. "I didn't expect to find you here."

You smiled back, feeling a flutter of happiness at his presence. "I needed some quiet time to practice. I’ve been kind of inspired."

Riki moved closer, sitting down next to you on the sand. His proximity was comforting, and you felt a warm sense of connection as he admired your work. "You've really captured the essence of the scene," he said, his eyes scanning your painting. "It's like seeing the world through your eyes."

His compliment made your heart swell with pride. "Thanks.. I’ve been trying to use the techniques you taught me.”

“Oh, really?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his face. “My techniques?”

You chuckled lightly, nodding, “Yes, your technique.”

You continued to paint, occasionally glancing at Riki, who watched with genuine interest.

The moonlight cast a soft glow on his features, making the moment feel even more magical. After a while, Riki spoke, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

"You know, the legend of the moon... it's said to reveal the truth about one's emotions," he began, his eyes fixed on the waves. "I've always been afraid to let the moon see mine, not after what happened before."

You looked at him with curiosity. “What happened?”

He sighed softly, looking out at the ocean. “I once let the moonlight reveal my true feelings and it led to heartbreak. It was... painful.. But that’s a story for another day..”

He turned to you, his eyes sincere and vulnerable. “Somehow, being with you, I don’t feel that fear. There’s something about tonight, and about you, that makes me believe in the magic of the moon again.”

You felt a pang of sympathy and reached out, gently placing your hand on his. “Riki, you don’t have to talk about it if you’re not comfortable.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. “Thank you. It’s just... hard to think about sometimes. The pain was so real, and it made me afraid to show my true emotions again.”

You squeezed his hand gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m here. Though we met nights ago, I’m here.”

 Riki‘s eyes softened, and he gave you a small, appreciative smile. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

The moon’s light bathed the beach in a gentle glow, illuminating the quiet understanding between you. Riki’s honesty and openness resonated deeply, and you felt a sense of connection that was both comforting and profound.

He shifted slightly, moving closer to you until your shoulders almost touched. The warmth of his body next to yours was a silent reassurance, a wordless promise of support. “You’re really something, you know that?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you turned to look at him, finding his gaze already on you. “I could say the same about you,” you replied, feeling the intimacy of the moment deepen.

Riki’s eyes held a mixture of vulnerability and strength, a silent testament to the pain he carried and the bravery it took to admit it. He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against yours as he spoke. “It’s just... sometimes the memories are too painful. But being here with you, it makes it a little easier to bare.”

You felt a surge of tenderness for him, your heart aching at the thought of the hurt he’d endured. “I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready.”

He nodded, his eyes glistening with unspoken emotion. “Thank you. It’s... it’s a lot, but knowing I have someone who understands means everything.”

The waves whispered their secrets to the shore, and the moon shone down, wrapping you both in its gentle embrace. The moment was filled with quiet revelations and tender support, a reminder that sometimes, the simple act of being present could be the greatest comfort of all. 

As the night continued, you returned to your painting, the brush gliding smoothly across the canvas. Riki watched you with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with admiration and something more—a tenderness that was growing stronger with each passing moment.

Unbeknownst to both of you, the moonlight was beginning to take effect, subtly enhancing the emotions between you. Every glance exchanged, every soft touch, carried a deeper meaning, an unspoken promise of what could be.

You finished your painting, setting the brush down and turning to Riki. He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Come on,” he said softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Let’s take a break.”

He led you to the water’s edge, where the waves gently lapped at the shore. The cool water splashed over your feet, sending a delightful shiver up your spine. Riki laughter filled the air, infectious and free, and you couldn’t help but join in.

You ran along the shoreline, the waves chasing after you, and for a moment, all your worries melted away. Riki caught up to you, grabbing your hand and spinning you around, both of you laughing as you stumbled into the shallow waves.

The moonlight danced on the water, casting a magical glow over everything. You splashed each other, the cool water mingling with the warmth of your laughter. Riki’s hand never left yours, his grip firm yet gentle, grounding you in the moment.

At one point, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as the waves rolled in. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you under the moon’s tender gaze. You looked up at him, your heart swelling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name but felt deeply in your soul.

“Riki,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the ocean.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I know,” he replied softly, his breath mingling with yours. “I feel it too.”

The moonlight seemed to intensify, casting a silver halo around you both. The moment stretched, filled with unspoken words and shared feelings. Then, with a gentle tug, Riki led you back to the shore, where you sat together, the waves gently lapping at your feet.

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling his warmth seep into you. The night was filled with love-filled glances and quiet intimacy, a perfect blend of comfort and connection. The magic of the moon had done its work, weaving a spell of closeness that would linger long after the night had ended.

You both sat in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop. Riki’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your hand, his touch sending a pleasant shiver through you. He seemed lost in thought, and you didn’t want to disturb the quiet peace that had settled over you both.

But then, as if needing to break the silence, he spoke again, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever fully heal from what happened. It’s like a part of me is still stuck in that moment.”

You turned to him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. “Healing takes time, Riki. And it’s okay to feel that way. Just remember, you don’t have to face it alone.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I do. Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here. And if you’re not ready, that’s okay too.”

Riki’s gaze softened, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. 

The intimacy of the moment deepened, the air around you thick with unspoken emotions. Riki’s fingers continued to trace gentle patterns on your hand, each touch sending a warm, tingling sensation through you. You could feel the connection between you growing stronger, the bond solidifying in a way that felt both natural and profound.

As the night wore on, the two of you shared stories, laughter, and moments of comfortable silence. You found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing parts of yourself you usually kept hidden. Riki listened with genuine interest, his responses thoughtful and kind.

Eventually, the lure of the waves became irresistible again, and you found yourselves splashing through the shallows, once again, laughing and playing like children. Riki’s laughter was infectious, his joy a balm to your soul. You chased each other through the surf, the cool water a delightful contrast to the warmth of your growing affection.

At one point, Riki caught you around the waist, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You laughed, the sound pure and free, your heart swelling with happiness. He set you down gently, his arms still wrapped around you as the waves hit your ankles.

The moonlight bathed you both in its gentle glow, casting a magical light over the scene. Riki’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “For everything.”

You smiled, your heart full. “I should be the one thanking you. This has been... amazing.”

Riki’s eyes held a promise, a silent vow of what could be. “Let’s make a pact,” he said softly. “No more hiding. From the moon, from each other, from ourselves.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of hope and determination. “Deal.”

The night continued, filled with love-filled glances, quiet intimacy, and the gentle lapping of the waves. The magic of the moon had woven a spell of connection and understanding, one that would linger long after the festival lights had faded. As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you knew that this night would be a cherished memory, a moment of pure, unadulterated connection.

And as Riki‘s hand found yours once more, you knew that even if you had met only nights before, for some reason you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

✩

TAGLIST: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz @enha-stars @dioll @jakesangel @cupidscourt @violetwitchmcu @haohaoshoe @randomgirl02228 @wonsdoll @powerpuffstuts @flwrstqr @elysianiki — send an ask to join.

[asunflowerana]

lotus love

summary: who knew a festival miles away from home would help Miya confess his feelings.

with: Osamu Miya

warnings: friends to lovers, oblivious reader, tatoos, dear osamu is so patient i can't 😅 fluff fluff fluff

Another road sign appears in your field of vision, a red ‘60’ stamped on the painted wood making Osamu slow down while driving, a gentle wind now coming through the open window and running your skin. It’s been almost three hours since you guys started the road trip to Kanagawa, and even though you enjoy watching the beautiful landscape sideways, your stomach is making a riot inside for food.

Being the copilot, you check out your current location on your phone’s map, letting out a relieved sigh as you notice a small festival going on a few miles away.

This is it.

You hear him chuckling, having no idea that he actually heard that sigh along with your now pleased expression. “Did ya find our next stop?”

“Lotus Festival, five kilometers away.” You answer him, scrolling through the event’s pictures. “Oooh, I found a yakitori stall there! Okay, we need to stop in this place.” Just imagining the seasoned grilled chicken skewered in a kushi makes your mouth drool faster than the car’s wheels.

“You got it.” Osamu smiles, also liking the idea of filling his tummy to the brim with food. “But, why Lotus?”

You search for the meaning on the web. “It says that this festival happens in the blooming season, which represents the 'rejuvenation of love’, in a few cultures. It’s most visited for old couples to rekindle their relationship, and singles searching for love. It’s really sweet…” You add, looking at some old married folks hugging each other. “But it’s kinda weird? Like, imagine someone traveling there just to find love? What if they find nothing and return home with a broken heart and less than twenty bucks?” You ponder out loud.

“Yeah, that sucks,” He mumbles, suddenly getting more interested in this festival. He turns to look at you, still paying attention to the empty road. “But it’s not the end of the world. The love of your life might be right beside ya, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You’re too worried about the hypothetical heartbroken person to notice Osamu’s eyes lingering on you a tad longer before his shoulders slumped in defeat and his brown eyes return ahead.

Ten minutes later, and the “Welcome to Lotus Festival ” banner appears, its spring colors matching the flowery environment. It’s so beautiful, the greenish square full of lotus with different colors, bringing such a delicious aroma that it attracted several little birds on the way, drinking their nectar like they’re in a feast.

Osamu parks his blue jeep alongside a truck, and together you both walk to the festival, leaving your bags behind and carrying only the essentials inside your purse — wallet, phones, some painkillers, and your small polaroid camera.

There’re a lot of stalls selling bouquets, natural lotions, hair accessories and floral jewelry, clothes, as well as food and beverage stalls. In the middle of the square, a white bandstand decorated with fairy lights and leaves, with mistletoe hanging in the center.

There’s so much to see, that you might be staying there for more than an hour's break.

But first things first, you carry the grey-haired man by hand through the festival, ignoring his confused questions until you finally found your target.

The smell of yakitori invades your nostrils and takes all of your self-control to not steal a bit from a kid who just got their steaming portion. You both look at each other for a second, hungry gaze in your eyes before you two run to the booth, money in hands and mouth begging for food.

“Four yakitoris for the couple.” The seller says evenly, handing you the warm skewers. Osamu forgets his food desire and gazes surprised at you, but you’re already devouring your grilled chicken like a starved lion.

“…Thanks.” Hesitant, he doesn’t correct the seller, handing him the money and moving away in your direction.

Did you really not hear what that guy said?

“Mmmmm… this is heaven.” You hum in delight, savoring the good taste as you finish your first skewer in record time. You look at him more pleased than before. “Thanks for the treat, ‘Samu. Choose whatever you want next, I’m buying.”

He nods in agreement and decides to forget the matter, taking a bite of his yakitori.

He doesn’t stop until it’s all gone.

You guys keep strolling, you buy some sweets for him while he treats you with a warm drink for the chilling weather, walking on the grass until a different booth catches your eye. On the sign, it shows that it’s a henna tattoo booth, choose one of the holiday models and you get a discount.

You get excited, having a new tattoo sounds super fun and it adds to the memories of this trip. And by the way Osamu is grinning down at you, he agrees with the idea as well.

Approaching the booth, you both look through the catalog, each model more beautiful than the other, making you undecided about the best.

“We could do matching tattoos.” Osamu proposes, pointing at the matching models on the second catalog page.

You nod, looking through the sketches. “They’re all so beautiful… I’ll let you decide.” You don’t usually trust him with those stylish things, but if you were to choose, you’d stay 30 minutes just gazing at them.

He hums for a moment, before pointing out at a beautiful Lotus sketch. “How about this one?”

“Rejuvenation of love. It’s a great choice, lots of couples order this one.” The woman owner of the booth says, a small smirk plastered on her face; Your brows raise, and Osamu is nervous, expecting a possible rejection, but you surprise him with your reaction. 

“That’s so genius ‘Samu! That way, we won’t even forget about this festival!”

Both of them deadpan.

“Good luck buddy.” The artist mumbles close to him, patting his shoulder before guiding you both to your seats. Another missed shot.

As it was on the sign, about thirty minutes passed before the tattoos were finally done, a lotus flower now decorating the inside of your forearms. The woman even did a thin stalk in both, which when the two forearms joined, would connect the flowers into a single branch.

This is so meaningful, but Osamu isn’t sure if it has the same meaning for you as it has for him. He thought his feelings would be clear as the sun's rays by now, but you’re still oblivious to them, he doesn’t know what to do anymore. The hints aren’t landing, and the wonder of whether you like him back or not is eating his brain alive, for a long time.

He can keep this trip friendly as planned, visiting Kanagawa for the day before returning to Shibuya as best friends. But there’s a growing chance that someone else might get the shot that he wants so badly with you, and if he doesn’t take this moment now, he might not have another one.

So after paying for the tattoos, he leads you to the white bandstand, wanting to “take some pictures” there. He waits for the right moment when no one is there, and takes you by the hand to the middle.

He doesn’t let go of you.

“Is everything okay?” You notice the way he’s nibbling his lower lip with his canine, something he usually does to calm down. He takes a deep breath, gazing at your eyes with determination.

“I like you.”

Osamu never liked to stall, so it’s best to just rip off the bandage. He keeps a firm grip on your hand as your brows finally raise in realization. “I like you. I don’t know when it started, and I don’t really care, I just know that it will never stop. I can’t stop wanting you. And I don’t know if I didn’t hit it right, or your pretty head is too oblivious to notice — Okay, sorry but you know it’s probably the second.” He chuckles, letting out the adrenaline from his pounding heart. “…I’m in love with you, _____.”

He recites as if they are the most important words to him, moving closer to you as he stares with passion at your shining, surprised orbs. He takes your face in his free hand, and his heart skips as you accept the caress, interlacing his fingers with yours while still speechless.

He doesn’t need an answer to see that you feel the same.

He looks above to the ceiling for a moment, your eyes following and noticing that you both are right under the mistletoe. He grins down at you, one of his cheeky smiles that makes your heart throb in adoration.

“Not that I need one of those to kiss you, but since this is our first—” He nuzzles his nose with yours, his skin gently grazing and soothing you. He whispers close, not taking his eyes off yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

Enchanted by his spell, you give him a small nod, granting him the freedom to lock his sultry lips with yours, making you forget everything else and focus only on the magical feeling of his passionate kiss, legs weakening and body resting inside his warm embrace.

You can’t hear some people applauding you from afar, nor feel the present flower scent around the place. But the lingering thought of your tattoos brushing against each other doesn’t leave your head anymore.

Rejuvenation of love. Lotus Festival is true to its word.

a/n: i confess, i love when boys are the one pining around.

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 1.7k | tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, soft boys, Steve takes care of Eddie, Vecna aftermath | @steddielovemonth Love is a warm hug by @unclewaynemunson | AO3)

They made it. They really did it.

Corroded Coffin play in front of thousands of people in a sold-out Madison Square Garden. Every single person seems to know their songs by heart and is singing them back at them loudly. They cheer and scream their names and Eddie feels like he's flying so high he's on his way to the moon.

This moment right now, right here, is what he has been dreaming of ever since Wayne gave him his old acoustic guitar for his fourteenth birthday and showed him how to play his first song. He always knew he'd end up here, deep, deep down. Never lost hope.

Well, that's not exactly true, but nobody knows that but Steve.

Because it was Steve who helped him to find that precious hope again, to rekindle the wild spirit inside him that only wanted to be heard with his music. He had almost lost that gift along with his left nipple.

The bat bites had been bad, of course. Pieces of his flesh were missing, gnarled scars littered his body, even as he decorated it with a plethora of new tattoos. They'll always be there.

But the worst part hadn't been the flesh wounds. It had been the infection. Robin hadn't been so far off in her fears back in the Upside Down, because while neither he nor Steve had gotten rabies, the bat's saliva hadn't been the most sterile substance to get into his wounds, and more than one bite had become infected as a result. The worst one had been on his left forearm and had caused some severe nerve damage.

The doctors had been able to save his arm and most of the feeling in his hand, but relearning how to play the guitar had been excruciating. The pain had been really bad, but even worse was the frustration, the white-hot rage he felt at this cosmic injustice. It wasn't enough that he was basically an orphan (because his father could be dead for all he knew, Eddie hadn't heard from him in years at that point), living in a trailer park and being labeled the town freak who everyone still thought had murdered several people. No, he also had to get mauled by demonic bats in an alternate dimension, nearly die, and fight his way back to his feet only to find out that he couldn't do the one thing that had always given him at least some peace of mind. His ticket out of this hellhole of a town, just gone. Poof.

It had been one of those summer days, so hot and humid that it felt like warm water was filling his lungs and dripping out of every pore of his body. He had been sitting on his bed in just his boxer shorts and a crop top because any clothes were too much, with his guitar on his lap. Eddie had been so focused on getting this one simple tune right for hours now, his fingers raw and aching, his nerves screaming at him to please stop. Only he couldn't.

He couldn't stop, because to stop would be to give up. It would mean accepting this new reality in which Eddie Munson had lost a vital part of himself; his music.

The pain had been almost unbearable for the better part of an hour by now, but it wasn't until his fingers cramped so badly that he couldn't even hold it anymore that he threw his beloved acoustic guitar off his lap and onto the floor with enough force that it was a wonder it didn't break.

"Fuck," he yelled with bitter resignation, rising like bile in his throat and spilling out in the form of hot tears from his burning eyes, and then "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," a repetitive mantra of pain and sorrow as sobs broke from his aching chest.

He was brought back from the brink of a meltdown by the pressure of a warm hand on his knee, another hand cupping his burning cheek.

"Eddie, hey, man, you're scaring me. Can you look at me, please?" Steve's voice filtered through the anger and grief that constricted his chest, and Eddie lifted his wet eyes to meet Steve's hazel ones. They were bright and warm, even with his eyebrows knitted with worry. They had become close friends over the past few months and Eddie could read his face like an open book.

"That's good, you're doing so good," Steve's voice soothed some of the ragged edges of the broken pieces that had once made up a whole person. His warm hands found Eddie's left hand, still bent into a misshapen claw, and began to massage it gently.

It felt heavenly, even if it still hurt, the gentle but firm pressure slowly loosening the tightly curled digits. Eddie's breathing had slowed, as had his heartbeat, and by the time Steve had finally stopped massaging of Eddie's hand, the sun had begun to set outside.

"Thanks," he had whispered, suddenly ashamed of his outburst, "you didn't have to do that." What he meant was, 'You shouldn't have had to do that. You shouldn't have had to see that.'

Still holding Eddie's hand loosely in his, Steve simply said, "I know. I wanted to. I always want to." The hazel eyes searched and held his again. "You want to tell me what happened? You don't have to, but I have it on good authority that I'm an excellent listener."

That had made him laugh. "That's only because Birdie speaks for both of you when she starts rambling."

"Takes one to know one," Steve had teased back, and the rest of the tension had seeped out of Eddie's body. He had told Steve everything then, about his hand, his fears, his shattered hopes and dreams. Steve hadn't lied, he was a great listener. Attentive and calm, he let Eddie talk without once interrupting.

After Eddie had finished, Steve had been quiet, clearly thinking about what Eddie had told him. After a while of comfortable silence, Steve finally broke it by asking, "Is it possible that you want it too much?"

"Huh?"

"To be able to play the guitar like you used to, I mean. I feel like maybe you want it so much that all the pressure you're putting on yourself is making you so tense and stressed that it's only getting worse."

Eddie wanted to protest, to tell Steve that there was no such thing as wanting too much, but then he stopped himself. Steve had proven himself to be far smarter and more insightful than anyone had ever given him credit for, so instead of denying the possibility outright, he had asked, "What makes you think that?"

Inexplicably, the question had made Steve smile. "When Nancy left me for Jonathan, I was kind of desperate. It sounds silly now, but I thought I needed to find a girl to help me get over it, to prove to myself that I was still attractive, still a catch. Still lovable." The smile had vanished from his face at those words. "I tried so hard, it wasn't even funny anymore, just kind of sad. Robin even had a whole board dedicated to my failures. She told me to just be myself, to let it come to me instead of chasing it like a dog after a bone. It was hard to hear at the time, but you know what? She was right."

Eddie only ever knew the Steve who never had any trouble picking up girls, so it was strange to hear him talk about a time when he clearly didn't.

"So all I'm saying is, maybe take it easy on yourself. Play for the same reasons you started, not because you want to recreate someone you no longer are. None of us is who we were before. None of us ever will be. But you can become someone new. It's up to you who you want to be instead."

After his little speech, Steve had gotten up to get them a couple of beers, and they had just hung out for the rest of the night, the guitar forgotten. It stayed in a corner of his room where Eddie wouldn't see it for a week, until Eddie felt a genuine desire to play something that had been stuck in his head whenever he thought of Steve.

It was the first tune he could get through on his guitar. It was the first song he ever played just for Steve, before he leaned in and caught Steve's lips in a soft kiss for the first time. It became the song he hums whenever Steve wakes up from a nightmare, either while holding Steve in his arms or over the phone when he's on tour.

So it's no surprise that this is the song they play as an encore at Madison fucking Square Garden.

"Hey everybody. This last song is for someone very special to me, so please let's hear it for the love of my fucking life". The crowd goes wild and Eddie winks at the camera that projects his face onto the big screens behind them. "This is for you sweetheart, thank you for always believing in me. You knew I could be someone new long before I did. I wouldn't be here without you and I don't want to be. Nothing makes sense without you. This song is called 'Someone New' and someday I want to play it at our wedding."

He gives it everything he's got, forgetting the last 90 minutes he's been on stage, to make these four minutes the most intense of their whole set. Everyone holds up a tiny flame with their lighters, and when they're done, there's a reverent silence before it breaks into thunderous applause. They cheer, they whistle, they scream.

Eddie doesn't hear any of it, his senses attuned to just one person he's spotted at the edge of the stage exit. He puts down his guitar, walks over to the tall man waiting for him with open arms, and sinks into them as if coming home.

"You did it, baby," Steve whispers into his ear and Eddie just buries himself deeper into his boyfriend's body. "I'm so, so proud of you."

"I love you," he replies simply, the only thing that matters with strong arms wrapped around him, the familiar scent of Steve filling his senses, and the steady beating of Steve's heart against his, the metronome of his new life as sure as ever.

It doesn't matter that they made it, not as much as the man holding him tightly, lovingly.

Eddie's new life is right here in his arms.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Three Peas in a Pod

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader x Jared Padalecki (no J2 action)

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff, poly relationship, brief smut (not explicit or detailed but it's there)

Request by anon: Hi so can i request a J2 x reader one shot where the reader is a normal girl who is dating Jensen and Jared but the fan never seeing her face only hear her voice like twice because she is super shy and introverted person but Jensen and Jared convince her to go to a comic con and the fan meet her for the first time and instantaneous like her? Something fluff and romantic between J2 and reader 

Summary: It's crazy to think a celebrity wants you but two of them? Being in a relationship with them is the best thing to happen to you, and all they want to do is tell the world about it.

Square Filled: poly fic (2022) for @spnfluffbingo

Author’s Note: i appreciate any and all comments! <3

x

Never in a million years did you think you’d end up in the situation you’re in. It all started when you were out grocery shopping when you ran into Jared Padalecki. He had just given his kids back to his ex-wife when he decided to do some shopping for the week. You had the last of an item in your hand when you barrelled into him, dropping and shattering the item. He felt so bad that he offered to give you his that he grabbed.

It was like something clicked in the air because you two couldn’t get your eyes off each other. You were a stuttering mess but he was so confident in both of you that he asked you out right there and then. It all happened so quickly but when were you going to get another chance like this? You were a small-town girl who was noticed by a huge celebrity.

Of course, you said yes.

He took you on a romantic dinner date overlooking the bustling city. You’re not a talker since you like to keep to yourself, but he kept you talking all night. It’s as if you two were best friends rekindling a friendship. He made you laugh, made you feel beautiful, and was super charming. Supernatural happened to be on your “watch later” list but you’ve seen many spoilers and videos of him and Jensen.

What they said about him is true. He’s super lovable, loves hugs, can make you laugh, is dorky, and loves eating. Being with him makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world. How can things get better than this?

He took you back to his place for some intimate drinks where his roommate and best friend, Jensen, lives. Jensen is also newly divorced but is open to looking for another relationship if not something temporary. Being in the same room as Sam and Dean Winchester was a little overwhelming but the alcohol dulled those senses so you could enjoy the evening.

Meeting Jared was like love at first sight if you’re into that sort of thing, but meeting Jensen was something completely different… something raw and vulnerable. He tugged you to him subconsciously because he made you feel alive like you could jump off a cliff and be completely fine. You’re not sure if either man felt the same as you were feeling but you weren't going to say anything to them to scare them off.

They set out some games to play while playing an irrelevant TV show in the background. It was friendly at first until the alcohol promoted Jensen to suggest a stripping game. One thing led to another, and the game was long forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the three of you at that moment.

All you could think about was Jared’s lips on your neck, his hand massaging your breast and tugging at your nipples until they were pebbled and ready, Jensen’s tongue on your pussy, and his fingers digging into your thighs. They used you like a cock slut that night but you were more than okay with it. One thing led to another and you’re now dating both of them.

It’s your first polyamorous relationship but you three make it work.

With you having a job that you can work remotely for, they’d take you whenever they had to do interviews, press junkets, and conventions. You’re not one for the spotlight so you’re content with being backstage while they take all the glory. They have yet another convention that they brought you along with, so you’re in the back room watching a video they made recently.

Jensen and Jared talked about serious issues going on in the world currently and how they would take small steps to try and eradicate some of those issues. They are part of a group that works on removing plastic from the ocean, they donate some of their time at food banks and local shelters, and they donate money to groups looking for resources to make the world a better place.

“Listen, these are real-world issues that we need to start taking seriously today. These kinds of events can affect our children and our children’s children,” Jensen says.

“Jar, Jen, dinner is ready,” your voice comes from off-camera.

Jared and Jensen look at each other and just laugh. They’ve been really careful not to give an inkling of their relationship but then things like this happen and it can’t be helped.

“We’ll be right there,” Jared clears his throat.

“We gotta go. That's our girl.”

They leave it at that, and the comment section is raving about them being in a relationship. There are a few other videos where your voice can be heard but you’re never seen. Most of the fans are happy that the boys are happy, and since it’s 2023, being in a poly relationship isn’t that unusual. All of the fans are wondering what you look like but you’re not ready to give that out just yet.

“Hey, we have to go on now,” Jensen says from the door.

You put your phone away and approach Jared with a smile. He pulls you into him and kisses you. He keeps it short and sweet but Jensen is the completely opposite. He kisses you for much longer and in a more intimate way. Jensen is a good kisser with all the practice he’s gotten on you.

“Okay, don’t suffocate her,” Jared playfully says.

“Break a leg, you two,” you grin and watch them leave.

There is a big TV in the back where you can watch what’s going on stage, and you clap when everyone else in the audience does when they walk on. This convention is going like all the others with them telling stories from set, from their lives, and fans asking all kinds of questions. There comes a time when a fan stands up and asks a question regarding you. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you’re curious how the boys will answer it.

“When are we going to see Y/N? No pressure on you two or her, but just curious.”

“She’s a little camera shy,” Jensen chuckles. “She’s here. She’s backstage but she doesn't really like cameras.”

It’s true, you hate them. Maybe you can give them a little something instead of a full-face reveal. You walk out of the backstage room and over to the edge of the curtains so you’re still hidden from the audience. Jensen and Jared see you creeping up on the curtain, and you stick your hand out to wave at them.

“There she is,” Jared laughs.

Everyone cheers for you which brings a smile to your face. After two seconds, you run back to the room you were in, and Jensen watches you go with a smile on his face.

“We’re working on that part of her,” Jensen jokes.

Maybe one day you’ll be more open to meeting fans and taking pictures because they seem to genuinely love you already, and it’s all thanks to your boys.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[holylulusworld]

Rekindle - Flufftober 2

Summary: Thor and you meet again.

Pairing: Chubby!Thor Odinson x Exgirlfriend!Reader

Square 13 filled for @avengersbingo (expired): Reunited

Square 15 filled for @marvelfluffbingo (expired): old flame

Square 6 filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Free Space

Warnings: Thor has low self-esteem, fluff, a tiny hint of naughtiness, mentions of past breakup, a hint of harassment towards chubby Thor

Rating: Mature

Trope: Reunion

Words: 1029

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

The wind blows a little harder today, but you still smile.

Fall finally arrived, and you are giddy like a child to collect leaves and visit the pumpkin patch.

The world changed once again. The world order was restored.  People came back, and everyone got a second chance.

Even if you are not the lucky one who got her true love back, you’re happy for the others having the chance to love each other again.

“Another one, please,” you dip your head as a familiar voice catches your attention. It comes from one of the seats outside your favorite bakery. “It’s delicious, ma’am.”

You step closer, eyes glued to the man ordering another slice of pumpkin pie. “Thor?” You blink a few times. He’s still as handsome as you remember, but he’s got a belly now.

A thick blonde beard frames his face, and he’s got long dreadlock-style blonde hair. He looks different, but his eyes are the same.

“It’s really you!” you smile widely and hug Thor before he can react. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“Y/N?” He gasps as you won’t let go of him. “I-I’m good. Uh-I try to get in shape again and find a place where I belong.”

“Whoa, a lot is going on in your life.” You let go of Thor and smile at him. “I heard what happened to Asgard. I’m so sorry, Thor.”

“It’s…we found a new place. We’re about to build a new home for the survivors,” Thor drops his eyes to his belly. “I’m not the man you used to know, huh?”

“Why are you saying this?” You sit on the free chair at his table. “Did you change so much? I can still see the kind man I met five years ago.”

“You’re too kind to speak the truth. Look at me, dove. I’m fat and useless,” he sighs deeply. “I just can’t find a reason to…” Thor shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me at all, Thor,” you reach out to touch his hand. “We all have ups and downs. You’ve lost so much. No one could endure such pain without losing hope. But I know you are strong enough to overcome all of this.”

“I lost more than hope,” he sheepishly admits. “There is nothing worth living for any longer. Most of my days I spend at the café, eating more food to fill the emptiness inside of me.”

“Thor, in front of me still sits the man sweeping me off of my feet,” you squeeze his hand. “If you want to have a slice of pie, I can keep you company. I wanted to have some tea and pumpkin pie too before I go to the pumpkin patch.”

“Pumpkin patch?” Thor’s eyes sparkle.

He remembers how you invited him to go to a pumpkin patch before your relationship fell apart. Thor had to leave to help Asgard and didn’t return for almost a year.

Jane Foster came back into the picture, and before he knew it, you broke up. You didn’t want to share his heart with another woman or spend years apart from the man you love.

“YES! They got the best pumpkins, or so I heard. I want to find the perfect pumpkins to decorate my store and home,” you hastily explain. “You know how I get when it comes to decoration.”

“I remember,” he flashes you a smile, making his cheeks dimple. Thor places one hand on his belly, sighing once again. He’s not the good-looking man you dated years ago in his opinion.

You smile at Thor as the waitress places the plate with the pie in front of him. She looks Thor up and down, judging him for ordering another slice of pie by dropping her eyes on his belly. The woman shakes her head before turning her attention toward someone yelling at her.

“I…you recognized me,” he whispers to not catch the waitress’s attention. “People these days don’t do this often.”

“Why wouldn’t I recognize you, Thor?” You frown deeply. “You’re still my Thor. Of course, I recognized you, dummy.” You grin.

“Y/N, you don’t have to pretend. I know how I look,” Thor mumbles. He dares not to meet your eyes; afraid he’ll see what he sees in most women's eyes these days. Rejection and disgust.

“Thor, you should know me better,” you get up from your chair to cup his face to look Thor deep in the eyes. “I always admired and loved the man you are, not how you looked. He’s still there, I can see him in your eyes. You lost your way for a moment, but you will find your footing and get back on your feet. And I like me a cozy belly to…”

“…to what?” He furrows his brows when you dip your head to whisper something far from innocent in his ear while you run your hand over his belly. Thor gulps hard, suddenly feeling hungry for something else than pie. “Oh—”

“If you are free, you could join me to choose the pumpkins for decoration and pie, and later, we can go for a walk and collect a few colorful leaves.”

“I’d like that,” Thor watches you sit back down, a content smile on his face. “How many pumpkins do you need?”

“Enough for two,” you return his smile, feeling your heart flutter when Thor grabs your hand to hold it like he used to do.

Maybe this is the chance you have been waiting for.

Thor is back in your life, and you’d be damned if you let him walk out on you ever again. You’ll give him something that he’s longing for.

A home and someone who’ll love him unconditionally…

Tags in reblog.

[widowsofchaos]

could you please do prompt 168 with carol x fem reader? if you’re comfortable writing that of course:)

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐭

synopsis: Trying to find peace at your job’s gala, but a familiar haunting shadow finds you once more.

pairing: dark!Carol Danvers x brown!fem!reader

ao3 // modern au // 5k words.

warnings: dubious wlw smut (forced stimulation, vaginal fingering), stockholm syndrome, toxic established relationship, domestic violence, mention of childhood abuse.

a/n: Carol’s outfit reference. title is a reference to the song, Mary by Alex G. requested 168. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” from this dialogue prompt list. dog metaphors, because I must write pain. Channeled my inner amy dunne for Carol. I’m sorry that I’m just finishing this 2 years later, but I hope whoever requested this, I hope you see this! <3

“She became the parent, the lover, the friend you’ve always craved for—- and yet, here you are,”

The truth can sting, just the sharp tip of a knife, flickering at the raw flesh. Poking and prodding till there’s small plots of ichor forming.

“——broken…” Her index finger arched, halting her words, still a vivid memory, “…. but not beyond repair.”

A scoff escapes.

“What is love without hate, I guess.” Unconsciously it spewed from your lips, the vowels felt like acidic vomit. A pregnant silence arose.

That all knowing head tilt, with those observant eyes—- always earned uncomfortable tension within you.

“Love isn’t meant to be confused with hate.”

The cigarette burns slow between your clenched fingers, nursing three fingers deep. Brown liquor swishes against the carved rocks glass, its clear silver grooves twinkles under the gala’s vermilion hues.

Fragments of words compulsively knock against the walls of your brain; as you mull at the gala’s open bar. A scorned woman who just wants peace, and quiet. Lingering stains of hurt that can last a lifetime settles to silence for once in a long time.

Showered an ugly duckling with affections, and built the pillars of security. Growing up in a childhood filled with anxiety and fear of attachments, lingering stains of abuse from the very beings who birthed you into this world.

She cleaned you, bandaged the scars, and assured you that she was the only one who adored you—- persisted that she was the only one who would.

Now, fighting violently in the legal battlefield of divorce, these past weeks have been mentally exhausting —- all whilst handling the burdening responsibilities of your profession.

Your very mind and hands helped craft this sophisticated gallery.

Your boss, Mr. Laufeyson, opened a new exhibit in the National art museum—- Norse history, one of his niche fixations. A man birthed on Norwegian soil, but raised in the monarchal land of England.

An established man who often seeks to explore the rich culture of his ancestors with much sophisticated adoration, and esteem. The Norse exhibit is now the largest section of the institution, with vast collections of rare artifacts protected behind hard stainless glass.

He breathed down your neck for long weeks, you had the task of restoring each piece that had been brought in, nearly breaking your damn back from all the hovering.

A gala bustling with a sea of middle-class folk, and self-proclaimed aristocrats of New York. You sought solace at the open bar, smoking a stogie—- and slipping into the whiskey.

It wasn’t a preferred choice, but it helps give a quick kick to your nerves. Seeking solitude away from pressures to gallant with faux professionalism, and an particular noisy friend, who should be presenting the Norse gods section.

Earlier, she was pestering with a thousand questions flying by the mouth —- if you ever gave thought to rekindling with Carol.

Dissociating into a mindless static, flickering at your clear square nails, as your cigarette burns slowly. At first, the mention of this exhibit with your boss months ago sent you into a frenzy of joy, but now—- it’s a dreadful experience.

All you long for is to start your weekend, to cuddle with your daug—-

“What an incredible scent you have—-”

Oh God, no.

“—- is that Histoires de Parfums, 1969?”

Fuck.

“I haven’t been around that perfume in a long time.”

It’s as if she can smell you a mile away.

A sensual, purring voice whispers near you. A shadowing silhouette eclipses the shimmering ceiling lights from your peripheral vision.

Your lips wrinkle, restraining the foreboding tears of frustration. Tightly nodding, swallowing a sob. Your breathing becomes heavier.

A hum, “It really smells wonderful.” With precision, the shadow sits onto the empty seat beside you.

“Thank you.” A forced smile curls at your mouth.

“With that scent, I’m surprised you’re not being hounded by the men here tonight.” A subtle wordplay, are you looking for anyone tonight?

As if your mind has forgotten all the bad, and reminisces on the good, all the fun, all the beauty that once blossomed.

“It’s not men I'm looking for.” You whisper, snuffing the cigarette into a provided ash-tray. A creamy hand strokes your knuckles, and your skin shivers under your blouse.

A jolt to your groin, and your breath hitches. All she can do is just touch you, and it’s as if you can get on your knees, and forgive her for everything.

“Why?”

You can see that pearly grin, from the corner of your eye, teasing and twisting.

“They’re too easy to hunt?”

You exhale a chuckle, eyes still trained onto the glistening counter.

“They bore me.”

“So—” Her voice lulls as a moan, “—- see anyone worthwhile?” Her fingers curl around your glass, twirling it by the rim. Your lipstick stain faces her direction, and bold as always, she lifts for a sip. Connecting the lip stain to hers, her eyes never leave yours.

It’s not tacky, nor forceful. How she moves is as if it is her nature.

Your eyes gaze over your shoulder, taking a full look. Finally, to drink in the force of nature that is your estranged wife—- Carol.

Her blonde tresses cascade on her shoulders, milky breasts on display. A pristine, black dress, that cuts and splits at the chest hem, polished nails, and clean skin. Her dress halts near her knees.

“Well, I have my eye on a blonde tonight.” You say timidly. Tenderly, your eyes glance fleetingly, a quick trace over Carol’s bodice, nearly losing your composure.

A pregnant pause.

That pretty pink mouth stretches smugly, as if the cat that got the cream. The hooks caught the flesh.

“You like blondes.”

Her tone lingers as an open question, guising the truth.

“Just one in particular.”

Sinking now, the hooks are tugging.

“Really?” Carol leans, her eyes hooded. “Which one?” Pretending to scan her eyes across the ocean of people.

But your eyes remain fixated on her. As if you were a lost puppy, just gazing at its human. Lucidly, influcating between the spaces of yearning, and guilt.

How at ease Carol is, as if nothing was wrong. The charming woman, the woman you thought she was. The woman she wanted you to think she was.

“The one in the black dress.” You say softly, and defeated brown eyes.

Carol’s eyes gaze back at you from the corner of her oculus, downcasting with a mirth, humming a chuckle. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” She shakes her head, an enticing warning.

A dangerous but delicious fruit hanging at your reach. She wants you to take the bait, urging you to—- to get you back in her grasp, and if she does, she won’t let you go.

This game, a cat and mouse play, is all too familiar. Playing as strangers, attracted together by lust, and curiosities—- the type of curiosity to feel the other’s flesh, subtle carnality. Act out, with playful words, pretend to be different people.

It slowly suffocates you, a twang in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t normal.

She isn’t normal.

Carol can be an array of personalities, she can be the doting wife, the whore in bed, the mother—- she can be the bitch with a violent mouth. Different faces for different folk, no one knows her true self, and she’s good at it —- real good.

So, when you tried to seek help from friends, they couldn’t believe it, nor did they want to. You’re not surprised that Carol snuck into the gala—- your co-worker, Maria, who you thought was a true friend —- the matchmaker from hell, let her in, unknowingly allowing the terror onto you.

But, that’s no surprise. Maria has been Carol’s right hand since their days in the Air Force.

None of your friends believe you—- and, it’s hurtful to admit, you’re too scared to speak about all the hurt Carol made you endure over the years.

Barely spoke of the discomfort Carol used against you, and all your shared friends thought you misinterpreted. All saying that Carol is just head-strong, and that you two are perfect together.

Carol feeds the fire with a ‘She’s just going through a tough time.’

Boundaries aren’t respected, everyone trying to push you back together, inviting Carol in social events —- to the point where you didn’t go out anymore, and just drowned in work.

“I like challenges.” Carol softly leans in, her breath fans the bare skin of your shoulder, “All the more fun when I win.” Her voice drops low, to a wispy whisper.

Her body heat engulfs you, and your eyes droop with haziness for a slick second. You can’t—- not again. No matter how intoxicating she can be, how delicious, it’s not worth your peace.

You’re too drunk for this.

“This cat is too tired to entertain.”

“Who said you were the cat?” Carol’s brow arches, halting you in your step. Carol’s infliction hardens, from the corner of your oculus, you can see the clench of her jawline. That pretty mouth morphed into a restrained frown, the same one you see before a punishment.

An offense has been made.

“I didn’t realize the roles were switched.”

The mask slips.

It’s always her way, her rules. Because no matter how clever, how coy the mouse can be, the cat always wins.

“You’re getting brave on me?” Carol asks.

And now the mask has been dropped.

“I think it’s best I leave.” You quickly collect yourself, a bit wobbly from the alcohol. Leaning against the counter to regain your composure, trying to stand upright.

Not this time. You won’t fall for her charm.

Carol sucks her teeth, “You’re seriously going to leave? Aren’t you tired of this childish bullshit?” Crossing her arms against her chest, lips wrinkling into a scowl. Carol talks as if scolding a child.

Your body twists in a haste, “My bullshit?” Your teeth are gritting harshly, hissing. Angry eyes pierce over the hill of your shoulder, fingernails digging into the leather of your purse; if not the leather, her eyes preferrable.

But this is a place of work, no matter how elegant the night is, you will scream if you have to—- just to escape her. You click your tongue, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I mean I’m usually amused by your brattiness,” Carol laughs sarcastically. “But, now it’s gotten too far.” Her fingertips graze your arm, toying with you, soft and playful—— her fingers grasp your arm in a clutch, earning a whine.

Her eyes are hooded, nearly tugging you downwards. A whine bubbles at the pit of your throat, too terrified to even move.

“You have to come back home.” Carol says, a strain to be sweet, but it’s as if a monster tries to be human. “I miss you.” She purrs, but her eyes … are cold, and agitated.

You remain silent, closing your eyes shut, gliding down in your seat. “Carol… have you signed the divorce papers, yet?” Your eyes stay glued to the sticky counter.

Carol chuckles, “You’re going to try to talk business to me, and you can’t even look me in the eye?” Her baby pink polished nails thump against the bar, thump thump thump.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“And neither do I.” She sips her drink, smirking into the cup, “But it seems my wife likes to play games.” So light, so sarcastic, chastising you as if this was a running joke on your end.

“Carol, for fucks sake.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “You made me go crazy.” You bite on those words, full teeth. Fingers curling into makeshift claws, vowels spilling as acidic vomit.

“Controlled me, like I was your puppet.” Your fingers curl and slither in gesture. “Manipulated me against the world, against our friends.” Your mouth opened again, the words weighing heavy against your mouth, but a hum interrupted.

“Look up at me when you talk.” Carol says, your eyes peer up through your lashes, owlishly. “If you’re going to lie, you might as well make it convincing.” She licks her lips, tasting the remnants of her liquor.

“I —- I—” you can’t find the words to even respond. You stare at her incredulously, she will never admit to it. Even now, she has you questioning your own sanity, if it was even worth fighting against her.

It’s not worth screaming about it. Not anymore.

“I have to go.” Swiftly, you stand up, with a bated breath.

“That’s how you talk to the mother of your child?”

Stiffening, as the hairs that align a cat’s spine, “Don’t you dare!” Your index finger pointing, shouting in a hush. “Stop using Kamala against me—” your voice wavers, throat nearly choking a sob, “You did enough of that in court.” Big brown eyes sheening wet, the last nerve shot.

Trying to maintain a level of calm, eyes fluttering back and forth around, seeing if anyone has witnessed your outburst.

“I don’t even have to do that,” Carol’s open palm gestures to your rigid stance, “she can see perfectly fine how erratic you’ve been.” Carol hisses, making your nose scrunch up.

Kamala adores — idolizes— Carol. So memorized by her strong, willful mother, since she was a waddling baby.

You haven’t dared utter a bad word about Carol in-front of Kamala, fearing to shatter the fragile bubble you curated as a shield for her. You wouldn’t let her witness the court meetings, especially the negotiations of joint custody.

By every fiber of your being, you’ve tried to make this separation as discreet as possible—- but Carol has been a devil, bulldozing those efforts. To make you appear as the bad parent.

You can’t stand her lawyer, Carol hired one who hails from Hell’s Kitchen—- fitting since he’s a thorn upon your rib. Subtlety bringing up your mental health, questioning your abilities as a mother —- no doubt, Carol was chewing his ear off about your past.

All Kamala knows is that her mothers are splitting up, with foreign lawyers, and that she now has to split weekends—- those pained brown eyes, her puffed cheeks, it kills you deeply—- all the guilt weighs on you, it feels as if you’re to blame for all the problems.

“You’ve taken so much from me, Carol.” You lean in, kneeling at her eye level. “My dignity, my peace— shit— even my sanity.” Your body anxiously fidgeting, breath quickening.

“But I will not, let you take my child away from me.” Your fingers dive into your purse, fumbling with irate, snagging the last cash you had—- with the finality of this conversation, slamming the money onto the marble countertop.

You carried Kamala, incubated inside you for nine months, fed her from your breast—- you will not lose her, not over your cold dead body.

“Goodnight, Carol.”

Sharply, you turn on your heel, leaving Carol without turning back. Walking with a gait, faking confidence, but truly at your core, a gnawing sense of uneasiness.

-

The corridor stretches as a miniature maze, the more you descend out of the gala, the less crowded it is. Turning left and right, trying to find the exit.

The ambiance is of grainy gray, the tinted blurred windows are foggy with the night’s shadows.

The echoes of clicking heels are faint, your mind doesn’t register, as your own feet and mind are stuck on auto-pilot.

“There she goes again,” an agitated voice snags your attention, brows furrowing, “always acting like the little victim.”

Not granted the chance to realize, in a flash, just as quick as you turned your head, rough hands grab you by the curve of your shoulders, throttling you against the chilled wall pavement.

Earning a hiss, and a gasp, stinging pain births and stretches along the muscles of your spine. Quickly, your fingers fruitlessly try to claw at Carol’s, but all it does is make her more enraged.

Carol thrashes you once more against the wall, and another for good measure; airy gasps of pain escapes you, tears beading at your lashes. That militant discipline seeps from her pores, it’s not a stranger to you, the rough edges of her touch is a familiar bruise.

“It may have worked with the rest of the world,” Carol barks in your face, nose to nose, “but it’s not going to work with me.”

Sniffling, your chin wobbles, trying to restrain a sob that burns your throat raw.

Carol hums, that tut of a sympathetic mother, “Look at us.” Her thumbs rubbing your shoulders, pressing on the blooming bruises. “I don’t like it when we fight.

Eerily, she influcates from predator to savior, “You always get erratic, and you know it upsets me.” Leaning in, her pink lips press a kiss on a falling tear.

“Where’s my special girl?” Carol whispers. Fear is beating inside of you, buzzing as tv static. Staring at Carol through your hooded lids, terrified, and confused.

Carol purrs, awaiting for an answer.

“I’m here.” Barely a murmur, you speak softly.

Carol thrives off of her aggression. But it’s not the traditional masculinity that some women possess in their personalities. She feels it’s the only gift her father ever gave her.

“It’s very cute that you try to fight me.” Carol mocks, her knuckles stroke your cheek. Carol hums, her eyes tracing over every facial feature.

“Let me see if she missed me.”

A string of no no no slip from you meekly.

One of Carol’s hands graze over your shoulder, twirling her fingers into your hair—- gripping between her fingers tightly. To then cup the nape of your neck, her thumb pressing slightly over your pulse point.

As she has you pinned by the scruff, her other hand flows down your cavlices, to your clothed breast—- she snags the collar to expose skin.

Groping a handful of your tit, she mutters still so soft, traveling down the path of your navel—- with a quick precision, Carol snatches your groin; more like clawing.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and all she does is laugh.

A quick glance at the end of the hallway, praying that nobody turns the corner. Carol snickers. “Afraid someone will catch us?” You exhale a huff, nose flaring.

“I remember you used to be quite adventurous.”

“That’s when I was young and stupid.”

Her eyes narrow, pinching your vagina in her hand even tighter. With her knee, she wedges her thigh between your shaky legs, spreading you more open.

Slithering her hand through the stitched fabric, her knuckles stroking your sensitive skin. Your breathing becomes heavier, and all she does is smirk.

Moving your panties to the side, Carol’s makes herself home to your body. Ashamed to feel yourself grow wet, and Carol moans.

“It seems she missed me.”

All unbridled frustration hits the hilt, you cry in a stretched whine, thrashing in her hold. In need to escape, you wanted to go home, away from her.

All these weeks of trying to flee from her, do the right thing to gain custody, to live a good life, give your daughter stability —- all of it goes down the drain by her simple touch.

Beating on her arms with fists, slapping and trying to knee her in a weak spot. Carol’s eyes darken—- as if she’s bored of the insolence.

Carol pushes her weight onto you, pinning to the wall. And her fingers don’t cease on her assault.

“I hate you.” You choke on a wail, your head tilting up as a child.

“I’ve saved you.” An expert circular motion of her fingertips, sending a jolt to your bundle of nerves.

“Who else can say that?” Carol leans in, her head tilting, as her lips meet your cheek.

Softly, she kisses you, caressing and grazing against the skin of your cheek.

“I took care of you, and you just want to leave?” Carol’s pink tongue slithers between her lips, licking and nibbling. Boldly, her fingers dove between your folds, playing with your wetness.

“You wanted a savior, baby, I’m it.” The bridge of Carol’s nose traces yours, humming at the wet sensation of your tears. “You were nothing before me—-” another finger plunging inside you, “—- and you will be nothing after me.”

“I — I — would rather be alone.” You say with a stammer, lips wet with tears. Mouth curling into a brave scowl, regaining some bravery, “I’ll be fine.”

Carol’s face leans a little back, tilting her head mockingly. “When I say nothing after me, I mean it—-” Carol’s teeth bare as fangs, “you’ll be buried six feet deep, before I let you go.” Her fingers grip the nape of your neck, tugging you in.

“No one can ever have you.” She whispers.

Your eyes are owlish, you don’t doubt her…. her time in the boot camp was extensive, you felt her trained strength many times—- she loves like a knife. Many bruises healed over the years.

Not brutal beatings, but very handsy.

A glimmer of fear suffocates you, your body keels as a leashed dog.

Her fingers slither against your peach fuzz, slipping between your mound, toying with your wetness. Splitting your velvety folds apart, Carol vulgarly strokes you with her fingers sloppily, staining the hem of your panties.

Carol grinds herself onto your thigh, you can feel a wet spot pooling at her silk panties. Your fingers are digging into her forearms. A rough dance of humping and grinding, both reaching for a high.

Your wet walls can’t help but suck her inside, clenching tight. Fiercely plunging in and out—— it’s been some time. Since the last time, you were touched. It’s bordering on painful, a bit tight.

You did entertain another for a while. A woman you met at a bar. Short dark chestnut hair, a soft posh english accent, a bold yet cheeky mouth. She said her name was G’iah, you never met anyone with such a name.

Despite the attraction, the idea of offering yourself physically was too overwhelming. But, the emotional energy was wonderful. It was a breath of fresh air.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to love another.

Skin screaming for touch, yet your heart is trying to fight back. The flesh only reminisces the good, but all the hurtful memories are chained to your mind.

Carol’s mouth ajar, hovering over the meat of your cheek. Your face scrunches, eyes tight, a whine boils at your throat. She breathes a chuckle. She always finds amusement in your misery.

Carol loves to play God—- the Old Testament God. In the carnal sense, and in spite. Worship her, and only need her, obey every command, but commit a sin—- and she shall see to it, that her pettiness will rule over your life.

Her fingers spread, your slick connects to her fingertips, flickering the gossamer thin threads between her expert fingers, diving into you.

Her teeth grazes your cheek, her warm breath cascading against your mouth. Torn between closing your thighs to stop her, or thrust your hips into her hand.

Carol’s tongue slips out, and kitten licks your parted lips. Her pink tongue licks your canines, inhaling your breath. Sweet scent of liquor coats your tongue, Carol suckles into her mouth, moaning at the taste.

A lewd pop comes from Carol pulling back on your tongue, as her fingers curl harsher. Bordering on pain, the pleasure is electric. Pulsing through you, as her thumb toys with your swollen clit.

Her moans are animalistic, you can feel her pussy splitting, a sensation of silk and waxed bare skin. Her clit is grinding fully onto your thigh. It feels so damn good.

A part of you wants her to cum on you. To use you.

Carol’s face tilts away from yours. Her brown eyes swirl with malice, narrowing for a split moment. A smile stretches.

“Kamala would be so hurt to lose her mommy—” Carol’s words earn a mean eye from you, but all she does is laugh humorlessly. “How could you abandon our child?”

Like a stab to your heart, Carol just twists the edge deeper. Her fingers still deep inside you, clenching in need for her to finish— to get you right at the precipice.

“I would never leave Kamala,” you speak with a strain, a rough slice at your throat. “I love her.” Bordering on pleading, your eyes water-sunk.

“Then why do you make her cry?”

“What?”

“Every night she asks why her mom isn’t home,” Carol leans more of her weight on your belly. Her fingers fucking you harshly, hitting that sweet spot so perfectly. Your juices are now soaking down her hand.

“She cries till she falls asleep. She thinks you hate her.”

Torn between rutting your hips into her palm, grinding and fucking her fingers as if it was one of Carol’s toys —- and the need for space, to free yourself from these clutches.

Salty tears fall to your wrinkling lips, shaking from silent tears.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Carol says, her voice smooth and affectionate. Her lips pouted, “We can be together again.” Her shiny blonde hair kisses her lashes, in the grainy city lights, she looks innocent.

“Don’t you want to be a family again?”

She pushes her fingers further, slowly playing with your clit— and then stops, edging you. She can feel your spongy walls nearly spasming. Carol knows how to play the strings of your flesh.

Damn her.

“I do.” Your voice gurgles in a sob.

You know she’s tricking you… and you enjoy it.

In some deep seeded—- an absolutely fucked —- part of you, relishes in it. Because it’s all you know. But, it’s that glimmer of tenderness, the kisses, and honeyed words that pulls you back in.

Back to mutilate yourself on her knife over and over again. And isn't that what love is? Carol would say, time and time again, after the dust settles from her fits of rage.

Wet squelching floods your ears, echoing throughout the empty hallway. Your hand trails to her waist, gripping her dress, roughly grazing the smooth skin of her waist.

Legs entangled, and Carol’s thrusts are getting faster, sloppy. Her moans are getting high-pitched, away from primal and more girlish.

You cling to her, in this moment, you just need to feel anything. And you know she needed it too.

A burst of euphoria, hanging onto each other, as if both would fall apart. Carol felt it, how you spasmed on her fingers. Clenching so tight, trapping her hand for a moment.

Bated breaths dance against each other, hair flying by the breeze of huffing. Yours are gasps of relief.

In a desperate plea, you reach for a kiss, but Carol pulls away.

“I hope you learned something …” Carol hisses, her fingers stroking between your slippery folds, agitating your over-stimulated clit. The meat of your thigh quivers, tailbone pinching as you try to mesh into the wall, far from her.

Carol takes her fingers out, leaving behind an empty feeling—- like a void. Without blinking, Carol unabashedly suckles on her two fingers, tasting you.

“I hope you make the right decision.” Carol whispers against her tips. Pulling her warm weight off of your bodice, a chill sweeps against the tepid sense of your belly.

Carol hums for a moment with a stony face. She tugs on the collar of your dress, the top of your bosom exposed —- it was a stiff gesture.

Without a word, Carol posed her spine, and walked away, a snide side-eye.

Leaving you behind with an ache between your thighs, love bites across your chest, and fresh bruises. Left behind in the chilled hallway, and in wrinkled attire —- as if you were a used whore.

Your head falls, crying into your chest. Your fingers pulling your dress down, your inner thighs tender. Your fingertips touch the wet spot Carol left behind near your knee.

A pause.

It’s wrong, but you crave her taste. Suckling your fingertips into the cave of your mouth.

You can still smell her fragrance lingering—- and yet, you crave it, hoping it clung to your dress.

-

Timid footfalls carry you through the high-end residential hallway. Bated breath, and in wrinkled clothes, you lift and loosely drop your luggage in your grip. Pacing back and forth, trying to salvage any scrap of courage to knock.

Your head is bowing down, chin to chest. A stop in-front of the door. The reasoning motivating your surrender blurs—- is it for Kamala only, or is it also that a loyal dog who always forgives?

A silent white flag has been waived.

A lonely dog always comes back.

Dull steps creep closer, syncing with the beat of your heart. One unlock, and another follows. Defeat seeps from your pores, a bone-rattling warning siren echoing in the rush of your ears.

The door knob slowly twists, as if she’s mocking you. But not a second more, the door creaks open. Green eyes blink back with mirth, and a smile.

No words are needed.

Carol hums, stroking your hair, fingers gliding down the terrain of your neck, guiding you inside by the nape of your neck.

-

Awaiting on the bed is a silk nightie, and skincare, curated by Carol’s choice. Pristine, wrinkled-free silk. Not one flaw in sight.

She knew you would come back. A cocky woman, and yet she’s never wrong. A stir of irate coils in your belly, but it’s snuffed before it can disrupt.

-

In the dark, you tip-toe down the hall. Elated and relieved, it felt like a century crept by, but it was only a week of separation.

Weekends weren’t enough. You needed to see her everyday.

Brown fingers slowly grasp at the knob, twisting open. The white walls are adorned by the flash of a night light that glows small stars glimmering against the ceiling.

A room of action figures, anime, music posters and a wall dedicated to her drawings. That familiar scent that never really went away, that baby smell that clung to her as an infant.

Kneeling into her bed, curling under the blanket. Legs curling underneath you, knees bent, as you caress Kamala’s scalp, furling her hair behind the shell of her ear. Your brown fingers melt into the onyx shine of her tresses.

Her sleepy cheeks puffed, she looks like a sleeping cherub. Silently, tears cascade against the hill of your nose, staining the pillow sheet.

For months, you’ve tried to conjure ideas on how to run away from this life with Kamala, but all your ideas end up in the possible reality of being arrested with charges of kidnapping, and never seeing your daughter again.

The truth of the matter is -— you will crawl skin bare in the deepest parts of hell just for her. Suffering silently in these marital ruins, for the sake of being able to raise your only child, is what you will do.

You don’t know what you want with Carol —- you don’t have anything else to offer as a wife, besides submitting your entire being as a sacrificial offering.

It’s all she ever wanted. Wholesome love is seen as a defect in Carol’s eyes, a trait taught to her by her father. Control over everything is what brings her peace. And being cared for is what brings you solace.

The only person in the world Carol doesn’t unleash her wrath upon, who she adores entirely, is Kamala. Never once has Carol raised her voice, nor her hand at Kamala.

It’s disturbing, to see Carol be so genuine in her affections.

But, you’re ever so grateful. Despite being a masochist, under all the rubble harboring in your cavity— is a little girl suffocating for tenderness. For anything, just for someone to hold her.

Carol is a peculiar creature, and yet she has driven you to the brink of madness over the last stretched months, because she can’t bear to lose you —-- that has to mean something, right?

But as you lay here, wallowing in the dead silence, staring at Kamala slumbering —-a thought came to you; a lingering fear. Paranoia gnawing at you, chewing away bit by bit.

You wouldn’t want Kamala to suffer like this one day.

[le-sserafims-blog]

🐶 I feel like we have left behind something important in our childhood.

If you feel the same,

I hope that this message finds you well.

In a time when our reality and digital reality can no longer be mutually exclusive, it's near impossible to live a day without the internet's inference. To keep up offline, we must keep up online. To stay in the loop, we stay on the algorithm. Granted, the internet is a great place to make connections and learn about the world, but it also perpetuates the anxiety of living real life like your timeline.

I feel the pressures of a standard getting stronger upon our generation, especially young girls — a certain body type, a certain look, a certain attitude, a certain vibe. Anything other becomes the Other.

People are so quick to ostracize, calling people "cringe" or weird for simply looking and liking what they do. And it is often done in a passive air of cynical humor, the cruelest way, because, like classic microaggression, if you get hurt, you become the uncool one who just doesn't know how to take a joke.

It’s almost like we are conditioned into it: When receiving love and attention, being yourself is a risk. A liability.

When, in actuality, your uniqueness is what sets you apart.

Your multidimensionality cannot fit into a 1080x1080 square.

But we get so busy comparing ourselves to others, inflating our egos like balloons to fill a void and feel important, that we forget the most fundamental thing.

We are not only born with a desire to receive love but also to love.

If you think about it, we all had something that made our hearts race when we were younger.

As a kid, I loved to create.

I drew every day without the pressure to become an artist; I wrote poetry without a single recitation.

I would chase butterflies that I knew I could never catch in the first place.

Simply because it made me happy.

Please don't lose that spark to pixels on a screen.

The light may dim by circumstance, but please do not let it go out.

Having something you want to do is such a beautiful, powerful thing.

It's not too late.

Whether it's a new beginning or rekindling an old passion

Feel the liberation of doing what you love,

Feel the pain of doing what you love.

Share your art. Tell your story.

That childlike joy exists for a reason.

In this fast, stimulating, hectic, contradictory, and so so painful world, it can ground you and remind you who your most authentic self is. All you need to do is listen for that child's voice through all the white noise.

People will always pick you apart for your shortcomings and outcast you for your differences.

But among those watching, someone is waiting for something to show them it's okay to be themselves.

There is always somebody waiting.

I was that somebody.

So, believe me when I say that your voice matters. You make a difference. We are all important beings with the power to gift each other strength and hope, something no pixelated number can measure.

It's a crazy world.

But to me...

To feel more and to love more

To choose to keep your eyes open and see yourself for who you are in a world where everyone tells you to keep them shut,

That, to me, is what is even crazier.

Ironically, I suppose choosing crazy is the most sane thing we can do.

Sometimes, it may not feel like it, but I promise you you are not alone. You are never alone. I will be fighting alongside you to choose love over likes.

So let us choose to be crazy for a truer life. For a truer love!

💌⚡️

[flmmies]

240806 yunjin weverse update

'I feel like we have left behind something important in our childhood.

If you feel the same,

I hope that this message finds you well.

In a time when our reality and digital reality can no longer be mutually exclusive, it's near impossible to live a day without the internet's inference. To keep up offline, we must keep up online. To stay in the loop, we stay on the algorithm. Granted, the internet is a great place to make connections and learn about the world, but it also perpetuates the anxiety of living real life like your timeline.

I feel the pressures of a standard getting stronger upon our generation, especially young girls — a certain body type, a certain look, a certain attitude, a certain vibe. Anything other becomes the Other.

People are so quick to ostracize, calling people "cringe" or weird for simply looking and liking what they do. And it is often done in a passive air of cynical humor, the cruelest way, because, like classic microaggression, if you get hurt, you become the uncool one who just doesn't know how to take a joke.

It’s almost like we are conditioned into it: When receiving love and attention, being yourself is a risk. A liability.

When, in actuality, your uniqueness is what sets you apart.

Your multidimensionality cannot fit into a 1080x1080 square.

But we get so busy comparing ourselves to others, inflating our egos like balloons to fill a void and feel important, that we forget the most fundamental thing.

We are not only born with a desire to receive love but also to love.

If you think about it, we all had something that made our hearts race when we were younger.

As a kid, I loved to create.

I drew every day without the pressure to become an artist; I wrote poetry without a single recitation.

I would chase butterflies that I knew I could never catch in the first place.

Simply because it made me happy.

Please don't lose that spark to pixels on a screen.

The light may dim by circumstance, but please do not let it go out.

Having something you want to do is such a beautiful, powerful thing.

It's not too late.

Whether it's a new beginning or rekindling an old passion

Feel the liberation of doing what you love,

Feel the pain of doing what you love.

Share your art. Tell your story.

That childlike joy exists for a reason.

In this fast, stimulating, hectic, contradictory, and so so painful world, it can ground you and remind you who your most authentic self is. All you need to do is listen for that child's voice through all the white noise.

People will always pick you apart for your shortcomings and outcast you for your differences.

But among those watching, someone is waiting for something to show them it's okay to be themselves.

There is always somebody waiting.

I was that somebody.

So, believe me when I say that your voice matters. You make a difference. We are all important beings with the power to gift each other strength and hope, something no pixelated number can measure.

It's a crazy world.

But to me...

To feel more and to love more

To choose to keep your eyes open and see yourself for who you are in a world where everyone tells you to keep them shut,

That, to me, is what is even crazier.

Ironically, I suppose choosing crazy is the most sane thing we can do.

Sometimes, it may not feel like it, but I promise you you are not alone. You are never alone. I will be fighting alongside you to choose love over likes.

So let us choose to be crazy for a truer life. For a truer love!

💌⚡️'

[likely-moony]

HIII LOVEEEE

Okay so I don't see a lot of telugu requests on your page (I belive there is exactly one other request which is kinda sad since it has so much potential), so I decided to approach you with a request offering hehehe.

Hear me out on this- a alluri sitaramaraju x y/n fiction where they're childhood sweethearts but in the attack from the British that killed his mother I think, ramaraju watches y/n smash her head against a rock. Everyone thinks she's dead except for ram who can fell that she's alive. She lives on with amnesia while ram desperately searches for her, till he finds her and is heartbroken to find out that she doesn't remember him. So he decides to take her on a secret journey where he attempts to return her memories to her.

HOLY CRAP OMG OMG OMG IM HAVING TEOUVLE BREATHING THATS SO GOOD AHHHHAJSNDJNZNA

HERE IT IS, ENJOY!!!

Memories ~ A. Sitarama raju ~

Memories

Paring: Alluri Sitarama Raju x Fem! Reader

Type/Words: Massive fucking oneshot~10.8k Words

Summary: In which childhood sweethearts Alluri Sitaramaraju and Y/n, separated by Y/n's amnesia and years apart, embark on a poignant journey to rekindle their lost love. Ram's relentless search for her culminates in a chance encounter in a bustling market, offering a glimmer of hope to unravel Y/n's forgotten memories and reunite their hearts.

TW!!: Violence, Amnesia, Pursuit, Religion, Injury, Separation, Memory-loss, the back-drop of british colonisation, let me know if I missed any!!

⚠️YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED⚠️

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In the picturesque village of Vemulawada, nestled amidst rolling hills and lush forests, two souls were destined to be inseparable from the moment they took their first breaths. Alluri Ramaraju, with his unruly hair and a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, and Y/n, a gentle spirit with a radiant smile, had been friends since their earliest memories.

Their bond was extraordinary, a connection that defied the boundaries of ordinary friendships. From the time they were in diapers, their paths were intertwined, and they navigated the journey of life together, hand in hand.

Their love story began in the simplest of ways—two toddlers playing in the village square, kicking up dust and chasing after butterflies. As Y/n stumbled over a pebble, Ramaraju reached out, his tiny hand catching her arm in the nick of time.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes reflecting the innocence of childhood.

Y/n nodded, her face lighting up with a smile. "Thank you, Ramu."

And so, their friendship was sealed, one that would flourish into a love that transcended time itself.

As they grew older, their adventures became more daring. They explored the dense forests surrounding their village, forging secret hideaways where they shared whispered secrets and dreams of the future. It was during one of these escapades that their bond deepened.

Sitting beneath a sprawling banyan tree, its roots winding like ancient secrets beneath the earth, Ramu turned to Y/n, his eyes filled with an earnest intensity that belied his young age.

"Y/n," he began, his voice hushed as if sharing a sacred truth, "Do you know what they say about the stars?"

Y/n tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "What do they say, Rama?"

"They say that each star is a promise," he explained. "And when we wish upon them, those wishes have the power to come true."

The night sky above them was a tapestry of stars, each one a beacon of hope. Ram pointed to a particularly bright one.

"That star there," he continued, "that's our star, Y/n. It's our promise to each other."

Y/n followed his gaze, her heart swelling with emotion. "Our promise?"

Ram nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "That we'll always be together, no matter what."

Y/n's response was a soft smile that conveyed more than words ever could. It was a silent vow, an unspoken agreement that their hearts were forever entwined.

Their days were filled with laughter, exploration, and shared secrets. They swam in the village pond, raced through the meadows, and climbed trees to pluck the juiciest mangoes. Every moment spent together was cherished, and their love for each other grew like the tallest of sunflowers, reaching ever higher.

One sunny afternoon, as they rested beneath the shade of their favourite banyan tree, Y/n looked at Ram with a twinkle in her eye. "Ramu, I have something for you."

Ram's curiosity was piqued as he turned to her. "What is it, Y/n?"

With great care, Y/n reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved stone. It was a smooth, heart-shaped gem, its colours shimmering in the dappled sunlight.

"It's for you," she said, handing it to him.

Ram's eyes widened with delight as he held the stone in his palm, its cool surface warming under his touch. "Y/n, it's beautiful. Thank you."

"It's a piece of my heart," Y/n confessed, her cheeks tinged with a blush. "So, you'll always have a part of me with you."

Their bond was sealed that day with a simple gift, a token of their affection that held more meaning than any words could convey. It was a promise etched in stone, a vow of a love that would endure.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over their village, Ram and Y/n knew that their bond was unbreakable. They were childhood sweethearts, and their love would carry them through the trials and tribulations that lay ahead.

Their days were filled with shared secrets, dreams of the future, and the certainty that their love would stand the test of time. Their journey together had only just begun, and they were ready to face whatever the future held, hand in hand.

As the years passed, their love would deepen and evolve, but the innocence and purity of their childhood bond would remain the foundation upon which their love story was built.

The village was a tapestry of life, woven with threads of love, tradition, and the timeless connection between Ram and Y/n. Their love story, like the winding river that flowed through their village, was destined to meander through the hills and valleys of life, and its waters would nourish their souls for eternity.

They shared dreams of becoming brave warriors like the heroes of their village, of exploring lands far beyond their hills, and of always being together. Their conversations were filled with laughter and hope, painting a picture of a future they could hardly wait to embrace.

As the years passed, the love between Ram and Y/n continued to grow, much like the towering trees in the forest that surrounded their village. They were inseparable, their hearts forever bound by the promise they had made beneath the starry sky. Their shared dreams and whispered secrets painted a future filled with hope and love.

Their conversations were a refuge from the world around them, a sanctuary where they could be themselves without judgment or pretence. They talked about everything, from the mysteries of the universe to the intricacies of their village.

One sunny afternoon, as they sat by the village pond, their feet dipped into the cool water, Y/n turned to Ram with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Ramu, do you ever wonder what lies beyond these hills? What adventures await us in the world beyond?"

Ram gazed at the distant hills, his thoughts drifting to the unknown. "Sometimes, Y/n. But as long as we're together, I'm not afraid of anything out there."

Y/n smiled, her fingers trailing through the water, creating ripples that mirrored the movement of their hearts. "That's why I'm not afraid either, Ramu. We'll face the world together."

Their dreams were not limited to their village. They imagined themselves as heroes, protecting their loved ones and their homeland from any threats that might arise. Ram would often swing a makeshift wooden sword, pretending to be a valiant warrior, while Y/n would stand by his side, her eyes filled with admiration.

Their innocence was a beautiful tapestry of shared moments and unspoken affection. They revelled in the simple joys of life, like chasing fireflies on warm summer evenings and lying on the grass, watching clouds transform into whimsical shapes.

But fate had other plans, and the tranquillity of their village was soon disrupted by rumblings of danger on the horizon. The British Empire, with its far-reaching ambitions, cast a long shadow over India, and the villagers could not escape the growing threat.

One fateful day, as the villagers gathered in the square to discuss the ominous news, tension hung in the air like a heavy monsoon cloud. Ram and Y/n stood together, their hands tightly clasped, drawing strength from each other's presence.

The village elder, a wise and weathered figure, addressed the crowd. "My fellow villagers, we have received word that the British are advancing towards our lands. We must prepare for their arrival and protect our way of life."

Fear rippled through the assembly, and worried murmurs filled the square. Ram's grip on Y/n's hand tightened, a silent promise to shield her from any harm.

As the days turned into weeks, the villagers toiled tirelessly, fortifying their defences and readying themselves for the impending conflict. Ram, now a strapping young man, but still just a little kid, had become a pillar of strength in the village. He practised tirelessly with the gun, honing his skills to protect those he loved.

Y/n, with her nimble fingers and a heart full of determination, used her talent for crafting to create intricate trinkets for the villagers—a symbol of hope in trying times. She had never stopped carrying her heart-shaped stone with her, a constant reminder of her love for Ram.

One evening, under the moonlit sky, Y/n presented Ram with a gift—a necklace she had crafted herself, adorned with the heart-shaped stone she had given him years ago. Tears glistened in her eyes as she placed it around his neck.

"Rama, wear this necklace as a symbol of my love," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Ram was deeply moved, the pendant resting against his chest, near his heart. "I will, Y/n, always. It will be my talisman, a reminder of your love and our promise."

The necklace became Ram's most cherished possession, a constant reminder of the love that had blossomed between them. He wore it with pride, feeling Y/n's presence with him always.

But as the threat of the British grew more imminent, Ram's protectiveness over Y/n intensified. He couldn't bear the thought of any harm coming to her. Their shared dreams of adventures beyond the hills were now overshadowed by the harsh reality of impending danger.

One morning, as Y/n was filling a pot with water at the village river, her mind lost in thought, a sudden commotion shattered the tranquillity. British soldiers on horseback thundered into the village, their red coats a stark contrast to the vibrant colours of the village homes.

Panic ensued as villagers scattered, seeking safety wherever they could find it. Ram, who had been tending to his daily chores, felt a sinking dread as he realized Y/n was not by his side.

He called out her name, his voice desperate, but there was no response. Frantic, he searched every corner of the village, his heart pounding with fear. His feet carried him to the riverbank, where he saw a horrifying sight.

Y/n, oblivious to the danger, was caught in the path of the oncoming British soldiers. With no time to think, Ram sprinted towards her, his heart in his throat. He reached her just as the soldiers approached.

In his desperation to shield Y/n from harm, Ram pushed her to the side, but in the chaos, they were trampled by several British horses. Y/n's head slammed against a rock, and blood began to flow, staining her clothes and the earth beneath her.

Ram, dazed but with adrenaline coursing through his veins, gathered Y/n into his arms, cradling her head gently. He begged her to stay with him, to not leave him alone.

The other villagers, realizing the peril they were in, rushed to the scene. Two adults, fearing the worst, forcefully pulled Ram away from Y/n, their faces filled with sorrow.

"Let us tend to her, Ram," one of them said, his voice heavy with grief.

Ram fought against their hold, tears streaming down his face. "Please, you have to save her. She can't leave me. She's everything."

But he was overpowered, and he watched helplessly as Y/n was carried away from him. The world around him blurred, and the sound of his own anguished cries echoed in his ears.

The days that followed the tragic incident at the village river were a blur of anguish and despair for Ram. He couldn't bear to be without Y/n, the love of his life, the one who had given him her heart and soul. Every corner of their village, every path they had walked together, was a painful reminder of her absence.

As Y/n lay unconscious, her head injury severe, the villagers had rushed her to the care of the local healer. Ram sat by her bedside day and night, his heart heavy with worry. He couldn't lose her. She was not just a part of his life; she was his life.

The healer, a wise woman, did everything in her power to nurse Y/n back to health. Villagers prayed fervently for her recovery, knowing that her survival was essential not just for her loved ones but for the entire village. Y/n was a beacon of hope, a symbol of resilience in the face of adversity.

Especially for young Ram. They feared what would happen to him if Y/n were to ever die.

Weeks turned into months, and Y/n's condition remained critical. She lay in a state of unconsciousness, her memory locked away in the recesses of her injured mind. Her once vibrant smile had been replaced by the pallor of illness.

Ram visited her every day, his eyes filled with love and despair. He spoke to her, whispered words of encouragement, and told her stories of their adventures together. He shared his dreams with her, hoping that somewhere deep within her, she would hear him and return to him

.

One particularly gloomy evening, as the rain poured outside, Ram sat by Y/n's bedside, his voice trembling with emotion. "Y/n, do you remember the stars? Our star, the one we made our promise on?"

He reached for the necklace she had given him, the heart-shaped stone catching the dim light of the room. Tears welled up in his eyes as he held it close to his heart.

"Look, Y/n," he continued, his voice cracking, "I've kept our promise. I carry your heart with me, always. Please, wake up. I can't bear to be without you."

Outside the window, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Ram saw it as a sign, a reminder of the storms they had weathered together and the strength of their love.

As the days turned into months, the village faced new challenges. The British presence loomed larger, and their demands on the villagers grew more oppressive. Ram, once a carefree young man, had become a symbol of resistance. He organized secret meetings, rallying the villagers to protect their way of life.

But with each passing day, his heart ached for Y/n. He couldn't be the hero he wanted to be if she was not by his side. The world outside their village had become a battleground, and he longed for the comfort and warmth of her presence.

Meanwhile, Y/n's fate had taken an unexpected turn. When the villagers had been forced to retreat, leaving her unconscious by the river one fateful day, she was discovered by a group of travelling Hindu priests who were passing through the area. They were on a pilgrimage, seeking spiritual enlightenment and performing sacred rituals.

Seeing Y/n alone and injured, they assumed she was an orphan, a lost soul in need of care. Without hesitation, they took her in, their hearts filled with compassion. She became a part of their travelling group, joining them on their pilgrimage across the land.

Unconscious and severely injured, Y/n remained in their care. The priests were skilled in the healing arts, and they did their best to tend to her injuries. Days turned into weeks, and gradually, her physical condition improved.

But when Y/n finally awoke, she was met with confusion and amnesia. She could not remember her name, her past, or the village she had come from. The priests, kind-hearted and caring, did their best to help her regain her memory, but all their efforts were in vain.

As the months passed, Y/n travelled with the priests, visiting temples, and participating in sacred rituals. She learned their ways, their customs, and their beliefs. The priests became her family, and she embraced the life of devotion and spirituality.

Yet, deep within her heart, there was a void, a sense of something missing. She couldn't explain it, but a part of her felt incomplete, as if a piece of her soul had been left behind somewhere.

While Y/n embarked on her new journey, Ram's life had taken a starkly different path. Fueled by his determination to find Y/n and the burning desire for revenge against the British who had torn them apart, he had become a relentless warrior in the making.

He trained rigorously, not just in the art of combat but also in strategy and leadership. His village looked up to him as a beacon of hope, a symbol of resistance against British oppression. He had become a key figure in the underground movement, organizing secret meetings and coordinating acts of defiance.

But amidst the turmoil and chaos, his heart was heavy with the burden of uncertainty. He clung to the necklace Y/n had given him, wearing it every day as a reminder of their love. He refused to believe that she was lost to him forever.

His hatred for the British grew with each passing day, fueled by the memory of that fateful moment by the river. He swore to himself that he would find Y/n, no matter the cost. She was the driving force behind his determination to free his village from the shackles of oppression.

Ram's quest for justice and love would lead him down a perilous path, one filled with danger, sacrifice, and unwavering devotion. He would stop at nothing to reunite with Y/n, the love of his life, and to fulfill the promise they had made beneath the starry sky.

In the heart of Vemulawada, the village of resistance, Ram's days were filled with a relentless pursuit of justice and freedom. He had become a symbol of hope, a beacon of resistance against the British occupation. The necklace Y/n had given him remained a constant reminder of their love and the promise they had made.

Each morning, before he embarked on his duties as a leader of the resistance, he would hold the necklace close to his heart and whisper, "I will find you, Y/n. I will bring you back to me."

The villagers had come to admire and respect Ram's unwavering determination. His leadership had united them in a common cause—to free their village from the shackles of oppression and to seek justice for the innocent lives lost.

But despite the strength of his resolve and the support of his fellow villagers, Ram could not escape the profound loneliness that had settled into his heart. He longed for Y/n's presence, her laughter, and the warmth of her love.

Meanwhile, Y/n's life had taken a vastly different course. Under the care of the travelling Hindu priests, she had embarked on a spiritual journey across the vast landscapes of India. The days were filled with rituals, prayers, and the study of ancient texts. Y/n embraced this new life, finding solace in the company of the priests and devotees.

She learned to chant sacred verses and perform intricate rituals, her devotion deepening with each passing day. The priests, who had initially taken her in as an injured and amnesiac orphan, had become her family. She respected and admired their wisdom, finding comfort in their guidance.

Yet, no matter how content she was with her new life, a sense of longing continued to tug at her heart. There was a void, an emptiness that she could not explain. It was as though a part of her soul remained lost, a part she could not remember.

One evening, as she sat with the priests by the sacred fire, the flickering flames casting a warm glow on her face, Y/n turned to the elder priest, Guru Devanand. "Guruvugaru, why do I feel like there's something missing in my life? It's as though there's a piece of me that I can't find."

Guru Devanand regarded her with compassion, his eyes filled with understanding.

"Bidda, sometimes the past remains hidden from us for a reason. Perhaps it is the will of the divine that has led you to us. Your journey is a sacred one, and you are destined for a greater purpose."

Y/n nodded, but her heart still ached with a sense of incompleteness. She longed for answers, for a glimpse into the life she could not remember. And deep within her, an unspoken longing for someone she could not name.

Back in their village, the resistance against the British continued to escalate. Ram had become a formidable leader, and the villagers admired his unwavering dedication to their cause. He trained tirelessly, his body honed into a weapon of defiance. His resolve was unyielding, driven by the belief that Y/n was still alive and waiting for him.

One evening, as he addressed a gathering of villagers in a secret meeting, he spoke with conviction. "We will not rest until we have driven the British oppressors out of our land. Our fight is not just for our freedom but for the future we dreamt of—the future we promised each other."

The villagers cheered, their spirits lifted by Ram's words. They believed in him, and they believed in the love that had sustained him through the darkest of times. The necklace he wore, with its heart-shaped stone, was a symbol of that love, and it inspired hope in their hearts.

As the resistance grew stronger, Ram's thoughts often turned to the day he had last seen Y/n. He remembered the chaos, the horses trampling through the village, and the adults forcibly pulling him away from her lifeless form.

All because of the cowards who had left her at the river, fearing their own safety when a fresh wave of British warriors attacked. He had refused to believe that she was gone, that the necklace she had given him was all that remained.

The memories of their childhood, their innocent love, and the dreams they had shared haunted him. He longed to hold Y/n in his arms once more, to tell her that he had never given up on her, and to fulfil the promise they had made to each other beneath the starry sky.

Unknown to him, deep within Y/n's heart, a flicker of recognition had begun to emerge. It was as though the past, which had been shrouded in darkness for so long, was beginning to stir. She couldn't explain it, but there were moments when fragments of memories danced at the edge of her consciousness.

One night, as she lay in meditation, her mind adrift in the realm of the divine, a vision appeared before her. It was a fleeting glimpse of a village, of a familiar face with eyes that held a depth of love she couldn't comprehend.

She woke with a start, her heart pounding, the vision still vivid in her mind. It was the first hint of a past that had long been hidden from her. A pair of eyes saw through her, a pair of beautiful eyes that stirred her soul. She only saw the eyes, but she had no idea that they were the ones of her beloved Ram from before the accident.

The days turned into weeks, and Y/n continued to meditate and pray, seeking answers in the depths of her own consciousness. Each time she closed her eyes, she hoped to uncover more fragments of her forgotten life.

One evening, while meditating by a tranquil river, Y/n felt a gentle breeze caress her face. It carried with it the scent of wildflowers and the distant murmur of the flowing water. As she delved deeper into her meditation, the vision returned.

This time, it was not just the eyes that appeared before her. It was a face—a face that she had longed to see but could not fully grasp. The features were familiar yet shrouded in mystery, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

With a sense of determination, Y/n continued to meditate, diving deeper into the vision. She saw glimpses of laughter, of shared secrets, and of a love that transcended time and space. The images were like fragments of a dream, beautiful.

The bustling market of Dehli came alive with the cacophony of merchants hawking their wares and the chatter of shoppers seeking the best deals. It was a world of vibrant colors, exotic spices, and the rich tapestry of life in the city.

Amidst the throngs of people, Ram moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the crowd in search of something he had yearned for over the years—a glimpse of Y/n, the girl he had loved since childhood, the girl he had lost but never forgotten.

Little did he know that fate was about to bring them together in an unexpected and thrilling encounter. As he wandered through the market, he saw a figure in the distance, a figure that sent his heart racing with disbelief and joy.

It was Y/n.

His heart stuttered as he blinked, convinced that his eyes were playing tricks on him. Could it truly be her? For a moment, doubt gnawed at him, and he wondered if it was merely someone who resembled the love he had searched for so desperately.

But as he drew closer, his heart leapt in his chest. There was no mistaking it—those graceful movements, the way her hair danced in the wind, and the familiar rhythm of her steps. It was Y/n, the one he had loved with all his heart, the one he had believed to be lost forever.

As the truth washed over him, Ram's steps quickened, and he couldn't contain the excitement that surged within him. He was like a man possessed, driven by an overwhelming desire to bridge the gap that had separated them for so long.

Without hesitation, Ram began to follow her, weaving through the bustling crowd with a determination fueled by years of longing. He couldn't lose sight of her, not this time. He couldn't let her slip through his fingers again.

Every emotion he had ever felt for Y/n came rushing back like a tidal wave. The anger and frustration at having lost her in the first place battled with the elation of finally finding her. His heart raced in his chest, and his breath came in short, exhilarated gasps.

He couldn't help but marvel at the twists of fate that had brought them together in this moment. The city of Delhi, with its labyrinthine streets and bustling market, had become the backdrop for their unexpected reunion.

But to Y/n, the man who had begun to follow her was a stranger. Her heart raced, and a sense of unease settled in as she quickened her pace through the labyrinthine streets of the market. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being pursued, that danger lurked behind her.

Fear gripped her, and she decided to lose him in the maze of narrow alleys and crowded stalls. Her feet moved with agility born from desperation as she darted around corners and through tight spaces, all the while unaware of the persistence of her pursuer.

Ram, determined not to let her escape, followed closely behind. The chase through the streets of Delhi turned into a thrilling game of cat and mouse. Y/n's heart pounded, her breath quickened, and the cityscape became a blur as she evaded her pursuer with a dancer's grace.

The sun beat down upon them, casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets. Y/n's thoughts raced as she continued to evade her pursuer, the fear in her heart mingling with confusion. Who was this man, and why was he so relentless in his pursuit?

As she darted into another narrow alleyway, her breath hitched, and she pressed herself against a wall, hoping to blend into the shadows. Her chest heaved with every gasp for air, and she dared to steal a glance around the corner.

Ram, now desperate to catch up to her, rounded the corner, his eyes scanning for any sign of Y/n. He could hear the rapid rhythm of her footsteps, the tantalizing sound of his heart's desire just out of reach.

For a moment, their eyes locked. Y/n's wide, fearful gaze met Ram's intense and determined stare. It was a fleeting connection, a silent plea that spoke volumes—a plea for understanding, for safety, and for answers.

In that charged moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Ram saw not just Y/n but the entire universe in her eyes—a universe of memories, of love, and of the promise they had made as children beneath the starry sky.

But in that moment, Y/n couldn't find the words to ask. She could only see a stranger in his eyes, a stranger who had pursued her relentlessly through the maze of the market.

With a final surge of energy, Y/n managed to slip away once more, her agile form disappearing into the labyrinthine streets. Ram, left breathless and disheartened, watched as she vanished, a whisper of a dream he had nearly caught.

As Y/n found a hidden nook in the market to catch her breath, her heart raced, and her thoughts swirled with confusion. Who was that man, and why had he been following her? The encounter left her bewildered and shaken.

Meanwhile, Ram leaned against a wall, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure. He couldn't believe that he had almost caught up to Y/n, the love he had searched for so desperately. His emotions were a chaotic whirlwind of joy, frustration, and a profound sense of disbelief.

The elation of seeing her, of knowing that she was alive, was tempered by the bitter taste of having lost her once more. He couldn't help but replay the chase in his mind, every twist and turn, every fleeting glimpse of her, and the tantalizing nearness of her presence.

His heart ached with longing, and his mind raced with questions. Who was she now? What had become of her since that fateful day when they had been torn apart? And most importantly, how could he make her remember the love they had shared as children?

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the market began to wind down for the day, Ram made a silent promise to himself. He would find Y/n, and he would make her remember everything, even if it meant facing the unknown challenges that lay ahead.

The first encounter in the market had left its mark on both of them, setting the stage for a series of events that would change their lives forever.

Days had passed since Ram had first glimpsed Y/n in the bustling market, and in that time, he had enlisted the help of his most trusted officers to scour the city in search of her. The necklace she had given him all those years ago had served as a beacon of hope, driving him forward in his quest to reunite with her.

The market was once again alive with activity, with vendors peddling their wares, and shoppers weaving through the narrow streets. But amidst the chaos, Ram's eyes remained fixed on one person—the woman he had longed to find.

Y/n moved through the market, her steps hurried and her senses on high alert. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the eerie sensation that someone was tracking her every move. It had sent shivers down her spine, and she clutched her cloth-wrapped purchases tightly.

As she moved through the crowd, she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the faces in the crowd. That's when she saw him—the same man who had been chasing her days earlier. He stood with several officers, all of them focused on her.

Panic surged within her, and she knew she needed to escape. Without thinking, she brought her cloth up to cover her face, hoping to obscure her features and make herself less conspicuous. But it was too late; Rama had already spotted her.

He pointed directly at her, and Y/n's heart raced. Without hesitation, she turned and bolted, weaving through the labyrinthine streets of the market in a desperate attempt to outrun her pursuer.

Rama was prepared, though. He had anticipated her every move, and he chased after her, his determination unyielding. The chase led them through a maze of alleyways and crowded thoroughfares, the gap between them narrowing with every passing moment.

Y/n's breath came in ragged gasps, and her heart pounded in her chest as she pushed herself to her limits. She couldn't allow herself to be caught by this stranger who seemed relentless in his pursuit.

Rama, on the other hand, was driven by a potent mixture of emotions. He was overjoyed that he had finally located Y/n, that all his years of searching had not been in vain. Yet, he couldn't fathom why she was running from him, why she appeared to be so terrified.

The chase continued, with Y/n narrowly evading Rama's grasp several times. She darted through tight spaces, her instincts guiding her through the labyrinth of the market. But Rama was relentless, his determination unwavering.

Finally, at the end of a narrow alley, Rama managed to close the distance between them. He cornered Y/n, his hands pressing against the walls on either side of her, effectively blocking her path. Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Y/n, her chest heaving from exertion, felt a sense of vulnerability wash over her. She was trapped, cornered by a stranger who had pursued her with unwavering determination. Her initial fear had given way to confusion, and she held her arm up, ready to defend herself if needed.

Rama gazed at her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. In that moment, he saw not a stranger but the woman he had loved since childhood, the woman whose memory he had cherished through the years of separation.

A rush of emotions surged through him—relief, joy, and a profound sense of longing. He couldn't contain himself any longer. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace that was filled with a love that transcended time and memory.

Y/n, her initial shock giving way to astonishment, was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected embrace. Her instincts told her to push him away, to defend herself, but there was something about the intensity in his gaze, the warmth of his embrace, that left her entranced.

And then, in that alleyway amidst the bustling market, something extraordinary happened—a flicker of recognition danced in Y/n's eyes. It was a tiny spark, a fragment of a memory that had long been buried, but it was enough to stir her soul.

She only saw the eyes, but it was a start, a glimmer of hope in the midst of confusion. Yet, before the moment could fully crystallize, Y/n, still unable to comprehend the situation, pushed him away roughly, breaking the embrace.

Rama, bewildered and breathless, looked at her, his heart torn between euphoria and despair. He couldn't understand why she had pushed him away, why she seemed so distant. But he was determined to find out, to unravel the mystery that had separated them for so long.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern and a hint of confusion.

Ram stood there, his breaths ragged, and his heart pounding. He had found her, Y/n, after years of relentless searching. Yet, her reaction was far from what he had expected.

Y/n, her eyes wide with fear and confusion, had been running from him in the bustling market. In his eagerness, he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a hidden corner of the alley to shield her from the British officers he had stationed.

She was panting, her chest heaving with exertion from their chase. Her eyes darted around the dimly lit alley, searching for an escape route, her fear unmistakable.

Ram knew he needed to calm her, to make her recognize him. His voice, although gentle, held an urgency as he spoke, "Y/n, it's me, Ram. Don't you recognize me?"

Y/n's brows furrowed as she looked at him, her gaze searching his face. "Ram? I... I'm not sure. You seem familiar, but I... I don't remember."

His heart sank at her words, a crushing weight settling in his chest. How could she not remember him, their childhood, their love? Ram had believed that finding her would be the end of his long and arduous journey, but now he realized that the real battle lay ahead—making her remember.

Desperation welled up within him as he reached out to touch her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Y/n, we were childhood sweethearts. We grew up together. You gave me this necklace, don't you remember?"

He unclasped the necklace with the heart-shaped stone from around his neck and held it out to her. Y/n's eyes flickered to the necklace, and she took a hesitant step back, her hand covering her mouth as if to shield herself from the memories that threatened to surface.

"I... I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't remember anything before... before waking up with the priests."

Ram's heart ached at her words. He had hoped that the sight of the necklace would trigger a flood of memories, but it seemed that Y/n's amnesia was far more profound than he had anticipated. He couldn't blame her; it had been years since they had last seen each other.

As he stood there, grappling with the reality that Y/n did not remember him, disaster struck. The noise of approaching footsteps echoed in the alley, and a group of British officers appeared at the entrance. They had been alerted to the commotion, and their stern faces bore witness to the tense atmosphere.

Ram's heart raced, and panic surged through him. He couldn't let the British officers capture Y/n or separate them again. He had to protect her, even if she didn't remember him.

Without thinking, Ram grabbed Y/n's hand and pulled her behind a stack of crates, shielding her from the officers' view. He pressed a finger to his lips, urging her to stay quiet. Her wide eyes locked onto his, a mixture of fear and confusion in her gaze.

The British officers entered the alley, their torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls. They scanned the area, their eyes narrowing as they sensed that something was amiss. Ram's grip on Y/n's hand tightened, and he held his breath, willing the officer to move on.

Seconds felt like hours as the officer examined the crates, shining his torchlight in their direction. Beads of sweat formed on Ram's forehead as he mentally begged for Y/n to remain still and silent.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the officer moved away, apparently satisfied that there was nothing unusual in the alley. The group of officers continued down the narrow path, their footsteps gradually fading into the distance.

Ram released the breath he had been holding and turned to Y/n, his eyes filled with relief. She was safe, for now. But the knowledge that she didn't remember him gnawed at him like a relentless storm.

Y/n, still trembling, looked up at him with a mixture of gratitude and confusion. "Thank you... for helping me," she whispered.

Ram nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his unspoken emotions. Ram stood there, his heart heavy, as Y/n whispered her gratitude for his help. Her eyes held a fragile glimmer of trust, but the confusion within them was unmistakable.

"Thank you for helping me," Y/n repeated, her voice barely audible.

Ram couldn't help himself. He had to know, had to confront the devastating truth that was unravelling before him. His voice trembled as he asked, "Y/n, do you truly remember nothing? Nothing at all?"

Y/n's brows furrowed, and she shook her head, her expression one of genuine confusion. "I... I don't remember anything before waking up with the priests. It's all a blur, a distant haze that I can't seem to grasp."

It was as if his heart had been crushed under the weight of an insurmountable despair. The woman he had longed to find, the love they had shared, the memories they had created—it was all shrouded in a thick fog that refused to dissipate.

Ram's breaths grew ragged, and he staggered back, his mind unable to comprehend the magnitude of his loss. Y/n's face blurred before his eyes as he struggled to maintain his composure. He felt as though he were drowning in an ocean of despair, his heartache overwhelming him.

In that vulnerable moment, Y/n seized the opportunity to slip out of his grasp. Her fingers slipped from his as she stepped back, her eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and sorrow. She didn't understand the depth of his pain, but she sensed that she had brought him to the brink of despair.

Ram, desperate to keep her from disappearing once more, reached out to grasp her wrist. His fingers brushed against her skin, but she slipped away like a wisp of smoke, her movements quick and graceful.

He watched, helpless and heartbroken, as Y/n melted into the crowd, her figure growing smaller and more distant with each passing second. She glanced back at him, her eyes meeting his one last time before she vanished into the sea of faces.

Tears welled up in Ram's eyes, and he felt a crushing sense of failure. He had failed to protect her, to make her remember him, to keep her from slipping away again. His chest tightened with anguish as he realized the enormity of the challenge that lay ahead.

That night, Ram sat alone in a dimly lit room, surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol. He drank to numb the pain, to escape the harsh reality that Y/n, the woman he had devoted all these years of his life to finding, no longer remembered him or the memories they had shared as children.

He stared at the necklace with the heart-shaped stone, clutched tightly in his trembling hand. It was a symbol of their love, of the promise they had made to each other beneath the starry sky. But now, it felt like a cruel reminder of what he had lost.

Tears streamed down his face as he looked at the necklace, his vision blurred by the haze of alcohol. But in that moment of vulnerability, something inside him shifted. A wave of determination washed over him, and he vowed to himself that he would make Y/n remember everything, even if it meant facing the unknown challenges that lay ahead.

With renewed resolve, he wiped away his tears and clutched the necklace to his chest. "Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with unwavering determination, "I will find a way to make you fall in love with me again, to make you remember everything, even if you never know the lengths I'll go to for you."

Meanwhile, at the temple where she lived, Y/n lay on her simple cot, staring up at the thatched roof above. Her heart was heavy with unanswered questions, and her mind was haunted by the fleeting familiarity of the stranger in the market.

She had tried to dismiss it as mere coincidence, the ramblings of a man who might be mentally unstable. Yet, the memory of his eyes, the depth of emotion in his gaze, lingered in her thoughts.

As Y/n closed her eyes, she couldn't help but wonder about the man who had chased her, the man who had saved her, and the man who seemed to bear the weight of a painful secret. Little did she know that their destinies were inexorably intertwined, and the journey to unlock the fractured memories of their shared past had only just begun.

The sun bathed the bustling market square in golden warmth as a new day dawned. Ram, with a fresh sense of determination, had returned to the very place where he had last seen Y/n vanish into the crowd. His heart still ached from their encounter, but he refused to give in to despair.

With each step, he scanned the familiar faces of the market vendors and shoppers, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He knew he had to tread carefully, to approach her with a charm that would ignite the embers of her forgotten memories.

There she was, standing before a vendor's stall, her attention focused on a display of vibrant fabrics. Her face, bathed in the soft light of the morning sun, seemed even more radiant than he remembered. Ram took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task ahead.

He approached her with measured confidence, slipping silently through the crowd until he stood beside her. "Good morning," he said, his voice carrying a gentle warmth.

Y/n turned to face the stranger who had spoken to her, her eyes meeting Ram's. Her gaze held a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her memory still clouded by uncertainty.

"Good morning," she replied cautiously, her fingers idly tracing the colourful fabrics. "Can I help you with something?"

Ram smiled, his eyes never leaving hers. "I couldn't help but notice your exquisite taste in fabrics. You have a discerning eye."

Y/n chuckled softly, the corners of her lips lifting in a hesitant smile. "Thank you. I've always been drawn to vibrant colours."

He nodded in agreement. "Colors have a way of bringing life to the world, much like a smile." Ram's words were laced with a subtle charm, and he continued, "May I know your name, beautiful lady?"

Y/n's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "I'm Y/n," she replied, introducing herself with a polite nod.

"Y/n," he repeated, his voice tender as he savored the sound of her name. "A name as lovely as its bearer. I'm Ram."

Their eyes locked, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though time had stood still. Ram's heart ached with the weight of unspoken memories, but he refused to let despair consume him.

Y/n's gaze held a spark of recognition, a glimmer of familiarity that danced at the edge of her consciousness. She couldn't explain it, but there was something about this stranger that resonated with her on a deeper level.

"Ram," she said softly, testing the name on her lips. "It sounds... familiar."

He nodded, his eyes filled with hope. "Perhaps our paths have crossed before, Y/n. Fate has a way of bringing people together."

As they strolled through the market, Ram engaged her in conversation, sharing stories and laughter. He regaled her with tales of their shared experiences in the city, carefully crafting a narrative that would ignite the embers of her forgotten memories.

They stopped by a vendor selling intricate jewellery, and Ram picked up a delicate necklace with a heart-shaped pendant, similar to the one he wore. "This," he said, holding it up to the sunlight, "reminds me of the beauty of the world we live in."

Y/n's eyes fixed on the necklace, and a distant glimmer of recognition flickered within them. She reached out to touch the pendant, her fingers tracing its contours. "A reminder," she murmured.

Ram seized the opportunity, his voice earnest. "Indeed, a reminder of the precious moments we create in our journey."

Y/n's gaze remained fixed on the necklace, her thoughts lost in a sea of memories that lay just beyond her reach. She could almost feel the weight of a forgotten promise, a love that transcended time.

The morning unfolded with a serenade of words and laughter, and Ram continued his gentle courtship, hoping that each moment would bring her closer to remembering their shared experiences.

Days turned into weeks, and as the sunlit market became a familiar backdrop to their encounters, Ram and Y/n's connection deepened. Each day, they explored different stalls together, sharing stories and laughter as they discovered the hidden gems of the market.

Ram remained cautious, never mentioning their past, as he continued to court Y/n with a sincerity that touched her heart. His charm, wrapped in an air of mystery, began to work its magic on her.

Y/n found herself eagerly anticipating their meetings, her heart dancing to the rhythm of his words and laughter. Ram had a way of making the mundane seem extraordinary, and the world around them came alive with every shared moment.

One day, as they stood before a vendor selling fragrant flowers, Ram picked a single crimson rose and extended it towards Y/n. "A token of appreciation for the joy you've brought into my life," he said, his eyes holding a gentle sincerity.

Y/n accepted the rose with a soft smile, its velvety petals brushing against her fingers. "Thank you, Ram. You've brought a touch of magic to my days."

Ram's heart swelled with warmth as he watched her cradle the rose delicately. "The real magic," he whispered, "is in the moments we create together."

As the weeks passed, their encounters turned into shared lunches beneath the shade of ancient trees, stolen glances that lingered a moment too long, and the hesitant brush of fingertips. Y/n's heart began to beat in harmony with Ram's, and she couldn't deny the growing affection she felt for the charming stranger.

Their connection deepened, and Y/n's curiosity about the man who had entered her life like a whisper of fate only intensified. She found herself wondering about his past, about the mysteries he carried with him. And with every shared story, she longed to know him more.

One evening, as the golden hues of the setting sun painted the market in a warm embrace, Ram turned to Y/n. "There's something I'd like to share with you," he began, his voice soft and earnest. "It's a place that holds special meaning to me."

Intrigued, Y/n nodded, her eyes fixed on his. "I'd love to see it."

Ram smiled, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Tomorrow, at dawn, I'll take you there. It's a place where memories are born."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the market square, Ram and Y/n's hands brushed against each other—a silent promise of the adventures and emotions yet to come. The blossoming connection between them held the promise of something beautiful, something that had been lost in time but was now slowly finding its way back into their hearts.

The dawn of the following day brought with it an air of anticipation as Ram and Y/n embarked on a journey to the place he held dear. The sun's first rays painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, casting a magical glow upon the world around them.

Ram led Y/n through winding paths, lined with vibrant blossoms and ancient trees, their leaves whispering secrets of the past. The silence between them was comfortable, as if words were unnecessary in the presence of such serene beauty.

Eventually, they arrived at a secluded clearing nestled deep within the heart of the forest. Here, a pristine lake glistened like a sapphire jewel, reflecting the azure sky above. Surrounding the lake were blooming wildflowers in every shade imaginable, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colours.

Y/n gasped in awe at the sight, her eyes shining with wonder. "It's... it's incredible," she murmured, her voice filled with emotion.

Ram watched her with a tender smile, his heart swelling with happiness at her reaction. "This place has always held a special place in my heart. It's where I come to find solace and reconnect with the beauty of the world."

As they sat by the edge of the lake, their feet dangling in the crystal-clear water, Ram shared stories of his childhood. He spoke of days spent exploring the forest with friends, of laughter that echoed through the trees, and of promises made beneath the endless sky.

Y/n listened intently, her heart stirred by the nostalgia in his voice. While she couldn't remember her own past, she found solace in the memories he shared. It was as though she had glimpsed a world she had once known, a world where laughter and friendship were cherished above all else.

Hours passed like fleeting moments, and as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Ram and Y/n decided to take a stroll along the lake's shore. They walked hand in hand, their fingers entwined like two souls rediscovering a connection that had long been buried.

"Ram," Y/n began, her voice soft, "there's something about all of this that feels so... familiar. It's as though I should remember, but I can't."

Ram's heart skipped a beat. He had expected this moment to come, the moment when Y/n's curiosity would lead her to question the unspoken past between them. With a gentle smile, he replied, "Sometimes, Y/n, the heart remembers what the mind has forgotten. Our journey together is about rediscovering those memories, one moment at a time."

They continued their walk, their steps guided by an unspoken connection that transcended time and memory. Ram couldn't deny the growing affection he felt for Y/n, and he knew that their journey of rediscovery was far from over.

As the day drew to a close, they returned to the bustling market, their hearts lighter and their bond stronger than ever. Ram had planted the seeds of remembrance, and he was determined to help Y/n unlock the secrets of her past.

Their love story, once forgotten, was now being rewritten in the pages of destiny, and neither of them could predict the adventures and challenges that lay ahead. But they faced the future with hope, knowing that their connection was a force that could overcome any obstacle.

And so, under the same golden sun that had witnessed their childhood promises, Ram and Y/n walked hand in hand, ready to embrace the unknown journey that awaited them—the journey of rediscovery, love, and a shared destiny.

As the days turned into weeks, their bond continued to deepen. Ram was a master of subtlety, never pushing Y/n too hard to remember but creating moments of connection that seemed almost like fate. He introduced her to the flavours of their land, sharing meals under the open sky and teaching her the art of cooking traditional dishes.

Y/n, in turn, found herself drawn to Ram in ways she couldn't explain. His smile warmed her heart, and his laughter was a melody that echoed in her dreams. She marvelled at his kindness, his unwavering support, and the way he made her feel cherished.

Ram stood in the midst of his fellow resistance members, their faces marked with determination and resolve. The British occupation had grown even more oppressive, and their village needed to band together to protect their way of life. As he listened to their strategies and plans for the days ahead, his mind wandered to thoughts of a different kind.

One of his comrades, a friend he had known for years, approached him during a brief lull in the discussion. "Ram," the man said, "have you heard about the Western Ball?"

Ram furrowed his brow, genuinely perplexed. "The Western Ball? What is that?"

His friend chuckled. "It's an event, Rama, a gathering where people dance to Western music. They say it's a lot of fun. It's happening in a nearby town soon."

Ram's curiosity was piqued. He had never heard of such an event before, but the idea of dancing and having fun was enticing. "Tell me more," he urged.

His friend explained, "It's a partner dance, Rama. You're supposed to bring a partner with you. The dances are quite lively and energetic. I thought you might be interested."

Ram's thoughts immediately turned to Y/n. The idea of taking her to a Western Ball filled him with excitement. It was a chance for them to create new memories and perhaps rekindle old ones.

That night, as he lay in his modest room, he couldn't help but dream about the possibility of inviting Y/n to the Western Ball. He imagined them dancing together under the stars, their laughter ringing out like music. The thought brought a smile to his face, and he knew he had to muster the courage to ask her.

But he also knew that Y/n's memory was a delicate subject, and he didn't want to rush or pressure her in any way. The journey of rediscovery they were on was a gradual one, and he was willing to be patient.

As he drifted off to sleep, he made a silent promise to himself. He would find the perfect moment to ask Y/n to be his partner at the Western Ball, and in doing so, he hoped to create a new chapter in their unfolding love story.

The day of the Western Ball had finally arrived, and Ram stood at the grand steps leading to the ballroom, adorned in a finely tailored suit that accentuated his strong, confident presence. His heart raced with anticipation as he waited for Y/n, his thoughts filled with the image of the woman who had become the center of his world.

As the ball's attendees glided past him, their elegant attire and radiant smiles creating an air of enchantment, Ram's eyes remained fixed on the entrance. He knew that tonight would be a turning point in their journey, a moment that held the promise of rediscovered love.

The grand ballroom lay ahead, its opulent decor bathed in a soft, golden glow from the crystal chandeliers above. Couples twirled gracefully across the polished dance floor, the music a symphony of joy and longing. The atmosphere was alive with the lilting strains of a waltz, a dance that had transcended generations.

And then, as if the universe had heard his silent plea, there she was. Y/n descended the staircase, her every movement a graceful symphony. She was a vision of elegance, draped in a luxurious sari that shimmered like moonlight on water. The fabric clung to her figure, accentuating her beauty and leaving him breathless.

Ram felt as though his heart had skipped a beat as he beheld her. He was instantly head over heels, his gaze capturing the radiance that seemed to emanate from her. Her eyes, like two pools of deep emotion, met his, and for a moment, the world around them faded into insignificance.

Taking a step forward, he extended his hand, his voice gentle yet filled with admiration. "Y/n, you look absolutely stunning."

Y/n's cheeks flushed with a delicate shade of pink as she placed her hand in his. Her nervousness was evident, but there was also a flicker of excitement in her eyes. "Thank you, Ram. You look quite dashing yourself."

Their fingers entwined, and Ram led her into the grand ballroom. The atmosphere was alive with the lilting strains of music, and couples swayed gracefully to the rhythm of the waltz. Ram guided Y/n onto the dance floor, and they joined the swirling dance, their movements synchronized in a beautiful duet.

The waltz was a dance of elegance and intimacy, its steps requiring trust and synchronicity between partners. As they glided across the floor, Y/n felt a connection growing between them. Her apprehension began to melt away, replaced by a sense of belonging she couldn't quite explain.

The notes of the waltz enveloped them, and Ram's eyes never left hers. He led her with grace and tenderness, his movements exuding a quiet confidence. Y/n followed his lead, her heart beating in time with the music, a rhythm that mirrored the awakening emotions within her.

However, in the midst of their dance, Y/n overheard a conversation from a nearby group of attendees. They spoke in hushed tones, their eyes focused on her sari. One of them mentioned that her outfit seemed out of place at such an event, causing her to feel self-conscious.

The insecurity that had haunted her since her memory loss surged forward, threatening to engulf her. Without a word, Y/n abruptly broke away from the dance and rushed out of the ballroom, leaving a bewildered Ram behind.

He watched her disappear into the night, panic coursing through his veins. Without a second thought, he followed, driven by the need to find her and reassure her.

Outside the grand ballroom, under the open night sky, Y/n stood alone. Her heart was heavy with a mix of emotions—excitement, insecurity, and a longing for the memories she had lost. She stared up at the stars, their shimmering brilliance reflecting the uncharted depths of her mind.

Amid the twinkling constellations, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm her racing thoughts. Ram had brought her to this magical night, filling her life with kindness and laughter, and she couldn't help but feel an inexplicable connection to him.

As she contemplated the enigmatic stranger who had walked into her life, slowly, like a dream returning from the depths of slumber, fragments of memories began to resurface. They were mere whispers at first, faint echoes of a past she had nearly forgotten.

She remembered a pair of warm, compassionate eyes that had gazed at her with unwavering devotion. She remembered laughter, shared secrets, and a promise made beneath a starry sky. She remembered love—pure and innocent, like the memories of childhood.

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes as fragments of their shared history began to coalesce, forming a vivid tapestry of moments spent with Ram. The uncertainty that had plagued her seemed to crumble away, replaced by a sense of clarity and purpose.

Unbeknownst to her, Ram had followed her out of the ballroom, his heart aching with worry. He spotted Y/n standing alone, her eyes fixed on the heavens, and he approached her with cautious steps.

As he drew near, Y/n turned to face him, her eyes glistening with tears. The moment their gazes met, it was as though the entire universe had aligned. For a long, breathless moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of their unspoken emotions hanging in the air. Recognition, love, and longing collided in their eyes, creating a bond that transcended the boundaries of time.

Without a word, Y/n leapt into Ram's arms, her heart overflowing with the overwhelming rush of memories that had returned. Her tears flowed freely as she clung to him, her voice trembling with emotion. "Ram, I remember. I remember everything."

Ram held her tightly, his own eyes moist with tears of joy. He gently wiped away her tears, his voice filled with tenderness and relief. "Y/n, my love, my heart has ached for you all these years. I've missed you so much."

Y/n poured her feelings out, her words a torrent of love and longing. "I love you, Ram. I love you more than words can express. And I missed you too, with every beat of my heart." Y/n buried her face in his chest, her body trembling with emotion. For a moment, they remained locked in a tight embrace, the world fading away as they clung to each other.

In the embrace of the night, under the watchful gaze of the stars, Y/n and Ram shared a kiss that sealed their destiny. It was a kiss filled with the promise of a love rekindled, of memories cherished, and of a future bathed in the light of their enduring bond.

Their love story, which had spanned the years and endured the trials of fate, had come full circle. The stars above them bore witness to the magic of their reunion, a testament to the power of love's enduring flame.

Finally, as the tears subsided and their hearts beat in unison, Y/n pulled away just enough to look into Ram's eyes. Her voice was a soft, trembling whisper. "Ram..."

He held her gaze, his own eyes moist with tears of joy and relief. "Y/n," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness and love.

And in that moment, words were no longer necessary. Y/n's heart was overflowing with love and memories, and she knew that she was where she belonged, in the arms of the man she had never truly forgotten.

Together, under the endless canopy of stars, they found their way back to each other, and in that reunion, they discovered a love that was as enduring as time itself.

And as the Western Ball continued behind them, Y/n and Ram danced under the moonlight, their hearts intertwined, and their souls forever united.

Hope you enjoyed it! :)

[isawken]

haha heyyyyy jesties

this year has been rough stuff. and the problem is nothing life shattering has happened so i don’t even get to have a spectacular mental breakdown. it’s just been a lot of grind and disappointment and struggle to keep up or have any energy to do anything other than the bare minimum. to everyone who reached out to me with love or kindness or memes and waited weeks or more for a response i love you. and i’m so sorry for my total absence of personhood. i’ve never gotten a dm even if it’s just a silly post and an “i thought of you” that i didn’t like. and your patience with me is appreciated more than you know.

i have some stuff i want to work on. some hobbies i want to pick up again. some friendships i want to recultivate. some pieces of my life i want to try to rekindle. i used to have so much creative energy and impulse. did you know i used to make zines? i fuckin loved making zines. the tactile experience of cutting up thick paper and punching holes and using thread to bind em and filling it with vague thoughts and little collages and splashes of acrylic paint. that shit ruled. about a month ago i tried making one for the first time in years. i cut up some old paper and dusted off the ol' hole punch. this time instead of my usual embroidery thread i used necklace chain to bind it. i was proud of that idea. when it came time to put stuff in it i choked. i had no creative thought. i forced myself to cover the first page with orange and yellow crayola markers. but that was it. i had nothing other than that. just hasty sloppy color thoughtlessly and restlessly thrown down. a dull background promised to a more interesting foreground that never came.

that shit did not rule.

in 1883 in pecos texas the first recorded rodeo takes place. in 2001 rob smets attends the PBR world finals in jeans and a sports jersey bearing sponsor logos. in 1780 joseph grimaldi makes his stage debut at 2 years old at london’s famed drury lane. in the many, many years before any white person ever laid eyes on it, a man in what you’d now call northern arizona paints his body in black and white stripes and puts corn husks in his hair. in 1557 ivan the terrible acts as pallbearer to a man who walked naked in the streets of moscow, even in the dead of winter. 1568 the gelosi acting company coalesces in italy to perform the hot new style of live improv entertainment. in 2017 the ringling bro’s circus performs its last show, 146 years after the titular brothers first formed it. all of these moments (and more!) live in my head rolling around like marbles and one day i’ll tell you all why.

i’ve been on mood stabilizers for so long it’s hard for me to tell if this has just been a really long depressive swing or if this is just how i am now. if this is just what getting older is like. i don’t really think it is. i am like 90% sure this will not last. but the two questions that follow are always 1. how do i get out of it, and 2. what if it is tho xD?

i recently went down to southeastern ohio to visit my family. went up the mountain at 1 am saturday night to help my gramma grab the 8 year old boy she’s been helping to take care of from his strung out mother. the next day i saw my various other relations, aunts and cousins however many times removed. i hung out with my second cousin. same age as me, with two twin girls, 4 years old. she’s a great mom. and enjoys it, too. got a decent husband with a good job. obviously i don’t know her struggles. not like we talk often. but she seemed overall pleased when she spoke about her life. i told her about my work from home job and my loving partner of 8 years and my plans for the future. she told me i was living the dream. and like. i kind of am. so why do i wake up every morning in various states of hangover (it's the mental illness)

i live in one of the cloudiest cities in these united states. my house is about 500 square feet. it’s dark at 5pm now. i already miss the sun. i want to get sunburned again. i want to be sweaty. i want to put talcum powder in my skort. i want to get through this winter without having to rub snow on my face to stave off more serious impulses. i want to check the 5 items off my to do list.

all of my want is like a song stuck in my head.

i miss that stickbug meme

i should dress up like a clown again

maybe tomorrow i’ll just lay under my weighted blanket for 5 hours

or maybe i’ll actually do something i like to do and feel good and real and human about it. who knows. only time will tell. and in the meantime. thanks if you read this <3

[gray-morality]

Jól

2023.01.03

He’d quietly slip out of bed, naked as the day he was born, just to make use of the chamber pot downstairs and rekindle the fire; the small cabin would be warm by the time she’d wake up. As the sky was still dark and full of stars, the viera climbed back the flight of stairs and returned to his spot under the covers. He might be used to the cold but warmth was always welcomed. Wrapping his arms around the sleeping form of his beloved, he couldn’t help but smile when she nudged closer, burying her face against his chest. He kissed the top of her head as he let a hand wander, following the curve of her hip and climbing up her back, fingers burying into that cascade of curly red hair. He was at peace and, while sleep was beckoning, his mind decided now was a good time to reflect on the past. It was that time of the year after all.

Obviously, the first thought on Fakhri’s mind was about himself and the woman in his arms - of everything he had shared with her about his past, the children he had sired, the ones he had adopted… and their shared decision to ditch the contraceptive and try to conceive a child. He was no scientist or scholar and thus had no inkling on the probability of a child born of a Miqo’te and a Viera. Maybe it was impossible, he never met one even in his long life, but they’d still try, regardless. Because the idea of raising their child together filled them both with joy and a deep, soothing kind of warmth. He would also be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their moment of intimacy. He never had any desire for the women he had to sleep with; it was his duty to his tribe and nothing more. Good thing physical stimulation was enough because his head and his heart certainly had never been in it. He’d never imagine that, some centuries later, he’d meet a special lady who’d change all that. His girl, his love. 

Even with eyes closed, he knew her by heart. That wild mane of red hair that he brushed so often, her visage with the square jaw that was often deemed unattractive on a woman, her freckles, so many freckles, one could even say too many, that small bust and wide hips that didn’t fall into the standards of female beauty… heck, she was so beautiful. So damn beautiful. He could lose himself in the amber of her eyes, and how he loved the deep dimples on her cheeks when she smiled. He felt the soft caress of a stray tail on his leg and he smiled in turn; ya, he loved her tail too, and those cute, soft ears. He let his mind wander with images of her, basking in his adoration for that woman, remembering their shared moments - the lazy ones in comforting silence, the animated discussions over a good meal, the dancing in the middle of their small apartment, and their moment of intimacy with their breath mingling and their bodies seeking one another.

Well, that was a good image for his mind to focus on but, if he wanted to avoid waking her up with his hard-on, he had best force that image out. Ah! Yes… Jól. They called it Starlight in Eorzea and while their festivities were far more… colorful, they were still enjoyable. However, the traditions of his people were dear to him and, if he had the means - some years had been rougher than others - he’d honor those traditions. On their last visit to the cabin, he had set aside a rather large log and had brought in a bag all the rest - pine cones, dried berries, a cutting of mistletoe and pine needles, and some jute rope. Maybe he’d go gather a branch of birch for them to be blessed with fertility…  He also had brought plenty of candles and would go cut a small pine tree to bring inside, and maybe Seda would enjoy making a wreath with him. She had already decorated the place with evergreen for his nameday on the previous moon and thus doubted she’d mind renewing the dried branches for fresh ones.

His mind was still musing on everything he’d have to do once the sun rose when Seda stirred and mumbled, only to settle even closer against him. Alright, alright, time to sleep a few bells more it seemed. Even Arak had climbed on top of him and subsequently disappeared, finding a spot in between the two bodies to seek warmth. Letting his mind drift, Fakhri found sleep waiting for him and he welcomed it with a smile on his lips.

[dxfiedfxte]

Unprompted Asks || Always Accepting

@shootingxstardust sent: Marion is going to steal a piece of chocolate.

It was Valentine's Day, a time of year when everyone in the world celebrated love, especially those with significant others, but it didn't mean Valentine's Day was just for couples, there were probably several others out there who might not have someone for this day, and instead, choose to spend it with a dear friend and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that, Minato had done that before in the past, and he found that even spending time with a close friend rather than just a significant other, was still an effective way to kill the loneliness, at least a little bit -- and in some cases, that was all someone needed, of course, everyone else was different, but still similar in some kind of way.

Luckily for Minato, he had Fuuka Yamagishi, his High School Sweetheart whom he had managed to rekindle their relationship a few years ago now, and ever since they had been together again, things were far better than before, in fact, their relationship felt like it had gotten extremely strong ever since their reunion, he could still remember how nervous he was when he made his approach to apologize to her for choosing his career over them back then, and now, the two were practically inseparable, with a bond that easily surpassed the strength of their previous relationship. Minato and Fuuka had never been better.

Unfortunately, Fuuka received a phone call from Mitsuru about three days ago asking if she would be able to travel to Shadow Operative headquarters to do some repairs on Aigis and her sister, Labryis. after a battle with some leftover shadows that had been found, thankfully, the damage wasn't serious, but since none of the robotic experts were present, Mitsuru needed Fuuka to also add some upgrades as well to both of them as well as their general systems check to ensure the two iron maidens were still in tip-top condition.

Sadly, that meant Fuuka wouldn't be here for Valentine's Day, and wouldn't be back until the day after, to make up for it, she had promised to send him some fine chocolate, and Fuuka did not fault to deliver as promised, and the day Valentines arrived, A large box of chocolates had been delivered to him, the card that came with it had Fuuka's signature on it, with writing beside her name, it read:

I'm sorry I couldn't be here for Valentine's Day. Once I'm back, we can have our own little Valentine's day together ~ for now, enjoy these chocolates, as I promised. I'll see you tomorrow, Love, Fuuka.

With a smile on his face, he eagerly signed the confirmation of the delivery and took the box from the driver, and thanked him before quickly shutting the door and retreating to his couch, opening the box the moment he sits on his couch and taking out the chocolates, and just like he thought, the chocolate squares had blueberry filling in them, making every bite very delicious, blueberry and chocolate was such a good combo, and this chocolate proved it.

Sat comfortably in his seat, Minato flipped on the television and watched a horror movie that was on tv, an ironic one too as the movie, was the horror film: My Bloody Valentine. As he enjoyed snacking on the many boxes of chocolate his lovely girlfriend had sent him, Minato was so fixated on the movie, that he didn't notice Marion quietly join him on the couch, sitting on the opposite side near the other arm as Minato was near the arm on his side. The moment when a violent killing scene began, Minato paid full attention, and Marion seemed to use this to her advantage and swiped a square of chocolate while he wasn't looking.

Funny enough, it had been the very piece he was about to grab, so when his fingers touched the plastic tray rather than a piece of chocolate, Minato knew right away what happened at that moment, though he was already too late, as she has most likely eaten the piece by now.

[{ 🦋 }] - "......"

Grey eyes shifted to the right of him, and it was there when he finally noticed Marion sitting beside him on the other side of the couch. From there it didn't take long to put two and two together. When it finally hit him, grey eyes narrowed a little, giving her a look for a few minutes in silence before finally saying something.

[{ 🦋 }] - "...Really Marion? Come on. You know, if you wanted to try some of these, all you had to do was ask., rather than trying to be sneaky.."

[dc418writes]

•Memory Lane•

✨Pairing✨: mechanic!Ari Levinsonxblack!Reader

Summary🪄: Ari’s girls treating him for Father’s Day brings along some good (and emotional) memories

⚠️: pretty much all fluff, teensy bit of angst, language (one bad word)

🎙: V late Father’s Day story/Drabble idea I thought of, featuring the Operation: Rekindle crew, that I hope you guys like✨

The light clinks and whispers coming up the stairs is the most adorable interruption to his sleep he could ask for. Turning so he would be facing the door he quietly laughs to himself now able to hear them a bit clearer.

“Slow down B, you’re moving too fast.”

“Which is exactly why I was just gonna carry the tray and you could’ve held the bowl,” Brynn counters.

“Like you could’ve carried this up the stairs. Dad would’ve been eating off the floor.”

“Shh! You’re being too loud.”

“Nuh uh, you,” Aliana retorts. By the time they’re opening the door to Ari’s bedroom, he’s sitting against the headboard in his solid grey tee shirt. Muscular arms crossed in front of him and hand covering his mouth to try and hide his chuckles.

“Just so you know, you girls would make terrible cat burglars.”

“…Why would we be stealing cats?,” Brynn asks. Both her and her sister completely missing their father’s jab as they stood looking at each other confused. This only makes Ari lean his head back laughing harder before motioning his loves over with a, “Come here you two.”

They carefully step in sync finally reaching the king sized bed to place the heavy tray over his lap. Ari’s blue eyes brighten and heart warms at the options in front of him: a bowl of Cheerios (his favorite since he was a child himself), three waffles drizzled in syrup with a square piece of butter in the center, and a small plastic cup of orange juice waiting in the corner.

“Oh!,” they both say in unison before, respectively, pulling an apple and small container of a few strawberries from the pocket of their robe and hoodie. “Happy Father’s Day!”

Also presenting him with his card, he can’t help the wide smile across his lips at the similarities of this present moment and his first Father’s Day with you in that old apartment. Before life decided to take a different route and get even more complicated.

-

“Happy Father’s Day,” you whisper with a careful peck to the corner of his mouth while placing the plate of golden pancakes topped with berries resting next to an omelette filled with peppers and cheese—just the way he liked—on the open textbook in front of him. He’d spent the majority of last night running into this morning studying for his upcoming exam, and no amount of your coaxing seemed to persuade him to take a break.

That is until the sizzling pan and diffusing smell of your creations awoke his stomach with a gurgle.

“Thank you honey, but I’m not a dad yet. Well technically…right?,” he asks setting you on his lap.

“According to the two people inside me causing my uncontrollable heartburn and swollen ankles you are,” you giggle resting your arm around the top of the chair. “So, gifts now or later?”

“Hmm, that depends…what gifts?” His mouth immediately finding the sweet spot at the base of your neck makes you squeal, playfully trying to push him away with hands planted on his broad chest.

“Actual gifts silly.” Leaning forward, you retrieve the dark blue gift bag from beside the desk sitting it on his unoccupied thigh. “Open.”

He starts with the card, tearing the flap of the envelope open and removing the orange card covered in small cartoon fans. “Happy Father’s Day,” he reads before moving to the inside and softly chuckling to himself catching onto the joke. “From your biggest fans. Love Y/N, baby A, and baby B.”

“It’s probably corny, but I thought it was cute.”

“It was very cute,” he smiles moving the silver tissue paper to the side to reveal a black baseball cap with “#1 Dad” on it along with a matching mug. The final present, a small leather box that held a silver watch shining with every tilt as he admired the beautiful timepiece. Turning it around he finally notices the inscription of “always” on the metal plate making his vision a bit cloudy.

“Sweetheart you didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I saw how you were looking at it in the window that day. Plus you don’t have a watch so, voilà.”

“Well thank you,” he smiles sliding you closer on his thigh to meet your full lips. His other hand spans across your growing belly rubbing in a circular motion and causing your little ones to stir as it always did. “And thank you babies. Clearly you get your amazing taste from mama.”

-

Side by side, the three sat in bed watching some cartoon while sharing strawberries. Both girls leaning their head on each shoulder while his arms held them close to his sides occasionally kissing the tops of their curly heads as he enjoyed their morning in.

“Dad?”

“What’s up Ali?”

“Do you have a favorite Father’s Day so far?,” she asks. Deep brown eyes and long lashes looking up towards him, just like her sister, while they patiently waited for his answer.

“Let’s see,” he ponders aloud, “honestly, the fact that I get to celebrate the day at all with you guys makes them all my favorite. But there’ve definitely been memorable ones.”

-

“Ari I thought you were watching her!” Bouncing a wailing Brynn in your arms, you try to console the fussy one year old while also cleaning the blood from her forehead that didn’t seem to want to stop.

“I was! But then I had to change Ali’s pull-up and-Ali no!”

Now both girls were crying. Brynn from her head injury, and now Aliana from stepping on a hidden piece of broken glass from the lamp in her attempt to be next to Ari.

And by the time the four of you made it to the hospital, you felt like crying.

“Alright so good news! Baby Brynn doesn’t seem to be experiencing any cognitive changes or symptoms that would make us suspect a concussion. We’re still gonna keep her for a bit longer just to make sure though,” the older doctor explains. Looking at her now you wouldn’t think anything happened how she giggled and babbled with her sister.

You wouldn’t think that with either of them really. The only evidence of something wrong being the butterfly bandaids covering their respective boo-boo’s.

“You guys have any questions for us or need anything?”

“No, uh we’re good for now. Thank you though,” Ari softly smiles with a gentle nod of his head.

“You’re welcome, and Happy Father’s Day. I know this isn’t exactly the ideal place to be,” he shrugs with a small chuckle.

“Thanks doc. Hope you have a happy Father’s Day too.” Once he’s left the room, you both release the breath you’ve been holding since the doctor mentioned her head needing to be scanned. Ari’s large hand soothingly running up and down your back as you lean into him.

“You realize this is just the first heart attack of many for us right?,” you state still gazing at your daughters now poking at each other as they lie side by side.

“Yep. Might as well reserve our own beds now,” he adds making you chuckle.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to any of the plans today.”

“S’alright. As long as you and the girls are good and we’re together, I’m happy.” His lips meeting your temple make you melt even more into his side, sighing contently.

“We did get to one very fun plan this morning though,” he smirks against your skin as you lightly smack his chest.

-

“So that’s how I got this mark on my forehead.”

“And my foot,” Aliana adds.

“Mhm, and the exact day I got my first gray hair,” Ari chuckles. “So, you’ve fed me this wonderful breakfast, what’s next for today?”

“What do you wanna do?,” Brynn asks.

“Well,” he stretches with a yawn, “how about we go visit grandma and grandpa to wish him a happy Father’s Day too?”

“Okay! And milkshakes after?”

“That’s a must, no questions,” Ali pointedly states with a mouth full of fruit.

“Um obviously,” he replies making both girls giggle from his impression of a teenage girl. “Last one dressed pays!”

Watching them hop out of bed to nearly knock each other over trying to get out the door has him laughing with the shake of his head at his girls not so little anymore.

Sometimes he wondered how long this would last. Them being excited to spend the day with their old man and keep up their little tradition. Admittedly, it made him a bit sad thinking they might one day grow bored with it, and how that day might come soon with their approaching teenager years.

His vibrating phone interrupts his thoughts before he can sulk any further, flashing your name along with a text.

Hey, Happy Father’s Day! The girls did remember to give you their card right? (sent 10:23 am)

Hey and thanks😊. Yes they remembered lol, made me breakfast too (sent 10:24 am)

Oh woww..cereal or waffles? (sent 10:25 am)

Both😉 (sent 10:26 am)

🤯…guess we know who’s the clear favorite lol (sent 10:27 am) You guys have anything else planned for the day? Well besides milkshakes? (sent 10:27 am)

Gonna go see my folks for a while. Probably eat with them or get something while we’re out (sent 10:28 am) Why? Were you coming over? (sent 10:28 am)

-

Fingers drumming against your mug, you debate amongst yourself whether it’s a good idea to go or not. Of course you wanted to see him and your girls, but the fact that you’d eventually have to leave still sent a pang through your heart.

Just like that first Father’s Day during your separation.

-

“We brought you some food,” you softly smile removing the containers from the plastic bag. Not having all of his furniture yet, you were stuck eating on a blanket on the floor as if it was an indoor picnic. “Girls, get down and come eat.”

Having not seen him in a couple weeks, Aliana and Brynn were immediately glued to their father with their tiny arms currently around his neck. Giggling as they dangled and he tickled their sides and kissed their chubby cheeks.

“We’ll play later okay, cmon let’s eat. You hungry?”

At the sight of French toast sticks, they eagerly sit down next to him saying, “Food dada.” Each taking one of the torn halves from his hand before loudly smacking as children tend to do.

“It’s only been a few days and they look bigger,” he softly grins trying his best at making small talk. Things had been expectantly awkward between you two with his decision to move forward with getting his own place.

That was always the plan though when you first agreed on your arrangement. But with the couple years leading up to this moment, you wouldn’t have thought it was on the table anymore.

And a small part of you hoped it wasn’t.

“Yea, it’s like they’re growing overnight.” Your small smile as you cleaned Ali’s face makes Ari’s fall. The obvious elephant in the room not doing anything to try to relieve the tension and only making him feel more guilty than he already was.

“So,” he clears his throat, “Bill’s letting me start in two weeks, so until then I was thinking maybe I could start watching the girls again? I-I know it’s a bit empty in here right now, but it takes a bit off your mom-,”

“Was I the only one that felt it?”

“What?”

“Us. L-Like we were actually getting back to how things used to be..at least, how they were supposed to.”

Of course he felt it, and any other time hearing you say that would’ve put a smile on his face so bright, the sun would tap out. That time being back in the apartment, sleeping next to you, and waking up to see his girls with hair in a frenzied mess, it felt right. Like you were the family you were always meant to be and nothing made him happier.

But for yours and the girls sake, he couldn’t tell you that.

“It was fun, but bottom line is I was just trying to help out with Ali and B like I’ll always do. As for us…we..we were two adults needing to scratch an itch,” he sighs rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean..that’s what you called it right?”

Watching whatever hope you had drain from your cocoa eyes and be replaced with a sheen of tears ready to fall is the worst heartbreak he’s ever experienced. It was as if he’d just told an innocent child that Santa didn’t exist; nor did the tooth fairy or Easter bunny. If only he could tell you the truth.

Your gaze falls to your legs just in time for your finger to quickly wipe away a tear just as it breaks through its barrier. Definitely not wanting the girls to see you upset, you manage to gracefully collect yourself able to meet Ari’s ocean like eyes again as if you weren’t crumbling inside.

You were too late. It was over, and you couldn’t help but feel it was all your fault.

“Yea um, y-you’re right. We agreed and now it’s done.” Albeit a stupid agreement really that both of you knew wouldn’t go as planned.

Standing to your feet, you begin collecting your things ignoring Ari’s regretful “wait” as you put on your jacket. “I um just remembered I told my dad we’d stop by so we uh..we should go. Ali, Brynn time to go babies.”

“Noo,” they both whine only holding onto their father tighter as they try to hide behind his broad back.

“Girls please don’t start, we gotta visit grandpa cmon.” They’re stubborn though. Insistent on staying with their dad as their own stream of waterworks starts to flow.

“Dada here! You go mama!,” Aliana shouts with the stomp of her foot.

“Shh shh, hey,” he softly coos bringing both around to hug in each arm. “What do I always say huh?” All is quiet besides their sniffling as they each look down gently tugging on his navy blue college tee shirt.

“Dunno..”

“Yes you do,” he smiles tilting their chins up to look at him. “I say be…?”

“B-Be good,” Brynn mumbles around her thumb in her mouth.

“Right, so you both gotta be good for mama and go with her, okay? I’ll come get you guys on Friday and guess what?”

“Wha?”

“We can get shakies and go to the park.” Both seem to perk up at that making their father lightly chuckle. “So that’s three days away. Show me three.”

They do as they’re told, each holding up three fingers alongside Ari’s much larger hand. “Very good! You’re so smart,” he grins blowing raspberries on their necks and causing their wild giggles to return before looking upwards at you, “just like mama.”

“You’re always so good with them,” you softly smile watching him expertly stand while holding your four-year-olds.

“No better than you.” Leaning forward, his soft lips fall onto your forehead reminiscent of a kiss goodbye, and you can’t help but to lean into his chest leaving a kiss of your own just under the Star of David hanging from his chain.

Right now you shouldn’t want anything to do with him.

Heaven knows you wish you could feel that way, but you knew it’d never happen. Ari would always be a part of you and you silently hoped that part never broke away.

-

Um…no I think I’ll stay in today. You guys have fun though! Tell papa Levs I said hi and Happy Father’s Day (sent 10:38 am) Tell your mom I said hi too (sent 10:38 am)

Will do, you sure though? We could always meet somewhere (sent 10:41 am)

Yea, you three go ahead. Don’t have too much fun😉lol (sent 10:43 am)

Damn…so much for Vegas then😜 (sent 10:44 am) And we could never without you there😘 (sent 10:45 am)

You were sure it didn’t mean anything and was just Ari being his charming self, but reading his message did have your heart and stomach fluttering like a recently freed butterfly.

Mhm sure🙄😆 (sent 10:46 am)

Speaking of, thing 1 and 2 say hello and that they love you, but are trying to drag me out the bed to hurry up and get dressed (sent 10:48 am)

Lmao, I know they’re serious about their milkshakes so tell them I said hi and I love them back. I’ll talk to you guys later (sent 10:50 am)

Alright, talk to you later sweetheart❤️ (sent 10:51 am)

Staring down at your respective screens, you each so badly wanted to type “Love you,” with your thumbs hovering over the keyboard and ready to hit send. Instead though, you both slide your phones away with a sigh hopeful that one day you would feel bold enough to finally share those two words again.

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[moonpiepig]

Love-struck - Chapter 1

Finally reunited after 2 years apart, can Laxus and Reader heal deep wounds and rekindle their love from the past? Here is chapter 1 of Love-struck. The story starts off at the end of The Battle of Fairy Tail arc when the fight is moved to the top of the cathedral.

Feedback is always welcome :') Enjoy!

The ground trembled as an explosion erupted from the square. Before the dust had settled, Y/N charged into the wave of desperate citizens fleeing the town, her steps uneven due to a painful limp. Familiar voices guided her towards to centre of Magnolia.

“Face it already, it’s over!” Laxus roared from a rooftop.

Waves of crackling energy danced around him, highlighting his strength and threatening all those who wished to intervene. Natsu could be seen saying something, his words lost in the wind while struggling to lift his weakened body from a pile of rubble. The intrepid crowd below strained their ears, trying to decipher the few sounds carried down to them, holding their breath in anticipation.

After a tremendous pause, Laxus threw a fist into the air, forming a blindingly bright magic circle. The townsfolk cowered as a mass of lightning flooded the area surrounding the blonde wizard and static energy grew thick in the air. He aimed, and the surging light formed a spear hurtling straight towards Natsu. A voice cried out from the crowd near Y/N.

“Don’t do it!” Freed pleaded. “That much magic energy could kill him!”

Having come to the same conclusion as Freed, Y/N teleported into the path of the spear, ramming into Natsu’s side and shoving him out of the way. She spread her arms wide and took the full force of Laxus’ spell, causing the lightning to envelop her body, stealing the breath in her lungs, and pushing her back to the edge of the building. Muscles screaming under the brutal battering from Laxus’ power, she spun, swinging her numb arms and splaying her palms in the direction of the spell’s origin. The lightning arched around Y/N as she turned and exploded from her hands, forming a spear once again. It soared through the air and Laxus shielded his face as the spear slammed into his chest, knocking him backwards off the roof. The lightning vanished, and relief rang through surrounding streets. Y/N saw Freed race towards Laxus, who lay sprawled out on the courtyard cobblestones, grimacing in pain. Satisfied that he would recover, her vision blurred and her legs buckled, all energy drained from her aching body. She heard Natsu calling out to her as she blacked out.

Y/N opened her eyes and furiously blinked until the outlines of her surroundings came into focus. Delicate sunbeams danced along dusty surfaces, illuminating weathered wooden walls and aged furniture. As she started to slowly stretch her sore muscles, a strange sensation brushed against her chin. She batted it away hastily and, instead of a spider as she had feared, she grasped the fur of Laxus’ coat draped over the blanket on top of her. She glanced around and quickly found Laxus in a dark corner, slouching in a tattered armchair, his snores rumbling quietly and his bandages securely bound across his shirtless torso. Her heart slowly sank as she studied his peaceful expression, remembering the man filled with rage and pain she had witnessed earlier. His now vulnerable state brought back fragile memories from mornings spent together years ago, and Y/N gripped his coat tighter. Laxus jolted awake with a grunt, his eyes flying open in panic and meeting hers before quickly darting to the ground. Y/N’s face burned as she sat up straight and stared intently at the dusty bookcase on the wall in front of her. A long silence fell between them.

“So… you’re back then?” asked Laxus, choosing his words with care.

Y/N nodded slightly, uncertain about the lack of emotion in his voice. Laxus heaved himself up out of the chair, scowling in pain, and hobbled across the room. The windowsill creaked as he leaned against it, peering at the street below, his shoulders hunched. He looked exhausted. Light-hearted, unrecognisable voices drifted into the room from downstairs and the sun lazily rose, exposing more of the unfamiliar surroundings. Y/N pushed the blanket away and shifted around uncomfortably as a thought popped into her mind.

“Where are we?”

“An inn. Natsu wanted to take you to the Guild, but I thought best to keep you away from everyone for now.”

A wave of gratitude washed over Y/N as she thought about her old friends finding out she had returned. She definitely wouldn’t have had the chance to rest and ready herself.

“I see… tha-”

“What happened?” Laxus interjected, stressing each word vehemently. He turned and took a small, tentative step closer to the bed, cradling his bound arm and staring firmly.

“It’s a long story,” she croaked as tears stung her eyes.

Laxus’s lips curled into a sneer and he snorted in frustration. Y/N silently gathered Laxus’ coat in her arms and folded it neatly beside her on the bed, taking care to smooth out the creases.

“Why were you fighting Natsu earlier?”

“It’s a long story,” he retorted, massaging the tension in the back of his neck and lowering his gaze. “Levy said the old man’s not doing well.”

Y/N froze, a sickly chill running down her body. The weight of his words rested on her chest and she slowly nodded.

“We need to go see him,” she concluded, rushing to collect her belongings at the foot of the bed.

Laxus stuffed his free hand into his trouser pocket and hesitated, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I don’t think he’d be too happy to see me right now.”

Y/N strode over to him, picking up his coat on the way. She teetered on the balls of her feet as she reached up and wrapped the coat tightly around his shoulders. She heard him inhale sharply, and she paused, clutching the fur lining and noticing her reflection in his wide, slate eyes. She felt his heart race underneath the fabric, his familiar scent drawing her closer to his parted lips.

Pain twinged in her wounded leg and she swiftly took a step back to adjust the bandage around it, remembering their time-sensitive plans to go to the Guild. She softly cleared her throat, unable to look at Laxus, and put her boots on.

Laxus hurried out the door mumbling, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Tension filled the Guild Hall as they entered, Y/N hidden from view behind Laxus’ towering figure. He squared his shoulders and marched forward, ignoring the crowd assembling around him. As he reached the centre, Macao and Wakaba stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

“What do you want?” spat Wakaba, the smoke from his pipe wafting around Laxus’ face.

Laxus frowned and clenched his fist before addressing the room loudly.

“Where’s the old man?”

The Fairy Tail members exploded into an unwelcoming protest, passionately waving their arms around and shouting threats. Y/N placed a hand gently on Laxus’ upper back in support while cowering slightly from the waterfall of hatred threatening to drown them. As the volume and ferocity rose, Erza charged forward and silenced them.

“Quiet everyone!”, she boomed, before softening her voice and facing Laxus. “The master is in the infirmary.”

Laxus turned to Y/N and stiffly gestured towards a table. She nodded and offered a small smile, which he returned before leaving to see his grandfather. Without Laxus shielding Y/N, those around her had realised her presence and a stunned silence fell across the hall, suffocating her. She inhaled deeply and wiped the sweat from her palms, her mind reeling, trying to figure out how to ease the wall of confusion closing in on her.

[goldentwst]

4 with Malleus as the kidnapper and Leona as the rescuer please? You and him were dating and loved eachother but you disappeared and he finally found you during a diplomatic visit to Briar Valley,in a ball which you used as a chance to escape? Taking advantage of the fact that your existence/"relationship" with Malleus was kept a well guarded secret And now you're very publicly Leona's spouse Please make it fluffy, like Leona gets a wake up call and doesn't act like Malleus did with you Please

4. 🔪 After searching for days, one of the boys finds out who kidnapped you. How do they save you?

Pairing: Leona x GN. Reader x Yandere!Malleus Warning(s): Implied kidnapping, Induced sleep

How long had it been since you disappeared, Leona thought. All he wanted was to see your face every morning and silently ponder on the thought of how someone as difficult as him could spend time with someone as easy-going as you. Well, you used to have your bad days, too. But you would always accept his hug at the end of the day; like you knew there wasn't a place more comfortable, more cherishing than the warmth of his embrace.

But one day, you weren't there to accept his hold. It was as if you had turned into the sands of the Afterglow Savanna and were carried away by the wind. At least, that's what Falena had said to him in the midst of trying to comfort his younger brother after the castle staff had spent days searching for you.

You truly had left nary a trace of yourself behind.

So, how did it come to pass that you would be here in the Briar Valley of all places? Not only that, but you seemed to be on the cusp of escape with one leg slung over a balcony's railing, a haphazard collection of curtain ropes all knotted together and tied to one of the pickets.

Without even thinking, Leona rushed forward to wrap you in his arms as he had done hundreds of times before, the speed of his stride having blown his hair out of place. But he didn't care about appearances, and he didn't care that he had ditched Briar Valley's formal event to meander down the hallway for a place to rest. All he could think to do was bury his face into your neck and inhale the sweet, comforting scent he knew so well. Similarly, you had immediately forgone your plan of escape to place your arms around him, hands resting on the expanse of his back as a frustrating amount of tears bubbled up in the corner of your eyes.

"Well, isn't this touching," a cool voice interrupted, the malicious undertone not lost on either of you as Leona turned to face the perpetrator with fangs bared and body in a defensive position. He placed you squarely behind him.

"Malleus," Leona sneered in contempt. "I get it now... you were so desperate to fill that cold void in your chest, that you took what had never been yours in the first place. Really now, could you be more pathetic?"

"Is that what you've deduced?" Malleus inquired, eyes pinning the small portion of your form that peeked out from behind Leona. It was cute to see you bare the same expression as him, a twinkle of rekindled vigor in your gaze now that your ex-lover had arrived. "It may not have been mine in the beginning, however-" With just a flick of his fingers, a green light emanated from your person, your entire body lifted from the marble of the balcony and into the air. By the time Leona noticed what had happened, you were already out of his reach and involuntarily levitating towards Malleus- "It's mine now. And I intend to keep it that way," he stated, a grin curling the ends of his lips as you gently landed in his arms.

Still immobile due to Malleus' magic, you hopelessly called for Leona, the latter trained wholly on your expression as one hand lifted to summon the most formidable of his magic. "You'll bleed for this, Draconia," Leona spat, the air surrounding him crackling with energy.

Still, Malleus appeared none too bothered by the man's threat. In fact, it only spurred him to grin more, even if the fuss of your expression displeased him. But he wasn't mad at you, Malleus could never be mad at you. To prove it, he raised you a little higher to press his lips against one of your eyes, the action forcing you to close your lids as discrete magic seeped into your conscious. With it, you found yourself lulled into a deep sleep, body going limp in Malleus' arms. He fondly chuckled upon the sight of your tranquil expression. Yes, this is how it should be, he thought. Now, all he had to do was to rid himself of the one obstacle he had long since put off.

Lifting you a bit more so your body sat on one arm, Malleus' nose comfortably rested under your chin, his gaze flickered to Leona with a hand now free to summon his own magic. Similar to Leona, electrifying energy surrounded Malleus, only the atmosphere around him felt heavier than the other's, the crackle of thunder clamorous against the surrounding area. "I must say, this saves me the trouble of hunting you down, Kingscholar. I think it's time I finally clip those claws of yours." "Over my dead body," Leona bellowed, his heart clenching at the sight of you in someone else's arms.

Not that you'll be there for long.

"That can be arranged," Malleus returned, his hold on you tight yet secure. He still had so much more love left to give and if you weren't the one to receive it, he might as well burn the continents of Twisted Wonderland to the ground.