#‘from the memories that never fade away’

[p0ckykiss]

dream - lee haechan

summary -> kissing you feels like a dream to haechan

-> fluff, a lot of kissing

“haechan,” you murmured, “c’mon, I gotta go back to work.”

he ignored you, obviously.

sure, the back room of the video store wasn’t the most romantic place to make out, but you kept letting him in here, so he wasn’t going to stop coming. you were against a shelf, haechan's hands on your waist under your shirt, letting him kiss you silly despite your protests that you were employed. your hands had been travelling over haechan's shoulders and chest and neck for the last twenty minutes, but they were still now, your fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck. haechan pulled back, though only enough to be able to speak.

“you can kick me out whenever you want, you know,” he grinned. “you like to make it very clear you work here"

“yeah,” you said, “and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“then tell me to go.” it was a challenge, it was always a challenge. you had gone through the challenge every other time you'd been back there, and one look at the scoreboard showed that haechan was winning by a mile. he added another point to his side when you leaned back in, humming into his mouth.

kissing you was a dream.

it was a weird dream, the kind that seemed normal when you were having it, but once you woke up, you realized how fucked up dream logic is. it was fucked up, in a way, that he was kissing you, and that he was doing so so frequently.

the crush had developed sophomore year, and it had been a gnawing thing, eating away at haechan every time he’d seen you in the halls. maybe it would’ve been easier to deal with had it been anyone but you. it was supposed to fade. it was supposed to mean nothing. haechan was supposed to hate everything about you, but maybe that’s what made it so exhilarating. instead, everything about you, made haechan feel fuzzy around the edges.

he never wanted to wake up.

you cupped a hand on haechan's cheek, pulling him closer. haechan could do nothing but smile against you. he tried to keep kissing you, he really did, but the bubbling in his chest was starting to get overpowering. he pressed his forehead against yours, while you were opening your eyes. those eyes — your stupid, pretty, fucking eyes — were going to be the death of him.

haechan opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a laugh.

“what?” you asked, your own smile growing.

“nothing, nothing. just…” he paused, taking in your features, copying them down to memory in his head. “god, y/n, I’m just—” he kissed you again, softly, purposefully — “i’m fucking obsessed with you, you know that?”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re obsessed with me?”

“i can’t get you out of my head, like, ever.”

“well, it’s a good thing I’m kind of obsessed with you too.”

maybe it was the way the corner of your mouth quirked when you said it, or the enticing look in your eyes, or just the fact that it was you, but haechan's legs were turning to jello-o, and he wasn’t sure he could support himself like this much longer.

you both laughed as you kissed, pressing against each other like the only way you could get any closer was by crawling into each other’s chests. haechan's mouth found its way to behind your ear, which resulted in a laugh from you loud enough to make haechan shush you before you fell into another fit of giggles. when your lips met again, your hands found haechan's; your fingers intertwined, and every squeeze of your hands pushed haechan's heart closer and closer to bursting.

you only stopped when there was a knock on the door, but even then, haechan distracted himself with kissing you.

“are you guys done in there yet?” your co-worker called from behind the door. “i can’t do everything out here by myself.”

you looked at haechan, who looked back at you. he knew your time was up for now, but there was no harm in trying to convince you to ignore your colleague. and let you both have another five or ten or twenty minutes alone.

“i gotta go back to work,” you said softly, an apology stuffed inside.

haechan continued kissing at your jaw. “can you come to my place tonight?” he asked, like there was even a possibility of you saying no.

you grinned. “and what would we be doing at your place?”

lowering his voice further, haechan pressed his nose into your cheek. “guess you’ll have to come over and find out.”

there was another knock at the door. “hello? I can hear you guys,” she groaned.

“better get out there before she drags your ass out,” haechan said.

“and whose fault would that be?”

“watch yourself, y/n,” he teased, “or you won’t need to wait to get to my place later.”

“i can’t even look her in the eye after this,” you told him.

with one last kiss, haechan patted you on the shoulders. “go on, then, baby”

“you’re going to kill me one day.”

“can’t wait.”

you opened the door. your co-worker stood there with her arms crossed.

“hey, haha,” you tried.

all she said was, “you guys are so gross.”

while you seemed to be letting your soul leave your body out of embarrassment, haechan just grinned, walking past both of you. “my uncle leaves for work at eight tonight, by the way,” he said, leaning against the counter. the only thing that rivalled kissing, in haechan's mind, was pushing all of your buttons simultaneously and seeing how long it took for you to explode.

“yep,” you said, still flustered, “got it.” haechan added another point to his side.

“again,” said your colleague. she stood on the other side of the counter, across from haechan. “gross.”

to him, she said, “if you keep making me work alone, I will ban you from coming in here. you’re lucky it's a slow day.”

“oh, come on,” haechan mused, “you love me.”

“enough to let you and y/n suck face in the back room, apparently,” she said, bumping him with her elbow.

“and for that, I’m grateful.”

[aventurineswife]

HEYYYYYYY if I can may I ask for Aventurine, Sunday and Dan Hang protecting reader when they get badly injured protecting them please ( I’ve been desperate for some angst and comfort recently with them 😭😭 )

“If I Fall, Let It Be for You”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Protectiveness, Sacrifice, Vulnerability, Emotional Conflict, Guilt, Platonic or Romantic Love, Selflessness, Inner Struggles.

Warnings: Graphic injury, Blood, Violence, Desperation, Guilt, Emotional distress, Death-related themes.

A/N: Hope you like this!! 🫣

The battlefield stretched before you, a blur of smoke and chaos. You had acted on instinct—throwing yourself in front of Dan Heng to block a strike meant for him. The blade tore through your side, pain radiating through your body as you stumbled.

“[Name]!” Dan Heng’s voice, usually so calm and composed, cracked as he caught you in his arms. His eyes widened, a rare display of emotion breaking through his stoic mask.

You gave him a weak smile, your hand clutching the bleeding wound. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

His jaw tightened, and his grip on you was firm yet trembling. “You should never have done that.” There was an edge to his voice, sharp and laden with guilt.

You tried to speak, but the pain was overwhelming. Darkness crept at the edges of your vision, and you felt yourself fading.

“Stay with me,” Dan Heng ordered, his voice softer now but no less desperate. He cradled you closer, his usually steady hands pressing against your wound to stem the bleeding. “You can’t leave me. Not like this.”

He carried you swiftly to a safe spot behind the ruins, shielding you from the chaos. His spear, Cloud-Piercer, stood guard nearby, its sharp tip still dripping with the blood of your enemies. Dan Heng tore a strip of fabric from his coat, fashioning a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding.

“Why?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on your pale face. “Why would you put yourself in harm’s way for me?”

You managed a weak chuckle despite the pain. “Because I care about you, Dan Heng. Even if you keep pushing people away, I won’t stop protecting you.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, his usual reserve cracked. “I don’t deserve it. Not after everything I’ve done… everything I’ve failed to prevent.”

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to brush against his cheek. “You’re worth it to me.”

Dan Heng’s eyes softened, guilt and sorrow mingling with something deeper—something he had tried so hard to suppress. He didn’t speak, but his actions spoke volumes. He leaned into your touch, his fingers brushing your hair as if trying to commit every detail of you to memory.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, his voice low but resolute. “Not again.”

Dan Heng stayed by your side, his spear within reach, ready to defend you from any further threat. The battle raged on around you, but his focus never wavered. He wasn’t just protecting you now—he was protecting the fragile hope you had given him, the chance for something beyond the weight of his past.

And in his quiet way, Dan Heng vowed to repay the trust you had shown him, no matter the cost.

The echoes of the gunfire still reverberated in the empty corridors, a cruel reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. Aventurine stood frozen for a moment, the world around him slowing to a crawl. The usually confident smirk plastered on his face had vanished, replaced by a rare expression of raw, unfiltered fear.

You lay crumpled on the ground, your blood pooling beneath you. You had thrown yourself in front of him, a human shield against the sniper's bullet that had been meant for his chest.

“Why?” Aventurine whispered, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you, his gloved hands hesitating before pressing against your wound. His pristine, gold-adorned sleeves soaked in crimson as he tried to stem the bleeding. "You absolute fool. What were you thinking?"

Your eyes fluttered open, a weak smile playing on your lips despite the pain. "Because I knew you'd never let yourself be hit," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're too important... too smart to take risks like that."

Aventurine let out a bitter laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. "And yet here you are, bleeding out because of me," he muttered, his tone laced with guilt and frustration. "You're supposed to stay out of the crossfire, not throw yourself into it like some kind of martyr."

The mask he wore so effortlessly in high-stakes games and political negotiations shattered in that moment. He was no longer the composed strategist, the man who always had a plan. He was just Kakavasha—terrified, helpless, and desperate to keep you alive.

“Stay with me,” he commanded, his voice shaking as he pulled out his communicator and barked orders for immediate medical assistance. “You don’t get to leave like this. Not here, not now.”

Your hand weakly reached up, brushing against his cheek. "I trust you, Aventurine," you whispered, your voice faltering. "You'll fix this... you always do."

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I’m a gambler, not a miracle worker," he admitted softly, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "But if there’s one thing I never bet against... it’s you."

The minutes felt like hours as he stayed by your side, murmuring reassurances that neither of you believed. His mind raced, calculating odds and outcomes, but none of his usual strategies could guarantee your survival. For the first time in years, Aventurine felt powerless.

When the medics finally arrived, he refused to leave your side, riding with you to the emergency unit despite their protests. As the doors closed behind them and the sterile lights flickered above, Aventurine made a silent vow.

No matter the cost, he would ensure you lived to see another gamble, another day by his side. Because without you, even victory would feel like defeat.

The clash of blades and the sound of explosions filled the air, but Sunday’s focus was solely on you. The two of you had been ambushed, and though he had held his ground, one stray attacker had slipped through his defenses, aiming for his unprotected flank.

You hadn’t hesitated. You’d stepped in without thinking, intercepting the blow meant for him. Now, you lay slumped against a ruined wall, clutching your side as blood seeped through your fingers.

“Why... why would you do that?” Sunday asked, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you. His eyes, usually so calm and composed, were wide with panic. He pressed his hands over yours, trying to stop the bleeding. The glow of his halo seemed dimmer, as if it mirrored the dread coursing through him.

“You needed protecting,” you gasped, a weak smile crossing your lips. “That’s what friends do, right?”

“Foolish,” Sunday whispered, his tone a mixture of frustration and anguish. "I am the one who should be protecting you." He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gloved hands trembling. “You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.”

Your hand reached for his, squeezing weakly. "You’re worth it."

Sunday’s breath hitched, and for a moment, his dignified mask crumbled. "No one is worth losing you," he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Not even me.”

The world around the two of you seemed to fade away as Sunday focused solely on keeping you conscious. He whispered soft reassurances, his usually formal tone replaced with a raw, desperate plea. “Stay with me,” he urged. “I’ll fix this. I swear it.”

Using his limited healing abilities, Sunday poured his energy into stabilizing you. The effort left him visibly drained, his face pale and his breaths labored, but he refused to stop. "I’ve seen too much suffering," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I won’t allow it to claim you."

As reinforcements arrived and medical aid was administered, Sunday stood by your side, his presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. When you were finally safe, he let out a shaky breath, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

"You risked yourself for me," he said quietly, his eyes softening. “But know this: I will never allow you to come to harm again. You are too precious to lose.”

In that moment, you saw a side of Sunday he rarely revealed—a man burdened by the weight of his ideals, yet willing to fight against them for the sake of someone he cherished.

[starsintheendlessnight]

The beauty

And pain

Of remember

A person always has one or several memories that they keep with them no matter how time passes. It’s a universal experience that we have all experienced at some point in our lives, it doesn't matter if the memory fades as the days go by bc they are not perfect, in the end they are narratives in construction that in some way marked us as people.

Remember something can be both a beautiful experience and a painful feeling.

Remember helps us to better appreciate things and to understand both our values ​​and past experiences, whether those are moments with family or friends or simply having a good time. They are moments that we adore and keep in our minds with affection but these can also be transformed into a feeling of sadness, a part of us that was taken away from us, a piece of our identity away from us for who knows how long or even forever.

Many times “remember” makes us feel empty bc of what we no longer have and it is because emotional pain doesn't follow a specific script and cannot even be explain only in physiological terms, it’s something more complex and irrational and looking for a specific reason would be like looking for water in the middle of the desert. It hurts us emotionally to have to remember those people who are no longer with us or those happy moments that will never be repeated. Although within that same pain you can find beauty, it is still something irrational and meaningless bc yes, you remember with love and affection but you still feel pain bc of what those people or those moments represented for you and they are simply no longer there.

A memory can appear in many ways, whether it be from a song, a simple word or… Flowers.

Sunflowers are beautiful and radiant flowers that always seem to catch the eye, they are a small reminder that Eurylochus keeps of his home while he resided in Olympus, bright and so cheerful they were the only respite that Eury kept from his already distant home, he took care of them and adore them for the love and nostalgia that they transmitte to him at those moments from which he was separate. Little by little his appreciation turned into pain, a sweet memory of his home transformed into sadness and guilt.

He refused to go back to his flowers, remember his home only made him feel worse about himself. How could he long for something that he did not deserve? The pain stopped being just that and turned into guilt. He did not deserve those flowers, he did not deserve those seconds of escapism and as he did with anything that caused him pain he just turn away and ignored it thinking that everything would be fine if he did not think about it.

As the weeks went by, Eurylochus needed a moment to himself again and he remember his flowers. He wasn't in his best moment and he needed to try to feel again that peace that he felt the first time he saw his sunflowers, but it was too late... His flowers were already dead, he felt distressed bc the only memory of his home was withered before his eyes. He felt pain, but not only because his flowers died. That pain is not going to heal by simply planting others and then as if he hadn't let them die. That pain is about what those flowers represented for him and how he let them go in the face of that pain that made him feel inferior.

Pain is irrational. They may seem like just some flowers, but for Eurylochus they represented much more than that, and it’s in the memory of what he lost that he appreciate and love what gave him calm at the time. His flowers are dead, he let them die but he loves them for the peace of mind they gave him, even though the pain and nostalgia of his far away home is still with him at least he can appreciate it a little more even though he feels sad for remember those good times.

.

.

.

I feel like I'm VERY annoying with the ClosureAU (mostly on Twitter) and I apologize for that again, a new year started and I felt like I needed to do something decent, something meaningful not just a doodle or a funny video. No idea came to mind until I watched some videos of my fav youtubers again and this idea came up. I'm sorry if I'm being so annoying with all the angst I'll try to make not so sad content of the AU I promise. Happy new year to everyone I wish you all the best and thank you for supporting me at all times, I love you all so much 💚

[satori-runa]

—Love is just a hypothesis

Summary: A scientist and a psychology student work together.

Tags: Strangers/Enemies(?) to lovers, falling in love, drabble

Words: 0,4k

Status: Will write this as a oneshot at some point. Or a full multi chapter fanfic since some people asked.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Viktor had never considered himself a people person. His life revolved around logic, equations, and the hum of his experiments. The distractions of the outside world rarely breached the walls of his lab—until you walked in, carrying a notebook filled with plans that defied his carefully structured reality.

Sent by Professor Heimerdinger himself, you were a psychology student, armed with a bright smile and an audacious proposal that made him question your seriousness: to test your hypothesis about love and attraction. Viktor had scoffed, of course. Science, to him, was tangible, measurable, and your request sounded anything but. Yet you were insistent, batting away his protests with an enthusiasm he found disarming.

“A scientist should always seek to uncover mysteries,” you’d said, your eyes alight with conviction. “Isn’t love one of the greatest mysteries of all?”

Reluctantly, and perhaps out of sheer curiosity, he agreed.

The first session was simple: eye contact. You sat across from him, your gaze steady as you asked questions designed to foster connection. Viktor was stiff at first, shifting uncomfortably under your attention, but as the minutes passed, he found himself drawn in. There was something compelling about the way you listened so intently, as if his every word mattered.

By the third session, his initial reluctance had faded. He began looking forward to your visits, though he refused to admit it. You brought a warmth into the lab that contrasted sharply with the sterile environment, and the conversations that accompanied your “experiments” lingered in his thoughts long after you left.

When you asked him to describe his favorite memory, he hesitated before sharing a story about a long-forgotten walk by the riverside in Zaun, where the world had felt quiet for once. Your reaction—a soft smile and a thoughtful nod—stirred something in his chest he hadn’t felt in years.

Viktor knew he was in trouble when, during one session, your hand accidentally brushed against his while passing a notebook. The faint contact sent a jolt through him, one he couldn’t explain with logic or reason.

“This is just data,” he reminded himself late at night, staring at the ceiling of his room. “A temporary variable in an experiment.”

But even as he tried to rationalize it, Viktor found himself yearning for the next session, for the chance to sit across from you and get lost in your gaze. Somewhere along the way, your experiment had become more than just a study for you—it had become a revelation for him.

He didn’t know when it started, but the realization was inescapable: Viktor, who had always preferred solitude, was falling for you. And despite the chaos it brought to his meticulously ordered life, he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop.

Perhaps love isn't just a hypothesis, after all.

[miriamladyvoid]

════✩═════════════【˖⁺‧₊˚✩˚₊‧⁺˖】═══════════════✩═══

Always an Angel, Never a God

"Sometimes, she felt as if her heart were a dying star, flickering weakly in the vast darkness of the sky. Always present, but barely noticeable among so many other, brighter lights, beautiful in its light, but always seeming to be just a heartbeat away from going out".

✧I will no longer write something so ambitious again; it was so complicated to cohere all of this because I didn't want to discard any character from each dorm. So I hope the pace of the reading doesn't feel weird. The tone was supposed to be more hopeful, but I started to feel a little sad at the end.

✧Fem Prefect, the reader is the Ramshackle prefect.

The nights in Twisted Wonderland had always been a refuge; from the window of the Ramshackle Dorm, the prefect watched the firmament with a mixture of longing and melancholy. It was in those moments of stillness, under the immense night sky, that she could allow herself to breathe. The stars always seemed to offer her a companionship her friends could never fully provide. Not because they didn't love her, but because, at the end of the day, she was different. Twisted Wonderland, with all its magic and twisted wonders, was a fascinating place, but it was not her home. Her days passed in silent repetition.

First there was Ace, always quick with a joke, but his words sometimes hurt her more than he knew. "Prefect, what would we do without you?" he said half-jokingly and half-seriously. But those words, they hurt. What would they do without me? But what am I beyond solving their problems? Riddle, with his severe look and devotion to order, came to her when Heartslabyul fell apart under the weight of his own rules. "You're reasonable; I'd rather trust you," he said, like it was a compliment. However, in his eyes, she was only another piece in his perfect order, a resource to use when the rules were not enough to maintain the order.

Trey, always kind and calm, offered her small comforts in the form of candy and kind words. “Don’t worry so much,” he would say as he handed her a freshly baked cookie, as if sugar could sweeten the bitterness she felt. It was as if Trey treated her with the same kindness one gives to a stranger, someone you want to please but not let get too close to. Cater, always smiling and with the phone ready, seemed to see her in a brighter light, at least on the surface. “This is going straight to Magicam, but make sure you give your best smile, okay?” he exclaimed while making sure she was well framed in his selfies. But once the photo is taken, she becomes a memory that faded away among filters and irrelevant comments.

Deuce was different, and maybe that's why it hurt her more. "Prefect, I'll do better next time," he'd say after some disaster, his eyes filled with determination and guilt. In his clumsy way, he always wanted to prove to her that he could be better, that he could be up to it. But in those desperate attempts to prove himself, she couldn't help but feel responsible for the insecurity he carried. It was as if, instead of supporting each other, he was running after a difficult goal, looking for validation in a place where she herself couldn't find it.

The moments with Leona were like shooting stars: brief flashes of connection that illuminated the darkness, only to quickly fade away. He was a dying star, exhausted and unwilling to shine for anyone else. Sometimes, it seemed she managed to truly see him, glimpsing something beyond his usual indifference. His distant gaze made her feel like a powerless spectator, unable to stop his inevitable collapse. "Don't try so hard," he would tell her, yawning with squinted eyes. "You don't belong here anyway." His carefree words always cut deeper than intended. Jack, despite his loyal and protective nature, saw her as someone he always had to take care of. "You're strong, but sometimes you get into too dangerous situations," he would say, his tone full of concern. His protection was comforting, but also a chain that kept her anchored to a dependency she didn't want. By his side, she felt like a star whose shine depended on the protection of others, trapped in an orbit that eclipsed her independence.

Ruggie, on the other hand, viewed her through a more pragmatic lens. "If you ever need anything, you know, just ask," he would tell her with a mischievous grin. But there was always a transaction behind his words, as if she was just one more on his list of favors, something he could cash in when it was convenient. To him, she was like a distant star, useful insofar as she could offer something, but always interchangeable. "Don't take things so personally, Prefect. We're all looking out for ourselves here." That raw truth, stripped of sentimentality, was a brutal reminder that, in this world, no one shone without a price to pay.

Azul saw her as an opportunity. He always had a deal or contract at hand, waiting for her to fall. “You can always count on me for a fair price,” he would say, with that calculating smile that never revealed his true interest. Like the ocean that reflects the stars but never touches them, she never felt like more than a surface he turned to when he needed something. She was not an equal. And though she knew his words were double-edged, there was a strange comfort in being valued, even if it was for her usefulness. Floyd was a fickle tide; he was unpredictable, and his light always seemed to flicker between whim and disdain. “Shrimpy, you’re fun! You don’t bore me as easily as the others!” he would say with a smile that failed to disguise his capricious nature. Sometimes he would smother her with his attention, with brusque hugs and laughter that lashed like a violent tide, but his effervescence had an edge; when he grew bored of her company, he would abandon her without hesitation.

Jade, always his brother’s elegant shadow, would approach with his serpentine calm and eyes that seemed to unravel secrets. “It’s always a pleasure having you around, Prefect,” he would comment with that polite smile that never reached his eyes. His tone was always wrapped in impeccable politeness; she felt like his words were more of an assessment than a compliment. At his side, she felt like a star trapped in a jar, admired only as long as it served to feed his curiosity.

Kalim, with his bright optimism, was perhaps the one who treated her with overflowing kindness, but even warmth could be blinding. "You're a great friend," he would say sincerely, but something in those words made her hesitate. He would seek her out when he wanted to share her joy, but he could never quite grasp her sadness. Sometimes, being by his side was like floating in a sky lit by fireworks, dazzling and joyful but a light that fades when the sun makes its appearance. With Jamil, the connection was more complicated, a precarious balance like that of a star orbiting dangerously close to a black hole. Always trapped in Kalim's shadow, his own struggles overshadowed any support she might need. “It is better that you do not get too involved,” he warned her with his cold tone, his gaze fixed on a point beyond her, as if she weren't even there. Despite that, she sometimes lent him a hand in his duties with Kalim. But she knew that, for him, it was nothing more than a satellite, a secondary star without its own brightness, destined to revolve around something bigger and more important than itself.

Vil was a supernova, bright and blinding, consuming himself in his quest for perfection. “Beauty takes effort, Prefect,” he told her with brutal frankness, his critical eyes seeing each of her imperfections as something that needed to be corrected. His words, wrapped in the confidence of someone who had always been admired, only reminded her how imperfect she felt around him; his words, though well-intentioned, left her feeling more dulled than enlightened. Rook, the hunter whose love for beauty was as great as life itself, saw the prefect as a masterpiece. “You are so fascinating, my dear Trickster,” he exclaimed, his poetry as intoxicating as it was confusing. His words were a hymn to her uniqueness, but behind his admiration was a disturbing curiosity, as if he wanted to decipher her and reduce her to a simple piece of his endless collection of discoveries and beauties.

Epel, determined to prove his strength, kept her at a distance. “I don’t need you to babysit me like a child,” he insisted. She admired his determination, but she couldn’t ignore the pain his words left behind. His distance was a reminder that even among the lost, vulnerability was a burden few were willing to share.

Idia kept to himself, always hidden behind the screen of his tablet. “I like having you around,” he had once told her. They shared the strangeness of not fitting in, but even in that shared solitude, she felt a distance. “We’re like NPCs, you know? The ones on the outside, the ones who don’t count,” he had once joked. Despite his isolation, Idia shone, albeit in a dim, reserved way. He took refuge in his solitude; she desperately sought to be seen, to be understood. Ortho, on the other hand, was always an unwavering warmth. His innocence and curiosity radiated a light reminiscent of a young star: bright, pure, and free of the shadows of a life that never came to be. “You’re my brother’s friend, so you’re my friend too!” he would say enthusiastically, in that tone that made his every word seem like a gift. She knew that, in Ortho’s eyes, she was someone special. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if her worth depended solely on the connection she shared with Idia. Would he still view her with the same affection if her bond with his brother disappeared? Would she still matter if that thread unraveled?

Lilia was like a dying star, its light still shining brightly, but hiding the imminence of its extinction. "Ah, Prefect, you still have much to learn," he would say with a soft smile, as if he knew something she could not understand. To him, she was a curious flicker in time, something to cherish while it lasted, but without the depth to leave a real mark on his long-lived existence. Like a reminder of what is fleeting, an echo of the lights he had seen go out countless times. Sebek, with his fiery passion, treated her as if she were a star that had strayed from its course, something that needed to be guided back into place. “Though you are a human without magic, you have some worth!” Though his words often carried reproach, beneath was a misplaced devotion that she could not ignore. To Sebek, she was a lesser star, one that existed only to reflect the greatness of her lord. Even his attempts to protect her felt like an extension of his own obsession, leaving her trapped in his shadow. Silver was the stillness of a dawn before the sun rose, a soft glow that always seemed on the verge of fully awakening. “Prefect, your presence always brings peace,” he said in a sleepy tone, as if he saw her more as a whisper in the background of his reality than as a clear voice. Yet his perpetual drowsiness created a barrier between them, as if he were trapped in a dream from which he could not wake. To him, she was a star that illuminated his path, but whose light barely managed to penetrate his own lethargy.

Finally, on one of her darkest nights, when the weight of her isolation was almost unbearable, she found Malleus on the outskirts of Ramshackle. He was there, like a majestic shadow under the starry sky, the king of the firmament, an imposing force that always seemed on the verge of consuming everything.

“Why do you think the stars stay there, so distant, instead of falling and disappearing?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the infinite. His voice was quiet, with an echo of melancholy that resonated in the cold night air.

She hesitated before answering. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because… they have nowhere else to go.”

For an instant, he wanted to say something, anything, to fill the void her words had left. But he didn’t. Because, although Malleus would never say it directly, there was something in his voice that seemed like an invitation. As if, in the midst of that immensity that always separated them, he was telling her that her light was enough, too, even if she didn’t see it yet. But there was always a chasm between them, a constant reminder that her light would never be as eternal as his.

The weight of all those glances, of all those words, was building up in her chest as if an invisible hand was squeezing her heart. It had been a long journey, one filled with unforgettable moments, but also marked by a loneliness that no one seemed to notice. Memories of each interaction passed through her mind like a cruel parade. She forced herself to breathe deeply, her trembling hands touching the window glass as her eyes sought solace in the stars again. Yet her mind, treacherous, found one last wound to open. One sentence, cold and implacable, echoed in her memory like a definitive sentence:

“There is no place in this world where this soul belongs. NONE.”

The words of the Mirror echoed in her mind, an irrevocable sentence that pierced her heart with the precision of a dagger. She had wanted to prove him wrong. She had tried to fit in, tried to find a place among the people she had come to love and admire, even as each interaction reinforced the truth she so feared. The thought cut through her like a knife, and with it came a single certainty: her presence here had never been wanted. She was no heroine, no savior. She was just a nobody who had fallen into this world at the whim of a mirror.

The sentence continued to echo in her head, stealing the air from her lungs. Her chest tightened, her throat closed, and before she could stop herself, tears began to flow from her eyes. The crying began as a silent tremor, a muffled gasp as she buried her face in her hands. She covered her mouth, desperate not to wake Grim, her little companion, who slept peacefully in the bed. Cruel irony that he, her faithful friend, was not there to notice the sadness of his henchman. The same sadness that she had always hidden behind a smile and an ill-timed joke. Her breathing was irregular, ragged by the effort to contain the sobs that threatened to break the silence of the night. The world seemed to have shrunk to that small corner of her bedroom, where only the stars were witnesses to her vulnerability. Sometimes, she felt as if her heart were a dying star, flickering weakly in the vast darkness of the sky. Always present, but barely noticeable among so many other, brighter lights, beautiful in its light, but always seeming to be just a heartbeat away from going out.

The crying continued, each tear falling in a desperate, muffled silence. For once, she couldn't even find solace in the stars. Only curses. She cursed her weakness, her loneliness, but most of all, she cursed the day that damn mirror had made her fall into Twisted Wonderland.

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Banners created by miriamladyvoid© Feel free to use; please, reblog, and credit banners.

©Miriamladyvoid 2024. do not steal my work plz…☕︎

Language of the flowers of each Banner:

First Banner: Cyclamen: Resignation. Second Banner: Bramble, Rose: Envy. Third Banner: Lobelia: Splendid Misery.

[lilreidgirl]

Bad guy

Summary: Your ex boyfriend, Rafe, thinks he’s a tough guy so you have to put him back in his place, sort of

Warnings: MDNI(18+), oral (fem receiving), nipple play and boob groping, bloody nose and punching, switch!reader and Rafe, TOXIC reader and Rafe, very possessive, swearing, nicknames/name calling (angel, baby, big man, little bitch, etc…), very heavily inspired by bad guy cause I have writers block so I can only write things based off of songs…

WC: ~1.4k

A/N: Heyy guys!! Sorry, I disappeared, I’ll try posting more. But also first post of 2025!!!!

Fucking idiot.

That’s all that ran through your mind when you say the blood splayed out all over his white shirt and the guy you were just flirting with’s face. Red stained all over the sand under the boy’s nose, more and more liquid spewing from it by the second.

“Fuck!” The guy — you think his name was Jonathan or something — screamed, hand coming up to cup his broken nose. “I- I think it’s broken,” he whined, looking around at the people surrounding him with panic in his horse voice, “That motherfucker broke my nose!”

Just as he yelled out the wonderfully endearing term, your gaze fell on said “motherfucker” sneaking away, using the commotion of Jonathan’s screaming to slip away without being seen.

Motherfucker thought he was so smooth, huh?

You scoffed as you followed.

Soon Rafe had lead you both to a completely different bay, a small one almost no one knew about, one he had shown you on your second date.

“Rafe!” You called out his name as you caught up with him, watching as he immediately turned around, slightly feral looking eyes landing on your own.

“What the fuck was that?” You spat out. Of course, you already knew the answer; he got jealous when he saw you — his ex — flirt with another guy and lashed out. What more can one expect from a man, right?

“Oh, you’re asking me that? You’re the one who’s flirting with all these fucking men at parties like a fucking slut! You’re mine! Mine.” Your eyes studied the way he was staring at you, the expression on his face was one you could always recognise easily. The rage, the savagery, the insanity.

You used to be the one to calm him down, to slowly make that look fade away and blossom into a smile. The day you broke things off with him you promised yourself to never be the one to do it again. It wasn’t your responsibility.

“We broke up.” Your words carried a heavy weight with them, the weight crashing down on Rafe almost instantly.

“You belong to me.” He stated, a fire that seemed to have originated straight from hell burned behind his usually piercing blue eyes, now just a dark navy swimming amongst the shadows of the night sky and the calm ocean waves.

“Oh yeah? Think you’re so tough, huh?” You couldn’t have held back the chuckle that left you if you had tried which you definitely didn’t.

“Get on your knees.” Your voice ordered.

“What?” His mien shifted to one you couldn’t quite read.

“C’mon, big man, you heard me.” The tone of your voice was taunting and you couldn’t help but smirk at the way it felt to say it.

“Get. On. Your. Knees. Now.”

With an undercurrent of hesitation, he sank to his knees, bare skin of his shins hitting the sand as he squatted down in front of you.

His eyes travelled down your body, clad in a black bikini and white shorts. The marks he had left on your delicate skin when you were together still slightly present, little pink spots placed where dark hickies once lay, tiny crescents of his nails dug into your thighs, memories of bruises on your knees from all the times he’d made them scrape down onto the ground.

The gawking at your body didn’t go unnoticed by you. You leaned down, bending your knees under you, ass resting on your ankles so that you were eye level with him.

“You always were rough, weren’t you?” Your fingers glided over the slightly rough area of your joints. “Just couldn’t get enough?”

It was obvious that the questions were rhetorical yet he still answered with a short and eager nod.

As a cruel grin grew on your lips, you took hold of Rafe’s hand and guided it behind you. Like clockwork he promptly tugged at one of the strings connecting the bow that was keeping your bikini tight around your chest.

The flimsy piece of swimwear dropped to the ground, covering the little sandy surface that now lay under it.

“You’re so fucking stunning, angel,” he praised, the nickname making you huff away a suppressed laugh.

His large hands reached up, slim fingers skimming over your smooth mounds.

“You sure you wanna do this, baby?” You asked.

“God, yes.” One of his hands enclosed around your right breast, squeezing gently while the other pinched the nipple of your left breast between his fingers, rolling over it with his thumb.

Straightaway your head fell back in pleasure, breaths coming out in small pants as you questioned, “Yeah? Once we start this again, it won’t end.”

To your ears it sounded like a threat, it possibly actually was, but to Rafe’s? He was convinced it was the best promise ever made to him.

“Please.” He sounded desperate and you absolutely loved it.

“Stupid.” You muttered under your breath, unsure if Rafe had heard the whispered comment or not.

“Don’t you see what I do to you, Rafey?” Your fingers clipped into his blonde hair, tugging you closer together as your ass rose from your ankles.

“Your mommy fucking hates me, your sister avoids me at all costs, your friends think I’m crazy and I’d quite literally fuck your daddy if he let me.” A loud whisper left him as you pulled him even closer, roughly shoving his face against your chest. Right away his mouth wrapped around your left nipples, his silken tongue flicking and tasting at your sensitive bud as he moaned.

“I’m the bad guy.”

With a brutal force you hauled his face away from your body and stared down at his eyes as they looked up at you with a hint of surprise.

“And you’re my little bitch, huh?” Your lips met each other in a heated, dark kiss as your hands cascaded all over each other’s bodies.

After a few seconds, when it seemed Rafe had finally come to his senses he jerked backwards, breaking the kiss.

“Don’t call me that.” He spat, anger snd disbelief costing his beautiful features.

“I can call you whatever I want.” You snapped back, dominate overtaking your tone.

Instantaneously Rafe grabbed your thighs and in one fluid motion laid down on the sandy beach and yanked you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist.

“Acting like you can fucking order me around now, huh?” He questioned, eyes boring into your face.

“Outta teach you a lesson.” Was the last thing he said before he turned you around to face the same direction as him and tugged down your shorts and panties, stripping you of all your clothes, before dragging you to hover over his face.

Shaky exhales left you as you felt his hot breath hit your bare core.

“Rafe…” you whined as your hands settled on his shirtless upper body, nails digging into his pecs.

“Shh, angel, just let me take care of you, okay?” Before you could even think about answers he found respite between your supple thighs, his hands tainting your body, kneading and bruising at your soft skin while his rough, curling tongue laps over your soppy cunt.

With loud moans and whines ripping through your body, you dragged your fingers from his bare chest to his neck, wrapping your hands around his throat, feeling his tongue stutter against your clit which made an even more forceful groan escape you.

“Fuck, Rafe!” Your hands tightened around his neck, grinding your sex down onto his nose and mouth. “I’m gonna come!”

Your words made his actions even more vigorous and soon you were reaching your high, moaning his name as he tongue-fucked you through your orgasm.

After the trembling of your legs had slightly calmed down you collapsed forward, resting against his torso.

You felt a small kiss be placed on your sensitive clit, making your body jolt and cry out.

When you’d felt you’d rested enough you got up, quickly grabbing your bikini and shorts and putting them back on.

Rafe sat up and watched you get clothed again, ruffling his hair to get a bit of the sand out.

“So… does this mean we’re back together?” He asked.

“Uhh…”

@emma-e-a

[skimmingmilk]

*Spoilers for the end of Sonic 3 (2024)* Tails had seen that look before. He knew what it meant. Rejection. He'd almost let himself forget. Almost didn't have to remember. Every day since he'd come to this planet, the memory faded a little bit more. Even if it would always be there, it couldn't share the spotlight when the intoxicating feelings that came with living in this place, in that house, with that family overwhelmed him with their potency. It had all been so bright… so warm… There was no warmth in Maddie's eyes when she looked back at him. She looked at him like he was a stranger. - A post-Sonic 3 movie fic based on the last look Maddie gives them before they go to stop the Eclipse Cannon and what it means to Tails in particular. Lucky for him he has two big brothers always looking out for him.

Risking Rejection (For a Chance at Acceptance)

Tails had seen that look before. He knew what it meant.

Rejection.

"Freak!"

He'd almost let himself forget. Almost didn't have to remember. Every day since he'd come to this planet, the memory faded a little bit more. Even if it would always be there, it couldn't share the spotlight when the intoxicating feelings that came with living in this place, in that house, with that family overwhelmed him with their potency. It had all been so bright… so warm…

There was no warmth in Maddie's eyes when she looked back at him.She looked at him like he was a stranger.

"That thing is not my son!"

She'd never asked for this. For them. For him.

Especially him.

This had all been Tails's plan, after all. Tails's gadgets that got them into G.U.N. Headquarters. Tails's gadgets that failed to get them out. Tails's gadgets that got Tom…

That got him…

…hurt.

"Get it out of the village! It's not what we need!"

Not what we need. Not what we need.

"—'s not what I need."

Tails flinched as Sonic's cold voice swept through him like the most brutal winter wind. He'd only wanted to help.

He knew Sonic knew what it was like to be alone—they all did, all three of them—but he didn't know if Sonic had ever faced that look of rejection. The distant dismissal. The regret of ever knowing them at all.

He couldn't imagine he had when Tails thought of the bright light in Maddie's eyes when she laughed at their dinner table shenanigans. Or the warmth in them when she tucked each of them into bed and pressed her lips to their foreheads, as if to say, "I'm here. You're safe. You're not alone anymore."

Without any words at all.

She moved her hand out of his reach when Tails tried to hold it before the medics wheeled Tom away.

He'd only wanted to give her the same feeling, remind her that she wasn't alone either. But she didn't want it. Not from him. It wasn't good enough if it came from him.

And now Sonic didn't want him either.

His first friend… his best friend. His big brother—

The ambulance doors had shut with an empty stare.

The ring portal had closed with a disgusted glare.

And they were gone.

[Continue at AO3]

[hsnlv]

inescapable | l.hs

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: after a devastating betrayal, you thought you were free of heeseung’s grip. but when you meet again at a party, his manipulative charm and lingering touch pull you back into a dangerous game of love and control. walking away might not be the end.

warnings/others: manipulation?, a little suggestive.

wc: 1.2k

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated🖤 here’s my masterlist!

“you’re just making sure im never getting over you.”

heeseung swears he’s never fallen this hard for anyone. not like this. not for someone he once dared to call ordinary.

you.

sure, you might not have the same polished beauty as the other girls who turned heads so effortlessly, but you had something they didn’t.

the way you loved him—wholeheartedly, selflessly—made him feel like the center of your universe. like he was someone worthy of devotion, someone worth the kind of tenderness you gave so freely.

but even the most perfect paradise has its cracks. he slipped. he stumbled. and his mistakes were enough to cost him everything. now, you’re no longer his to hold.

yet there you are tonight, on the dance floor, glowing like a fucking vision. your dress clings to you like it was made to torment him, showing off every curve he once called his own. curves he marked with his lips, his teeth, his hands.

he doesn’t just see you; he feels you. the way your hips sway to the music, the sound of your laughter, even from across the room. it’s unbearable.

his grip tightens around his glass, the tension in his jaw spreading to every muscle in his body. jay, who’s been rambling about god-knows-what beside him, finally notices.

“dude,” jay mutters, glancing down at the glass in heeseung’s hand. “unless you wanna pay for damages, maybe loosen up a little?”

heeseung doesn’t respond. his eyes are fixed on you, watching the way you sway, the way your laughter echoes even over the music. it’s as if you’re mocking him without even trying.

the flashback hits him like a brick.

“are you fucking kidding me, lee heeseung? her? out of everyone you could’ve cheated on me with?” your voice was raw, trembling with rage and betrayal. it was loud enough to bounce off the walls, loud enough to haunt him even now.

“you’re so fucking pathetic for this,” you spat, tears glistening in your eyes.

but he didn’t say anything. didn’t even flinch. he just stood there, staring through you like you weren’t even real. like you were just air.

and fuck, if you could’ve cursed him out physically, you would’ve. but the love you had for him was a leash holding you back. it chained your anger, softened the edges of your words until all you could do was storm out, leaving him behind.

the memory fades, but the guilt lingers.

without thinking, he sets his drink down—hard—and cuts through the crowd. his long strides eat up the distance between you in seconds. before you can even register his presence, his hand wraps firmly around your wrist.

“what the hell, heeseung?” you snap, trying to pull your arm free.

“we need to talk.” his tone is low, firm, leaving no room for argument.

“like hell we do,” you bite back, your voice sharp as he drags you through the crowd and into a secluded corner of the house.

the music is muffled here, the only light coming from a nearby lamp. you yank your wrist out of his grasp, glaring at him with fire in your eyes. “what’s your problem? you don’t get to just manhandle me like that—”

“you know damn well what you’re doing right now,” he cuts you off, his voice steady but laced with frustration.

you blink, feigning innocence. “i’m attending a party. on behalf of my friend, who couldn’t make it. is that a crime now?”

he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “don’t play dumb with me. you think i don’t notice? the way you’re flaunting yourself, dancing like that, knowing i’m watching?”

“are you serious?” you laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “you’re delusional. i’m not here for you, heeseung. the world doesn’t revolve around you, believe it or not.”

his jaw tightens. “you’re driving me fucking crazy, you know that?” he takes a step closer, his voice dropping an octave. “you—” he gestures at you, exasperated—“you make it impossible to think about anything else.”

you cross your arms, your glare unwavering. “weren’t you the one who decided i wasn’t worth your time anymore? or did you forget that part?”

“i made a mistake,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “i’ll admit that. but don’t act like you don’t want me.”

your heart skips a beat, but you refuse to let him see how his words affect you.

“don’t act like you’re not searching for me in every room you walk into,” he continues, his lips brushing against your ear. “don’t act like your eyes don’t light up every time i’m around.”

“you’re imagining things,” you whisper, but the tremor in your voice betrays you.

his hand comes up to rest on the wall beside your head, caging you in. “am i?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“you don’t know shit about how i feel,” you snap, but your voice lacks conviction.

heeseung leans closer, his lips hovering just inches from your ears. “missed you, baby,” he whispers, his voice rough but soft enough to make your knees feel weak. “so fucking bad.”

your breath hitches, and he takes your silence as permission to continue.

“missed the way you felt in my arms,” he murmurs, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “the way you’d look at me with those big, beautiful eyes like i was the only thing that mattered.”

you hate how his words send a pang through your chest, how they dig into old wounds you thought had healed.

“missed the way you’d say my name,” he continues, his lips curling into a small, almost nostalgic smile. “especially when you were underneath me, all breathless and needy. fuck, you don’t know how many nights i’ve thought about you. about us.”

“heeseung, stop,” you whisper, but it sounds more like a plea than a command.

“you’re killing me, baby,” he murmurs, leaning closer until his forehead almost touches yours. “i don’t think you even realize what you do to me. how much you still own me.”

your resolve is cracking, and he sees it.

“i shouldn’t want you this much,” he whispers, his voice breaking just slightly. “but i do. and i can’t stop.”

“you don’t get to say this to me,” you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice wavers. “not after what you did.”

“i know,” he says softly, his hand brushing against your arm. “i know i fucked up. but god, i’d do anything to take it back. anything to have you in my arms again.”

his words are honeyed poison, sweet and lethal, and you know you need to get out of this conversation before it’s too late.

“you’re disgusting,” you snap, trying to shove him back, but he doesn’t budge.

“and you’re still mine,” he says quietly, his lips ghosting over your neck now, pressing a soft kiss just below your jaw. “even if you don’t want to admit it.”

your chest tightens, and for a moment, you falter. “you’re insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

he smiles, his lips curling against your skin. “maybe. but you loved me for it once, didn’t you?”

you clench your fists at your sides, summoning every ounce of strength you have. “this conversation is over, heeseung. stay the hell away from me.”

but even as you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, his presence lingering like a ghost. and deep down, you know he’s not done.

not with you. not with this.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[aonemanarmy]

Faced with the stranger before him Sephiroth had no idea how he was supposed to react or what Vincent expected from him. The only reason he'd agreed to the other man's request was to slate his own curiosity, but things were swiftly turning in a way he hadn't expected and that he didn't like in the slightest. With the way things were going he also felt deeply unsettled which was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to and coupled with the stabbing pain behind his eyes made him all the more agitated with the situation.

Surely this had to be some sort of trick. An attempt the ex-Turk made to try to distract him from his true goal, but why would he do so in such a manner and why use one of Jenova's discarded puppets? It was a thought that gave him pause before it was disrupted completely by a wash of blinding white light that filled the dim cavern.

With a hiss the madman narrowed his eyes, the light burning his already abnormally sensitive sight and adding a new layer of pain. Fortunately, the blinding light didn't last long and faded away to reveal Jenova's discarded puppet standing outside of her crystalline prison, a strange expression on her face that Sephiroth couldn't begin to understand much like the tears she freely shed.

“Is it really you… Sephiroth?”

He didn't like the way she said the word. It felt wrong and conjured old memories of how for the vast majority of his life he didn't have a name, at least not of the kind that any ordinary person could possibly comprehend as one. Shinra and Hojo in particular had no reason to care if he had a normal name or not and he'd only been granted one for the sake of convenience, since ordinary people wouldn't have been able to remember what he was called or address him properly if needed. It was only because of that he was called Sephiroth, but for all other purposes his true 'name' was #S13106 and he'd never forgotten that fact.

How dare this woman act as if she knew him? She was a stranger to him, one that caused an inextricable sense of dread to gnaw at the back of his maddened mind in a way he'd never felt before, one that went even beyond that feeling back in Nibelheim before his mortal life came to an end.

He didn't like it.

'Lies.' Jenova's voice filled his mind, dark and venomous in response to Lucrecia's words. 'A pitiful broken thing such as her believes she can maintain a shred of relevance and power in her attempts to control you. If what she claims were true then where was she this whole time?

'All it means is that she chose to abandon you to your fate, to discard you for the sake of her own safety. No true mother would willingly abandon her child to such a fate.'

The sting of those words wasn't lost on Sephiroth. It brought to mind the idealized concept he'd had of a mother as a child, as someone that would do anything to protect their child. Now he couldn't help but think he was horribly naive and that despite all her faults that at least Jenova had never truly abandoned him – more like it was Shinra and Hojo that had kept her from him. But if this woman claimed to be speaking the truth then she had to realize she was confessing to him that she had willingly left him to suffer a fate worse than death.

“I’m not worthy of your forgiveness, and I do not ask for anything. But if you would grant me one thing…”

Forgiveness? No, that was the last thing that Sephiroth was capable of given the circumstances, especially if any of these claims were true, which he seriously doubted. If anything, simply considering the possibility made him feel more angry and bitter.

“…May I hold you? Just once?”

A flicker of barren white tile walls and bright fluorescent lights suddenly filled Sephiroth's mind. Alongside it came the sensation of the bite of steel into his restrained limbs, locking him into place on the chill table beneath him as stared up into an expressionless masked face. A face he knew that was smiling a familiar twisted smile at him even as the razor-sharp scalpel sunk into his flesh and slowly dragged through it, opening gaping red mouths that filled the sterile air with a sickly metallic scent that was practically drowning him.

Then he could feel as they reached inside of his trembling body and started to slice and pull until he could feel pieces of him being removed. The very same pieces he witnessed being held aloft by scarlet painted gloves and placed on a waiting tray which was swiftly whisked away by other masked people, all of whom looked at him like one would look at an insect pinned to a cork board.

All the while he could only silently scream behind the leather strap in his mouth, his whole body writhing as tears streamed down the sides of his face. It was only when scalpel hung over his face, blade glinting in the blinding white light that he could feel anything other than pain, but that didn't last long as it dropped closer and his tears turned crimson.

The unbidden memory had Sephiroth step back, a hand lifting to clutch at his head as the pain behind his eyes reached a new crescendo. How fitting that the pain so perfectly mirrored that in his memory to the point he thought it to be one and the same. It was almost as if he was back there again, back in that place where he'd first come to learn the truth of the world.

'Foolish woman,' in that moment Jenova made herself known to Lucrecia, reaching out speaking into her thoughts through the cells that bound her to the creature since the first day she trod down the path of her magnum opus. 'You are too late. He is mine and you shall not have him.'

“It will be the same,” he shook his head, fingers digging into and threatening to tear into his own flesh. “Your touch, theirs, it is always the same.”

It had long been Vincent’s desire to see Lucrecia smile once again; it was a strong as Lucrecia's desire to hold her son. Nevertheless, Vincent wasn’t naïve to think that bringing Sephiroth to Lucrecia could grant him that lovely smile. There was too much tension, too much sorrow and regret, and of course the issue of Jenova’s presence. If there was one individual who could understand Lucrecia’s heart, it was Vincent. Even if his love was one-sided, it didn’t matter. Her single most wanted desire was to see her son, and he would carry it out, even if it terrified him.

The cool misty cave winds gently brushed across Sephiroth’s hair and face as if guided by the woman’s voice. Regardless of Sephiroth’s harsh tone, the voice responded just as gently as before. Sephiroth… The words were a bit clearer this time, and the Ex-SOLDIER could begin to hear emotion riddling the feminine voice. Undertones of sorrow, perplexity, and bridled happiness could be heard. “Lucrecia,” Vincent quietly called to her beyond the crystal. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here.” He then briefly glanced over at Sephiroth with a wary eye. …This time… I won’t let you suffer. A bright light slowly began to form around the crystal, filling the cave like a flood of white. It caused Vincent to shield his eyes. The sound of soft shimmering crystals echoed in the cave as the woman’s figure began to once again take shape in front of them. Her body was encompassed with a hazy glow. Slowly but surely, the light faded away, revealing the woman standing near the base of the crystal, her silk white dress flowing free. Her hazel brown eyes were locked on Sephiroth; surfacing with all of the past years of regret in the form of tears. Silence fell between them for some time, until the woman seemed to find her voice again. “Is it really you… Sephiroth?” Tears streamed down both her cheeks. Sephiroth… her son. He was beautiful, powerful, and outwardly the pride of any mother. Her arms ached to hold him, but as a mother is want to do, she could sense the darkness resonating in him. She knew that she meant nothing to him, even if he was everything to her. She could sense the bitterness and hatred—all that Hojo had ever wanted for Sephiroth to become. Ultimately, he had won. Vincent remained silent, keenly watching them both in anticipation of anything, though challenged with the occasional reminder of the pain shooting down his abused lower body. Lucrecia finally shook her head, turning her gaze from Sephiroth to stare at the rocky ground. “How can I say I’m his true mother? Or any mother at all?” A pained furrow crossed Vincent’s brow as her words brought back every memory from that time. Lucrecia turned to look at Sephiroth once again, her heart aching every time she looked upon him. “Sephiroth,” her words tender and warm. “…It is true. I carried you in my womb. I gave birth to you. But I….” Her small hands clenched at her sides as more tears of horrible memories flooded into her mind. “Lucrecia—” Sensing where her words were headed, Vincent began to plead with her, but then held his peace, knowing he had to allow her to have closure. “If only I could have been a true mother to you. Someone to comfort and protect you, to shield you from pain…” Her voice softened into almost a whisper as she once again met Sephiroth’s eyes, seeing those eyes laden with cruelty and years of torment. “I’m not worthy of your forgiveness, and I do not ask for anything. But if you would grant me one thing…” Vincent looked up in confusion and held his breath as he listened. The woman in white took one small step forward, folding her hands over her chest pleadingly, her fingers trembling. What Lucrecia asked caused Vincent’s heart to stop. “…May I hold you? Just once?”  

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

If you're down for disaster fics, I'd love to see something where the team finds out Buck and Tommy are back together (it's been a secret ssshhhhh) after they get into a car accident together and they respond to the call. (Maybe Buck asked off for ~reasons~ and wouldn't tell anyone.)

Signed,

Actually V88SY

There’s this sound, a high-pitched whistling. Like shattered glass, its fragments rubbing against each other’s edges forever and ever. The sound shuts out everything else, even thoughts, though memories remain. This isn't the first time Buck has heard that tone, is it?

He’s twelve, almost 13, when he sneaks into the club through the backdoor; there’s a rock concert, and there’s a girl he knows will be there. Buck doesn’t have $40, he just has a crush, and there’s nobody at the backdoor. In the end, he stares at the bartender for a long time, fascinated by the guy’s long blonde hair and the clear kohl line around his green eyes. The girl he's interested in is somewhere in the crowd, and as Buck pushes his way through the dancing and jumping people, he ends up at the stage. He doesn't know the band, they're just a couple of loud musicians as far as that's concerned, but the bass booms through the speakers next to which he’s standing, and the strobe light burns into his retinas. It's exciting, at least until the next day, when there’s this high-pitched, loud whistling in his ears that just won't go away. He's tired from the long night, but using the noise as an excuse to miss school is a mistake. His mother drags him to the ear specialist, who diagnoses a hypersensitivity to high-pitched sounds, but that doesn't stop Buck from sitting in class by noon.

It sounds about the same now. Everything else is faded out, even... somehow, his body. He’s probably lying in bed, in that fleeting, foggy state just before falling asleep. Maybe he went to a concert? Maybe Buck decided, twenty years later, to make up for what he did as a teenager and actually pay for a band he likes. It’s just, he’s not a big music guy. Tommy is, though.

Why, of all people, Tommy is now creeping into his mind he doesn’t know, but why not? Why shouldn't he think of Tommy just before falling asleep, something he’s been doing for months anyway. About a week before the breakup, they talked about a concert, didn't they? Buck remembers smiling and nodding, watching Tommy enthusiastically talk about a band he had loved since he was a teenager, and who were actually playing a concert in L.A. A day later, Buck bought tickets without telling his boyfriend. Tommy never asked him to go to the event; he just assumed that Buck wouldn't be interested, and although Buck's secret was heavy on his tongue, it was easy to keep it because Tommy seemed to have forgotten about it. But that was months ago, and then they had broken up. Maybe, just maybe, Buck has gone to the concert alone, if only to remember what Tommy loved. He likes that thought. As it often does, one thought leads to another, and he remembers other times, other things. Places they’ve been together, people they met, things they’ve done. And things they would have liked to do, it all gets mixed up, a special cocktail. Ingredients: dreams and memories.

Buck is sleepy, warm and almost comfortable, if it weren't for that relentless whistling. He can't feel his body, which must mean that he has sunk deep into the mattress, his limbs heavy from a long shift. After the breakup, Buck spent so many days and nights lying in bed, watching Tommy’s traces vanish bit by bit. Then he thought of how the soft surface under Tommy's body had given way, sometimes leaving a hollow the next morning; a hollow with Tommy's outline that disappeared as the memory foam slowly returned to its original shape. Often he imagined they’d reconciled, realizing their split was the wrong move. In this scenario, Buck had fought for it, had demanded they’d talk, tear-streaked and desperate, but with vigor.  And then, after more and mutual tears, long talks and confessions, they'd have pressed new hollows into the mattress, together.

Those fantasies never really stopped, they went on, he remembers every single one of them. Why now? He can’t say, but they’re sure distracting him from the sound in his ears. All these daydreams are as real as memories, and just as painless, which is the best part. There’s this one day when they make love on the beach, in a tiny, secluded cove that is rarely visited at this hour, or at any other hour for that matter. After that, they lie there, grains of sand on their skin and salt on their lips from the spray, when Buck’s phone disrupts this peacefulness. “An emergency,” he says regretfully after glancing at the display, “a large-scale operation, I think-” He doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence, as Tommy's phone starts buzzing, too. It’s the moment when they both realize that they don't want to destroy the magic. Not the magic of the moment; duty calls, that will always come first. No, the wonder of what they’ve recreated, this delicate plant that needs to be nurtured. Trust that must be earned, love that must be protected. It’s the moment when they decide to keep this new relationship secret.

Buck finds this decision not only logical, but proper. All of his friends, even his sister, advised him not to call Tommy, told him to take his mind off the matter, tried to persuade him to jump back into the pool after just a few weeks. This advice had always been welcome in the past, but now it aroused his mistrust. It was a small but constantly festering wound: no one recommended that he – a man in his 30s who had only just discovered his sexuality anew – talk things over with Tommy. Buck had never fought for many things in his life; he had accepted, given up, reoriented himself.  He had always left, had made room, but this time he wanted to stay. The daydream feels so real, Buck seems to remember that they decided to keep their love a secret. That he went to work and acted as if he had spent his day off at home, “are you still brooding over Tommy?” someone asked, and he shook his head. A shake of the head can mean many things, not just refusal, and so it was not a lie, just as on many days and occasions later he never lied, he only bent the truth.

The dream memories come crashing down, raining down on him like broken glass, each shard carrying an image. Here’s Buck, gently smiling when his colleagues and friends ask him for his plans for the night; whatever story he’ll tell, truth is that he’ll rest his head in Tommy’s crook. There's Tommy, opening the door, his smile scrunching his nose as Buck crushes into his embrace. They're both in dozens of these memory shards, laughing and loving and learning, together. This should hurt, all the things that could have been, shouldn’t it? Yet, it doesn’t, it is a pleasant cocoon. Maybe a little tight, though. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Buck wakes up and finds himself completely twisted in sweaty sheets, as if he had tossed and turned in his sleep. Maybe he isalready sleeping, and these are not the minutes before falling into the land of dreams, but the flash of his consciousness between two phases of sleep.

Another sound mixes with the high-pitched whistling, disrupting the beautiful memories and dreams, a siren. The sound of his life, somehow. There was probably an accident. Maybe they need AirOps, and Tommy is already hovering over it all, looking at the world from above as if he is untouched by what’s happening below. But he isn’t. Tommy, Buck knows this now, tried to protect his heart precisely because it is so sensitive. Somehow the thought hurts now after all, weighs on his chest as if it wants to crush him. It's getting uncomfortable, time to wake up and fix the sheets, or his life, because…

Buck opens his eyes, and he remembers. He remembers everything.

“You really have tickets?” Tommy asks in disbelief, although Buck is already waving them in front of his eyes. 

“I've got tickets. Have had them for months, ever since you mentioned the band is playing in the stadium. It’s a bit intimidating, I’ve got to say, such a big-”

Tommy shuts his mouth with a fierce kiss. Then he pushes him gently at arm's length, scrutinizing his face. 

“When I told you about it... shortly after that we broke up, Evan.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, smiling. The memory no longer hurts. 

“Why didn't you sell the tickets?”

Buck looks at him, pondering, and then he decides, after a long breath, to simply tell the truth. That's one of the things they agreed on when they decided to try again. To do it right this time. And it’s easy now, easy with Tommy’s large and warm hands on his shoulders, grounding him. If he wanted to, he could let himself fall into these arms now, he’d be safe, and that's what matters. 

“I believe I was thinking of one of those rom-coms you like so much,” he finally says, completely without irony, because it’s true. Tommy, this big beefy guy with hobbies like Muay Thai, is a sucker for tv romance.   “I thought that if I kept these tickets, it would be a reminder of what you love, and that, somehow, connects us.”

He watches Tommy’s gaze become soft; eyes so blue as a mountain lake in summer, one of Buck’s fondest memories. 

“I thought maybe I'd work up the courage to go alone,” he continues.  “I don't even know the band, that's not the point. I would have recognized you in everything, that’s it. At some point, they’d play a sentimental love song, and I’d turn around to see you in the crowd. You’d see me too, your eyes would light up…”

“Do I look sad?” Tommy asks softly. 

By now they’re intimately entwined, so close that a sheet of paper wouldn't fit between them. They look like they're dancing. A few hours later, they actually will be, because the band is playing a love song, but it’s not sentimental at all. 

“A little,” says Buck. There's nothing embarrassing about the fantasy, it just shows that his thoughts have always revolved around Tommy, who immediately gets it and even plays along. “Like a man who regrets his decision upon seeing me.”

“Pretty smug,” Tommy replies with his lips on Buck's neck. 

They leave a little late because fantasy and reality mix in the most pleasant way after this, but they still arrive on time. The concert is actually fun, it’s a captivating band, and Tommy is so happy. Perhaps Buck will never forget the moment when Tommy actually left him, his petrified face with this it’s for the best-look. But he also saw Tommy's eyes on the brink of tears, and that's what he clings to for weeks. The thought that Tommy didn’t want this, that he might regret it grows stronger every time people tell him to get over it. They have a lot of catching up to do when they get back together, half a year of ignorance that they both need to work out. But now they're happier than ever, because going through difficult times together brings people closer. Buck knows this; he just should have remembered it sooner. 

A lot of time has passed since they broke up, but even the attentive Hen hasn't noticed when Buck stopped baking cakes and bread. Nobody, not even Maddie, would’ve been able to tell the exact moment when he stopped looking sad, when he started to laugh again, to live again. Another reason why he chose to not tell anybody, as if it were like the silly saying on the station’s coffee mugs, taken literally: bad mojo, if you don’t get enough of what you need. All firefighters are superstitious, to a certain extent, and maybe Buck just doesn’t want to jinx it. Not even Eddie knows, who has left a gap in Buck's life – a different kind of loss, and a different kind of pain. Eddie is happy, he’s content now, and it would have been easy to share this secret with his best friend, even more so with all the miles between them. A part of Buck that he's trying to leave behind now that he's happy with Tommy again, at least that part of him is resentful of Eddie. But… maybe, this loss upon losses was just the final straw, the last drop on a bucket full of sorrow. Just what he needed to feel anger again about life, choosing to not be fair to him once more. Only this time he used the anger constructively, not turning it against himself. He used it to understand that the world didn't revolve around him. It was the moment he realized that ultimately, everything had always turned out well for him, that there had always been someone to catch him; family and friends who were always there for him in one way or another. Tommy had never had that. It was only when understanding finally dawned that Buck began to see behind the façade. 

They dance at the concert like lovers do, oblivious, as if there weren't this surging crowd around them. They hold each other's hands, and Buck watches Tommy's face fascinated as he sings along loudly to lyrics Buck doesn't recognize. Has he ever been so carefree? He’s different, now that they’re back together, and still the same. Still reliable, calm and endearing, but also more open, more… himself. It’s a side of Tommy that makes Buck’s heart ache with warmth. For the first time in his life, he realizes he can make people happy. He’s long since become more than the worthless spare parts he saw himself as for so many years. He’s a firefighter, a friend, a brother-in-law and a brother, and now he’s a lover again, and it’s beautiful. Buck is watching Tommy’s lips move without even hearing him sing, it’s just too loud, and he draws him close and seals those lips with his own.

The concert lasts almost three hours, the band plays overtime, encore after encore rushing over the ecstatic crowd. It’s almost midnight when they finally hit the road again, and Buck is so overstimulated by everything that he’s glad Tommy is driving. It's not easy to get out of the parking garage; thousands of people are moving towards their cars, and the line at the exit is long. Buck rolls down the window as they inch along the freeway behind all the concert-goers. L.A.’s air is rarely fresh, but today it is at least crisp enough to calm his overflowing thoughts a little. He can still feel the bass booming in his ears. Buck knows that the ringing in his ears will only get worse; it will probably plague him throughout the next day, and he will need an excuse if he can't hear well during his shift. But there’s this smile on Tommy’s face, even if his face is focused while driving, and Buck thinks that it was worth it. 

The ride is slow, but that doesn't matter; Tommy has a CD with the band's latest album in the car, and thus the concert continues for a while. It’s a good time, almost surreal, as if time has stood still. At least until the moment when the traffic suddenly starts moving again. A cool breeze wafts around Buck’s heated face, and he feels larger than life, invincible. This night, the ride home might last forever, and he’d be fine with it.

Except it doesn’t, and he’s not. 

The noise in his ears is getting louder, a whistling much shriller than the sound of the airflow from the window. But louder still is the bang that ends it all.

It does not end. 

The world returns like the sound in Buck’s ears; all of a sudden, as if to say surprise, it's not over yet. The weight on his chest is not the result of gloomy thoughts, but of the seat belt cutting into his skin. This will leave marks, deep bruises in various shades of blue, and it will continue to hurt for days. Buck's arms are heavy, and he wonders why they're the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, until he realizes that he reflexively extended them as if the firefighter part of him knew there was going to be an impact. His hands are pressed into the airbag, and a doctor will later remark that it’s a miracle he didn’t break both wrists. It certainly feels like it, but his hands are only, if heavily, bruised. He regards the impending swelling almost clinically, like any first responder who has to create a catalog of injuries in his head in order to assess the situation. 

It’s very quiet, and that seems strange, somehow. Part of him clearly understands what has happened. You don't need to be a psychic to work out that there has been an accident, a multiple pile-up on the highway. Later, it will be known that one of the drivers who left the stadium was drunk. Intoxicated and impatient, because the traffic jams kept coming. In a few weeks, one of the people involved in the accident will sue the city and the stadium owners because what kind of security concept is it that allows thousands of people to try to leave a place at the same time, without anyone advising them to use the other exits, the other arterial roads? It’s unlikely that the accident could have been prevented, but the lawyers are making a good living out of it.

Right now, that moment is still a long way off. For now, Buck is alone with the whistling in his ear and the otherwise eerie silence, with his aching arms and hands, and…

Except he’s not alone, is he? 

There's a cracking sound at the back of his neck as Buck turns his head far too quickly. His eyes widen as he realizes what seems inconceivable: the airbag on the driver's side hasn’t deployed. It seems like a cruel twist of fate, but Buck has given up on blaming destiny. It's a coincidence, a painful, stupid coincidence, that his airbag deployed and Tommy's didn't. Tommy's head was flung forward by the impact, onto the steering wheel, with nothing in between to soften the crash. Not that it would have helped much; now that Buck's almost clear-headed again, his hands are reporting a thousand pinpricks, as if his limbs had fallen asleep and were now struggling to come back to reality. They’re pinpricks now, he knows it will get so much worse in a couple of hours. He can hardly move them, but he has to. There’s a narrow but horrifyingly distinct trail of blood on the steering wheel. 

Buck forces his fingers to move, sending instructions through his neural pathways with pure willpower. He’s surprised when his hands actually come off the airbag, and even more surprised that there’s still feeling in his fingertips, because when he puts them on Tommy's carotid artery, he feels a pulse. It’s steady, not too weak; relief washes over Buck, momentarily pushing all the pain into the background. His fingers glide gently across Tommy's cheek, “Tommy,” he urges, “open your eyes for me, will you?”

He can't lose him. Buck knows he won't, he just felt his pulse, the man will come around; such a thick skull, it will withstand a lot. But reality crashes over him like a wave, washes the hardest of all truths up on the beach of his thoughts: those who love have something to lose. There it is, the last missing link: admitting it to himself. He loves him, and he wants to hold on to this, to them. Really hold on to it this time. 

Tommy stirs. Buck almost holds his breath, realizes it, and then coughs in shaky spurts. Tommy's shamelessly long eyelashes twitch. It seems to take an eternity, an eternity during which the world outside awakens – screams and sirens in the distance can be heard, and perhaps the hissing, ominous sound of fire. He blocks out all the rest, concentrating only on the here and now and the narrow, now even smaller space and on Tommy, who finally opens his eyes. His lips twitch in a vain attempt to form words, he blinks and raises his head very, very slowly. Analytically, but also with concern, part of Buck notes that Tommy's pupils are different sizes. He looks at him, and as his mind and mouth catch up, he says, “My airbag didn't deploy.”

“It didn't,” Buck confirms.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.”

It's just a little exchange, and they both know it's not true; neither of them is doing well, but this kind of white lie is perfectly fine. They only have to look at each other to know that everything will be all right. Actually, this is one of those situations where they would normally both jump out of the car, ran out to see where help was needed. But now help is needed in here, now they will be there for each other. The sirens are getting louder, getting closer.

“It wasn't a dream,” Buck suddenly says, and Tommy's brows – one of them bloodied, the tear above it will require stitches – rise questioningly. “They were real memories, right? We’re… we are a thing. We’re together. We’re a couple.”

“Evan?”

Tommy suddenly looks worried, and Buck get’s it; he stammers and acts like a man with a concussion, even though Tommy is the one who hit his head on the steering wheel. 

“Just tell me it's true,” Buck breathes. He needs to hear it now, before the last bit of adrenaline leaves his body and fear will creep through his veins. The shock will inevitably come if he lets the sounds of the accident, which can still be heard, get too close to him. 

“Of course it's true,” Tommy replies, even though his usually charming smile is a little crooked with pain he can’t really hide anymore. 

Buck heaves a sigh, “Great, because I'd be sorry if I confessed my love to a mirage.” 

“You… what?” 

“Oh, don't think it's just oxytocin that wants to distract my brain. This is real, you confirmed it, so I will confirm it too: I love you, Thomas Kinard, my first, my last, my everything.” 

“You're quoting a song.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

They smile at each other, and Buck already knows. It’d be nice to hear it, but maybe he doesn’t really need to hear it. Maybe his life finally teaches him, who spent his life chasing love, that love doesn’t always express itself loudly. 

“I don't want to say it now, not here,” replies Tommy. ”I even have a sore tongue, it’s not fair. I want to tell you when we’re both without pain, alone and…”

“But we are alone,” Buck interjects with a smile, but Tommy shakes his head.

“Not for much longer.”

Sure enough, when Buck focuses, he can tune out the whistling in his ears; there are squealing tires, orders being shouted, a fire hose being rolled out. 

“Oh,” he says, ”Oh. There will be questions.”

“Maybe it's not the 118.”

“You don't believe that yourself.”

They’re arguing like an old couple, Buck realizes, a soft kind of bickering that warms his heart. They’re not old, but they are a couple.

“Maybe it’s time to tell them,” he says.

“You sure?”

It seems difficult, but Tommy manages to raise a hand and put it on Buck's. That must have hurt, but he did it anyway, and maybe that’s their new motto: to do it anyway. 

“I’m sure.”

My heart is sure.

[AO3 version] Thank you so much for this prompt! It turned out a bit different than what you probably imagined, but I still hope you like it.

[jesterday00]

Reunion

Bonus spoiler warning just in case

A clock ticked quietly and creating a peaceful melody with the crackle of a fire; snow fell gently outside, glittering through the window panes. Theodore Layton sat lost in thought, tea warming his hands as he lounged on his couch. Something was keeping him awake, and he was sifting through his memories like an archaeological dig.

Of course, because of recent events, he was regularly brought back to the Triton family - though he’d come to terms with their move long before Luke had told him, so he knew his restlessness was tied to something else.

Perhaps it was Flora, then? She’d been quite upset at the professor for not telling her sooner that Luke was moving away, and he’d admitted he’d never found the right time or words. It hurt so deeply to realize he’d given her no time to process the fact that he was leaving. He doubted that was the problem though, as they were making good strides in their conversations about processing these feelings.

The thought of Claire came up for a moment, but after a gentle squeeze of the heart, the thought passed. She was gone now, he knew for sure, and he had come to terms with that not long ago.

Then, finally, another face graced his mind.

It had been a year, maybe longer, since he’d been seen. The days seemed to have slipped by after that event, what with Saint Mystere and the Molentary Express, and just recently Future London. That letter still sat in his desk, the words burned into his heart.

“I will return to you someday, hopefully soon. But for now, I must take my leave. Stay strong, Teddy.”

He gripped the cup tighter as its warmth faded, then took a sip. Perhaps this…

As the clock struck midnight, he decided it would be better to speculate in bed. At least if he fell asleep mid thought, he wouldn’t be stiff in the morning. Swinging his legs down, he grabbed the blanket to fold it back up-

A knock, quiet but firm. Someone who knew the hour but wanted to be heard. One of the neighbors, perhaps?

He stood, then, setting the half-full teacup on the table and approached the door. He undid the deadbolt and lock quietly, then slowly opened the door.

Standing on his doorstep, damp coat in hand, was Hershel.

In the span of a heartbeat, Theo took in the details of his brother’s appearance - he’d trimmed his hair again recently, and it looked more gray than before; he looked well rested, though the late hour was beginning to show. When he glanced up from the doormat, Theo noted shame, then relief, then tears.

Without warning, his knees gave out as he crossed the threshold, and Hershel caught him in a hug. Body trembling, he could only whisper, “Hershel..!” Tears burned down his cheeks and he found himself clutching his brother’s shirt tightly. He didn’t want to let go, couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again.

“I’m so sorry,” Hershel said, his own voice cracking with emotion, “I’m so sorry for leaving… after all we went through…” Theo felt his brother’s grip tighten on his own jumper. All he could hope was that this meant they would be staying together from here on out.

[diaferia-dhades]

Broken Melody

Sylus x MC (angst with comfort)

warning: main character death, torture, prison, pregnancy, birth, myth spoilers

word count: 1369, no proofreading

preview: Sylus looked into MC's past after his passing...Slightly based on this

Spoilers: MC saw Sylus' history when their souls were bound, so here's the question, would Sylus see her history as well?

"Look at me... You're not allowed to close your eyes!"

Sylus remembered those words. He remembers everything she says. He remembered kissing her forehead before leaving. It hurts him just as much to leave his beloved.

"Sylus... I cursed your soul..."

She sobbed, he wanted to cradle her face and kiss her one more time.

"I cursed your soul... to never fade away... "

He wanted to come back to her, to hold her, to love her the way she loved him.

"You'll always be tied to me. Forever."

His last remaining soul watched as she gripped the black petal as if her life depended on it before she finalized her curse.

"This is my curse... Only I can...Grant you a true death."

He feels like this is more of a blessing than a curse. He rather die in his lover's arms than die in someone else's arms. At least he's able to see his lover a last time before departing.

As soon as she finished her curse, she took half of his soul and bounded with hers, inheriting his characteristics.

Sylus is confused. Although this happened in his past life, he had long let go of the memory. He is enjoying his second life, a blessed life where he found his beloved again and shared their love together. He is living a blissed life, where he get to hold his lover without any barrier, without having to worry about hurting her with his claws, able to become human for her. So why? Why did this memory come back to him? Why would his mind remind him again of his past life?

The scene slowly changes. He watches her lover, inheriting his horns, tails, and wings, scrambling away from something, someone. He can see in the distance, that arrows pierced through the air. He wanted to scream, he wanted to jump to her, to protect her, but he couldn't move.

That's when he realized, he was living in a nightmare. A nightmare he always wanted to prevent from happening in real life. That's why he always wanted to become stronger. Be the best, be the top. He wanted to give his beloved all she ever wanted and be able to protect her.

And here he is, witnessing this nightmare.

He allowed her to take his life just so he wouldn't kill her but left her alone in this cruel world where she had to fend for herself with no one there to protect her.

He watched her as she was being dragged away. She is bound by ropes and chains. She has bruises and wounds all over her body, covered in blood. He felt his chest tighten, heartbroken at how his beloved was being treated.

"Sylus..."

He heard her whisper as she was dragged away. Her voice sounded partly hopeful partly dejected. Part of her hoped that her lover would come back but part of her knows he is gone.

The scene changed, he saw her in the prison cell. There was water dripping on the corner. Mold grows at all corners of the cell. Only a small window on the top corner where the moon peaks out. The prison is worse than his prison. It looks inhabitable, so small. His beloved sat on the floor and clearly lost a lot of weight. He can practically see bones through her skin. Her eyes, were dark, lost of all lights, as if she long lost the will to live.

He heard footsteps. A group of guards arrived at her prison cell, listing all her sins and her execution date.

He should've killed them. He should've killed them all. None of those humans ever deserved to live.

He looked back to his beloved. As if the time had sped up, she is now caressing her swollen stomach. He saw some lights return to her eyes. Teardrop rolled down her cheek, onto her hand as she carasses her stomach. Only a single word escapes her mouth.

"Sylus..."

Her voice sounded so weak so defeated. Sylus felt his heart shattered.

Then she was dragged away again. He wanted to chase them. He wanted to protect her. But his feet are sealed onto the ground. He wanted to scream but no sounds came out of his mouth.

The scene changed again. He is standing outside the cave. The same cave that was his prison and his home. He saw his beloved frantically flying away while clutching her stomach, trying to protect it as much as she could. A group of soldiers chasing her, throwing weapons at her, trying to hurt her, kill her. It was as if they rallied an entire army just to catch a single person. It was truly laughable.

She was screaming in pain as tears rolled freely down her face. Then she stumbled into the liar, and gently laid herself on the bed, screaming in agony. He wanted to soothe her, to take away her pain. Then he saw it. His beloved birthed their child all by herself.

And he wasn't there for her.

His beloved cradled their baby in her embrace, sobbing and apologizing. He wasn't able to hear her because of the yells and screams from the soldiers outside. Then there was fire. His lair that he once called home, was engulfed in flames. A soft melody sang, the same melody that his beloved sang to him before.

Then a soft voice called...

"Sylus..."

"Sy... Sy... lus..."

"Sylus!"

Sylus flung his eyes open and immediately sat up. He was panting. He couldn't tell if it was his tears or sweat rolled down his cheek. He touched his face and he confirmed that he was indeed crying.

"Sylus?" His beloved was next to him, concerned. "What happened? A bad dream?" She gently rubbed his eyes and cheek, drying his tears. "You're ok, I'm here, darling."

Sylus slowly turned toward his beloved. Her gentle eyes... He saw the eyes in his dream, it lacked light, as if she gave up on living. Now, her eyes are full of light, full of life. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Trying to assure himself that it was only a nightmare.

His beloved drew soothing circles on his back and she gently kissed his cheek and forehead, comforting him. He never felt so vulnerable.

He failed to protect her. He failed to protect their baby. He failed.

"It's ok, darling. I'm here," She whispered, as if she could read his mind. "It's ok, I'm here. That's all it matters."

Yes, that's all it matters.

Sylus took a deep breath. "I'm fine now." He inwardly cringes at how his voice cracks. He used to believe that he won't be able to cry. He is strong enough to hold in his emotions. But tonight, he proved himself wrong. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's ok," she reassured her husband.

They stayed in each other embrace for a while before he finally breaks off. "You should go back to sleep."

"Will you be able to sleep?" She asked, worryingly.

Sylus didn't respond. His beloved smiled, "It's ok. We can read a bit and calm our minds before we go to sleep. Perhaps that way, we will have a better dream." She rolled over and grabbed a children's book. "We can read to our child."

Sylus smiled and nodded. She scooted closer toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, resting on her swollen stomach while she rested her head on her chest.

She reads the book, and the more she reads, the more sleepy she gets. Until she stopped reading, her breaths evened. He smiled to himself and gently lowered his beloved back in the pillows, rearranging the pillows around her head and body, making her more comfortable. He watched her sleep so peacefully. He slowly moved the blanket down, revealing her stomach. He gently kissed her stomach and whispered, "I'll protect both you and your mother."

He failed to protect both of them in his past life, then he shall protect them both in this life.

He settled down beside her, wrapping his arms around her, and holding her close.

Perhaps living is the best way to protect people he loves.

@madam8

[ltash]

Take Me Back To Eden

SimonGhostRileyxFemaleReader

Contains Angst..

The ruins stretched endlessly, their jagged edges glowing faintly under a sickly, clouded sky. Ghost walked through them, his boots crunching on broken glass and charred concrete. His mask, a skull etched with memories of war, concealed his face but not the turmoil within.

In the silence, a melody stirred, one that had followed him through the years, echoing from the depths of his fractured heart. The lyrics whispered in his mind, unrelenting, as vivid as the memories they evoked:

"I dream in phosphorescence, bleed through spaces…

See you drifting past the fog…"

Your face appeared in his thoughts, luminous against the haze of his regrets. Your delicate features framed by dark hair, your almond-shaped eyes full of a warmth he had never deserved. You had been his tether to something brighter, his glimpse of Eden in a world shrouded in shadow.

He stopped and pressed his gloved hand against the crumbling wall of a once-grand building. Through the cracks, moss glowed faintly in the low light, an eerie phosphorescence that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. It reminded him of you, how you had found beauty even in the broken, the glow in the dark corners of the world.

“Why’d you have to leave?” he whispered, his voice swallowed by the ruins.

But the song offered no answers, only more memories.

He had walked with you once through a place not unlike this, a forgotten city overrun by nature’s quiet reclamation. The fog had been thick that day, blurring the edges of the world, yet you had moved through it with purpose.

“You see that?” you had said, pointing to a distant glimmer in the mist.

“See what?” Simon had asked, scanning the horizon.

“Life,” you’d replied simply, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

He hadn’t understood then. To him, the fog had hidden only danger.

Now, walking alone, Simon realized he had begun to see the way you had. Through the fog of his grief, faint glimmers of something more shone through, an idea, a memory, a hope. He pressed forward, the song swelling in his mind:

"Take me back to Eden, take me to the start…

Take me back to Eden, so we can fall apart…"

As he neared the shoreline, the salty breeze stung his skin, sharp and cold. The ruins gave way to sand, and before him stretched the ocean, vast, timeless, indifferent.

And there, at the edge of the water, he thought he saw you. You, glowing faintly, as if the light of a thousand stars had gathered around her. You turned toward him, your expression soft, your lips moving in words carried by the waves.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but you only smiled, your silhouette fading into the horizon.

The fog lingered, thick and impenetrable, but Simon felt its weight lifting from his heart. For the first time, he understood what you had seen. Eden was not a place but a choice. A way to dream in phosphorescence, to bleed through spaces, to drift beyond the fog.

As the sun began to rise, Simon pulled off his mask and faced the light. Eden was ahead, waiting for him to find it.

The ruins fell away behind him, swallowed by the rising tide of the ocean. Ghost stood at the shoreline, the brine in the air stinging his lungs as much as the memories that had clawed their way to the surface. The moon had sunk low, the horizon bleeding faint hues of dawn.

Your voice still lingered, woven through the lyrics that refused to leave his mind. He could almost see you, standing just beyond the misty veil, your figure aglow with the kind of light that didn’t belong to this world.

"But no one told you where to go…

My, my, those eyes like fire…"

Your eyes had always burned with something he couldn’t name, something that had drawn him to her despite the chaos of his world. He was nothing more than a moth, fragile and desperate, circling your inferno.

"I am a winged insect, you are a funeral pyre…

Come now, bite through these wires…"

The weight of his past coiled tight around him, like barbed wire slicing through his resolve. Every step forward felt like tearing himself apart, but still, he moved. Your voice, your memory, your fire, it demanded he push through, even as the gods themselves seemed to turn their backs.

"I am a waking hell, and the gods grew tired…

Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher…"

Simon clenched his fists, the sharp pain grounding him as he stared into the vast expanse of water. He wasn’t sure what lay ahead, only that he couldn’t stay rooted in the ruins of his grief. You wouldn’t have wanted that for him.

The song surged within him, a crescendo of raw emotion and unrelenting desire.

"Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire…"

He closed his eyes, the faint image of your smile etched into his mind, and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Eden wasn’t a place, it was a promise, a choice to keep moving despite the darkness. And though you were gone, your fire remained within him, a flame that would guide him forward.

The dawn broke, casting the world in light. He opened his eyes, ready to write his own story on the blank lines of the horizon.

"Take me back to Eden…"

And so he walked on, not to find you, but to honor you. To build something new from the ashes.

[its-avalon-08]

the paths we didn't take (cl16)

part3!

multipart story! part 1 part 2

Summary : Years ago, Charles Leclerc and Y/N promised to let each other go—for his dreams, for her freedom. No calls, no texts, just memories they buried deep. But when fate reunites them in Monaco, old scars and unresolved feelings resurface. Some loves are unforgettable, but can they find their way back, or is it too late?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Chapter 3: "The End of Us"

Graduation night was a blur of laughter, hugs, and the echoing sound of congratulatory cheers. The air was warm and thick with excitement, and the whole school had gathered for one last celebration. Charles and Y/N, though, barely noticed the festivities. The world around them felt distant, like they were in their own bubble, separated from the noise.

Charles stood with a wide grin on his face, surrounded by his friends. He had received the call that morning. Formula 2 had offered him a spot, and as much as he should have been celebrating with everyone else, his thoughts kept drifting back to the girl who had always been by his side. Y/N was now talking to a group of her friends, but her eyes kept flickering toward him, as if they both knew this night would end differently than they had imagined.

Y/N stood near the refreshment table, trying to focus on the conversation, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the acceptance letter she had gotten just that afternoon. She had been accepted into her dream college, the one she had worked so hard for. But as much as she had longed for this moment, a part of her felt a sense of dread growing in her chest.

She glanced at Charles across the room. He caught her gaze and smiled that smile—the one that had been hers for so long. She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

The party continued late into the night, but as the evening drew to a close, the crowd thinned out. The music softened, and the chatter faded. Charles and Y/N, finding themselves alone once again, slipped away from the remaining group of students. They made their way to the same rooftop where they had sat so many times before, where their relationship had been built on the innocence of childhood and the promises of forever.

The city lights below them flickered like a sea of stars. Y/N sat on the edge of the roof, staring at the sky. Her hands rested on her knees, but her fingers trembled slightly. She could feel the finality of this night creeping in. The moment they both knew was coming.

Charles stood beside her, his gaze fixed on the same sky, his heart pounding. He wanted to reach out, to pull her close and say something—anything—that would make this easier. But the words wouldn’t come.

“You did it,” Y/N said softly, breaking the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to Formula 2.” She turned to face him, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he was struggling with the same emotions.

Charles nodded, but there was a bittersweet smile on his face. “I did.”

“I’m proud of you, Charles. You worked so hard for this.” Y/N swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath. “You deserve it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said quietly, his voice laced with raw emotion. “You’ve always been here. I know I’ve been distracted, with racing and everything, but you’ve always been here.”

“I’ve always been here,” she repeated, her throat tight. “And I’ll always be here, even when I’m not with you.” Her voice cracked, and she quickly wiped away a tear, not wanting to break down in front of him, but she couldn’t help it. “I’ll always cheer you on, Charles. Even when I’m not right by your side.”

Charles turned to her then, his heart breaking at the sight of her trying to hold it together. He had always admired her strength, but right now, he just wanted to take all her pain away, even though he knew he was the one causing it.

“Y/N…” His voice faltered. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I wish things could be different.”

She shook her head, her tears now falling freely. “Don’t apologize, Charles. This isn’t about that. This is about our futures… and the paths we have to take.” She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes. “We’re not the same people we were when we started this. We’re growing into different versions of ourselves, and that’s okay. We can’t keep holding on to something that isn’t meant to be.”

Charles stepped closer, his hands shaking as he reached for hers. “I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/N’s heart cracked open. She looked up at him, seeing the pain in his eyes that mirrored her own. “You’ll always be my first love, Charles. No one will ever replace you.” She closed her eyes briefly, taking a shaky breath. “But you need to find the right girl. The one who can give you the future you deserve. The one who’ll be there when you need her.”

“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t want anyone else. I’ve always wanted you. You’re the one I wanted.”

She smiled through her tears, shaking her head gently. “But you have a future that’s bigger than this. Bigger than us. You have racing, and you’re going to go far. I don’t want to be the one who holds you back. You deserve to be free to chase your dreams without worrying about me.”

Charles stepped back, his heart in his throat, and looked up at the stars. “I’ve always been so focused on my racing,” he murmured. “But you’ve been here, Y/N. And I haven’t appreciated it enough.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Y/N reached out and placed her hand on his cheek, turning him to face her. “You will,” she said softly. “You’re stronger than you think. And you’ll find someone who makes you happy. Someone who can be there for you in ways I can’t.”

The weight of the words hung between them like an anchor, dragging them deeper into the inevitable. The silence was thick with everything they couldn’t say, everything they couldn’t change.

Charles looked at her one last time, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll never forget you, Y/N. You’ll always be in my heart.”

Y/N nodded, her voice catching in her throat. “I’ll never forget you either.” She took a final, shaky breath before adding, “I’ll always love you, Charles. No matter where we go.”

He kissed her then, one last time. It was slow, tender, and filled with all the words they couldn’t say out loud. And in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Like they were the only two people left in the universe. But they both knew the truth—they couldn’t stay here forever.

When they pulled apart, both of their eyes were red, their hearts broken but full of love.

Y/N turned away first, walking toward the edge of the roof. She looked back at him one last time.

“You’ll be great, Charles,” she whispered. “And I’ll always be cheering you on, from wherever I am.”

And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Charles standing there alone beneath the stars, the weight of their love and their parting settling in his chest.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

taglist : @jenxjar @noam-rosier-icr @prttylight @gluecksbaerchieee

@janeh22 @tobucina @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @weekendlusting

@wisestarfishbouquet @ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins

@vyctorya

[brucestalia]

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Damian has never known his father. His father is a ghost in his mother’s tales, a valiant knight whose name she whispers in fables like a prayer. Once, as a child clinging to her skirts, he believed in them. But belief fades with time, and questions sharpen where faith once dulled their edges.

Now twenty, the young Prince looks back on those stories with wonder and resentment.

What man of honour would leave his wife and son behind? The tales he once cherished now feel like a fragile veil draped over a harsher truth. Perhaps his father fell in battle, or, perhaps, he simply turned his back on them. His mother’s silence speaks volumes, but Damian has learned to stop asking. He has lived long enough to know that answers often come with scars.

He remembers nothing of the man who once held him as an infant, cradling him with arms that should have stayed. His earliest years blur in fragments—a visitor in the palace, unfamiliar, a presence never explained. Those memories have become as distant as a fading star, too far to illuminate the shadows of his understanding.

In their absence, others have filled the void. Jason Todd, the foreigner with a sharp tongue and a heart as fierce as his loyalty, is his brother in all but blood. Silent and watchful Cassandra Cain’s unspoken connection to Jason threads them together – a mystery Damian doesn’t try to unravel. 

Some silences, he knows, are best left undisturbed.

It is on an ordinary night, under the weight of moonlight and unanswered questions, that everything changes. Damian stumbles upon a cloaked figure in his mother’s chambers. The man stands like a shadow carved from the night. Talia is absent, and suspicion flares in Damian’s chest like a blade drawn from its sheath.

Without hesitation, he seizes the intruder and drags him into the court’s empty halls. The throne of Ra’s al Ghul is vacant, a silent witness to the scene. Damian forces the man to his knees, his sword angled for the strike, ready to demand answers.

The great doors creak open, and his mother steps inside. Her face is streaked with tears, mouth agape in horror. Damian falters, his blade lowering. He expects her grief to be for the danger she has narrowly escaped. But she walks past him, her gaze fixed on the man before her.

The cloaked figure rises, his movements deliberate, unhurried. As the heavy fabric falls away, it reveals robes of black and gold, worn with an understated dignity.

Talia’s voice trembles, her hesitation sharper than any sword. “The Bat-Prince,” she says at last. “Bruce Wayne.”

Damian’s world tilts.

“Ah, so, the knight returns?” Prince Dusan's voice is light and laced with mockery, shattering the fragile moment as he strides in, oblivious to the reunion unfolding. Then, mid-step, he freezes, his confidence stilling.

The sword slips from Damian’s grasp, clattering to the floor. He cannot reconcile the ghost of his mother’s stories with the man who stands before him now. His breath catches, his mind racing. This man…was his father?

Bruce steps forward, his eyes filled with something Damian does not yet know how to name. He does not wait for permission, pulling his son into an embrace that feels inevitable. 

The days that follow are a blur of questions and reluctant answers. The truth is heavy, but it settles into the cracks of what was once missing. Together, they return to Bruce’s kingdom—a family pieced together from fragments of time and loss.

In the great hall, the portrait is finally complete.

The Bat-Prince is clad in black and gold. His bearing is strong, his gaze steady. Beside him, Talia sits gracefully on an ornate chair, her hand resting gently upon the bundle in her lap—infant Athanasia, swaddled in soft silks, her peaceful form the embodiment of new beginnings.

To the Bat-Prince’s right is Dick, dressed in blue and silver, his hand lightly placed on Bruce’s shoulder. Jason is behind Richard, attire edged with red, hinting at a fire that still smoulders – though, his stance betrays a rare calm.

Towards the left is Tim, holding a journal close to his side. He dons deep crimson and dark grey, contemplative, eyes forward, as if turned toward the future.

Cassandra stands near Talia, draped in a similar muted black with golden embroidery. Her smile softens the overall formality.

Stephanie Brown is a burst of light. Her golden-blonde hair is styled neatly, and her lilac-toned attire adds a subtle vibrancy to the otherwise stately composition.

Duke’s stance is upright, golden accents speaking of vitality and purpose, the sanguineness of the core.

Finally, Damian stands just before his parents, arms crossed, his expression firm. His place close to Talia and Bruce speaks of a bond deeper than his stoic exterior reveals.

And there, at last, Bruce is no longer a ghost or a myth, but a man who has returned to reclaim what was his.

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[kinardsevan]

3 & 26 and I already know you're probably gonna make it hurt ❤️

.... (oops?)

“How dare you keep this from me!” Evan yells at Tommy from across the room. And the thing is, Tommy is trying to find the words to counter, but no part of this entire process has been easy. 

“Evan,” he rasps from the bed. His fingers twitch against the light blanket on top of his body, not that it’s doing anything to keep him warm. Granted, nothing really ever does anymore, so he shouldn’t really be surprised. 

“Don’t,” the younger man growls at him, angry tears running down his face. “Do not play that card now. How dare-… how dare you, Tommy.” 

Tommy gulps and lifts his fingers, trembling as they are, and reaches out for Evan across the room. “Please?” 

Evan shakes his head even as his feet move beneath him, until he’s standing next to the bed. He squeezes Tommy’s fingers—they’re too cold—in one hand as the other cups his face. He tries to ignore how sallow the man’s cheeks are, how much more prominent it makes the hard edges of his face. 

“I would’ve been here for you,” Evan states, squeezing his fingers tighter. 

“You didn’t deserve to have to watch this,” Tommy counters, leaning into the heat of Evan’s hand against his face. 

“So you tell me that you can’t be my last and then fuck off for six months instead of letting me lo-…” He has to force a few breaths down, blinking away more tears. “I would’ve given the next sixty years if it meant I got to keep loving you for another five minutes. God damn it, Tommy, I trusted you.” 

Tommy gulps, staring up at him. He squeezes Evan’s fingers back, although it’s far weaker than it used to be. 

“I’ve never been very good at that,” he rasps. “Letting people love me. Childhood trauma or something like that.” 

“Stop,” Evan admonishes him wetly. “You’re not funny.” 

Tommy leans into his palm a little more, pulling his fingers from Evan’s to lift to his face. They’re still not warm, but they’re at least warmer. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he answers softly. 

“I would’ve loved you through it,” Evan rasps, his throat tight. “Even if-…I would’ve- you- you didn’t have to be alone through it.” 

“I didn’t want to hold you back from finding someone who will be there after,” Tommy tells him. “From not getting hung up on this.” 

Evan laughs as more tears come down his face, although it quickly fades into a sob. 

“Hung up? You mean being so in love with you that I had an entire future planned in my head after six months? The house, the kids, the dogs? With or without you there, I was always going to grieve those plans,” Evan tells him. “Don’t devalue what we had by calling your life something I got ‘hung up’ on. I love you.” 

Tommy gulps, nodding after a moment. 

“I know it’s not much at this point,” he answers after a moment. “But if you still wanted-..” 

“Every fucking second,” Evan cuts him off. He surges forward and presses his lips against Tommy’s. The other man’s lips are dry and chapped, so unlike what he could still call up in his memory, but Tommy keeps him close even as Evan shifts and kisses his forehead before resting his head against Tommy’s. “I’ll be here every second, baby, until-…” 

Tommy lifts his hand to where Evan’s is still against his face and squeezes it gently. “Until.”