#'if the chain ever breaks or he loses the pendant he will lose his mind' WELL NOW YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I'M THINKING.

[intertexts]

ROSSSSS ok. yhesterday u asked for like details and habits and skills nhw virion would have picked up from the greats and theyre still living in my head Rent Fucking Free so im gonna throw some stuff in ur inbox bc i want 2 talk abt them SO BAD

ok so strider definitely contributed to virion’s paranoia. thats just. yeah. he didn’t really Mean To it just kind of Happened. bro did not realize that saying “keep your eye out for anything or anyone when you’re out alone on the streets because if someone Can hurt you, they Will” would scare a kid into being Perpetually Anxious!!!! virion definitely looks over his shoulder like every ten seconds whenever he’s out, even if he’s not in costume, bc strider drilled that into his head. Always Be Cautious Always Be On Your Toes!!!! strider also taught him basic street fighting. showed him how to fight dirty!! virion does tend to carry around a few concealed weapons and he started doing that because of strider

meanwhile chungus (i love u chungus ur name is so fucking stupid) taught virion how to fight fair!!! i’m still working on chungus’s backstory and trigger event but i like to think he was a wrestler and/or boxer in school, so he taught virion the Rules of fighting, how to take down an opponent without really hurting them, how to take down people who are heavier and bigger than him, etc. it’s not knowledge that virion uses a lot but in fights with no weapons he still automatically goes into Proper Boxer Fighting Stance. also he has totally accidentally put someone in a headlock because of instincts when they’ve snuck up on him

greyson!! greyson taught virion how to hold all manners of weapons. daggers swords shields you name it!! not really because greyson thought it would be particularly useful, just mostly for fun bc no way this kid is ever going to need to use these!! he got a lot more little habits from greyson tho, like stuff he doesn’t really notice but it is from greyson. he taps his fingers on his arm when he’s impatient, picks at the skin around his nails, stuff like that. he also knows a lot about medieval weaponry bc greyson liked to infodump and virion Absorbed that knowledge. will sometimes find himself going on tangents about how catapults were used in the 1500’s if the topic somehow comes up but he will shut the fuck up once he realizes what he’s doing and gets reminded of greyson and suddenly feels Bad and Horrible at the reminder. yeagh

min did try to teach him stuff but there wasn’t much she knew that she thought would be super useful. she was learning math and physics in college before leviathan hit her hometown, but virion was never really one for academics!!! but he did try to listen to her on the rare occasions she talked about it. he picked up more little habits from her, like he chews on things like his hoodie strings or even his hair when he’s thinking really hard, she taught him how to braid hair and he’ll find himself copying how she braided his sometimes when he’s messing with ashe’s hair, and whenever he’s holding a pen he clicks it really fast like a million times before he even does anything with it. keep his ass out of school he cannot pick up a math or physics textbook without thinking about min and he will think about her the entire class

RAMMM ILY RAM..... he taught virion how to hold guns. any gun he could think of ram was like okay i gotta teach this kid how to shoot and handle this thing correctly and safely. btw i decided ram’s trigger event was him and some friends being stupid in college and playing drunken russian roulette. u can imagine!!! how well that went!!! i wanted to make his sudden innate Knowledge about guns be horribly ironic and also painful for him <3 so now he’s fucking Insistent that virion learn how to handle guns and how to Know when they’re loaded and to ALWAYS KNOW WHERE THE BULLET IS. VERY IMPORTANT. whenever virion’s handling a gun he Always makes sure he knows how many bullets he has left, where his ammo is, never leave the safety off when he puts it down, etc etc. Very Persistent with gun safety. ram has also drilled it into his head to never drink when holding weapons. actually very insistent that virion Never Drink Ever actually. also his southern mannerisms rubbed off on virion juussssst a little bit. virion calls wibby “darlin” once and william has a heart attack over it. virion doesn’t even realize he’s doing it!!! he says ain’t and y’all sometimes and doesn’t even notice until one of the other wards points it out and asks why and virion has an internal breakdown about it

ALPHONZ..... MY LOVE...... i think. for the first little bit after joining the greats, alphonz was in his breaker state A Lot and was not able to get out of it half the time. so in virion’s early life, he just has memories of this bright glowing angel-lookin guy in the room whenever he was around the greats. out of his breaker state tho!! alphonz tried to teach virion religion for a bit, but virion’s parents managed to convince alphonz to leave it alone because if virion wanted to go down that path someday he’d find it on his own, etc etc yk and alphonz eventually conceded. he did read bible stories to virion as bedtime stories though!! virion thought they were fun little fiction stories, and also alphonz’s voice was just nice to fall asleep to, so his parents didn’t mind. to this day virion can probably still recite like half the bible from memory. he doesn’t believe in god but maybe he’s got like. an old cross necklace that alphonz gave him once and he wears it under his shirt sometimes like in memory of alphonz. he chews on the pendant sometimes—thanks min for the chewing stim!!!—and the metal has small scratches and teeth marks. if the chain ever breaks or he loses the pendant he will lose his mind

ANYWAY. YEAH. THIS TOOK ME LIKE AN HOUR TO TYPE OUT IM SO SORRY FOR PUTTING A NOVEL IN YIOUR INBOX. THEY’RE JUST. LIVING IN MY HEAD RENT FREE RN. BRAIN IS SOUP. THINKING ABOUT NHW GREATS. U KNOW HOW IT IS

AUGH............................

[itsgodepi]

If I lose my mind | Ch. 10

Series summary: When you're buried under a mountain of problems and can’t seem to catch a break, it might feel like you need a complete reset. But did it really have to come with a one-way ticket to a new dimension? Surely, a little problem-solving would’ve done the trick. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 2.7k Also on AO3

“Bringing back bad memories, that one” Nick sighs, his eyes scanning you from head to toe to ensure everything is correctly placed. “You should take it off now or, else you'll forget.” 

You glance up at him from your seat, adjusting your shoes. “What is it?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the sounds of the mechanics working in the garage, even inside the driver room. 

“The necklace, I can keep it for you” he offers, extending his hand towards you, waiting. You follow his gaze down to the pendant resting against your chest, then back up to meet his eyes. Your hand instinctively moves to cover the necklace, reluctant to remove it. 

A surge of emotion rises within you as your fingers tighten around the pendant. This necklace, your grandmother’s, has become your anchor after all the time spent drifting through uncertainty. The first solid connection to reality you have found in what feels like an eternity. You could almost swear it flutters beneath your touch at the thought, gentle beats that offer a quiet, reassuring comfort. 

The thought of letting it go, even for a moment, feels unbearable. 

“No, no, I want to wear it for the race” you insist, voice steady despite the emotion. 

Nick drops his hand, his brows furrowing at your hesitation. "You know it’s not allowed, better not to get any more penalties for this..." He tries to lighten up the mood, although your silence is confirmation enough of his failure.  

“Alright, I’ll leave it here” you accept, reaching up to unclasp the chain.  

As you remove the necklace, you take a moment to hold it close, savouring its comforting weight. Taking a deep breath, you reach into the sports bag at your feet and open the inner pocket. However, you only use this motion to cover your movements, slipping the pendant into the fitted sleeve of your undershirt instead. Tucking it out of sight, until you can search for a better part to hide it.. 

Nick does not seem to notice your maneuver, and if he does, he remains silent.  

You stand up this time, taking the gloves and earpieces from the table Nick is leaning into. “What did you mean by bringing back bad memories?” you remember, placing the cables inside your race suit. 

The coach picks the neck support device and blue helmet in one hand, taking the lead and opening the door for you “It’s nothing, I’ll tell you later”. 

“But-” you insist, there are far too many conversations set aside for a later which does not seem to ever arrive. 

“No buts. Let’s focus on the race”

You frown up at the man “What are you talking about?”, tugging the sleeves of your race suit over your hips in a futile attempt to cool down from the Belgian heat.

“Look who’s here!” Carlos’ welcomes you into the group with a half-smile, a blend of amusement and surprise lighting up his brown eyes “What, are we finally worthy enough to talk to you?”

Lando rules out Carlos' hopes, putting a hand over the man's shoulder “Don’t think so highly of yourself. I bet she just couldn’t find Lewis. Isn’t that right?”

Despite just leaving the air-conditioned area, the fireproof fabric uncomfortably clings to your body like a second skin. Yet, in stark contrast, the men around you seem effortlessly composed.

A brief, involuntary flash of surprise that crosses your face at the mention of the British man. Yes, you might have been on his search for a while before settling for approaching the group, but the bigger question is: how does Lando know that?

With precise reflexes, you dart forward, clapping a hand over his mouth to stop the name from being shouted. It is only after the fact that you discover Daniel was messing with you, the British man is nowhere to be seen, and you have just dug your own grave.

Daniel’s eyes glint when he sees the doubts in your face, and comes up with a plan to quickly test Lando's theory

“He’s there, should we call him?" the Australian proposes, looking behind you and lifting his hand in the air. “Lew-!”

Feeling the weight of their gazes and clinging to the last shreds of your dignity, you retort “Well, you know, it’s not like you’re particularly friendly in the pre-race activities either!”

Chuckles within the group, complicit glances —and a couple sour smirks— traveling across the group of drivers. The “I knew it” which bursts out of Lando’s further cementing your suspicions. It is not the first time the topic has come up.

The stifling heat rises to your cheeks at the mere thought.

The driver’s reaction is immediate. A few eyebrows shot up in surprise and they fall silent, their playful demeanour shifting to genuine confusion. It is clear your comment catches them off guard.

Daniel, momentarily at a loss, tilts his head. “Wait, what do you mean? It’s you who’s been warning us not to distract you before races since the start of the season”

Lando, in a low murmur adds “Almost bit my head off last time I tried to wish her good luck”. His words, coupled with Carlos’ nod in agreement, leaving you even more baffled.

You stare at them, struggling o reconcile their version of events with the reality you’ve had no choice but to accept.

And yet, that theory would come crumbling to the floor as soon as you saw them interact with the rest of the grid. Chatting animatedly with their opponents as though it was any other day. Laughing and joking around while you could barely get a simple hello out of them.

Despite the care they have shown you off the track, an invisible barrier seemed to rise between you as the most crucial moment of the weekend approached. Always the same curt nods and smiles right when you stepped into the road. The jokes and teasing vanished when the ceremony started.

Initially, you attributed this to pre-race nerves. After all, these men were risking everything every weekend for a place in that elusive ranking—a goal they’ve dedicated their lives to. It seemed only natural for them to adopt a more reserved demeanour, to focus on what was to come.

It was fair though, they were the only ones who could understand each other’s worries. The only twenty people in the world who shared the uncommon experience of being a Formula One driver. Well, nineteen, the anxiety drowning your mind before a race was of a completely different nature.

You dreaded the minutes preceding the races, or even practices, the unnerving routine of dressing yourself up in these ridiculous clothes and acting like nothing were about to happen. Smile for the cameras, wave to the grandstands and wait. The blackout will come in no time, as soon as the lights mark the start of the race and you are drowned into the darkness. The hours will turn into second and you will open your eyes to the sound of the engine turning off, the start of a new week. A cyle that repeats itself again, and again. Inescapable.

That is your long-awaited reward after a week of relentless research for a solution to this nightmare. The mere thought of it tightens the tangle of emotions inside of you, the threads digging into every single part of your being. Threatening to snap.

“Oh, hello! What are you doing here?” you are pushed out of your head with the help of the missing Ferrari driver, his question and surprise a decalcomania of his teammate’s greeting.

With that, you decide to set the record straight “Well, you know what? I’ve changed my mind! You can talk to me as much as you want during the ceremonies”.

The conversation turns to the regulation’s changes and race talk soon after you lift that foolish ban.

Even if you have never expressed otherwise, it has come the time for you to step your foot down. You have dealt with enough rules of this ‘reality’ already, this is the one you are not going to go along with.

You are glad Lewis ignored it from the start.

“The oversteering’s been crazy, feels like I’m fighting the wheel half of the time” Carlos’ mutters, crossing his arms.

Lando, who’s been listening with a smirk, raises an eyebrow. “Come on, mate! So much whining for someone in P2, I’d trade you any day” the real issues the McLarens have been all weekend probably swarming his head despite his goofy remark.

You let out a chuckle. “Where’d you guys end up in qualifying? I don’t remember” you look back at the cars parked behind you, trying to decipher the team’s place in the grid for the Grand Prix.

“Yeah, yeah, keep looking for them. Let me know if you find it” Daniel mocks with a grin, his sarcasm clear “Got knocked out in Q2”.

“Thankfully!” Lando chimes in, giving his teammate a playful nudge, “Or else, I wouldn’t even be sitting in P10. We had to ditch of the deadweight”

As the staff signals for everyone to take their places for the National Anthem, the group begins to disperse. Carlos seizes the moment, guiding you through the crowd with a steady hand on your back, ensuring you don't get lost in the sea of journalists. His touch is gentle but firm, a subtle gesture of protection as he walks you to your designated spot.

Before Dan can turn to smack Lando, you cut in, shaking your head “You’re such crybabies”.

Your car sitting in eighteenth place—a world away from their complaints—making their grumbling seem almost absurd.

Since you finally allowed them to do it, the Ferrari driver wishes you a last good luck when you reach your spot, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to wave when I’m lapping you” a childish smirk playing on his lips. Your response is to jokingly push him away with a shake of your head, but you should have known better than to mess with a Formula One driver’s reflexes.

Carlos manages to catch your hand midway, using it as leverage to bring you close into a quick hug instead. “Buena suerte” he whispers in your ear, a very noticeable smile in his voice, before pulling away and walking over to his spot.

You watch him go, struggling to suppress the grin tugging at your lips. It would be tempting to claim that such antics are rare or that the Spaniard usually maintains a professional behaviour around you, but that would be far from the truth.

From the very beginning, Carlos has acted as though you shared the closest of relationships. And, while he has not been the only one acting with such familiarity around you, the Ferrari driver has always been the most blatant about it. Whether it's the small gestures, like bringing you a snack whenever he senses you might be hungry, or his public defense of you in front of the press after a controversial track move, his support has been unwavering. A support you are beyond grateful for —despite the anguish the latter one brought you, the fact that you underwent such complicated circumstances while being completely blackout still as terrifying as the first time.

Moments like this impromptu hug in the middle of a Grand Prix are trivial compared to his ongoing acts of kindness.

Naturally, the press and viewers does not quite see it that way.

At first, you tried to block out every headline with your name in it, the thought of someone dissecting your every movement and posting it for everybody to see sent chills down your spine. You pretended they did not exist for days, weeks even, but their presence was impossible to escape. Nick brought them up over breakfast, the media team held daily briefings, and journalists were waiting for you after every session. The more you ignored them, the louder they seemed to get, their words echoing in the corners of your mind.

Over time, you realized you couldn’t keep running. The internet was filled to the brim with information and photos of you. False information. But even that could help you understand what could possibly be happening. So you learned to confront them, to skim the articles without overthinking your situation. Even if sometimes the sight of their supposed prospects of your future in the sport got too much to handle.

What future? There is none here, this is all fake. A farce.

While the major newspapers and respected outlets maintained a veneer of professionalism, social media was an entirely different beast—a chaotic circus of opinions, rumours and speculation. You had never immersed yourself fully in the Formula One world —most of your knowledge came from your father—, but you couldn’t deny it was enjoyable. The endless stream fan jokes and theories of behind-the-scenes' drama keeping you thoroughly entertained in between races.

Yet, despite all this, you tried to absorb as much data as you cort. Read over the articles on the sport, watched interviews, even flipped through gossip magazines and, of course, scrolled endlessly through Formula One-related posts on social media. Honestly, the discovery of that phone in Charles’ apartment had revealed a new word before your eyes. Not only through messages app, which was filled with countless chats, but giving you access to ‘your’ personal accounts in several apps.

Personal profiles with millions of followers which offered a treasure trove of data.

It just so happens that this week’s hot topic had been your relationship with a certain Spanish driver.

There are countless videos of every interaction between you and Carlos —both the ones you’re aware of and those you aren’t. The captions often paint these moments with a dramatic, romantic flair that likely didn’t reflect the reality of the situation. Or maybe they did, you never know with that man. You can only imagine the headlines this quick hug between the two of you will generate.

Well, they may have better things to talk about.

Still half-conscious, your feet dragged you forward, between the parked F1 cars and into a pretty crowded area. The screams and cheers alerting you. You rise your head, the heavy helmet hindering your movements and restricting your vision, but you can clearly see you have unknowingly walked to the car’s Podium Holding Area. Two Red Bulls rest there, two Red Bulls and, to the side,… a Ferrari?

Like when you stumble out of your car after the race, your mind still reeling with the unpredictable flashes that assaulted you through all of it. The usual loss of consciousness replaced by blurred images flickering by, colours appearing and disappearing at the edges of your vision, while a light breeze brushed against your neck.

It… it had never happened before.

Your head shots up, eyes open like saucers as you look around for the drivers. One, in a navy-blue race suit, is by the barricades with the team, another by…

You don’t have to search long for the driver in deep red, because he’s sprinting straight towards you with open arms. There’s barely enough time for you to process it —just enough to catch the vibrant colors of Spain on his helmet—, before you instinctively open your own arms to embrace him.

“Oof” you let out at the impact, but Carlos simply raises you up in the air, tightly hugging you in as he gives a spin. You can only laugh at his excitement, the sound muffled by the padding and the clashes between of both your helmets. The chaos of the celebration around you fading into the background—the cheers, the music, the revving engines—all of it blurs into a distant hum.

The man lets you down, his hands grabbing your shoulders and jokingly shaking you back and forth, letting go off all the accumulated adrenaline he must have. “Ah, I can’t believe it! No sabes lo que me ha costado! (You have no idea how tough it’s been)” he confesses with a smile, lifting his visor as if you could see the effort he has put on the race just by the look on his eyes.

You give his chest a playful smack, skepticism in your eyes. They have spent all weekend gushing about how good the car felt in this track. “Pero… ¿tercero? ¿Segundo? (But… third? Second?)” you ask excitedly, lifting your visor to get a clearer view of the podium behind him.

The sickness that plagued you just moments ago vanished completely, slipping from your mind as if it was never there.

Carlos grabs hold of your helmet, tilting your head so you’re forced to meet his gaze. ”¿Qué dices? ¡He ganado! (What are you saying? I won!)” he corrects you, his eyes locked onto yours with a mix of triumph and disbelief.

“¡¿Qué?! (What?!)” you shout in surprise, and before you know it, you’re throwing your arms around Carlos, overwhelmed the surge of happiness that sweeps through you.

His loud, hearty laughter rumbles against your helmet, a deep, joyful sound that reverberates through the hug. You hold him even tighter, caught in this bubble of euphoria. You can feel the warmth of his body through your suits, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart in sync with the joy that floods over you. And also, a surprising sense of peace and closeness, a feeling that maybe he isn’t such a stranger anymore.

In that moment, while you are fused into a hug with the Ferrari driver, you pause to remind yourself a very important fact: this is all just your own mind playing tricks on you.

Next

Author's note: So it's been a long time since I last posted. I missed the story, seriously. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter a lot. Thank you all so much for reading, any kind of interaction is greatly appreciated!

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream @homie0sapien @minkyungseokie @carlossainzwho @rewmuslupin @kyuupidwrites @raevyng @lazybot @gills-lounge @hiraethrhapsody @jjkclub @darleneslane @therealcap @aespie

[lavender-long-stories]

Spoilers for I Will Love You | Chapter 2 | Rated T

Hinata didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t even know if Sasuke was serious or if he just had an emotional break. Maybe he was drinking. She passed up his jacket once again. She still didn’t want to make a scene of giving it to him if he changed his mind.

“How are you feeling?” Kiba walked her to her first class. 

“Uh… better today,” Hinata mumbled.

“Really? You look a little spacey.” Kiba countered.

“I’m fine. I just had an exhausting weekend.” Hinata excused.

Kiba’s head tilted curiously down the hall as Hinata’s weekend came back to haunt her. “Does Sasuke take this class?”

“No… Uhm, I’ll see you at lunch, Kiba-kun.” Hinata sped up to meet Sasuke and lose Kiba.

“Hey,” Sasuke moved off the wall he was leaning on. “Can I get you to meet me in the courtyard after lunch?” He adjusted his bag.

“I didn’t bring your jacket,” Hinata admitted.

“Don’t worry about the jacket,” Sasuke told her.

--**--

Hinata didn’t know how to answer when people asked her what Sasuke wanted. She answered as truthfully as she could. He wanted to talk to her. She jittered through her class, wondering what Sasuke was thinking. Surely he wouldn’t do something stupid like asking her to marry him again in front of everyone, right? Right?

Hinata glanced down at him at the end of the lunch table, but blond caught her eye and kept her head down. When she finished eating, she felt a nudge on her shoulder. She expected to see Shino ready to talk, but he was looking behind her, where Sasuke was standing.

Sasuke nodded his head toward the courtyard and started heading that way.

“What was that?” Shino wondered.

“Is this about earlier?” Kiba also added.

Hinata collected her things to follow him. “Uh… I’ll see you guys later.”

--**--

Sasuke stopped in the corner of the courtyard under a cherry tree. Hinata caught up with him before he turned to her with a small box with a bow in his hand. Hinata tried to ignore the curious eyes from the rest of the courtyard. 

“Hinata. Will you go out with me?” Sasuke was going to do this publicly?

The wind blew past them, shaking a few blossoms off the tree. It made Hinata’s speechlessness feel longer. What was she even supposed to say? What would even make sense? Maybe this would be easier for her if she had ever had someone confess to her before. “Why… ?”

“I’m taking the opportunity since someone else won’t.” Hinata’s heart clenched and fluttered at the same time. Sasuke really did know her well enough to know just what she wanted to hear. “I gave him his chance. He didn’t take it. Now I am not going to hide my feelings anymore.” 

Murmurs and gasps assaulted her back as she shakily took the box, opening it to reveal a chain with a cased pendant. 

“Will you accept me?” They were really doing this. Sasuke was trying so hard to pull at her heartstrings and be the love story she always wanted. He was successful. 

“Yes.” Gasps rang out behind her. Sasuke took the necklace out, motioning for her to turn around and pull her hair out of the way. Hinata’s cheeks burned as he fixed her hair over it. She forced her eyes to the ground to avoid his eyes.

Sasuke leaned close to her ear to whisper. “Thank you.”

--**--

Hinata twiddled the necklace between her fingers, staring blankly out the window at the leaf dancing in the breeze, not helping her to get the picture of the confession out of her mind. Sasuke was out of his mind. She couldn’t believe he had thought this up. She couldn’t believe she agreed to it. She rolled the pendant around in her fingers. It had seams down the side. It must be a locket. It was big enough to have pictures or something else inside. She tried to open it, but it didn’t budge. She was either wrong, or it was locked.

It was beautiful and simple. How had Saske found something that fit her so perfectly? Maybe they did know each other too well.

“Hinata.” Hinata heard her name called.

“Hmm?” Hinata closed her hand around the pendant.

“You coming?” Kiba called from the classroom door. Oh, it was nearly time for her next class.

“Oh, sorry.” Hinata jumped up to follow him.

“You seem to be the only one on campus who isn’t lively today.” Kiba chuckled. Shino eyed her as he fell in line to her other side. Hinata ducked her head. Kiba rambled on like usual until. “…and there is some buzz about Sasuke finally confessing to a girl.” 

Hinata stumbled over her own feet and cleared her throat.

“Did you hear who?” Shino raised an eyebrow at Hinata. “Did he tell you after lunch?” Cruel. He knew already.

Kiba shrugged, missing context. “I only heard it. I can’t imagine who. Can you even think of a time he’s been nice to a girl?” 

“He’s… always been nice to me,” Hinata gave a pout to Shino.

“You’re special, Hinata. You’re hard to hate, and everyone knows who you like.” That earned him a swat in the back of the head from Shino reaching behind her. “Ow!”

Shino steered the conversation back. “Yeah, you are the one girl I can think of that he’s never rejected.”

Hinata let her face scrunch. “Shino-kun…”

“I’m not telling him,” Shino turned his head away. So cruel.

“Telling me what?” Kiba wondered. “Do you know? Wait… It’s not a boy, is it?”

“No.” Hinata muscled out. “Kiba-kun, the girl Sasuke-san confessed to … was me.” 

“Mie who.” Kiba wondered.

Shino and Hinata stopped to stare at Kiba in disbelief as he took a few seconds to process, and his eyes widened. “No…”

Hinata nodded. “After lunch.”

“What?!” Kiba barked.

Hinata waved her hands. “I wasn’t expecting it. I just thought he just wanted his jacket back.” She lied.

“His jacket?” Shino asked.

“He gave it to me last week. When I was having a bad day.” Hinata didn’t want to think about that day. “I got caught in the rain. That’s why he bought me the immune booster.”

“Well?” Shino asked.

Kiba nudged him. “Well, what? It’s not like she accepted.” Hinata shrank guiltily. “What?!” 

Hinata shushed him, pushing them both to start walking again. “We… are going to give it a try.” 

“But what about Naruto?” Kiba sliced her heart. “Hinata, that was just last week.”

“I think she knows.” Shino scolded.

“It’s just…  I know what it’s like having a crush that long,” Hinata explained. “And I can’t hold on to someone who’s rejected me.”

“So he just waited until you got rejected to ask you?” Shino asked.

“He said he was giving Naruto-kun a chance.” Hinata corrected.

“I don’t know. Hinata, this feels too quick after you got your heart broken.” Kiba voiced.

“He knows… and I think he is going to be patient with me,” Hinata reassured him. “I’m fine. I am happy someone likes me.” Hinata gave them a smile. It was only a little forced.

--**--

Sasuke leaned against the wall next to her classroom door as it emptied. Hinata walked right past him. He broke into a smile. Oblivious.

Sasuke caught her wrist before she got far. Hinata squeaked before she recognized him. “Oh.” Sasuke slid his hand down to take hers. She puffed out her cheeks. “Sasuke-san…” She was so easily embarrassed. 

“What? I can’t hold my girlfriend’s hand?” Sasuke grinned.

Hinata hung her head, trying to hide her red face. “Don’t tease me.” 

“I’m not.” Sasuke chuckled. “But your reaction is cute.” Hinata whimpered. Okay, that was teasing. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“What? Where?” Hinata stumbled behind him.  

“Our first date,” Sasuke told her.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” Hinata grumbled.

“Of course.” Sasuke pulled her. “I will be the boyfriend you always wanted.”

--**--

Hinata’s heart pounded. She could feel blood rush to her ears. Sasuke was taking this too seriously! He didn’t need to make her head rush! Sasuke tugged her towards his motorbike. “Wait.” Hinata squeaked. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.” 

“Don’t worry, I have,” Sasuke told her smugly, handing her a helmet. Hinata hesitated, so he placed it on her head, latching it for her. “I won’t go fast. I know you’re not a thrill-seeker.”

Hinata huffed as he flipped down the visor.

--**--

Ino took a picture and wondered what she should do. Should she send it to Sakura? Sakura skipped classes for an interview. It would be a nasty surprise tomorrow morning, but she would find out either way. The whole campus knew by now that Sasuke confessed to a girl. But Hinata Hyuga? The one girl who was never interested? Sakura would be livid.

Ino held the phone to her chest. She had never seen Sasuke smile like that before. It was like they had been together for ages, not a few hours. He must really like her. A small tear in her heart made itself known, she let go of her old crush, but she knew someone who hadn’t.

Her finger hovered over the send button but passed it up for delete.

Maybe Naruto would have his chance now.

--**--

Sasuke held out her caramel cream latte. Hinata took a sip. Would it be more or less interesting to be in a relationship with some when you knew everything about them already? Not like he knew what a normal relationship felt like.

“How has your brother been?” Hinata asked.

Sasuke rested back and sighed. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to dwell on it.” Hinata mumbled into her cup.

“How do you feel?” Sasuke waved his hand between them. “About this.” Hinata’s face told all. It melted in a range of emotions, mainly discomfort, and embarrassment. Sasuke chuckled. “Don’t worry. Only the confession had to be public.”

“I just…” Hinata lowered her face into her coffee. “It just feels… weird.”

“I think we will get used to it. All relationships have an awkward phase.” Sasuke sipped his coffee.

“Most people go through a honeymoon phase at the same time.” Hinata countered.

“Just wait.” Sasuke earned himself a look. “How have you been feeling about everything else?”

Hinata shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it. Father’s been ignoring me, and I forgot my confession last week until Kiba-kun mentioned it. There’s just too much going on.” 

“That’s good,” Sasuke concluded. “Wouldn’t want my girlfriend thinking about other boys.” Hinata flushed. Sasuke was going to have too much fun with this. “Do I get a -kun?” Hinata frowned at him. “Naruto did.” Sasuke defended. “You know what? That makes it undesirable.” 

Hinata giggled, then her face fell in thought. “Does he know yet?”

Sasuke shrugged. “If he does, he didn’t mention it to me. Knowing him, he will be the last to know.” Her face fell. “Sorry, bad wording.”

“No, I need to move on from it. It’s not fair to you.” Hinata mumbled.

--**--

Hinata got off the bike and handed Sasuke back his helmet. “You know I can pick you up in the morning.”

Hinata shook her head. “I think I should tell my father before you show up when he’s leaving for work.” 

Sasuke reached forward, detangling her bangs that suffered from the helmet. “No better way to tell him than show up.”

Hinata frowned at him. “You’re going to show up even if I tell you not to, aren’t you?”

“No. I’ll let you decide.” Hinata felt her heart rate pick up. “We are in this together. I’m not making this uncomfortable for you if it’s not what you want to do.”

Hinata thought for a moment, though her heart pounding was distracting. “Show up early tomorrow, I’ll tell him tonight, and then we won’t be late when he wants to make it a problem in the morning.”

Sasuke smiled. “That’s why you’re the smart one. I’m just pretty.” Hinata giggled. “I’ll get going then.” Sasuke looked to the side, opening one arm.

Hinata was confused by the pose. Oh, a hug. Hinata hesitantly wrapped her arms around his waist inside his open jacket. It was warm and felt too intimate. Sasuke tucked his arm around her and held it for a moment. Hinata could feel her blood rushing too quickly. She backed up and bowed her head, rushing inside. 

On the other side of the door, Hinata shook her head to get rid of the dizziness. She was not going to faint over a hug from Sasuke Uchiha.

I Will Love You

Pairing: Sasuke x Hinata Rating: T

Description: Hinata and Sasuke make a desperate deal. Can they intentionally fall in love?

Tags: Romance  |  Marriage of Convenience  |  Falling In Love  |  Fluff and Angst  |  Friends to Lovers  |  Happy Ending  |  Alternate Universe - Modern Setting  |  Sasuke trying to be the perfect boyfriend

Image by Don Kawahigashi

[efrmellifer]

VI. Treasure (Ring)

There was something wrong with the day. There had to be. How else would seemingly everything have gone wrong?

Etien had overslept, and more than just catching an extra fifteen minutes past when she should have been up. She had been sleeping like the dead, according to the note left on her bedside.

Aymeric, gods bless him, had managed to take care of Betula and Landric while getting himself ready for meetings with the Houses Assembled and training with the Temple Knights, and set the children up with books (and the steward to mind them, just in case) in the drawing room while they waited for Etien to wake up.

I did kiss your cheek before departing, dearest, but I fear you may not have sensed it. She let out a soft sigh with knit brows as she read that. What a man, was all she could think. What a superhero of a man.

“Good morning, you two,” she breezed, trying to act nonchalant, trying to shake the disappointment of tea that was stale and Mun-Tuy milk that was on the edge of spoiling. “Are we ready for the day? Your father got you all fed and dressed, I hear.”

It wasn't, she admitted, so much that they were difficult tasks or that Aymeric had ever neglected the duties of fatherhood. It was simply that she was reminded that he often was the sole parent available to them, with help from Edmont. She felt terrible for losing out on precious time with the children today. And about Aymeric having even less time for himself because of this.

Eager not to lose more time, she got out of bed, stretching and licking her teeth, making the bed and getting dressed before she rushed down to the kitchen and then out to the drawing room.

“Yes, Mum,” Landric replied.

“Excellent. We shall have to treat him to a relaxing evening tonight, won’t we?”

She fixed hats on everyone’s heads and gloves on her hands before taking each child’s hand in one of hers and mouthing “thank you” to the steward on the way out the door.

Running errands was more in every way when she had the kits with her, Etien found. It was more pleasant to see Betula go wide-eyed at the wares for sale in the Jeweled Crozier, to hear the shopkeeps remark “such well-behaved little ones!”, than it was to simply do the shopping alone, asking “how fresh are these salmon?” and looking at shiny trinkets with what the gobbieflock would have described as “lustyeyes” all by herself.

But it was also a little more stressful to make sure neither child got lost in the crowd, that Betula didn’t break anything from wanting a closer look, that Landric didn’t clam up so tight no one could communicate with him. It was easier to hand over coin as a housewife only out on quick errands, to do it alone and not have to worry about them, but she enjoyed having the children with her.

She had thought maybe the joy of errands with the kits would redeem the day, but returning home, she found that there were new ordeals to come.

Betula and Landric were content to play in the drawing room, little carved-wood dragons soaring through the air in their hands, and as Etien sat watching them, doing a little mending and planning meals, she reached up to slip her finger through the Borel ring on its chain around her neck… and there was nothing there.

Where was it? She put it on every day when she got dressed—in the field, she left it on; here at home, it came off at night and went back on in the morning. She knew she had taken it off slipping into bed last night. She could recall the scene with crystal clarity, the way the pendants and chain had clattered softly against the wood and Aymeric had reached out for her as she lifted the covers to get under them and into his arms.

When she’d woken… she recalled buttoning up her dress. She put her necklace on every morning, it was a habit she’d never broken.

If it had come off in the Crozier, it was gone, certainly. Too many feet walked that pathway; it was probably kicked into the snow or off the edge into nothingness over the mountainside. Or if it had been found, then someone picked it up, and it was silver and a sapphire. If they turned it in, who could say it would return to her hands?

Or the hands of its true owner, Aymeric.

Etien felt like a terrible excuse for a wife today.

She went back to sewing, trying her best to (in her mind) at least do one thing right.

She prepared dinner, feeling dread seeping into the pit forming in her stomach. She wasn’t even dreading Aymeric’s reaction—she’d never had any reason to fear him or the way he’d reacted to her, even when it would have been understandable for him to be upset with her.

He was patient and reasonable, and there was a very good chance that he was going to take this in stride. But she couldn’t shake off the guilt, couldn't find her way out of the panic that gripped her.

That ring was one of her most treasured possessions, a marker of where she belonged, whom she belonged with. It was her wedding ring, but more than that, it was a family heirloom. To lose it in the street, even though it wasn’t out of carelessness, just a sheer accident, felt unforgivable.

He arrived home, and the children cheered, rushing to him.

He kissed the tops of their heads, then turned to Etien for a kiss hello. She squirmed with guilt, and kissed him briefly.

“I need to talk to you after dinner,” she said. “It’s… something I did, not you.”

He blinked down at her. “All—all right.” He stroked her cheek. “Please do not look so nervous, dearheart. Whatever has happened, we can resolve it, I’m sure.”

She nodded, swallowing. “Let’s just go eat.”

Dinner was pleasant and uneventful. When it wasn’t on his utensils or drinkware, Aymeric’s hand was over Etien’s reassuringly.

Once the dishes were cleared, they retreated to their bedroom.

“Now. What is going on?” he asked her, sitting down on the bed.

“I lost your—your mother’s ring,” Etien admitted, with no preamble. No need to delay it, it wasn’t going to change anything. “I’m sorry, Aymeric. I know it’s one of the last mementos you have of her, and that it meant a lot to you.” Tears streaked from her eyes as she looked down at the floor. “It meant a lot to me, too; I think it fell off me when I was shopping with the kits earlier. I still have to tell Estinien and Yugiri I lost the locket and seashell from them, too, but the ring was a little more important. I’m so sorry. I understand if you’re angry with me.”

“Oh, Etien,” he murmured. She winced. He sounded disappointed, but he took her hand. Then, he looked to her bedside table and smiled. He pushed aside the note he’d written her. “This ring?”

She gasped.

“You must have laid the note atop the necklace and forgotten all of them. But there the ring is, there the locket and shell are, safe and sound.”

She sighed, a few more tears—now of relief—slipping out. “Oh, thank the gods.”

By her hand, Aymeric drew her close, wrapping his arms around her middle. “I agree. The thing I treasure most is all right. And so is the ring.”

She giggled wetly, and he rubbed her back.

“Kneel, dearest, so I can put it back in its proper place.”

She sank to her knees, and he clasped the chain around her neck, feeling the ring as it settled into the dip in her collarbone. “There you go.” He tipped her chin up so she met his eyes. “Even if you had lost it, my love is not contained in it. There are jewelers who could make replicas.”

“But—”

He shushed her softly. “Things are replaceable. You, and our children and family, are not. I know which I would rather have.”

She lifted slightly, steadying herself with her hands on his knees so she could kiss him. “We’re all lucky to have you.”

[dracosathenaeum]

OBLIVIATE | D.M.  ABANDONED FIC OUTLINE

Hello~

I’ve had this fic for @fuckingdraco ��s writing challenge outlined for almost a year now. Half of it is a skeleton; i have some scenes which are fully written out and others which are just first drafts and idea dumps. this is quite literally copied and pasted so good luck if you read it.

I never had the heart to completely delete it but never liked it enough to write it; so here is my 2.2k draft fo what would’ve been a series. 

If anyone decides to read it, be warned, it’s a mess. i just didnt want it to die in my notes so it’s having a life here, in my new section of my masterlist ‘fics that never saw the light of day’.

warnings: memory loss, fight scenes, gore, fighting

//

Being in a secret relationships had its ups and downs

You had to sneak around

But that just made the moments you were together so much more meaningful

You couldn’t brag about him to your friends

But the both of you were quite private people anyways, explaining your absences as studying in odd places

No one ever found out

It was just you and draco

The summer of 5th year was hard as he spent all of it in the south of France with his family

But it made coming back in 6th year so much more exciting

your fingers ached to touch him as you walked past his carriage

It was moments like this that you wish you could openly love him

But when your friends started gossiping about how Harry Potter thought he’d become a death eater, you were suddenly glad you weren’t linked to him publicly

That thought itself set a heavy weight of guilt on you

He came back in 6th year and he had changed

His kisses lost their spark

His eyes lost their light

He’d fuck you rough and hard, almost as if forgetting himself. Before making it up to you in the next instance

Slow love making that made you feel like you had just slept with an entirely different person

You followed him

You supposed you shouldn’t have

But he was skipping meals and you couldn’t exactly talk to his friends when they didn’t know you

You couldn’t confide in your friends as they wouldn’t understand

So you had no other choice

You followed him throughout the nights, and every time you would find him slipping into the room of requirement when he should’ve been slipping into bed with you

Once you had gauged what time he usually went and on what days you yourself went, 10 minutes before he was due

You watch as he fiddles around some ancient looking cupboard and you wonder why you’re jealous of a dead tree taking up dracos time

You watch as he sends things through, until finally it works for him

But its not happiness on his face nor relief

It looks like dread

He doesn’t look like he’s accomplished something, no there was no way

You watch as he takes off his tie, throwing it in the pile of robes and jumper

You watch as he rolled up the sleeves to his arms, the arms that had held you up more times than you could count

And you watch as the dark snaking lines of the dark mark are exposed on your lovers skin

His eyes whip round to see yours, instantly widening in fear

It isn’t until you try to walk towards him and he throws his hands up to stop you do you realise the shattered glass littered around you

He flicks his wand and you walk over, standing in front of him trying to figure out why

“How did you hide it from me for so long.”

“Simple charms, I was hoping you wouldn’t have to find out.”

More dialogue where he explains

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

Draco please

“I can’t, I had to take this on my skin because my father fucked up”

“If I, if I stop now, I cant save my mother”

“Draco please, we can find a way around this”

You kiss him

And it feels like you’ve both gone back to before 6th year

When times were simpler

When he loved you and you loved him and that was it

No other interruptions

“Oblivate”

PART 1

“Y/n?”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Draco Malfoy, we share some classes but we haven’t spoken before.”

“Oh, im sorry, of course. I’m really tired I dont usually forget peoples names I swear. I must’ve been so tired I wandered in, I apologise.”

“It’s okay, the doors over there.” You take that as his polite cue of asking you to leave

He offers a tight smile, one you remember from first year, one you remember seeing across the hall as he’s shut down by Harry Potter

Poor guy must be going through something

“Y/n”

you turn, you dont even hesitate. You dont know what it is but you feel as if you’ve known him all your life

You change and you see a gold ring dangling from a dainty gold chain. You ask your friends if they’ve seen it before

im forgetting so much these days

But you keep it on, it brings you an odd sense of comfort

You keep it tucked beneath your blouse, bringing it to you lips on occasion when youre anxious.

//

He had forgotten about his ring, the very ring you had clasped between your thumb and finger as you worked on your essay. How was he possibly supposed to get it from you

he’s well aware he’s staring but his mind is whirling

He needs that ring

“Draco, isn’t that your ring?”

He should’ve obligated himself, that might’ve been easier

“I’m sure it just looks similar.”

“Draco, we both know that’s the Malfoy famlily crest, I wondered why you stopped wearing it.”

“Wait did she steal it?”

misplaced it

She picked it up

He had to awkwardly walk over to pick it up

“That’s my ring.” You had told him all about how your friends hated him and how you had feigned indifference the entire time

He had to act the part

Youre flustered, eyes flicking between the ring and him, fingers clasping it tighter as if not wanting to let it go

He notices and his heart clenches at the sight

Remembering the night he gave it to you

*flash back*

“I’m so sorry, I must’ve picked it up by accident here.”

“Wait, how do you even know it’s his, prove it Malfoy.”

“My vaults could buy Hogwarts, why would I be stealing gold from a nobody?”

Your cheeks flare up and your friends glare at him but see his side

You struggle to unclasp it, and of course you fucking do because his stupid fucking ass charmed it so only he could take it off

he watches as you struggle with it, turning to a friend to help before you have 6 girls pulling at the very expensive chain on your neck

“For fucks sake youre going to damage it, let me.”

Your breath hitches as his surprisingly warm fingers brush your hair out of the way, fingers working quick to unclasp the necklace, the weight of it leaving your neck and you feel surprisingly empty

“Thank you.”

You watch as he goes, your fingers scratching over your neck, feeling something bubble in your throat

This was pathetic, you were so sad over something that was never yours in the first place

You spend the remainder of the time trying to figure out how you cam to be in possession of it in the first place

//

your name is written in beautiful cursive on a letter that you cannot help but love

You turn it over to see a beautiful wax seal on it, fingers trembling as you break it

The chain is yours.

d.m.

You tilt the envelope over into your hand to feel the familiar weight of the chain in your hand, clasping it around you neck in an instant

You look in the mirror but you dont recognise yourself

Your friends are surprised when you study with them

When you go back to your dorm room at a reasonable time

And you dont have a clue where it is they think you go

But how could you possibly explain to someone what you font remember

The chain is too light around you neck, its just not the same, it feels as if it’s chocking you rather than bringing you comfort

You start digging through your trunk and draws, looking for something to act as a pendant before you finally do.

Hidden at the back of one of your draws you find a little velvet box you dont remember stashing away. But then again, you dont seem to be remembering much these days.

Its a tiny little constellation of stars, charmed to sparkle and you heart wonders why you had never worn it before. It was a simple little charm but once hooked onto the necklace, you look at yourself in the mirror and finally feel as though a little part of you has returned.

PART 2 THE CONSTELLATION IS DRACO

6th and 7th years are a blur

A blur of horror

You dont really understand how life had changed so abruptly

You dont know how you end up fighting in a war at the age of just 18 but here you are

Draco stands with Hogwarts

And then his mother calls

You’ve seen him

Of course you have

You know what he is, know what his parents are

But you also know what he has done to make Hogwarts more bearable for you under the Carrows watch

The small things, diverging attention away from you and your friends

He wasn’t evil and some part of you knew that

You watch as he takes a shuddering breath and starts to walk

You watch as no one stops him

You watch as he loses more of his soul with each step towards mr no-nose

You dont know why you do it

You run

Your friends call your names, teachers joining in

They think youre joining the other side, they think youre fucked in the head, as they had since that incident in 6th year

But no, you were just missing something

you catch up to him pretty quickly, pulling him to a stop

“Ah, another to join my cause. Welcome young lady.”

“You know me. Im missing something but whenever I’m with you, whenever im holding this stupid constellation close to my heart, I feel at ease. Why”

he stares at you incredulously, and why wouldn’t he. Youre in the middle of a battlefield, Harry Potter has just been declared dead and Voldemort is less than a meter away

But you dont feel scared

And you feel stupid for not feeling scared

“It has felt like I dont even know who I am for the past 2 years, what did you do to me?”

You know everyones watching, you can hear the gasps on both sides as they think the worst of him

“I did what was necessary.” That was the first time he had spoken more than 2 words to you since he had gotten his necklace back that day in the library

“Draco, this is no time to be flirting. Come join me, bring her with you if you want.”

He tenses as voldy rests a boney hand on his shoulder, pulling him towards the other side, away from you

“If you won’t be joining us, we will use you an example of what will happen if you dont join us.”

You stare at him unfazed, fear was something you had gotten used to

Your fingers grip your wand in hand, running through all the spell harry had taught you in the da but its not enough

You are no match for voldy as he throws an unforgivable at you

You hear screams around you but all you hear is silence, as if the world had finally gone silent

//

Draco watched as the spell hit you directly in the chest. He had spent 2 years living with his actions all for it to have gone to naught in a single second

He watched as the light from his wand hits you

Before rebounding off you as if it hit a shield

There’s a flash of black and his mother is infront of him, wand out from deflecting the spell from bouncing back and hitting him

“Mother?”

“She’s important to you?”

“She gave him one of the fucking family heirlooms, either she’s important to him or he’s an idiot”

His parents were… bickering in the middle of a battle

voldy recollects himself but before he can talk neville speaks up “I have no idea what’s going on but-”

Draco drowns out the noise as he stares at you on the floor, youre covered in dust and in blood but youre alive

He hears screams as harry rolls from hatreds arms, he hears the cries from death eaters but all can see is you

“We’re switching sides now?”

“I mean he’s fairly distracted, he won’t have time to hunt us down, we owe it to our son.”

Fight scene

You remember everything

Fred Weasley teases the both of you, “we have a war to win, you can fuck later.”

He copy his lazy grin, a grin that lights you up, a grin that reminds you what’s left to fight for

You see the spell before he does

Youre in an arms reach of him but Draco cant reach you in time

You push Fred to the floor, putting yourself in the line of fire by default and draco has to watch you get hit all over again

“We need to talk about what exactly it is ive been wearing around my neck this entire time.”

“I think only my mother can answer that.”

[if you made it this far, send me an ask with the word ‘chicken’ and i’ll send you a cursed photo xx]

[kimnjss]

looks different | myg

⤑ series: be my baby

⤑ pairing: rapper!yoongi x mom!reader

⤑ genre: angst, not even kidding...

⤑ rating: PG13.

⤑ word count: 4.2K

⤑ warnings: there aren’t any. except a very sad min yoongi :( yeah, if you got tissues - bring ‘em. 

⤑ A/N: okay so first of all?? guys!! thank you sooo much, for the quick support i’ve been getting for this fic! i mean we’re only five chapters in nd ., ugh!! just thank you sooo much i love you guyss!! also~ don’t get mad at yoongi, he’s just out here trying his best :(

APRIL 13TH, 2020 | 15:31

It's automatic the way his heart stutters at the sight of you walking through the glass doors of the studio lobby. Every last moment he's rushed down to this very lobby to wait for you, the biggest of smiles taking over his features when you'd finally arrive. More often than not with something healthy for him to eat, paired with the nagging of how he should stop ordering out even if he was working late.

His heart would stutter than too.

Different this time, though. Feeling more relieved than anything. There's no telling the dark places his mind has gone in the years that you've been gone – wondering what could've happened to you. And now you're here – safe. Yoongi loved you, of course, he'd feel relieved knowing that you were fine.

Fine, but different. He can't help but notice all the things about you that just... looks different. Your hair, the long dark waves that he loved to bury his hands in now cut short falling just below your chin. Made you look much older than your new twenty-four. Birthday had just passed, he remembered.

Your hips much, much wider. He can't help but pick up on that huge detail as they sway with each step you take closer to him. Very slow steps, for the record. Nervous steps. The same way you'd approach him if you were wielding bad news. That didn't change. Neither did the tentative way you nibbled at your lower lip, fingers pushing your hair behind your ear as you locked eyes with him.

The nerve to smile. Actually push the corners of your lips up and smile at him, but he's reacting the way he always has. Mouth dropping in slight awe because you were so pretty when you smiled. Even if it was riddled with anxiety.

Yoongi stands just as you're stopping in front of him, eyes traveling over his frame in wonder. He had changed in the past three years too. The hair that he kept bleached now it's natural dark color, his once lanky skinny frame holding more muscle. He's been eating well lately and you can tell in the fullness of his face.

Never the type of guy to wear his wealth, but you can't help but notice the diamond-studded single chain that hangs from his neck. A dazzling 'A' pendant hanging from it. Just a plain black tee and sweats, probably spent the day mixing and didn't bother to change from his night clothes.

That was so like him. And you had no idea how much you missed him until now. Seeing him, so close that you could reach out and touch him. But you don't, given the circumstance. No matter how much you want to – it'd be inappropriate. Could basically feel how angry he was, keeping your distance was best.

Realizing, the two of you had been standing there for quite some time – speaking no words, you decide to be the one to break the ice. It was your fault you were even in this situation, to begin with, right?

“Yoongi-,” You start, ready to explain yourself. Right then and there, lay it out flat for him. Everything. Why you left. The baby. What has happened in the past three years. But you're not given the chance.

His dark eyes widen at the sound of your voice as if he hadn't expected to actually��hear you speak, as if you weren't real. And he's reacting all at once, arms reaching out to circle around your waist and pulling you into his chest. The force of his pull surprises you, but not enough to keep you from closing him in.

He smells the same. Has definitely swapped his cologne in the time passed, but that doesn't change a thing. He still smells like him. And you missed him. The sob that breaks through his chest, vibrates your body. With his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, arms clutching you close to his chest – he cries.

Not able to properly handle the emotions overwhelming his body, so he can't do anything but cry. Happy tears that you're safe, that none of the terrible things he thought had happened. Sad tears that you felt the need to leave him without a trace, leaving him to wonder what he could've done to make you feel so alone. Angry tears for all the shit you put him through by leaving, because he hadn't done anything wrong – it took him a while to realize that one.

All of those tears soaked the collar of your shirt, shaking his back. Fists clenching the fabric of his shirt, you forced yourself to keep your composure. To not break down the way you wanted because right now he needed you to be strong for him. You had no right to cry when this was your fault.

“I'm so sorry,” The words come out hushed at first before you're repeating louder. And then again. Until they're falling from your lips over and over again, you're worried they might lose their meaning. 

But you don't stop, because ever since you made the decision to leave him – apologizing was the only thing you wanted to do. Woke up every morning with a new way to tell him, to express to him, how sorry you were. How shitty you felt by doing this to him. And now that you had the chance, all your practice speeches were gone out the window.

All you could muster was a simple 'I'm sorry' and hope that it held as much weight as it did in your heart.

The two of you stay standing there for moments to pass, your hand soothingly rubbing his back as he let out the frustrations he had been feeling for the past years onto your shoulder.

He's pulling back only after he's calmed down, eyes glossed and cheeks flushed as he searches your features. A soft, cool hand finding the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Are you sure you're okay?” The slight crack in his voice from his crying nearly shatters your heart.

“I'm okay. I'm so sorry, Yoongi...” Again, you try to find the words, but you're at a loss. Don't know what to say, no matter how many times you’ve imagined this exact moment. Where do you start? How do you get him to see that this, him like this, was not what you wanted when you left?

“I can't believe it's really you.” Both hands sliding down the sides of your arms until he's able to reach for your hands, loosely holding them in his as he has done a thousand times before. “We have a son?”

The words that leave his lips are hushed as if he's afraid to say them out loud. Afraid to let you hear him. But you do. Loud and clear. And your eyes are widening at his words. He knew? How could he...

“Your Instagram. The pictures, that little boy. He's my son?” His ability to read your mind hasn't faltered. You can see the sadness in his eyes, clearly. And you know exactly why it's there and it's your fault. All because you were too much of a coward.

The weight starts in your chest, quickly rushing up your throat until a sob is breaking through. Eyes watering as fresh tears slide down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Yoongi. I-I should've... I didn't think-” You try to speak through your cries, but he stops your struggle; reaching to pull you into his chest again.

Gentle fingers stroke the back of your head, twisting in your short strands of hair. “Shh, it's okay. Relax, it's alright.” Except it wasn't. He knew that and you did too. Because of your stupidity, he lost the first three years of his son's life, time that he would never get back and it was all your fault.

He should be angry at you. Screaming at you. Cursing you ten times over. Not holding you and stroking your hair and telling you that it'll be okay. This was wrong. You didn't deserve his kindness, you didn't deserve him.

Lifting your hands to find his chest, you're gently pushing yourself back to create some distance between the two of you. “I'm sorry, Yoongi. I should've trusted you.” No idea that your trust in him and wavered, but Yoongi doesn't dwell on the small detail. He had a son now. He was a father. There were bigger things to focus on.

“Hey, listen. Whatever happened, happened. We can't change it, alright? Why don't we go somewhere? Get something to eat so we can talk properly?” You're nodding at the request despite the fact that you're not all that hungry. Can't eat with the guilt filling your stomach.

Yet, the last thing you want to do is stay in this studio. Haunted by the memories that the two of you made in this very lobby, every square inch of this place was covered with the two of you – and you ruined that.

Never realized how shitty being back here would make you feel and now you needed to get out.

An easy smile is spreading across his face at your agreement, a gentle hand rubbing at your shoulder. “Why don't you go wait outside? I'll call my driver.” You don't even bother to mull over the fact that he has his own driver now. One of the perks that came with his new lifestyle, you assume.

With another small nod, you're turning to exit the building to wait for him. Mind racing with how you'd be able to tell him about this without ruining everything he has now. He's accomplished so much and here you come ready to ruin everything. 

Again.

Two large men lead you into a restaurant a bit too fancy for a late lunch that neither of you is in the mood for. Ushering you to a table hidden in the back corner before stealing seats a few feet away. Yoongi orders food for the both of you when the waitress is coming with waters. 

“Water? Think we might need something a little stronger for the conversation we're about to have.” Trying to lighten the mood, but the stone-cold expression on his face as the nervous laugh dying on your lips.

Lips pulled into a tight line, you watch as he reaches for the wrapped straw at the side of the table. He takes his time with peeling the paper from it before crumpling it between his fingers, dipping the straw into the iced drink with the other hand.

“I don't drink anymore.”

Eyebrows shooting up in surprise at his quiet admission. You had always known Yoongi to be a man that valued a good glass of whiskey. Liked to have a few sips while he worked, always brought his own bottle to parties claiming 'you young-ins don't know how to drink'.

He always knew his limit, a couple of glasses here and there but he'd never push it where it became an awful habit. Made sure of it. But the sound of his voice when telling you he quit? Told you that he might've slipped in that department. And you can't help but wonder if that was your fault too.

“Tell me about my kid. What's he like?” Clearing his throat, his back straightens slightly – in an attempt to change the subject. Put a halt to all the questions he knows are bouncing around in that head of yours.

And you know him well enough to know when he doesn't want to be pushed. So you allow the shift, unwrapping your straw and dropping it into the glass.

“He's like most three-year-olds, you know? I named him Hyunki.” Another thing that you had wanted to tell him since you left. 

It had only been a few months into your relationship when Yoongi told you. The largest of smiles on his face as he went through the list he kept locked away in his head, gauging your expressions as he listed each off. As if he was checking to see if you liked any of them.

SEPTEMBER 18TH, 2015 | 21:42

“You're telling me you've never given it any thought?” The surprise is clear in your boyfriend's voice as he cranes his neck to get a better look at you. Arms wrapped securely around your waist, holding you to his chest.

The movie that he had picked out has faded to background noise since he started this random conversation. If you had been paying attention to the screen rather than noting every cute thing he did, you'd know that his words weren’t as random as you thought. That they were related to the passing scene.

It was so hard to concentrate around him, you were discovering. Could never focus too long on the things that didn't involve him when he was near you. Always found yourself lost in those pretty dark eyes or mesmerized by that gummy smile of his. 

How were you supposed to focus on the plot of a movie when the world's most attractive man was behind you? Holding you to him and chuckling so close to your ear it was like surround sound made just for you. You didn't even remember the name of the damn film.

“I can honestly say I don't have the identity of my future children chosen.” You speak through a laugh as he’s rolling his eyes, hands falling low on your waist until he's able to grasp your hips.

Easily, he's lifting your body from between his legs, turning you to straddle his lap. The movie has been forgotten in his mind too. Your hands find the sides of his neck, tips of your fingers tickling his blond hair. “That's not what I mean, you can't pick who your kids are gonna be.” He speaks in a matter-of-fact tone that has a smile tugging on your lips.

Soft hands find the backs of your thighs, holding your body to his. Yoongi tilts his head back just slightly so he can get a better view of your face. Searching your features carefully before he says what he's thinking.

Can basically see the wheels turning in his head as his nibbles on his lower lip, deep in thought while he watching you. And you watch him right back, lips pursed in an attempt to mask the smile threatening to take over your features. You had always loved the way he looked at you.

“What do you think of Hyunki, then?” Different from all the outrageous names he had listed before. Hyunki. You could definitely see yourself raising a little boy with his face and that name. But it's too early to say it, relationship still too new no matter how you felt. You didn't want to scare him away.

“Hyunki's nice.”

One of the hands he had rested on your back of your leg is shifting, moving forward so he can reach your stomach. Through the fabric of your t-shirt, he traces random patterns – eyes focused on the movement of his fingers.

“My first son. I want to call him Hyunki.” Eyes slowly traveling up the length of your body until he's pinning you with such an intense stare it has a gasp falling from your lips. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, hopeful.

“Okay. I like Hyunki.” Yoongi's smile grows on his face, head tilting up to capture your lips with his. His grip tightening around your thigh to pull your body further onto his. Large hand flattening on the small of your back, guiding you until you were lying underneath him.

That was the first night you slept together.

APRIL 13TH, 2020 | 15:58

Warmth spread through his limbs with the knowledge that you had remembered your conversation all those years ago. Not only remembered it but honored him by using the name he had wanted. Just knowing that was enough to take a bit of the sting of leaving him away. Just a bit.

“So? What does he do? What does he like?” Had expected him to have more questions about you leaving, but it seemed his interest was elsewhere. And the least you could do was tell him whatever he wanted to know.

He was in charge here.

“He doesn't do much, you know?” A soft laugh falls from your lips, hand reaching up to push the hair from your face. “He's been really interested in sports lately. Plays soft basketball with Taehyung sometimes and-”

“Taehyung?” Yoongi's brow lifts at the mention of the unfamiliar name. Head tilting to the side slightly. “Who's Taehyung? One of his friends?”

“Kookie's boyfriend. He hasn't started preschool yet, so he doesn't really have any friends.” The waitress is heading toward the table, food in hand as two other women follow her.

Yoongi considers your words as the food is set down in front of you. Willing himself to keep calm as he takes in all the information that you're giving him. All of the things he missed. The fact that he has to ask questions about his own son, things that he should already know.

But he doesn't go off the way that he wants to, doesn't chastise you and place the blame exactly where it belongs. Instead, he's blowing a thick breath through his lips – leaning back against the cushion chairs.

“You moved to Busan, then?” From your countless stories about your best friend from Busan, he remembered enough to know that the 'Kookie' you were talking about was that same friend. So, the nod of your head is expected.

You watch as he blinks slowly, hand reaching for the clean utensils on the table. He clears his throat slightly, head tilting to the side in the way it does when he's thinking things over. Distracting himself by filling his personal plate with the various foods spread out in front of you two.

Silently, he gestures for you to eat and despite your hesitance, you move to fill your plate as well. Nervous. Pondering on whether or not you should just blurt it out. Ignore how he obviously doesn't want to know the ins and outs of your disappearance, if he did then he would be hitting you with questions, right?

Wished you were able to read him. Know what he was thinking right now. It had been something that you could do easily, simple gestures and facial expressions giving way to exactly what was going on in the head of his. However, it seemed that through time you've lost that ability.

“If he's three... shouldn't he be in preschool by now?” Yoongi's asking casually, shoveling a spoonful of food into his mouth as he watches you. How could he eat? Why wasn't he yelling at you? Pissed out of his mind. He's being so cool and it was throwing you.

You begin to eat after the expectant stare he gives you. Taking small bites, sitting on pins and needles in front of him. “Tae stays at home with him, but we were planning to enroll him once he's settled here a bit.”

There it was again, that 'we'. The 'we' that didn't include him in decisions that he should very well be included in. Only in this case, you weren't referring to the 'we' who decided on your disappearance, just the 'we' that have been helping you raise the son he had no idea about.

Yoongi can't help but feel bitter at the small fact. But he wills himself to bury it. Can't argue with you. Not when there's now so much at stake. When you have a kid that he doesn't even know, a kid that he wants to know. Needs to.

You held all the cards and without the knowledge of why you left in the first place, he had no idea what might set you off to where you were packing up and leaving again. That was the last thing he wanted, then and now.

He had to play his cards right.

Casual conversation remains steady between the two of you as you're finishing your meal. Filling Yoongi in on all the things he's missed in the past three years has your heart growing heavy. He's missed so much and it was because of you. Because you couldn't stand your ground and be with him.

He'd only ask you for one thing. Expected just one thing from you. And you couldn't even handle that.

“Does he know about me?” The words are coming out hushed after a stretch of silence. You had just finished sharing with Yoongi the slight obsession Hyunki has with Lego sets. How he could spend hours at his play table, building. He smiled real big at that, but from the slow way it vanished you could tell something was weighing on his mind. And this was it.

It pains you to shake your head. Hurts even worse when you see the sadness that flashes through his eyes. “Why not?” He's almost afraid of the answer, but can't keep himself from asking. 

“It's always been us, you know. Me, him, Tae and Kookie. And he likes having them around. I didn't want him to feel like he was missing out on something.” So young that he hadn't started asking questions yet. Wondering why kids around him had two parents instead of one plus two respective uncles.

You thought you had been making the right decision, but as this week was set out to prove – you had no idea what the right decision was. And judging from the look on Yoongi's face, you were more than positive that you had made the wrong decision by keeping the fact that Hyunki had a father secret.

“So who does he think is his dad?” He's doing the thing where he's trying to keep himself from losing it. That hasn't changed.

The slight twitch of his brow, the flare of his nostrils as he took deep calming breaths. Desperately trying to keep his composure and not freak out on you the way he wanted to, you wished he just let go and give you what you knew you deserved.

“No one,” You're rushing out, hoping it could do something to relax him. “I don't even think he knows what that means.” Flinching at your own words, you force a breath from your lips. You try to change course. “I honestly thought it would be better for him this way.”

Hesitantly, you reach for his hand that had balled into a fist on the table. Soothing fingers running over his knuckles. “You can tell him if you want. Do you want to meet him?”

“Obviously, I'd like to meet my son. He's my son.” There's harshness in his tone that he doesn't bother to mask. That you don't miss as he's pulling his hand from your grasp, going back to the meal in front of him.

Lunch ends in silence. Yoongi quietly pays the bill, mumbles a goodbye to you as he puts you in a cab. Doesn't even bother to look back as he turns with his bodyguards to walk toward the car that had brought you here.

Yoongi is slouching in the back seat of his car, arms crossed over his knees and face pressed against his sleeve. Of all the scenarios he's imagined with seeing you again, he never thought it'd be like this. Had been so sure it would be clear where he'd stand with you if you were to ever appear in his life again.

But, it wasn't that simple. Because nothing in his life was ever that simple. Of course, he still loved you – an annoying fact that was hard to ignore. Yet, he'd be able to do it, would be able to move on despite his heart being filled with you, if it wasn't for the fact that you had a kid together now.

A human binding the two of you, of which he hadn't even met. And he wanted to. Wanted nothing more than to be apart of that kid's life, but that meant being apart of your life too. He had been too afraid to get the answer's from you today, not wanting his deepest worry to become true within your words.

Not knowing was better than knowing in his mind. Whatever it was, why you left him – took your unborn child and bolted, he didn't want to know. Afraid that it would be something so horrible that it'd crumble his already cracked heart.

“Everything alright back there, Mister Agust?” His driver speaks noticing the shake of Yoongi's back that accompanies the fresh tears that roll down his cheeks. Face hidden, he takes a moment to compose himself before lifting his head.

The back of his hand wiping at his damp eyes before he's pushing his hair back on his forehead. Eyes shifting to look out the window as he nods his head. A heavy sigh falls from his lips, dark sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose to cover his reddening eyes.

Tires skid to a complete stop in front of the building and Yoongi is stepping out of the car, hands shoved in his pockets as he takes slow steps to the front doors of the studio.

Words leave his lips as a hushed plea, a delayed answer to the question he had been asked in the car. What he had been thinking since he first scrolled through your pictures, seeing the life you had created without him.

“I just want to see my kid.”

— when the love of his life suddenly vanishes, he drives himself mad looking for her. seemingly erased from the world, he’s forced to pick up the pieces of his life and move on… fast forward three years and someone who looks a lot like the woman he lost is being spotted, holding a kid with an oddly familiar gummy smile…

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. to be added to the taglist, send me an ask !! feedback is highly !! appreciated, it’s the motivation i need to keep the fic going nd fun for you guys!!<33

[mercurial-madhouse]

Anonymous asked: I wish you would write... A Disney princess!AU (like cinderella or sleeping beauty or snow white) where both of them are princes just that they follow the same general plotline (for example H could be prince charming and L could be the one that got put to sleep or hidden somehow/some reason).

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*< 

You don’t have to say you love me (Just let me adore you)

Fiery sunlight flashes through the pendant soaring through the air, its broken chain trailing behind like snapped heartstrings.

Wrenched out of a waking dream, confusion and shock overwhelm Harry as he lurches on the shifting deck. Reeling yet frozen, he scans the insanity before him.

In his enchanted absence, chaos has usurped his throne. Niall, Liam, and Zayn are all racing about, attempting to contain the mayhem. And he’s… Why is he in his purple ceremonial robes? Why is he at sea? And the strange man a few metres away, who has just lost the pendant—what’s his name?—Ben. Why the bloody hell is Ben covered in sea creatures? Only his outstretched hand is visible, clawing for one end of the broken chain that’s sailing just out of reach.

The horrifying truth catapults into Harry’s chest. Caught within the magic bound into that necklace, he’d almost married this stranger. But this isn’t the man he loves.

Fear drives like a weighted anchor into his chest. Someone or something slams into him from behind.

Stumbling forward, Harry searches the quarterdeck desperately for the one person missing, the last person he remembers. Relief battles surprise and both cascade over Harry, unlocking his lungs beneath the flood-tide of emotion when Harry finds him.

Louis’s bracing barefoot against the opposite rail near Harry’s quarters, the captain’s cabin. The loose white shirt Harry first gave him, the one he’d flung off his own back when he’d found Louis stranded naked on the rocky shore three days ago, hangs haphazardly from one pale shoulder. The silent, shipwrecked sailor had struggled with the buttons then as though he’d never seen them before. Even now the shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his chest, one side tucked into his trousers as though Louis had thrown it on in a frantic rush to get here.

Ocean blues, wide like the ebbing tide, lock onto Harry’s. Harry launches through the melee of people and ocean life to reach Louis. Harry’s always hated low tide. Always felt like he was helplessly watching the shoreline as the ocean receded ever further away from him.

The circular pendant hits the deck and cracks. A golden flash bursts from the object, halting the tumult as it blinds everyone.

Harry’s heart surges into his windpipe as the beam zings across the deck, slams into Louis’s throat, and disappears.

Shock etches over Louis’s face. He pushes three fingers against his neck then swallows.

He opens his mouth… and speaks.

Harry’s world upends, throwing him back beneath the swirling waters of his own shipwreck eight days earlier. Up and down collide with past and present as the voice he’s dreamed of since that day comes to life and enchants him all over again with a single word.

“Hazza.”

**

Harry grins at the obvious curiousity scrunching Louis’s features. Whether he never could talk or the shipwreck that brought him to Harry’s shores left him too afraid to speak, Harry doesn’t know. But his beautiful features are so wonderfully expressive it’s as though Harry’s fluent in a language he didn’t realize he knew.

“What. Haz?”

Louis nods, glancing at the closed door they’d just come through after Harry’s mum, the queen, had shooed them out of her private chambers with a wave and that childhood name for Harry on her lips.

“It’s short for Hazza.” Why is he telling Louis? His mum never calls him Haz unless they’re alone, and now he’s adding to the slip-up?

Louis’s eyes light up with such pure delight that Harry’s heart skips a beat and promptly rolls over in his chest like it’s prepared to give up the ghost to the ocean depths. He tucks a wayward strand of hair out of Louis’s eyes. Countless brushings and his hair is as wild as it’d been when Harry found him yesterday. Untameable as the ocean that’d brought him here.

Mouth suddenly dry despite emotionally drowning, Harry’s tongue flicks out to wet his lip. He follows his heart over the ocean horizon that’s reflecting in those blue eyes. “You can call me that, if you want. Hazza.”

He’s officially lost his mind. Only his mum has the right to either name. But the soft, private smile Louis bestows upon him is so warm that Harry feels like he’s been crowned the prince all over again. All the adoration of the entire kingdom pales compared to the affection emanating from Louis now.

Louis’s mouth forms silently over the word, like he’s testing the feel of the name on his lips the same way he’s once again rubbing the ruffled silk cuff of the pale blue shirt he’s wearing between his fingertips. A flash of sadness momentarily dims Louis’ smile, but then it returns larger than before, crinkling the corners of his eyes, as though Louis still loves what neither of them can hear.

Harry would give up his claim to the throne for that smile.

**

“It’s you.”

The choked words burble up from his throat like bubbles through swirling seas. Two more steps and Louis’s in his arms. Holding Louis feels like the wild exhilaration of setting sail. Louis smells like saltwater air, a zesty ocean zephyr billowing the sails and guiding Harry ever onwards.

Unable to process, Harry tries to clutch Louis close and look into his face at the same time. His forehead bumps into Louis’s temple; his palm curves over Louis’s jaw.

“How is this-... I don’t-...”

Louis’s fingers fist in the purple velvet of Harry’s coat. “I’ll explain everything, Hazza, I s-”

Even though ragged with desperation, the vibrant sound of his voice shocks through Harry. Fantasy and reality collide and fragment into crystal clarity.

The man of his dreams is standing before him. Wide awake this time with no water filling his lungs, Harry refuses to lose Louis again.

He’d almost kissed Louis in the grotto before their boat upended. Now he ducks in to smash his lips into Louis’s before anything else can break them apart.

The port side of the ship runs aground over a submerged sandbar.  A barrel careening across the deck slams into Harry in the massive shockwave surging over L'Esprit as she keels to starboard, wrenching Louis from his grasp.

“Sire!” His first mate Liam catches Harry around the waist, hauling him against the mainmast he’s got hold of. But Louis stumbles, unable to find his balance.

“No!” Harry’s hand catches empty air as Louis hits the deck, sliding with everything not held down until he slams into the starboard rail.

The ship shudders and stills, canted slightly.

Gripping the rail, Louis pushes back to his feet. Harry pushes away from Liam. The sun sinks over the horizon. A blinding green flash shoots up from the spot where she fell into the sea.

“Mary mother,” Niall, Harry’s helmsman, breathes nearby, quickly crossing himself.

Every sailor knows the superstition. The green flash. The impossible will be made possible.

Harry staggers, halting halfway to him when Louis freezes. The blood drains from Louis’s face right before he disappears from view, engulfed in the same golden magic that’d left the necklace and returned his voice.

The golden hurricane vanishes.

Pure disbelief consumes Harry.

Louis’ shirt and tattoos are gone, replaced with pale skin broken only with tiny translucent scales where his tattoos used to be. They flash golden in the last rays of light, trailing down to a magnificent fishtail. Iridescent blue, with each tiny movement the colour shifts, as though the ocean and all her colours are captured within. Speckled throughout are scales of coral red, deep and luscious.

Harry blinks. The illusion remains. Fin smacking against the wood, Louis struggles upright, bracing on his palms.

Harry’s dimly aware of those eyes locking back onto him.

Louis slowly shakes his head, the plea so obvious on his face. “Hazza, I can expl-”

A slow chuckle from the forecastle breaks through the haze of disbelief clouding Harry’s senses.

Ben rises to his feet, casually brushing off guppies and starfish. The smirk on his face transforms his features and a wave of disgust rolls over Harry.

“Even the ocean knows you don’t belong together.”

He’s speaking to Louis.

Louis shakes his head again, tail flopping once more as he tries to straighten his torso best he can. His scales are already wrinkling, drying out in the warm evening air. “You enchanted him with me voice! How was I-”

Ben cuts Louis off by holding up a hand, three fingers raised. “Three days. That was the contract. You had three days to find your true love’s kiss, no matter what.”

Harry can’t keep up. That word, love, shocks him into speaking, but only a noise comes out before Louis’s growling at Ben in an echo of that burst of impetuous fire Harry’s seen glimpses of these past few days.

“I love him.” The melody of Louis’s voice changes. “Please, Simon, just give me one more minute.”

But Ben only laughs again, that same light chuckle. It grows, steadily deepening into a throaty cackle. A cloud of black envelops him until that laughter emanates from the void, punching through Harry and the hearts of every sailor aboard.

The monstrosity left in the wake of that cloud and laughter has several sailors crying out in fear, backing away. The human half is older, greying hair and cutting eyes. Instead of a tail, the creature ends in thick tentacles.

Simon leers at Louis. “Your voice belongs to me now.”

He lunges. Louis throws himself back against the rail. His eyes find Harry. Time frees Harry’s legs. He dives forward.

Simon’s arm catches Louis around the chest. His tentacles lock around that beautiful tail. Louis’s fingers claw into the wood, but the suckers latching into his scales immobilize him.

They vanish overboard.

“No!” Harry slams against the railing in time to catch a final glimpse of iridescent scales choked by black tentacles disappearing beneath the white-capped waves. He tears the buttons of his waistcoat ripping the ornate fabric off. He grabs the railing to dive overboard.

A hand grabs his arm, wrenching him back.

“Majesty, are you mad?!” Niall stares at him in horror. “You’re human, Sire!”

A burst of agony-fueled anger surges through Harry. “I don’t care,” he roars, wrenching his arm free. “I love him.”

It doesn’t matter that he’s in love with a fish.

Niall grabs him again. “I know.” Voice softer, but no less intense, he shakes his head. “But the ocean floor is only a grave for the likes of us. You’ll be dead before you can get close.”

The pity in Niall’s eyes hurts Harry more than his next words.

“He’s lost, Harry.”

Refusing to believe that, Harry shakes his head, jerking away from the words. Something flashes on the deck.

The compass that’d been around Ben’s, no, that monster’s neck. Harry’s heart lurches into his throat when he recognizes it.

It’s his compass. Understanding that his first love would always be the sea, his mother had gifted it to him when he’d turned sixteen two years ago, so he’d always find his way home no matter how far over the horizon he sailed. He’d been clutching it when he’d gone overboard in the storm, and was so certain he’d lost it in the shipwreck.

Harry snatches it from the deck. The broken chain falls away but Harry can only stare as the familiar weight in his palm settles in a pained squeeze around his heart with a single flash of a memory.

**

Floating. Numb. Idle waves weaving over his legs. A comforting pressure over his torso.

Gentle fingers brush a wet lock of hair from his face. The stranded curl slides over his cheek. His fingers curl around his compass.

Distant voices. “Majesty! Prince Harry!”

The weight shifts, startled. Lips brush a soft kiss over his brow.

“Live,” that bright voice that’d just been singing, beckoning Harry towards the surface of his consciousness, whispers, quiet yet commanding.

“Your Majesty! Prince Harry!”

A hand smooths down his arm and slides over his palm. The weight of his compass vanishes with the fingers. Someone splashes away through the shallows.

Blinding sunlight pierces his eyes as he pushes them open. He’s alone on the shore. Niall and Liam are racing across the surf towards him.

**

“Your majesty!” Liam’s shout jars Harry from the memory. The ocean had claimed him, and the ocean had saved him. It’s not Louis’s eyes that were familiar. After all these years, Harry’s now certain the ocean has been familiar because it swirls in captured sunswirls in those eyes he’d finally found three days ago.

And like the ebbing tide slipping through his fingers, that freedom has once again sunk beyond his reach.

“Majesty?” Liam’s fingertips brush his elbow to get his attention. Sorrow washes his voice soft. “Your orders?”

Harry can’t look away from his compass.

The glass is cracked, as broken as the mechanism within. The arrow no longer points north, but west, towards the horizon. Angry tears blur his vision as frustration wells in the pit of his stomach. He’s spent years seeking the heart of the ocean, only to find it, only to lose him. Louis saved him twice and now Harry can’t help him.

Harry can’t follow.

Harry clutches the compass until his knuckles are white, riding the roiling wave of frustration desperately. A warmth bursts from the compass and flushes his palm. Startled, Harry jumps. Like sunlight shifting over the surface, the compass flashes with a remnant of that golden magic of Louis’s voice that’d burst from it earlier.

Hope flutters like twin swallows taking flight in his chest. Harry turns back towards the rail where the arrow is pointing.

The broken arrow moves with him, aiming ever onward in the direction Simon and Louis had vanished. Harry’s facing due west but the arrow now points north before him.

“Sire?” Niall’s eyes are wide. He crosses himself again, staring at the compass in Harry’s hand.

A grim determination sweeps over Harry. “Get us afloat, Liam.”

His first mate nods. As Liam turns, barking out orders to the rest of the crew, Harry pockets his compass and throws off the lavender waistcoat that matches the coat he’d already discarded.

Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his white shirt, he rolls his sleeves up and turns to Niall.

“To the helm, Niall. I’ve got a prince to find.”

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*< 

(Of the three Disney-inspired ideas that came to me, I attempted with this one to stick as close to a direct retelling with Louis as the princess as the prompt requested. I’d also always wondered how Prince Eric knew where to find Ariel so he could help her defeat Ursula in the Disney version of Little Mermaid. I tried to answer that here. Hope you enjoy, Anony! I know it took a while. Moving homes can make writing time hard to find! And a huge thank you to you, Lily, for all your help, love!)

Have something else you’d like to see me write? Send me an ask (anon or no) completing the sentence ‘I wish you’d write a fic where…’

OT5 Superpowers 

Invisible Louis

Only one bed (H-POV)

Only one bed (L-POV)

ABO new-omega!Louis drabble that became a fic on AO3.

OT4 Spy AU

Disney-Inspired 1: Liam/Harry/Louis as Niall’s three fairy godmother roommates.

[waiting4inspiration]

Her Eyes IX:  Into the Mountains

Summary: You choose to stay with your father and say goodbye to Geralt. Even though that was the plan since the beginning, it’s not a easy goodbye. Your father starts to teach you things you haven’t been taught on your way to the city buried in the mountains.

Warnings: angst, strong language, this will have a happy ending I promise, magical elements, mentions of bullying(?), little fluff, daughter-father bonding time

Word Count: 2,223

Her Eyes Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

It’s a silent journey. Geralt riding a long way in front of you and your father circling the skies above you, leaving you with your horse as your only company. Still, talking isn’t even a thought on your mind now. With your decision being made to stay with your father and live in the secret city filled with people like you, you’re not sure how you will say goodbye to Geralt after what happened last night. 

Before your father showed up and saved both you and the Witcher from those Magic Hunters, you had the mind of forgetting about being with people like you where you were so sure you’d carry on living your life alone because you refuse to be tossed around from man to man, finding out who will be compatible to you so you can have a family and just travel with Geralt. Now, with your father in the picture and his offer to teach far more than any Mage with towers filled with books can teach you… Everything has changed. You’ll have the family you wanted now that you have your father. And security for being hunted for your blood. 

You just hate having to say goodbye to someone you’ve grown so fond of. Someone to who you’d be willing to give your heart. Someone who might actually have your heart already. 

Coming to the foot of the mountain you had been traveling towards all day breaks you from your thoughts and makes your heart leap into your throat as your father lands slightly behind you, startling your horse a bit. “This is where we must part ways, Witcher,” Armen says, your head turning over your shoulder to look at him for a moment before you look back at Geralt. “(Y/n), this is where you say your goodbyes. To me, or to Geralt.”

You open your mouth to speak but stop when you hear Geralt dismounting his horse. He looks up at you, waiting for your reply, but you close your mouth again and drop your head between your shoulders. Then, you look up at your father, tears almost brimming your eyes and you gently nod your head at him. And when you look at Geralt again, he can see what it is you decided. He thought that it would be your decision. 

Dismounting your own horse and leading it towards Geralt, you clear your throat so that when you speak, your words won’t break. “Thank you,” you end up whispering, not trusting yourself enough to speak confidently. “For everything you’ve done for me. I was told to give you this upon my arrival.” Digging into the pouch on your saddle, you pull out a bag of coins to hand to him. 

It’s his payment from your uncle. Geralt had forgotten about this, that it started out as a job, and takes the bag from you with a small chuckle to himself. “I hope you’ll get everything you wanted,” he grunts, looking up from the bag to you as his smile falls. 

“I won’t. Not without…” You stop, swallow past the lump in your throat and breathe out a sigh to stop yourself from shedding any tears. “Here. Take my horse too. No doubt the mountain path is no place for a horse and he’ll fetch you a good price too,” you say, handing him the reins you hold and forcing a smile. “Especially if you mention that he’s-”

Geralt doesn’t let you finish speaking before he leans down, closing the space between you and him and pressing his lips to yours, his hand coming to touch the side of your face. You lean into his touch, kiss him back as you snake your arm around his neck to hold him close one more time. You thought he would be angry at you for your decision. But this doesn’t seem like anger. 

Armen with a soft grumble, as a cold wind blows down from the mountains making you slowly pull away from Geralt. But he holds you close for a few moments, his forehead resting against yours as his thumb caresses your cheek. “I hope, one day, I will see you again,” he whispers.

“I hope so too, Witcher.” Slowly, you pull away from him and turn to walk towards the path that leads into the mountains. 

With the sounds of your footsteps walking away from him, Geralt works on attaching the reins of your horse to his saddle so the horse can follow him, unaware that you have turned back to look at him one last time before venturing into the mountains, your father taking flight once again after a brief farewell and conveyance of gratitude for bringing you this far. 

Then, Geralt looks down at the bag of coin in his other hand. He opens it to quickly check how much he has been paid. But, on top of the golden orens lies a silver pendant with a dragon engraved in the metal. Slowly, he pulls it out of the bag by its chain and recognizes the older pendant you received from the traveler that told you of the Dragon-born city in the mountains. 

He turns to look at you over his shoulder but finds he is standing alone. He takes a deep breath, turns his head back around, and then quickly mounts his steed. Now, the best thing for him to do is put this place behind him. 

It’s quiet in the mountains. All you hear is the wind howling as it blows through the almost narrow path you travel and the flaps of your father’s wings as he flies overhead. The path has a few difficulties along the way, especially as it gets darker with the setting sun. And even though it’s quiet around you, your mind is busy and loud. 

Armen lands on top of the peak of the rocky wall in front of you, shifting to distribute his weight evenly, and then looks down at you. “We should stop here for the night.”

“I can keep going,” you mention, turning your attention back to the path that lies ahead and you take one step forward. 

“Venturing through the mountains without a clear mind will surely end in disaster,” he says in a booming voice that echoes through your mind. You stop in your tracks, stare into the dimming light in front of you as you breathe out a heavy sigh. “Look back. Look at where you’ve come from.”

You close your eyes and shake your head to yourself. You don’t want to look back. Looking back will only remind you that you chose your father over Geralt. Looking back will remind you of what you left behind and what you said goodbye to. You only want to look forward. But, you slowly turn around. 

When you open your eyes again, you see the path you had taken weaving all the way through an open expanse. You had not realized you were walking through this area because you had been stuck in your own head. 

“You could walk right through that nearing city and you wouldn’t even know it until you got to the other side of this mountain,” Armen says, lowering his head down, slightly closer to you. “A muddled mind leads to chaos. Chaos leads -”

“To dangerous affairs,” you finish his sentence, having been told that Akius after the incident where you almost lost control. “I know. I just can’t stop thinking. My thoughts are running through my mind and I can’t stop them.” You look up at him as you shake your head. Surely, there is nothing you can do about that. You can’t control how loud your thoughts can get. 

“You have been holding back on your magic because of fear. I saw that when I told you to lose control.” You frown up at him, tilt your head slightly to the side as you realize that when the magic hunter attacked. “You cannot learn to grow if you are afraid of what you can do.”

“I am not afraid.”

“Then let it go,” he challenges, nodding towards the empty field. “Lose control. Let your power flow through you without any restriction,” he urges and you feel something growing deep inside you. It’s the same feeling you had when you almost burnt down half of your uncle’s kingdom. “There are no repercussions here, (Y/n). Only freedom.”

You close your eyes, tune in to the fiery feeling growing inside you. When you open your eyes again, looking down at your arms, you see that small wisps of fire are flickering off the top of your skin. They travel all the way to the ends of your fingertips and when you look up at your father, he nods out to the open area behind you. 

Turning to face back the way you came, you hold your arms out in front of you and forget everything Akius taught you about control. You remember how people looked at you with a cautious eye everywhere you went as if they were scared that you were going to set something on fire due to your reputation. You remember how they would look at you and then whisper something about your eyes. You remember how you never felt like you were a part of them like you would never fit in with their society. 

Then, like a wave of relief, you let that all go. And fire streams out of your hands like how your father would breathe fire. 

When it’s finished, you sigh and lower your arms as you slowly open your eyes and to gasp at the raging fire in the open field that you cause. The bushes and shrubs are all burning and the destruction that will be left behind will all be because of you. But, the relief you feel inside you, letting everything go, it’s the best feeling you have ever felt. 

“Fire eventually dies. It burns the brightest when it is released but eventually, it dies and settles. And it leaves room for growth,” your father says, staring out into the flames you have created as you turn your head to look up at him. “Soon, I hope you will see it’s beauty as I do. And I hope you will not keep it burning inside you. Many Dragon-borns have died because of it.” He looks down at you when he says that but you turn your gaze to the fire in front of you, feeling the heat on your face as you watch the shrubs burning to sticks and then to the ground. 

“I don’t understand. Why was I taught to control everything if it would end up killing me?” you ask, shaking your head as you turn your gaze up to your father again. 

He turns, you can see he is ready to take off to the skies again so you turn to carry on walking on the path, leaving the burning field behind you. “You were taught wrong. You should not have been taught to control by holding everything in, but to control by knowing how much to let go. Have you let everything go?” You nod your head. “Good. Because we will need a fresh start if you are to learn things properly.” 

“So, everything I taught was wrong?”

Armen chuckles, flaps his wings, and lifts off of his perch. “Not everything. But most things. Come. The city is most alive at night.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to carry on tonight,” you mention, a smile growing on your face as you watch him fly above you. 

“I didn’t want you going on with a troubled mind. I think that has changed. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now. Or am I wrong?” 

No, he’s not. You’ve never felt more like talking to him than you do now. Your mind feels clear and quiet for the first time since you parted with Geralt. And you want to know more. You want to ask your father all the questions you’ve kept in your mind. Now that you are alone with him, you feel it is the best time to ask him. 

You lick your lips as you step over a fallen rock, press your hand to the stone wall to support yourself, and think of your first question to ask him. “Do I have any brothers or sisters?” It wasn’t a question you had hoped to one day ask him and it just came to your mind after thinking about how many people like you are in this city. You wonder if there will be any that share your parentage.

“I have only ever loved your mother,” he says with a laugh, looking down at you as he flies above you. “You will also learn, some dragons reproduce just because they can. Their children often end up being not so different. It is wise to stay away from them.”

“You’ll help me with that, won’t you?” you ask, stopping before you have to squeeze through a gap in the rocks. You know there is a hint of fear in your voice and you’re not ashamed of it. You think your father should know that you're scared of something happening to you. 

“I will be there to help you whenever you call on me.”

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[burytherosemarysprigs]

of pyhrric victories and car rides | Bruce Wayne

/ Masterlist /

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Summary: A collection of moments from yours and Bruce’s relationship

Warnings: break ins, harassing women, stalking, etc.

“Mr. Wayne, are you with us?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Right then, I do think that the company’s stocks are headed – “

Although he tries not to, Bruce can’t help but lose track of the conversation again, and though he’s not exactly sure who the man he’s talking to is, it’s not particularly what is bothering him at the moment; what’s bothering him is you.

Well, what he thinks is you.

Because not even in his wildest dreams would he imagine that at the Wayne charity gala would he see you conversing with donors in the corner of the ballroom.

Before he has a chance to get a better look at your (supposed) face, a heavy hand is placed on his shoulder and the men he’s been having to entertain conversation with – fall silent as he turns around to see a familiar face.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something gentlemen, but I was wondering if I could borrow Mr. Wayne, here, for a second?”

There’s a scattered murmur of compliance and the man next to Bruce flashes a bachelor-smile before they both walk away.

“I’m sure you’re aware of why I wanted to talk to you, Bruce.”

Bruce has to refrain from smiling, of course he does, for what other reason would the brother of the woman he’s been trying to seek out this whole evening come to talk to him about, except about you?

“I believe I do, but I would’ve preferred it if you had told me before this evening.”

His response elicits a small chuckle from the man beside him and he grabs two flutes of champagne from a waiter passing by before replying,

“Now what would be that fun in that. And, anyways, she told me not to tell you – or really, anyone about this.”

“About what?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s moving to Gotham.”

He passes the second flute to Bruce, who silently took the glass – still reeling from the words he just heard.

“Why is she – “

“Are you done bothering Bruce?”

Another voice interrupts their conversation, and for the first time tonight, Bruce finally gets to see you. You’re dressed in an ebony gown, with pale gold swirls tracing the expanse of the fabric – light and empyrean around you as the warm white glow casts a rosy look on the room as you stand in front of them – holding your own champagne flute, and of the pink liquid remaining, you swirled around the base of the glass.

“Of course, I’ll leave you to it.”

He casts a knowing smile at you before he leaves but not before you roll your eyes at him. Then, a silence befalls between the two of you – because it’s been 5 years and it feels a little too much like walking on eggshells between each other in this moment.

“Hi.”

You’re surprised that your voice is more breathless than you expected, and Bruce finds a small smile making its way onto his lips – matching yours.

“Hello.”

The conversation fizzles out again and you begin to fiddle with your hands, before Bruce clears his throat that you look up at him again.

“I heard that you’re moving to Gotham now?”

It takes a moment for you to comprehend his question, and then you’re nodding you head in confirmation.

“Oh, yeah, I – “ You pause before continuing. “They’re planning a re-opening of the theatre and Alyse Rosovsky – who’s idea it was – asked me to be part of the cast –”.

Of course, sometimes it slipped his mind, but he remembers your fascination with theatre films, pearls, Broadway lights and your mother’s tattered avant-garde dresses that you would convince her to let you wear. Sometimes, he forgets how much you love the sweeping curtains and backstage vanity tables – the ritualistic ideal of appraisal.

So, it wasn’t necessarily a surprise when you had told him – almost five years ago, that you were going to New York to study theatre and it wasn’t a surprise either when he saw you holding a neoteric award in the newspaper – the black and white picture of you on a podium blossomed a similar emotion to what he was feeling right now.

“– of one of the stage plays they’re planning.”

“Uh – oh.” He feels a little embarrassed for losing track of your explanation and all he can offer is a dazed smile.

“It’s been so long since I saw you, Bruce.”

It’s strange how your voice still sounds the same to him – basking in its honeyed twang and soft inflections that he remembers from years ago, and he’s not entirely sure why both of you never kept in touch after your departure but he pushes that sinking feeling away and shares a nostalgic smile with you.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Mhmm, I was wondering if you – “

“Y/n!”

You’re interrupted by a blonde woman; who’s donning a black slip dress and strands of hair are slowly escaping her intricate chignon and her eyebrows are furrowed as she approaches you both.

“Mr. Wayne,” A small nod of acknowledgement is exchanged between them both before she turns around to face you,

“Vistila is here and he’s dealing with the ‘sharks’ alone, so I came here to ask your help.” She begins to chew on her bottom lip as she explains the situation to you.

“Alyse it’s no problem, I – I’ll be there in a second.”

A relieved expression takes over Alyse’s face as she squeezes your shoulder but before she can leave you stop her.

“Oh – before you go, do you happen to have a pen?”

You eye the leather shoulder bag she’s clutching, and she quickly nods her head before pulling out a blue ballpoint pen and rushing off into the crowd.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

You ask as you place your empty flute glass and uncap the pen and ready it in your hand – raising an eyebrow in his direction as what you’re about to clicks in his head and he shakes his head.

“Good.”

You move closer to him and lift his free arm in your hand, pushing back the smooth fabric of the suit jacket and shirt sleeve underneath it, your cold fingers brushing over his warm skin – causes light goose bumps to raise, but you don’t notice as you list of a series of digits and smile at the phone number you’ve written on his arm before pulling down the fabric – covering the numbers and taking steps away from him.

“Call me sometime?” Your voice is cheeky, a rosy flush on your face as Bruce only takes a sip of his drink before you send a wink to his way and disappear into the crowd as well.

And all Bruce is left with is the scent of your perfume and the lingering touch of your fingers.         

It was nearly 6 pm when the clatter of dinner platter ware and Alfred’s call for them to come to dinner brought both children into that hall between the drawing room and the dining room – waiting for them was both the Butler and a woman toying with the gold pendant around her neck, her lips pulled into a thin line and sharp brows furrowed together in agitation.

“Where have you two been?”

“Mother, look!”

The little girl pipes up first, her pigtails whipping the air as she runs forward with something clutched tightly in her arms – but the dim lighting prevents the woman for seeing what it really is until the little girl reaches her. A little boy following in her steps, his face was also flushed and clothes askew.

“Look, look, look what we made for Bruce’s mom!”

The woman crouches down to see a pearl necklace in the little girl’s hands – and it clicks in her mind, as this was the reason the little girl had snuck away the faux pearls and string on their way to the manor.

“That’s so lovely, she’s going to love them,” Her voice is silky, and an earnest smile plays at her nude lips as she reaches out to smooth out the stray hairs in the girl’s hair, “But we have to go now darling, okay?”

“Okay! But wait one second.” The little girl turns around to pull the little boy along with her as they huddle away from the adults – who share a bemused look. They whisper with each other before the pearl necklace is carefully passed from the little girl to the boy who holds it with a delicate hold before they break apart from their huddle and the little girl happily wears the coat her mother assists her with.

“You can say goodbye now Y/n.”

The girl waves at the boy – who does the same and she exclaims,

“Mother, can Bruce come to our house so I can show him Jellybean?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Okay! Bye Bruce!”

The little girl is swept away in a flurry of coats and scarves and when they’re out of earshot her mother asks her,

“Now what was that for Y/n?”

“We made Bruce’s mom a present and – and Bruce is gonna give it to her when they’re going to go to the theatre!”

A small smile graced her lips and she pressed a light kiss to her daughter’s hair,

“That’s lovely, dear.”

“We were on a date.”

That silences Betty’s rant while de Vos only lets out a low whistle, which prompts a small snort on your side.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You have to try not to sigh because for the past 15 minutes all Betty has been doing is a  rant on last week’s newspaper headline – which is understandable, considering it’s her job.

Ever since you moved here, your parents had insisted in more security measures, their argument being that your 6’3 veteran driver (de Vos), wasn’t enough, leading them to hire Betty – she was barely 5 years older than you but there was purpose gracing her. There was a steely look in her blue eyes – which made them seem greyer than in actuality and she always wore the same gold chain necklace – with a feeble gold coin hanging from the middle.

She had been guarded in the beginning – which had led de Vos to say ‘what’s stuck up your ass’ at her standoffish behaviour at a gala, (to which she gave him a look than caused him to not a single word the rest of the night), but it was after a week when you were at a little café south of the theatre, and you spilled your coffee and (almost) dropped your croissant on the waiter, that she had genuinely laughed. And you had believed that maybe she har started to crumble her resolve a little after that – but it seems less likely now as you watch her frown deepen.

“I – I – “

“Press work was not part of the job description, and maybe a heads-up next time?”

You nod before contemplating your next words, which hang in the air after spoken,

“Well, I guess you should know that I’m meeting him now?”

Before anyone can respond, your phone starts ringing, prompting you to pull it out of your coat pocket, and quickly checking the caller id before answering.

“Hey, Jas.”

“Hi – I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No – I was just going out for dinner.”

“Oh cool, sorry, I just saw the gazette headline and I – “

“Oh.” You start playing with the little buttons on your skirt as you listen to Jasmine and try to pretend that Betty and de Vos aren’t eavesdropping on the conversation.

“- you’re friends with Bruce Wayne?”

Friends? You’re pretty sure Bruce and you are more than just friends.

“I – I guess I am?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, I’ve gotten to meet him about 2 weeks ago?” It’s not a complete lie, considering you only met him – properly after years at the gala but it’s not like your complete history with him is something you’ve wanted to share publicly, especially since it means so much to you.

But you haven’t really had the chance to tell all that to Jasmine – considering you’ve known her for about half a year, the topic of Bruce had somehow never come up, which might be ironic, seeing how much time you’ve spent around her – and how close of a friend she was.

“And you didn’t know him before?”

“I – uh, I kinda did” Your response sounds a little pathetic and she only snorts in response. “It’s just that mine and Bruce’s parents had been really close friends so we just kinda spent a lot of time when we were young.”

She hummed in response,

“Are you going to come to my house for tea this weekend?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it if I could.”

“That’s a nice sentiment for my ego.” Her voice is soft as you hear the rustle of paper in the background and you smile – not that she can see.

“Hey, I’ll call you later, okay?” You rush out, eyeing the little café shop coming into view of the windshield, and hang the line after a soft goodbye is exchanged.

As the car slows to a stop, you grab your bag and before opening the car door, you lean forward so you have both de Vos and Betty’s attention.

“Not a word.”

You try not to smile and have to bite your lips and de Vos does the same before you quietly slip out of the car. Towards your date with Bruce.

You eyed the letters again before placing them back into the bag Betty had brought into the dressing room, before an uneasy feeling settled into your stomach.

“Are you ready?”

Betty’s orotund voice rang across the empty room, prompting you to lift your head out of hands to look at her through the vanity mirror you were currently sitting at. The warm lights from the vanity illuminated the deep frown on her face and simple gold chain around her neck glinted off the light.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

You voice came out more strangled than you hoped, followed by a throaty sob which you poorly tried to disguise as a laugh.

“Just calm down,” she paused as if she wasn’t sure if she should continue or not,

“Listen, I’m taking the letters to the station to have them examined and de Vos will take you back to the apartment and then we’ll figure out what to tell everyone and - “

“God, what the fuck am I going to tell them? ‘Hey mom and dad, there’s a fucking stalker who won’t stop sending me creepy letters and might potentially kill me, but I’ll be fine.’”

You wildly moved your hands around to illustrate your point to her, but she only sighs in response.

“They’ll understand, now come on, de Vos is waiting.”

She made her way to the vanity table before picking up the bag and tapping you on the shoulder as a gesture to get up. At which you release a deep sigh before harshly wiping at your watery eyes and smoothing your hair out before deciding to put on the comically large sunglasses that lay on the table as you collected all your things but before making your way, the wilting amaryllises in the  sepia vase caught your eye and a small smile graced your lips, your mind reminiscing but before you can do anything else, Betty calls for you and you hesitantly walk away and grab the coat Betty was holding out for you at the door.

“It’s ten pm.”

She quips after a pointed look at your glasses.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I love it when you’re this annoying, did you know that? It’s my favourite part of the job.” The glasses disguise the eye roll you send in her way, but she knows you well enough to realize what you’re doing.

A beat passes before you speak up.

“Do you think we can stop by Bruce’s house before going back? I just wanted to talk to him.”

“Is there a reason why you can’t call him?” You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes again.

“You don’t think I’ve tried? All of them straight to voice mail.” Your voice is bitter, and Betty can tell so she relents.

“Okay, I’ll let de Vos know.”

“Thank you.” The words come out softer than you expected, and it elicits a soft (and rare) smile and nod from Betty.

…

“Miss Y/n, what brings you here so late?”

Alfred’s usual monotonous voice is laced with (some) surprise as he opens the doors for you to enter.

“I just needed to talk to Bruce about something, and he wasn’t picking up his phone so I thought I could stop by to talk to him… if he’s here?”

You hope he doesn’t notice the nervousness in your voice, as you clasp and then un-clasp your palms, watching him hang the coat in its place and turn to face you.

“Of course, miss, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

He leads the way to the drawing room and before he leaves you there – he hesitantly pauses to face you, face unmoving but you can feel him think.

“What is it Alfred?”

“It’s just, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but have you been crying miss?”

You don’t know why you’re not reacting to his question, but it takes you a painfully long moment to process his question before you respond,

“Oh – uh, yeah, well not really. I mean, I think the allergies? Well – I – I don’t have any allergies like I – I, that’s what I’ve always told everyone, I mean you know - you know how Autumn is around here, I just – “

“It’s fine Miss, I’ll send Master Bruce for you.”

His voice is monotonous again and the uneasy feeling comes back as he slips out of the room – leaving you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

The next few minutes compromised of you pacing the room anxiously, going through the plan Betty and de Vos had told you and thinking about what you were going to tell Bruce. And in your perpetual state of worry, you miss the familiar sound of dress shoes clicking against the hardwood floor and a figure approaching you, until you feel a presence behind you and a hand reaching to grab your arm, that you let out a small cry of shock.

“Are you – “

“Oh my god, Bruce!”

It takes a second for the cuts and bruises littering his face to process in your mind, and as you reach out to take a hold of his cheek, he pulls back,

“Bruce – “

“Why’re you here?”

Your staring at him like a gaping fish – your worries about everything that happened this evening disappear as you frown at his unkempt state.

“I – I – What happened to you?”

You try and reach out again for him, but he grabs hold of your arms so that you can’t move to touch him, and you find yourself looking at the bags under his eyes, the shadows around his nose and your hearts aches – because he looks so tired.

“Bruce, I’m serious, what – “

“Why’re you here – “

You both speak at the same time, drowning each other out and you try to start again – but Bruce beats you to it,

“Y/n, what are you doing here?”

“I – Bruce, what the fuck happened to you?”

Your staring at his face – and his jaw only clenches in response and you search for any other response in his eyes – but they feel too steely under the dim glow of the light.

“Nothing, just an accident.”

“Bullshit.” You don’t know why you’re being so defensive and pressing the matter even though the rational part of your brain is telling you to stop, you don’t.

“Y/n, it’s nothing.”

“Well, I know it’s nothing, Bruce.”

That’s not wrong because you do truly know it’s not nothing; and the rational part of your part is now screaming at you to stop – and your thudding heartbeat is deafening in the silence of the room. Bruce only looks at you in response and somehow his lack of response edges you to continue on.

“Just tell me, I – I care about you.”

“Well, I never said that you needed to.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re only running on four cups of coffee, a granola bar and it’s almost the middle of the night and today you found out that there’s an obsessive, psychopathic stalker after you that you feel something snap.

You take a step back – lips drawn into a thin line and eyes trailing the tiles on the floor and make your way out of the room with all your things tightly clutched between your hands – you try to blink away the tears blurring your eyes but when that doesn’t work you quicken your pace – your boots clicking against the floor wood and keys frantically jiggling in your hands.

“Hey – “

You hear Betty’s voice as you exit the front doors, but you make a beeline for the car – dismissing her presence and prompting her to follow you,

“What happened?”

You don’t respond and she trails helplessly after you, face contorted into confusion and concern – which she mirrors with de Vos as you both near the car, you slamming the backdoor closed, leaving her to stand next to de Vos’ window, both of them quiet and sharing silent looks.

The ride starts of in an uncomfortable silence – no words exchanged and the only sound that was heard was the ignition starting and the occasional sound of you sniffling in the back.

De Vos can’t see much of your face through the rear-view mirror due to the darkness and shadows falling across your face every time a streetlamp passes by – but when he catches your eyes in the mirror as you harshly rub at the tear-stained cheeks, he has to say something,

“Kid – “

“Please don’t,” your voice is small, and the words come out more softly than intended and Betty only shares a pleading look to de Vos to continue.

“We’re just worried about you,” He sounds a little apprehensive, his usually gruff voice more clear and mellow now, “You can tell us anything, ya know, we’re here to protect you.”

When there’s still no response from you, Betty clears her throat and begins speaking,

“Look, I knew he wouldn’t be happy about this situation, but you should – “

“I didn’t tell him,” Your voice is strangled and abrupt, throwing Betty of track and she looks back at you,

“W-what – “

“I didn’t tell him anything about the letters.”

“Then why – “

“I don’t fucking know, okay? I don’t fucking know why he’s suddenly acting like he hates me and telling me that he doesn’t want me to be with him, okay?”

The last word is spoken more softly and comes out much less harsh and the car plunges into silence again – but you still feel like you can’t breathe, the words dawning a painful realization over you.

“Actually, can we go to Jasmine’s tonight?”

The words slip out before you can think them over and Betty nods her head after a moment and the rest of the car ride is full of an awkward silence that no one tries to fight against.

…

“Y/n?”

Jasmine opens her door after a fourth ring, her dark curls untamed and bouncing everywhere, and her eyes full of sleep.

“Hey,”

“What’re doing here? Do you know what time it is? Wait – why are you crying?”

She sobers up almost instantly, after glancing at your red, puffy face and your arms wrapped around your body tightly – behind you Betty moves forward to say something but you pipe up,

“Can I stay over tonight?” Your voice is feeble, and you can’t help but berate yourself for sounding so pathetic.

“O – of course, yeah, come in,” She moves, allowing the dim hallways lights to illuminate the figures on her front porch.

She moves to wrap an arm across your shoulders, pulling you closer to her so that the scent of her familiar agarwood perfume fills your senses.

“There’s something I need to tell you Jasmine.”

“Thank you, Betty!”

You exclaim, voice giddy and slightly slurred as you embrace her from the back of her seat, and fail miserably, which results in you erupting into giggles in the backseat of the car – as Jasmine tries to placate you

“Right. Just hurry up.”

She sighs as you and Jasmine make your way out of the car. Both of you walking in relative silence minus the occasionally stumbles and giggles from you as you walk towards the building, and it’s Anael who greets you at the darkly lit front desk, after hazily waving him ‘hi’, the elevator ride passes by as you ramble about Anael to Jasmine as she listens with a bemused look on her face.

“Crap, where are my keys,” You rummage through your bag noisily till the jingling keys are in your grasp and you drunkenly try to unlock the front door – that is until Jas coerces the key out of your hand and opens it herself and then you’re greeted with your apartment.

“Finally!” You exclaim, spinning around until you collapse on the beige couch in the middle of the room, your bag hitting the coffee table in the centre and you take in the room, something seems a little of place but your drunk mind can’t comprehend anything else so you watch as Jas places her bag on the marble counter top all the way across the room, in the dimly lit kitchen and she disappears into the hallway as you hear her say,

“I’m just gonna pee really quickly, and then we’ll look for your bag, okay?”

You hum in response and close your eyes as the silence settles around you and the only noise are the distant cars and faint sirens.

That is until your hear a thud and heavy footsteps approaching.

“Jas? Didn’t know you could pee so quickly?”

There’s no response.

You promptly push yourself up from the couch and the person you see walking towards you isn’t Jasmine and you feel yourself freeze in your place.

The man standing in front is wearing a dark jacket and in his hands there’s an envelope you can barely make out properly and the world momentarily stops as you lock with him. They’re steely and grey and your heart rate picks up.

Your mind fails to form a coherent word and all you can do is gape as he makes his way near you.

“God, I’ve been waiting to meet you for so long,” His voice is rough and the small chuckle he lets out rumbles through the air – and you can feel the goose bumps on your skin rise as he towers over your place on the couch. “You know you’re not an easy person to find.”

“How did you get in here?”

The words tumble out of your mouth but it’s hard to process anything when your heartbeat is deafening in your ears.

He chuckles before replying, “You don’t need to know princess, but people here are a lot more gullible than I thought,” he pauses before adding in, “Told ‘em, I was here for some flower arrangements and it wasn’t a lie, look,”

He draws your gaze to the little cream envelope in his hands and takes your hand – but your body doesn’t react fast enough as he grips your wrist tight – it doesn’t feel so tight but you can see his knuckles turning white as he holds your wrist and the warmth from his fingers on your cold skin makes you numb but all you do is watch as he places the withered orange lily from the envelope in the hand he held,

“Sorry ‘s a little withered, but I’ve been waiting for a while and didn’t have the time to get a new one for you, hope ‘s okay?”

You don’t respond and he notices it.

He reaches out to graze his free hand underneath your chin and you reflexively flinch under his touch so he grabs your jaw – roughly pulling your face to face him and you want to scream, yell, shout; do anything but your voice dissolves into nothing every time you try.

“I said, is it fine?” It takes a moment – but you nod your head ever so lightly and it suffices for him, so he loosens his hold on your jaw – only a little for you breathe properly again.

“Are you always this stubborn, Y/n?” The way his mouth forms your name makes you sick, it makes you upset because he shouldn’t be able to say it like that – with a wide smile on his face, twisting the vowels on his tongue in whichever way he pleases as you squirm under his grasp.

“Even with him?” His eyes darken and so does his grip on you, “Don’t worry, I got all his things out of your room, I’ll get rid of them.”

“No.” You voice is barely above a whisper as you shake your head, “Please let me go.”

“I’ve waited so long to be here with you, I’m not leaving now Y/n.” His grip is suffocating, and he doesn’t relent as you try to squirm out of his hold, but he only chuckles.

“You can call me by my name, you know?” You don’t say anything. “Do you not remember it? I wrote my initials on the letters, I hoped you would figure it out.”

The memory of the letters makes you sick again as he reaches out to tuck the stray hairs behind your ear and you recoil from his touch, so he tries to placate you by continuing to talk.

“I sent them because I wanted to tell you how much I – “, His words are cut short off by the distant sound of thundering footsteps and you hear him swear underneath his breath, before letting go of his hold on you.

“Well, I guess I gotta introduce myself to all you friends now, huh?”

Before anything else can be said, the front door is burst open as quickly as the man in front of you pulls you up and into his chest – you back against his chest and his steely grip locked onto your arms but this time, you feel a cold blade on the base of your neck – freezing you in place.

“Stop!”

A blur of dark uniforms surrounds but you can’t see much as your mind blurs – from the alcohol you’ve consumed or the nausea building up in you, you’re not entirely sure. You can’t hear much because of the pounding in your chest and before you can comprehend the scene around you, the arms holding you in a suffocating grip – disappear. A gasp escapes from your lips as your knees give out and you fall to the floor, your mind blanking.

“Y/n, can you hear me?”

A muffled voice registers in your head as you slowly blink your eyes open. The warm white lights feel more harsh than usual and there’s an ache in your left eye.

“I – “

“Is she awake? Are you awake Y/n?”

Betty’s voice is full of panic and maybe you would’ve cracked a joke about it if you didn’t feel a growing sting on your head as you slowly regained consciousness.  

“I – “

“I’ll let de Vos know, and – and, where’s Gordon,”

Betty leaves your side before you can say anything and another person – which you assume is a medic, through your hazy eyes, you can barely make out his face, let alone what he’s trying to tell you.

“I’m fine – “

“No, no you’re not, Y/n.” Betty has reappeared, this time, her glabellar lines are more deep-set and her voice firmer. She’s about to say something else, but the medic stops her this time, and diverts your gaze to his face.

“You’ve been concussed, and I just want to ask you a few questions. First, can you tell me your name?”

“It’s Y/n.” The light from the lamp next to the loveseat your splayed on is bright as you squint at the man in front of you.

“Great, now, do you know where you are and what day it is?”

“I – I’m in my house, and…” You looked out towards the French windows and door, the bleak night visible through the white, lace curtains. “It’s Saturday night, the – uh, 17th of October.”

“Okay, can you tell me the address?”

“Uh – it’s 356 Victoria street.”

He nods, and the asks,

“Now, do you know what happened?”

You really wished that you could say no to his question, but it’s all vividly clear in your mind. His face. His eyes. His hands. Him.

“Yeah.” You voice is croaky, and you shift your gaze to your hands in your lap.

“Okay, that’s great,” He turns around to face Betty, “She’s A&O4, just make sure she’s not moving and get her some water for the headache she’s probably going through right now.”

Betty nods her head before making her way towards the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and the medic besides you leaves, and you finally lift your head up to see the amount of people currently in your apartment. There’s police offers standing at the front door, some of them standing around the windows and others scattered around the living room and kitchen.

Your eyes drift around the scene and am uneasy feeling settles in your stomach as you take in your appearance in the windows. Your hair is a mess, and the spaghetti straps of your black dress and falling of your shoulders, but it’s your face – a bruise blooming near your left eye, that causes you to release a shaky breath, the shades of purple and blue are nauseous and you bring your hand up to light graze the wound, but it stings at the slightest touch from your shaking fingers.

“Y/n.”

Betty comes back but just as she holds out the glass of water, something clicks in your mind.

“Betty. Where’s Jasmine?”

You swing your legs of the loveseat and attempt to stand up, but she stops you.

“Y/n, stop, stop, listen. She’s okay.” She places the cold glass between your hands before continuing.

“Uh – he just locked her in the bathroom.”

“Well, why didn’t I hear her?”

“He also knocked her unconscious.”

“What? Where is she?”

“She’s in the bedroom, don’t worry, she’s just resting there, the medic checked up on her, she’s perfectly fine – just a bit shaken up like you.”

The conversation fizzles out as you stare at the ice cubes slowly melting into the water – the cold from the glass numbing your fingers but you can’t bring yourself to worry about it.

“I’m so sorry, Betty” You whisper, hoping she doesn’t hear you – but she does, and you try your hardest to blink away the tears forming in the corner of your eye.

“Y/n. please don’t say that.” She crouches down. “You never could’ve thought of this happening.”

“I know, I know but still – “

“Listen, it’s okay, we got him.”

That piques your interest as you raise your head to meet her hazel eyes.

“He tried to make a run for it from the open windows, but we got him.”

“How did you know – “, your voice is unsure and thick.

“I tried calling Jasmine, but she didn’t pick up, so I went to talk to Anael at the desk and he mentioned something about flower arrangements and a man, and it clicked in my head.”

Before you can ask her anything else, your moment in interrupted by a clearing of a throat and both you and Betty turn around to see Gordon standing in the middle of the room.

“Y/n, I just wanted to ask questions – “

“I’m sorry Gordon, but we’ll have to do that tomorrow, if that’s alright?”

Betty cuts him off and Gordon only nods and smiles sympathetically at both of you before moving to converse with the other detectives. You clear your throat before asking,

“Uh – Betty, can I please go outside?”

“Y/n, you know what he – “

“Please.”

Betty mulls it over as you look at her with pleading eyes and she nods before extending a hand for you to help stand up. It takes a moment but as soon as you’re on your feet, you feel your legs wobble and you regret wearing heels tonight but you wrap your arms around your body and Betty guides you out of the front door, and the emptiness of the beige hallway and the starchy air causes you to properly breathe as you move towards a corner not swarmed with people – the window that faces the streets is the same. The distant sirens and cars sound the same, but it all feels so different.

Emerging footsteps rounding the corner of the hallway pull you out of your train of thoughts and you turn around to see -

“Bruce?” Your voice is feeble and his head snaps towards you – standing at the end of the hallway, dishevelled and you feel small under his gaze as he walks towards you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You should be surprised that that’s the first thing he says to you but you’re too focused on him that you don’t process the question. Somehow, the bags under his eyes are more prominent than Wednesday, he looks gaunter and his hair is almost as dishevelled as yours but the cuts and bruises on his face have faded now.

“Y/n.”

“Bruce I – “

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Bruce, I fucking tried, okay.” Your voice is snappy, and you’re surprised you have the energy for this.

“Remember the night I came to your house, and you fucking said you didn’t want me there? I came to tell you that I’ve been receiving letters from an unknown stalker and that I was fucking scared! But, no! I – “

You feel tears pool in your eyes, and you have to stop yourself from breaking down again. You cast your eyes down to the linoleum floors and there’s no response from Bruce or there isn’t a response until a voice calls out your name and you turn to see Jasmine standing at the entrance of the apartment.

“Jasmine!”

A wave of relief rolls over you as you quickly make your way past Bruce, towards Jasmine, whom you engulf in an embrace as soon as you reach her and let the familiar scent of warm agarwood overtake your senses.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jas.”

She’s taken aback at first but then pulls apart to reassure you,

“Y/n, please don’t say that. It’s okay, I’m okay, you’re okay.” She draws circles on your shoulder blades as she whispers, “We’re both here.”

You want to keep on apologizing, thanking and basking her presence but it’s cut short by de Vos rounding near the hallway and exclaiming your name – his Jersey accent boisterous.

“God damn it, kid, thought I was gonna have to punch some fucker’s face today.” In complete de Vos fashion, the man is still wearing his coat and gloves and his hair is gelled back and his enormous figure fills the door frame he’s leaning against and you follow the curve of his hooked nose and watch the deep-set lines of his forehead crease before wrapping your arms around him.

“It’s always good to keep you on your toes, de Vos.” Your voice is croaky still and you don’t know how you managed to crake a joke all of a sudden but the weight in your chest feels a little lighter now that you’re not stuck in the apartment anymore and surrounded by fewer police officers.

“Okay, if you’re ready to go now then we can head out – I’ve asked Gordon to arrange for a safe house for you to stay in for the night as we work out the safety details – “

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Bruce’s low voice causes the little circle (you, Jasmine, Betty and de Vos) have formed – to turn around and see his figure approaching yours.

“Bruce – “

“Oraine, I’m sure you’re aware of how safe Wayne Manor is, Y/n can stay there for the night.”

The conversation falls quiet as Betty silently assesses the proposition before nodding and you find yourself interjecting,

“Betty – “

“No, Y/n, he’s right,” She cuts you off and steps closer. “This time, please trust me.”

You can’t argue with her now – not while you feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on you, so you just nod and train your eyes back to the floor.

The rest of the trip down to the car is silent – besides from the uncomfortable weight that nobody addresses until you’re outside the building and the crisp air causes you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and the October breeze causes you to wrap your arms around your torso tighter split into cars.

“Right, me and de Vos we’ll go in that car, you and Bruce in his and Jasmine – “

“I’ll come with you guys, Betty.”

Before you can protest Jasmine leaving you alone with Bruce, they’ve all made their way to the car near the curb and you’re left with no option but to begrudgingly follow Bruce into his car – which had been haphazardly parked, almost climbing onto the sidewalk.

Neither of you say a word as you climb into the passenger seat and he buckles into the driver’s seat and you both drive in complete silence – except for your anxiety ridden heartbeat thudding in your chest. You watch the streetlamps pass by the dark shadows, the apricot orange light falls solemnly on the gravel roads and it invokes a sense of déjà vu in you, to last Wednesday and a humourless laugh almost escapes your lips but you manage to keep the silence – and it’s still stifling.

By the time, you reach the Manor, it’s almost 2:30 am on the digital clock in the car and Bruce stops the car and neither one of you makes a move to get out. Instead, Bruce puts his hand into his breast pocket and pulls out an envelope. It’s the same cream colour as the ones you received in the dressing room and the one, he gave to you tonight.

“Bruce?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you hesitantly take the envelope – your fingers shaking as you open envelope – the seal was already broken and your fingertips against the hoarse paper is the only sound you can hear – and you watch the moonlight frame shadows on Bruce’s face as he looks at you.

“What is this.”

A beat passes before he speaks.

“That night, uh, before you came to my house, Alfred gave me this letter that he found, and I read it and it said – “

“That ‘this is a warning to stay away from her’”, you completed his sentence, reading off the letter. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You know I’ve been asking you the same thing for the past couple of days.” His voice is oddly strained, and you pretend you didn’t hear what he said.

“You shouldn’t have told me to leave that night,” You don’t look at him when you say this, head looking out towards the window and the peak of sunlight edging off the horizon and you wait for him to say something.

“I know.” There’s a slight tone of bitterness in his voice but you don’t dwell it for long because his hands come out to guide your face towards his – his cold fingers resting gently under your chin, and a chill goes down your spine as you match his gaze.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t say anything, but you don’t make a move away from him either. “You know that I never want anything terrible happening to you and I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

A beat passes.

“I didn’t mean anything I said that day and I just didn’t know what to tell you.”

“Just like you don’t know how to tell me you’re Batman?”

You bite your lips in anticipation as Bruce’s eyes grow wide – his hold on your face disappearing and it takes him a second to process your confession.

“Y – You know?”

“Well, at least you’re not denying it.” You try to lighten the mood, but his face is still shocked. “Remember when I came over to your house for my 17th birthday? I heard you and Alfred talking about how you should be more careful on patrols.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you take your hand in yours and draw small circles on it before continuing.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to do anything stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“Like stop talking to me or I don’t know, erase my memory?”

“I can’t do that, you know.”

“Yeah, well I was scared and that’s why I kinda stopped talking to you after that visit.”

You intertwine his pinkie finger with yours and lift your joint hands above the console and he looks at you with a confused look.

“No more secrets after this,” You squeeze your hand. “Promise?”

He moves to press a light kiss against your temple before whispering

“Promise.”

Currently facing the large manor windows out-looking the gardens and entrance, you watch rain pour down copiously – making the view almost incomprehensible and a small frown makes it way on your face as you fidget around with the gold locket around your neck.

“Are you alright, miss?”

Alfred’s monotonous voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you look at him in confusion before he speaks up again.

“Master Bruce is in the study,” He studies you for a moment. “I though you would like to know.”

“Oh – yes, thank you.”

With a small nod in your direction, he turns around and you wait for the footsteps to fade away before you start to move away – on your way, you stop by the gold accented hanging mirror and adjust invisible creases in your dress – which was a soft pink, and off-the shoulder, before padding through the silent halls.

“Alfred says that you ‘seem sad’?”

Bruce doesn’t even lift his head when he questions you as you enter the study and watch the unnerving amount of bookshelves and sharp woodwork surround his hunched body over piles of papers in the corner of the room and you only roll your eyes as you make your way to the large, velvet armchair he was sitting at.

“Does he now?” You mutter under your breath – slightly embarrassed at the prospect of Alfred telling Bruce about your sadness over something so trivial.

“Well, are you sad?”

“I don’t know Bruce, am I?”

He doesn’t say anything but raises his eyebrow in response – at which you motion for him to move so you can make yourself comfortable in his lap – confined by the oak table in front of you and his arms wrap themselves around you as you burrow your head in his neck, enveloping yourself in the scent of his sandalwood cologne and body warmth.

“What happened?”

You incoherently mumble into his neck, which prompts him to nudge you and you slowly lift your head out and look at him with slightly red eyes and a pouty face.

“Love – “

“I really wanted to go out to the lakes today.” You hope he doesn’t hear you, but he does, and you can see his eyes light up in humour and he barely contains a smile as you shake your head.

“I had it all planned!” You start to move your hands as well now, making exuberant gestures to accentuate your point. “I was gonna bring these picnic blankets, and this wicker basket and I wore this dress and – and I made mini cherry pies and this fucking stupid rain just ruined your surprise.”

You finish off your rant by burrowing your head again and leaving Bruce with a small smile on his lips as he tries to get you to life your head, but you just shake your head and a small chuckle escapes Bruce’s lips and you let out a small whine.

“It’s not funny!”

“Certainly not.”

You raise your head to stare at him unamused as you watch him follow your movements before he asks,

“Are you going to be upset this whole evening?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, what would cheer you up?” His voice is bemused as you contemplate his words in your mind before scanning the expanse of the room before something clicks in your mind.

“Can you play me the piano?”, your voice is soft and barely above a whisper, and Bruce comprehends your request, playing the piano? It seems simple enough and Bruce is a little confused.

“Y/n, I don’t really – “

“Please,” You move your hands to play with the buttons on his shirt. “Remember, when we were kids, and we had those piano lessons and I was so fucking bad. Like really bad,”

Bruce smiles a little as you laugh at the memory.

“And Mr. Lebedev was a terrible teacher and I hated him, and you used to try and teach me, but I was so bad.”

“So?”

You don’t stop the eye roll before responding.

“So, can you play the piano for me because I can’t – and I’ll feel less bad if you do.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, before nodding his head and trying to stand up to leave but you stop him, motioning him to pick you up.

“If you can bench-press a thousand pounds, then honey, you can lift me up.”

There’s a satisfied smile on your lips as you picks you up with a roll of the eyes before walking across the room, towards the grand piano set in the room, facing the large windows.

“What do you want me to play?” He asks as you both sit on the leather bench,

“Anything you want.” You shrug in response as he concentrates on the piano, deep in thought before moving his fingers – shakily – over the keys, and a delicate sound fills the air as his fingers glide expertly over the piano and you hold in your breath without realising as he plays his mother’s song.

You can remember it quite clearly because every time, she would ask Bruce to play a piece, she would always ask for this one.

You don’t want to say anything to disrupt his concentration, so you only closed you eyes and moving to softly rest you head on his shoulder, the intricate melody tangent to the patter of rain against the window and it feels a little ephemeral, and you feel yourself melt a little sitting there – wrapped up in the quite atmosphere.

le fin

how was it? part 2?

[cobaincreates]

as it is

warnings: saddy sad sad, secretly hope i hurt you with this

count: 3k+

pinterest for the pic let me know what ya thinkin

i made a playlist for this!

— — —

every part of you despised the country club. you hated the food, you hated the people, you hated the money. you refused to partake in anything the members organized. like hell you’d show up for cocktails and meaningless conversations with people you didn’t care to know. you hated the snobs, the businessmen with sticks up their asses, the housewives with no names other than their husbands’. and you most certainly hated, loathed, despised midsummers. the one time you had actually enjoyed yourself was with someone who seemed so far away now.

your father was practically forcing you to go tonight just so he’d have a date. you knew how much it meant to him, to show up in support of his recent divorce from your step-mother, a woman who was a nightmare walking. after moaning and groaning about not wanting to go the night prior, you finally realized that you had to for him. your dad was your best friend and someone you always leaned on and went to for anything. growing up without a mom, or that motherly figure, was difficult in its own but your father had done a great job. you came home every night, ate dinner with him, had conversations that either had you crying of laughter or even more love for him. he really was your best friend.

the past few months had been hard. not even because of your dad, you felt for him, but you had your own dramas to deal with. on top of being a full-time student off the island and working part-time in a small boutique, you had been fighting an internal battle. it came along with a heavy dark cloud and one that constantly followed you around. now, being back home for the summer, it felt even heavier and seemed even darker than before.

your dad’s breakup had gone fairly smooth, and without a lawsuit thankfully. yours on the other hand felt as though it were still happening. each day you could feel your heart breaking more and more, like the dying organ was spreading rot throughout your body, making your limbs numb and cold. sometimes you had to close your eyes to find the faint beating.

you knew something was going on between you and rafe only a few weeks prior to the initial decision. your gut was telling you something was wrong whenever you spoke with him, either on the phone or in person. his college was close to yours, but still so far. you knew he had a life without you in it and you fully understood that and respected it. but one day it felt as though he had put you way farther down on his list of priorities than he ever had before and it didn’t sit right. you tried to ignore the growing mass in your gut the more you saw him, noticing small things like his eyes flicking away or how his hand felt limp in yours. usually he held it so tight like he was afraid to let go. but then it turned into you not wanting to let go. you still didn’t want to.

you still didn’t understand why he did it or what you had done wrong. he never said that he wasn’t in love with you anymore. the only thing close to an answer you got was that he’d still be your friend. you would’ve understood completely if he had said that he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, you would’ve totally let him figure it out himself– given him some time to think.

before you started to date rafe, he had a habit of keeping himself closed off. you understood it the best you could with being a young adult and navigating your mind. it took a while for you to finally get his trust, to get a good look at the inside of his brain. now it felt as if you were back at square one, like you were trying to knock down the hard exterior all over again.

as you got ready for the night you couldn’t help reminiscing on last year’s midsummers. rafe had worn a new tux and slicked back his hair, his face adorned with a gleeful smile. you didn’t let him get too into his head at the small conversations with his father nor did you let him lose himself in the free booze. you made sure to hold him up as best you could and to sway him from anything that might trigger his inner demons. it was a beautiful night and you remembered how he looked at you, so adoringly like he was the luckiest guy in the world, when it had been you all along with the luck.

you looked between a golden necklace, a thin chain with the northern star attached, and a silver one your father had gifted you for a birthday one year. running your thumb over the golden star, you couldn’t help leaning toward wearing it.

“what’s this?” turning around, you held the white box in the palm of your hand. your curious eyes met rafe’s as he looked up at you from a book he was reading. his arm slowly moved from behind his head as he sat up.

“i wasn’t supposed to be around when you found that.” he said, closing the book, and smiling sheepishly.

you blushed and broke out into a grin as you moved to sit by him with the box. “you weren’t going to propose in person?”

“i’m not proposing,” he rolled his eyes.

you hummed with a teasing grin and pulled the top off the box. rafe moved his legs over the side of his bed, brushing against you. he clasped his hands together between his knees as he watched you open the second box. your shoulders relaxed as a breath came out of your mouth, seeing a golden necklace perfectly placed, shimmering.

“rafe, it’s so pretty.”

he smiled at your reaction. reaching over, he maneuvered the necklace out of the box and unclasped it. you discarded the box in your lap and moved your hair out of the way as rafe brought it around your neck, letting it rest delicately. his hand rubbed down your back once it was secure, pressing a soft kiss into the hollow between your shoulder and neck. you looked up into his handsome face, breathing in the air and filling up with all of the love for him.

you clasped the silver necklace and moved from the mirror without looking over yourself. your father was waiting for you by the door, he had been ready to go for ten minutes, but he didn’t bother shouting up the stairs to get you to hurry up. you thanked him silently for your coat and walked out the door.

it sort of made you queasy to know that some of your father’s money was contributing to the event. the awning covered in vines and vines of ivy made you grimace. you quickly dropped it as your dad put a hand on your upper back, posing next to you with a bright smile. you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d meet a new wife tonight. maybe he’d finally give ms. conelly the time of day after years of her pining over him. it was so disgustingly obvious when she came over, offering his favorite dessert of lemon bars as some sort of flirtation device. it worked since she was invited into the house every time and you spent at least an hour and a half rolling your eyes in your room at their laughter floating up the stairs. you used to imagine your stepmother diving across the kitchen island and yanking ms. conelly’s extensions out. there was also a fight when the overly friendly neighbor left.

it wasn’t long before you were stationed at the hor d'oeuvres table, watching your father laugh with some of his friends. they each wore the same boring suit, just in difference colors or slightly different styles. you held in a yawn. you wondered if you looked ridiculous in your dress. subconsciously, you looked down to assess if anything was out of place or if the fabric was too ruffled somewhere. you tugged at it a little then your hand fell easily to the necklace. you turned the pendant over and over between your fingers, watching as a waiter carried a tray toward a group of blonde, identical housewives. you analyzed their diamond necklaces with their matching diamond rings and diamond bracelets. did they ever get tired of it?

you felt a pinprick at the back of your neck once you saw him. the whir of chatter and clinking glasses muffled as you watched him come through the doors onto the porch. the pinprick sent a ripple of tremors up your neck, to the back of your skull. your hands fell to the table behind you, leaning against it to remind you that you were here. you were solid matter.

this year he wore a light gray suit. you liked it much better than the god-awful baby blue one. you kept it to yourself how much you despised it. he looked very handsome and it made you want to tear your heart from your chest and plant it at his feet.

he molded quietly into a group where his father was, joined by his sisters and stepmother. you let out a breath the best you could and yearned for him to look at you. he was facing in your direction but preoccupied with a family friend. all it would take was for him to just lift his eyes, to see you there in your dress, one he hadn’t seen ever. you wondered if you looked as good as he did. would he think so? would it change his mind?

this was ridiculous, you were just going to go over there. you had known his family for years, they loved you, they loved your dad. would your father bring you over with him when he greeted them? he was too busy now talking to a former client, holding a shiny glass of scotch. you didn’t want to wait for him to stop his conversation. it wouldn’t hurt to just go over to rafe and his family.

you stepped forward but your movements faltered pathetically. you stepped back to the table and turned around, staring down at a plate of speared shrimp with tiny parsley leaves over them like blankets. other people moved around you, probably giving you odd looks for blocking the way to the food. your eyes blurred, the waterworks coming fast. you pushed from the table, slightly jostling it, and walked quickly to the restroom.

once inside the safety of the empty bathroom, you curled into a ball with your forehead on your knees. you didn’t care about the dress or if you would crease it. all you could think about was rafe and how he wouldn’t even look at you.

your sniffles stopped once you heard the door open. you sat up and breathed, wiping your eyes and hoping you didn’t look as bad as you felt.

sarah was standing outside of the stall when you unlatched it. your shoulders dropped and you welcomed her tight embrace, wondering when the last time you hugged her was. she pulled you to sit down on the puffy ottoman in the middle of the restroom.

“crying over crab cakes, huh?” sarah nudged your side. you laughed at the inside joke as you stared down at your lap. “you look great. i love your dress.”

“i’m sure i do.” you snorted and reached up to wipe under your eyes. you brushed off the mascara flecks from your fingertips. “happy midsummer’s.”

sarah smiled sympathetically and you couldn’t help your eyes watering again at her face. “i’m sorry,” she said, grabbing ahold of your hand in your lap.

“it’s fine.” you waved her off, knowing she meant about the person she shared the same blood with. “i guess i just wasn’t ready to see him yet. is that stupid?”

“no.” sarah shook her head as she looked intently at you.

“does he even miss me?” you asked. “he won’t even look at me. he probably doesn’t care that i’m here right now.”

sarah reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. she had always felt like a sister to you and you hoped she didn’t feel any differently now that you weren’t dating her brother.

“he said he wanted to be friends. he hasn’t even talked to me since we broke up.” you weren’t sure if sarah was just keeping quiet to let you talk or because she knew the answers to your questions. “i can’t stop thinking about him. god, it would be easier to be angry at him. i wish he came with someone else.”

“i’m sorry you broke up.” she said. you sniffed and gave her a sad smile.

sighing deeply, you sat up straight a second later. you partially felt better for getting a few things out to someone. you hadn’t really talked that much about the break up to anyone. your father was already dealing with enough and your friends were back in their own homes, miles and miles away. you felt like you sounded pathetic over the phone so you didn’t even bother.

sarah excused herself to use the bathroom and you waited for her. you washed your hands and wiped at your eyes, cleaning up the mascara that ran a little. nothing too major to give away that you had been crying. once sarah was out and had clean hands, she put her arm through yours and walked with you through the club then back outside.

sarah groaned once you got to the porch. “i have to go drag wheezie from the table. she’s always on her phone and if i don’t do it, my dad will be pissed. i’ll see you around?”

you smiled genuinely at her minuscule drama and nodded. she gave your arm a squeeze before bounding down the steps, her dress flowing behind her. you watched as she nudged wheezie, who ignored her, then as sarah snatched the phone from her sister’s hands and tossed it onto the table. wheezie quickly turned to her older sister and started to shout until she remembered where she was. you knew that the cameron sisters knew that if they caused a scene, all hell would break lose with ward, their father. he was all about his family’s image.

you stepped over to the railing, leaning against one of the pillars with your arms across your chest. looking over the crowding dance area, you saw your father dancing with ms. conelly. you had to stop the bile from reaching your throat. maybe she was nicer than your stepmother—ex stepmother.

you found rafe with a group of his friends closer to the tables. it was nauseating that they all had at least one hand in their pocket each. they could’ve been a boy band for crying out loud. rafe was laughing and you couldn’t hear him over the mass amount of chatter, but you knew which laugh it was. he was enjoying himself. at least he was happy. beside him, topper was sipping from a green beer bottle. a humorous hum erupted from your chest, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

you couldn’t stop giggling. it bubbled from your chest like champagne and disappeared into the fast moving air around you as you jogged onto the porch. you held an arm over your chest, stopping your boobs from bouncing too much, while your hand was clasped tightly in rafe’s. he stopped along the railing, propping himself against the pillar to breathe. you peered over at topper who was trying to contain his coughing fit.

rafe laughed, squinting his eyes shut. you two had escaped just in time from the boy who was trying so hard to flirt with cassie o’brien. from the sound of it, it wasn’t going well at all so you took it upon yourself to help topper out. you whispered to rafe for his hidden flask and snuck a bit into topper’s drink that he was holding. it was difficult at first since he talked a lot with his hands, but eventually you poured some of the liquor in and hid it as you went back over to rafe. it didn’t take long for topper to know what happened, his eyes finding you and your boyfriend before you ran like school children.

“he’s going to give us so much shit.” you said, shaking your head with a grin.

rafe settled, wiping the corner of his eyes. he pulled the flask from his pocket and held it up in cheers to topper, who was still shooting daggers your way. rafe took a swig then passed it to you. you took a sip, grimacing and shivering as the liquor passed into your system.

“i don’t even know how much i put in his drink.” you said as you handed the flask back. rafe laughed again, leaning toward you to put his head on your shoulder. his arms went around you, pulling you flush against him in a hug.

“god, i love you.” he said, bright eyes as he looked down at you.

you smiled before he kissed you sweetly, holding your face against his for a moment.

you hadn’t realized you’d caught topper’s attention until he disappeared from your sight. you reached for the railing with shaky hands, willing them to stop trembling.

“you look pathetic over here.” topper said from behind you. you looked over your shoulder as he walked over.

“thanks so much, topper.” you said in a feigned enthusiastic tone. he sighed deeply and glanced in the direction of where he previously was, where rafe still was. you didn’t bother looking over there. you found the chipped paint much more interesting than your ex.

“you don’t have to be over here.” you said. the last thing you wanted was rafe’s best friend pitying you. did rafe ask him to come over?

topper turned in your peripheral, leaning his hip against the railing, his hands on his pockets. “you’re my friend too.” he said. you picked off a piece of paint. it crumbled easily under your nail. “you’re not answering my texts.”

now you looked up at him. maybe he’d see why you hadn’t answered. he’d have to be an idiot not to know. topper was smart though and you knew that. he gave you a sympathetic look, much like sarah.

“why don’t you find a rebound or something?” topper suggested, hoping to lighten the mood. “there’s a whole lot of fresh meat here.”

you didn’t want fresh meat. you wanted old meat. you wanted the meat you had for the last two years. it was familiar. it was safe. you knew the taste. you knew what to expect when you took a bite.

“i wouldn’t do that to him.” you shook your head softly.

topper’s mouth twitched into a partial smile. his hand appeared on your shoulder before he pulled you into a hug. you hadn’t hugged topper that many times throughout your life. but this was nice. you wrapped your hands around his back, planting them flat on his shoulder blades. resting your head against his chest, you closed your eyes for a moment and just let it be.

“will you dance with me?” he asked after a long moment. you remembered where you were then, hearing the clinking glasses and loud voices.

you pulled away to look toward the party again. you spotted your father across the dance floor, no longer dancing with a pining middle aged woman. he caught your eye, a slightly raise of his eyebrows in question.

“maybe later, top.” you said and slid your arms away from him. you sent him a thankful smile as you went down the stairs to your dad.

“hey, kiddo.” your soft-spoken father said, reaching a hand toward you. you took it and let him pull you onto the dance floor for a slower song. “what’s going on?”

you looked up at his aged eyes from his plaid tie and smiled weakly. “it’s nothing, dad.”

“what’s wrong?” he prodded as your feet moved together. your father was always one to get you to talk things out, to let your feelings out. he always reminded you to just feel them, to let them come and go.

your eyes pricked with more tears and you quickly lay your head on his chest. he brushed your hair on the back of your head as you squeezed your eyes shut and begged the tears to go away. you needed to stop crying.

“i want to break up.”

“it’s okay to miss him.” you father said only for you to hear. you didn’t want to open your eyes because you knew that if you did, you’d see everyone else around you. keeping them closed and focusing on his voice kept you safe.

“i just don’t want this anymore.”

“it’s part of healing to miss him.” he continued. you tightened your arms around his shoulders, clasping your hands together.

“i still want to be friends.”

“do you miss her?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“sometimes.” he answered. “but we were different than you and rafe.” he hadn’t said his name since you told him the day you got home. you felt a tear slip down your cheek. “listen, i can’t tell you how long it’s going to take, but there’s going to be a day where you won’t feel sad about it anymore. i promise you won’t feel like this forever.” he pressed a kiss to your hair. “just keep doing what you’re doing, focus on school, focus on your friends, have fun, go out and meet someone new for the night.”

if you hadn’t been crying or in your feelings you would’ve rolled your eyes and felt a little uncomfortable at your dad encouraging you to have a one-night stand. but it felt good to hear the affirmations.

“it’s okay.” he said. “it’s going to be okay.”

[mydayserenade]

My Dear Starlight

Yunho x OC

rom, angst, fluff (???)

first time playing around w/ this kind of genre so apologies if its shitty

i suggest listening to Fix You by Coldplay cause it will definitely send you to sad hours while reading

"Do you remember the last time we went star-gazing? It was the night before I eventually confessed to you, we were lying on the grass and I was pretty much sleep deprived and alongside handling an empty stomach that was growling" he said and chuckled, reminiscing the sweet moment ever so vividly like it happened just yesterday. Yunho took his attention off the sky and watched silently as his fiance gaze the starry night without even noticing him staring at her like she was the brightest thing to ever exist as of the moment, which has always been a thing for them to do to each other... but mostly Yunho.

"I do dummy, can you believe it has been 5 years since then? Time flies so fast" Luna responded, leaning towards her right side to get a closer look at Yunho's visuals "And now here we are, engaged and a few months away from officially tying the knot." she giggled, toying with the necklace that he gave to her during their first anniversary and looked back at the night once more to admire it; the moon dawned on them like a bright spotlight, the sky was as blue as the deep sea, complimenting the shining stars that laced the sky, telling tales of long lost lovers which completed the visually angelic twilight that these two would share for hours.

Yunho looks over to his paramour with the endearment in his doey eyes and smiles ever so sweetly as she laid beside him, interlocking hands with one another and her hair that sprawled like beautiful waves; in a swift move he sits himself up and props Luna to lay down on his chest. Luna responds in a squeak, shocked by the sudden gesture her fiance did.

"Whenever you miss me" Yunho broke the silence between them and rested his cheek on the head of his soon-to-be Mrs. Jeong, she flinches as she felt his warm arms wrap around her chest, feeling his heartbeat going at a slow but steady pace.

"Um, where are you going with this?" she asked confusingly as Yunho snuggled on her neck, inhaling the delicate perfume that he oh so loved whenever she would put it on; he breathes in the intoxicating fragrance and lets out a satisfied sigh before he continued.

"It's just an intrusive thought" he replied and continued to snuggle, "but whenever you miss me while I'm away or when I suddenly get called by the House of Hufflepuff" he said jokingly in the last part, receiving a slap on the arm by her and continued on. "Look up at the night sky and think of me. My mom always told me that I had a special connection with celestial things most especially stars. I thought it was just nonsense she shared with me as a teenager but as I got older and took into consideration the feelings I had and enviroment or situations I was in, I did notice a few things that made me convinced that my mom was indeed right about her speculations." Luna was bewildered, all she could do was laugh. This was the first time she has ever heard of this story from Yunho considering the fact they've been together for 5 years, 24/7, 365 and he would often share his most atrocious memories; even his embarassing ones. She looked up at Yunho who was looking straight at her, showing how perplexed she was by her furrowed brows and confused grin.

"So you're telling me, God decided to make your bloodline 40% human and 60% celestial and as you age the more you feel connected with these things, will somehow tingle in your bones and signal you to shoot supernovas out of your hands like Starfire or some shit whenever it's nightime?" she asks.

"You're phrasing it like it's a crazy Sci-Fi movie Luna, I wasn't even finished." Yunho eyerolls and massages the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep sigh of annoyance. Luna enjoyed teasing him and seeing him all fired up; even if Yunho had a fierce exterior that people would be afraid of approaching, only few knew his childish side and how young at heart he was for things that he loved and took interest in.

"Go on continue, I was just annoying you." she giggles at the sight of him pouting and scrunching up his nose, Yunho takes a deep breath before he proceeds to the next.

"Eversince I was a little boy and when there were times where I had no one to play around with" Yunho looks up at the stars and grows a grin on his face as he points upward "they were always my companion and relate to how I was feeling. Whenever I felt happy, it would always blink at me, become bigger in size and blind me with its light; however when I felt sad, it would always shrink and release very little light. It would sometimes respond to the many queries I had and decisions by its blinking, it somehow felt like I had a mood lamp with me everywhere I go." he crooks his head to the right, scoffing at the many memories of him that flashed in his mind. "Even if I had no one to talk to at that time, as crazy as it sounds, the stars comforted me in a way that is unexplainable."

"It felt like someone understood the things you were going through like no one else has, almost as if you had an alternate you up in the galaxies." Luna looked up at how Yunho admired each white dot with the happiness in his eyes, looking so astonished like a little kid who just visited a candy store for the very first time. She now understood the many moments where he would suddenly look up the sky while driving, walking or even eating and just stare for seconds before eventually returning to what he was doing, almost as if he was thanking the heavens above or checking up on them like they were part of his family.

"You understand now? Whenever that time comes, just look up and I'm there." He whispers in Luna's ear, hands interlocking with hers and giving her a soft kiss on the head. Luna couldn't help but tear up by the gentle gesture Yunho did, the tale he had told and the thought of not seeing him for even a second. He was her rock and she was his, not a day would go by if they did not see each other in between the hours.

"I do Yunho, I do." she sits up and faces Yunho, cupping his face with her warm hands with Yunho gently caressing it and gives him a gentle kiss on the lips.

6 years later...

"I'm here" Luna whispered, standing in the middle of the silent and deserted park which was quiet enough to hear her; holding onto her precious necklace, she looked up the sky, admiring the white dots that scattered the sky. The stars were a bit different from normal, they were shining and twinkling more and more, almost as if it was calling out to her in morse code.

"You should really try and hide your excitement to a bare minimum, see this is why I never planned any surprise parties with you" she scoffed and sat down on the grass, closing her eyes and completely taking in the midnight breeze that brushed against her skin and blew on her hair. She lets out a sigh and toyed with the golden chain that was entangled on her fingers, feeling every abrasion and imperfection this necklace presented.

"You're probably wondering why I am here at 3 am in the morning" she said, fluttering her eyes to a vast field with streetlights surrounding it, "Awww man" Luna laughed, "You're most likely gonna kill me if I went out especially in this hour, well truth be told Mr. Jeong; are you battling me now with this cold gust of wind you blow?"

No one responds.

"I thought so too." she said under her breath as she hangs her head down, taking a deep breath before she continued to talk.

"I came here because I couldn't really sleep well these past few days and" she starts to choke up, sniffling and trying her absolute best to not break down, that's the last thing he would want Luna to do... especially in a time like this. "I don't know" she shrugs, rubbing her hands on her face. "I've been in my head too much, I've been emotionally unstable for the first time in a long time and I'm just" she suddenly pauses while a million thoughts circulates her mind. She urged herself to keep a strong and stable state for the past 6 years in front of friends and family, always say she was doing alright and all but deep down inside she was suffering the greatest loss of all and couldn't even bare to hold it in any longer.

"Yunho I'm so so so sorry" she lets out her tears, hysterically wailing on the field. She clutches her heart, completely lost her sense of reality and just wanted to scream out the pain and tiredness she has been holding on for the past few years, hiding behind a facadé so that people around her would not have to feel the burden that she might put on them. The countless nights of tear stained pillows and fake happy days were all weeped away at this night, she looks up at the skies; frozen and chanting swear words like a maniac.

"I'm sorry for not noticing sooner how much you suffered on the inside, for being such an asshole to you during those times and for not being enough of a friend and wife to you." she whimpered, losing all her might to prop herself up. In a graceful fall she lands on the grass, curled up, shiverring and clutching her knees amidst the cold breeze and moist grass under her.

"I'm a terrible person, I'm a fucking disgrace, and yet somehow I still exist in this world when it should've been you who is still alive. I tried my best to not worry you every night by saying I was doing okay, that I was living good and this and that, but for the past few days..." she closes her eyes and squeezes the pendant with her palm as tears streamed endlessly down her cheeks, "The wave of guilt just hit me harder than ever and I honestly am not so sure I can carry on this shameful life that only keeps me breathing."

From the day she knew up until his deathbed, Yunho never wanted Luna to see him at his worst neither did he want her to struggle and pity him, but his condition allowed Luna to see her beloved slowly succumb bit by bit. As much as she wanted to help him; he would always brush it off, plaster on his dimpled smile and please her in the best of his abilities and strength even if his state wasn't the way it was before. He did not want Luna to regret the moments she had with him and only fill her memories with the pain that he had felt and the hardships he's going through. She didn't agree to any of his ordeals but he had tried and persuaded her to commit to his wishes, in the end however; it would only lead to many arguements and her cursing him out. Eventually she caved in and did the best she could to seize the days, nights and hours with the presence of her one and only love yet deep down inside she was guilty of not helping with his condition and wanted to cater to his medical needs even if she had to travel miles away to get what he asks for.

"I respected your wishes, I carried on the many months with you with a positive outlook and a cheery personality. I was happy during those times I'll admit, because I was by your side everyday until the last second of you breathing, but at the back of my mind I knew I should've gone against what you wanted me to do and assist to your needs." she runs her hand through her hair, fuming at the thought of herself not doing her part during the days of Yunho's struggles. "You told me that I shouldn't feel guilty as this isn't my fault that you were diagnosed with this and it isn't my business to meddle around something like this, but goddamnit Yunho" she breathes uncontrollably as tears yet again pools in her eyes "I'm your fucking wife! I'm your best friend! I have been with you for as long as I can remember and I have made a vow to you that I'm gonna take care of you and nurture you when needed until our hair turns gray and we are all wrinkled." She bursts into annoyance and disappointment. None of what she did made perfect sense to her, all she wanted was to cry and rewind time so that she can make up for the past mistakes she's done and the many regrets she wanted to be erased in her mind. Luna didn't have the energy to continue on and she just lied in the grass, sprawled out and cried until her lungs gave out. She felt pain, she felt disappointment, she felt useless, she felt defeated.

A blinding light then hovers over Luna's exhausted and tearstained body, at first she did not mind this but as the light lingered on her for how many minutes now, she was irritated to this God-like halo that did not want to leave her be. She then slowly opens her eyes and was immediately welcomed to a soft, bright and white light that the moon shined on her, way different from the previous. The stars then aligned, creating a mystical ceiling that somehow calmed Luna's nerves and distract her away from her thoughts, it shined excitingly but twinkled in a calm matter. Luna was in awe at how much beauty the sky emmited, she had completely felt relaxed and wiped the tears that streamed down her face. She goes on to bask under the moonlight and stars, breathing in and out and feeling liberated and worry-free, something she has never felt ever since Yunho was put to rest.

"Now I truly understand what you meant." she mumbled, feeling lighter than ever. Luna then proceeds to put back her shoes on and did a flying kiss to the air multiple times before she left the park. "I think I know what I need to do now." she smiled and took a deep breath.

"Thank you for giving me something I never believed in but eventually found myself with you, love." she sighs lovingly as she gets up and moves towards her car. She takes one last look at the stars and glances down the necklace she has been holding. "Thank you for tonight, see you soonest, my dear starlight."

[pomegranates-and-blood]

ἀλήθεια (Chapter 1, Vοσταλγία AU)

ἀλήθεια Masterlist

Pairing: Freydis/Reader, Ivar/Reader (past)

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: The usual, plus like a lot of angst, a lot of it. (Sort of, I’m not very good with death/violence) graphic descriptions of death.

A/N: The first part of the AU of Nostalgia for Freydis/Reader! This is a deviation from Chapter 37, so beware for spoilers, and also...prepare for pain. Anyhow, I hope you like this!

She finds you sitting on that same clearing from so long ago, sitting almost in the same place. Only this time, you are twirling your wedding ring on your finger.

It is still clear as day, the memory of that time she found you praying on that small clearing, the mark of tears on your face doing nothing to diminish the fire in your eyes. She remembers, because that is the night she realized there was something more to you, something more to the way she saw you, something more to the way she felt greedy and possessive over your attention, something more to the way she felt about you.

Fitting, she supposes, that it was that night when you told her Ivar was forcing you to marry him. She never doubted something back then she called love -now knows better, and calls obsession, calls need, calls selfishness- was what made him bring you to Kattegat, and so Freydis wasn’t really surprised to hear he intended to make you his wife.

It still hurt. If she is honest, it still does.

She remembers what you looked like that night, the defeated edge and the anger and the desperation. She remembers what your hand felt like in hers, warm and tethering and hers. She remembers the way you lived up to the name they give you when you pulled promises of helping you escape from her lips, as if she were under a spell -and maybe she was, maybe she still is-.

And just like that night she approaches silently even though she knows you are aware of her presence, and just like that night her heart pulls in her chest.

Freydis is used to your pain, she is used to your anger; she has been a witness to both many times before.

But this, this is nothing like pain, nothing like anger. This is devastation, and wrath.

She never saw devastation quite like the one that is written in the way your spine isn’t as straight anymore, in the way your voice cracks and breaks and you still talk, in the way you tell her the Greeks were attacked, and they will be attacked again.

There’s a strange air around you, like all that is alive and warm comes to die willingly at your feet, like through the cracks of your broken heart seeps in all the warmth of the earth as if to try to heal it.

Freydis still sits by your side, shoulder to shoulder.

She asks by whom.

And she can’t help but think she has never actually seen wrath before, not until now, not until she sees the gentleness in your eyes fade away in but a breath, not until your expression -always so honest, so alive- gives in to nothingness, not until she hears none of the usual warmth when you say Ivar.

And she realizes maybe it isn’t willingly that the warmth comes to die at your feet, but that your touch that has given so much is also capable -willing- to take it all, even life; and maybe it isn’t a soft heart needing the earth to tend and mend it, but it is the woman that had wars started and ended in her name -for a chance at her love- that demands the world pay for the mistake of trying to break her.

Many times she has looked at you and thought of the spring you always spoke so fondly of. She thought of warmth and gentle breezes and flower crowns.

She looks at you now and thinks of the rage of a storm clouding the skies and ravaging the warm earth with strikes of hail and lightning, she thinks of thorns and poison ivies and vines wrapped tightly around the throats of the undeserving, and yet in the devastation and the wrath there’s still you.

And she reaches for your hand.

You hold hers back so tightly she still feels the ghost of your touch when you’ve left her behind, your back straightened once again, but your eyes dead -so dead, so unlike yours- when you go to face the King.

____

She waits for the world to shake and tremble, she waits for Kattegat’s streets to be a swirl of madness as they did when you were made queen, she waits for word to spread of how the queen has died at the hands of her husband.

She waits, but nothing happens. The earth isn’t split in two, even though she knows you are.

A part of her, a part of her that grows stronger with each passing moment since you left that clearing, begs her to go to the longhouse. She knows she could never kill him -but she wants to-, she knows she couldn’t even try to fight him -but she needs to-.

She doesn’t want to leave you alone.

Night falls, and she tries sleeping, even if her body feels jittery and something in the back of her mind reminds her why she always found ways to hold on to small bits of control. Because there is men like him, and there’s monsters like him, that are willing and able to take everything from her, in ways that are worse than she ever imagined, in ways she can do nothing against.

She stands in front of you, watching you as you carefully finish braiding together a wreath of flowers. The distant door to the longhouse is forced open, and your hands still.

“My love, where are you?” He calls out, and Freydis watches, unable to move, as you close your eyes where you stand and take a deep breath. A cleansing breath. A last breath.

The wreath of flowers falls from your hand.

You start walking, and it feels as if thick vines trap her, but she still fights, she still tries reaching you, pleading with you not to go.

“I’m here.” You tell him, eerily calm.

“Come here,” Ivar calls, still slightly manic, still lost and erratic as big eyes look over you. Freydis takes steps twin to yours, but feels like she is watching from afar when he extends a hand, “I need you.”

Freydis cries and pleads, screams and rages, but neither of you listen. She wishes you could just listen, because…she knows how this tale goes, she knows how this ends.

He kisses you, and for the first time she wishes that kiss to never end. His hand caresses the side of your face, and for the first time she pleads he holds you close and you let him.

But he turns you around in his grip, your back to his chest, his nose buried in your hair as he whispers something Freydis can’t hear, but that she knows doesn’t matter. Won’t matter.

Because she knows what happens now. She doesn’t know how, but she knows.

And all she can do is watch.

The scream is caught in her throat as she watches pull tight at the metal cord, choking you. You both fall to the ground, but it is Freydis who breaks.

You fight, of course you do, and she claws and tears at herself trying to reach you, trying to save you. But she can’t, and your neck bruises and bleeds, your body loses its strength, and your gasps and whimpers fade to nothing.

You fade to nothing.

There’s a deafening moment of silence that follows the moment she realizes you are no longer in this world, a moment where she realizes there is a world without you and she is stuck living in it, a moment where at the fading of your voice and your laughter it feels like it is the rest of the world that has died instead.

She watches, frozen and trembling, as Ivar sits up. Her stomach churns at the way your head lolls lifelessly at the movement. She wants to scream, she wants to fight, she wants to…Gods, please, anything but this.

Shaking fingers move your hair away from your face, but Freydis cannot focus on how that makes her feel sick, and the king’s body is shaken by cries that sound more like a wounded animal’s than a man’s, but Freydis cannot find it in her to think it fitting for a monster.

No, all she can focus on is the metal around your neck. It looks so much like chains.

You died with chains around you. She remembers your voice, quiet and warm, telling her about the thing you feared the most about death; and she has to look at your dead body and remember she will never hear your voice again, and that she failed at keeping you from dying how you most feared: chained.

She wakes up screaming, and blindly stumbles out of the room, towards the entrance of the home. She has to find you, she has to-…

“She won’t die, child of Freyja,” A voice behind her says, and she turns around with a gasp, finding a woman sitting on one of the flimsy chairs with all the poise of who sits on a throne. Her blind eyes feel all-seeing as the woman tilts her head to the side, so reminiscent of…you. “Her death isn’t his to have.”

The woman smiles, and only then Freydis notices the way her full lips are stained with a shade of red that looks sweet.

She blinks, and the wooden roof of her bedroom greets her. She closes her eyes, clutching the pendant that hangs from her neck, and tells herself everything will be alright.

She was always a good liar, after all.

____

“Tomorrow, there will be-…I will be dead tomorrow,” You explain, and though Freydis feels her heart squeeze in her chest, you speak too calmly to be considering your own death. A deep breath, and, “A thrall, she…she looks like me, she will be dead in our-…in his bed come morning. Ivar will know it’s not me, of course, but…tis not something one survives, leaving Ivar the Boneless, everyone knows that.”

Freydis bites back words -accusations, really- that you are still protecting him, protecting his pride, his image, his reputation. That you are still trying to find a way to spare him the pain.

You breathe something that in a life before this could have been a chuckle, but now only sounds bitter and broken.

“Kattegat will see its queen die, I’m sure that surprises no one. Especially with a…a foreign witch on the throne of a realm she never belonged to.”

“You’re leaving.” The shieldmaiden states, instead of replying to your strange and manic words. Freydis is almost grateful she speaks, because she knows you would have kept on talking.

You meet Valdís’ gaze and in your eyes shines what in a weaker woman would be desperation. But all Freydis sees is determination, and relentlessness, and the stubbornness of something warm and alive trying to survive the winter.

“I have no choice. These are my people, he-…I need to return to those who are still alive. If I wait any longer…if I wait, I may not have life or freedom to make this choice, Valdís,” You raise your chin, but the tears clog your throat and make your voice break. Still, you push on, a rueful smile on your lips, “You know to me there isn’t a difference in losing either.”

The shieldmaiden nods, what Freydis would swear are tears shining in her pale eyes, and embraces you tightly. You barely move to return the embrace, and she has a feeling she understands why.

“I love you, witch. May we meet in the life after this one.”

You look up at Valdís broad frame, and your expression trembles, your breath trembles past your lips in a sob you mask in a pitiful and bittersweet laugh that whispers what you cannot, it won’t happen, not to us, Valhalla and the Underworld will never be one and the same.

“If my mother-…if you ever meet Sieghild, if she returns here,” You close your eyes as you step back, “Tell her I couldn’t survive till the spring. Tell her I love her, and that I hope her Gods and mine keep her.”

Valdís nods her head again, the clear tell of gritted teeth as she looks away from you.

You approach Freydis, and she sees some of your resolve crumble, as if the goodbye hurts you as much as it would hurt her.

“Freydis…”

“Don’t say goodbye,” She advises you, stepping forward. “I am not leaving you alone.”

Your lips part, something quite close to a sob leaving your throat. Still, you shake your head. Stubborn woman.

“N-No, Freydis, I can’t...I can’t ask this of you.”

It is foolish, since you remind her now more than ever of the skittish and distrusting woman that was first brought to Kattegat; but Freydis still reaches forward, grasps your hand in hers.

“Wherever your Gods or mine take you, I shall be at your side,” She vows, as quietly as she can, looking directly into your eyes. Her mind was made long before she even told you those words for the first time. “I swore by it. You aren’t alone.”

You return the hold of your hand on hers, and that is all the answer she needs. With nothing but the clothes at her back and an amulet of Freyja hanging from her neck, Freydis leaves it all behind.

____

She feels like you have been on the run for an eternity, it feels like her legs burn from days of walking, and her body is being pulled to the earth by unseen vines wrapped around her.

By the way you lean against a tree and take careful breaths, she would think you feel the same. But then she catches the faraway look in your eyes as you look back at the direction you came from, and even if you are so far now from Kattegat that this isn’t even considered its border anymore Freydis knows to you it feels like it is still behind you, breathing down your neck.

You meet her eyes, and she doesn’t hesitate to straighten her back and motion for you to continue walking. She doesn’t mind walking for as long as she has to, not for you.

You find a hunter’s camp near the city you say the Greeks had settled at, and you silently agree to spend the night there.

Before the dim fire you two are able to start, Freydis sits and watches the shadows battle the light of the flames, darkness and light, life and death, fighting for the bigger portion of your soul.

The tears make a silent trail down your cheeks as you twirl the golden ring in your hand. The engraved flowers seem to mock you, standing out even more now that the ring is dirtied and muddied from days on the run.

“Did I make a mistake?” You ask her, big eyes filled with a mix of nostalgia and hope she is so used to seeing in your gaze, but that now more than ever, maybe because so much has changed and so much remains the same, it breaks her heart all the more.

And she doesn’t have an answer to give you. She wishes she could tell you coming back would be the right choice, that there’s more waiting at your back than whatever you are facing now. She wishes she could tell you that it was the right choice to leave it all, that you belong to Greece and that there is hope to be found after all that has happened.

But she can’t do either of those things, because she doesn’t know.

And how she wishes she did, if only to make the lost look in your eyes disappear, if only to somehow protect you from the desperate and broken hope that makes your breaths shallow.

“Do you think you did?” Is what she asks instead.

You meet her eyes, unwavering. And shake your head.

Your answer breaks you further than any of hers could, and your face crumples in pain.

It isn’t just the fear of them finding you what keeps you quiet, it is grief cutting any sound from leaving your throat even as you bow your back and part your lips in a scream. The rage and the pain threaten to break you at the seams, and desperate hands clutch at your hair, your own arms wrapped around you as you fold in over yourself, as if to keep yourself together.

All Freydis can do is put her own arms around you, bring you close to her and let you shake and cry and break.

Your breaths never find a regular pattern, scattered and shaking, more labored and pained whenever your hands tighten and you feel the press of that damn ring against your skin. You never lose the tension in your frame, not once in the whole night does your pain leave you for long enough to let you rest, you hold yourself tightly and desperately under your own control.

You tell her it hurts, you tell her you have been torn apart, and the way your voice breaks and shakes around the shape of her name makes her wish she had anything other than quiet and warmth to give you.

When the first rays of the new day try piercing the darkness of the forest around you, there’s a defeated kind of resilience to the way you stand up and walk away.

She moves to follow, but you tell her to stay and rest, and that you will return soon.

When you do, there isn’t a ring in your finger anymore.

____ ____ ____

So, what do you think?

Ivar attacking the Greeks is something I considered a lot for the plot of Nostalgia, but it was something so unforgivable that I couldn’t put in the main story, so here goes. I hope you like this Freydis, and idk, that you like the pairing. Of course they won’t get there anytime soon cause Reader truly loved Ivar and is going to have to grieve that relationship, but I like these two together, a lot.

Enough rambling! Please let me know what you think! Also, if you don’t want to be tagged in this AU, lemme know! I know Freydis isn’t for everyone, so feel free to ask me to take you off the list for this one! Love ya!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​ @peachyboneless​ @1950schick​ @punkrocknpearls​ @ietss​   @itsmysticalmystery​ @revolution-starter​ @chibisgotovalhalla​ @the-a-word-2214​ @fae-sedai​ @crazybunnyladysworld​   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside​ @aprilivar​ @msrawog​  

[otonymous]

Time After Time: Victor’s Firsts (MLQC NSFW Headcanon)

Hey everyone!  

Thanks to all who voted in my Twitter poll to see whose NSFW “Firsts” headcanons they wanted to read next. 💕Victor was the undisputed victor (haha!) over Kiro, so I hope you all enjoy my longest headcanons to date...ALL 18 MINUTES OF IT! (these totally got out of hand, for whatever reason LOL) 😵😆

Warning: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language - reader discretion is advised.

Naughtiness ensues after the cut!

A Time To Learn: Your Relationship With Victor:

A battle of wills and wits that gradually blossoms into a relationship founded on mutual trust and admiration, learning and growth

Your relationship with Victor isn't easy, especially at the beginning when you are learning about each other and how to mesh with one another — it will be a hard-won love, but one that’s absolutely worth the payoff in the end

Victor is very logical, pragmatic, stubborn, domineering and - especially at the beginning — overprotective (tends to withhold information from you if he feels it would hurt or harm you in any way).  While his intentions come from a good place, it will annoy you to no end to be sheltered like this

But as the relationship progresses and Victor comes to fully understand that you are a grown woman capable of holding her own and making her own decisions, he will gradually cease this type of behaviour  

Initially, it will be hard for you to know where you stand because of Victor's reluctance to let his poker face slip and reveal his emotions.  But when you finally see him crack a smile, or hear the soft chuckle of his deep laughter followed by a muted exclamation of “dummy” or “idiot,” you’ll feel like you’ve won the lottery, becoming addicted to doing whatever you can to see the corners of those lips tug up when he thinks no one is the wiser

When you first defy him, Victor is pleasantly surprised: he's used to getting his way personally and professionally because his overwhelming presence, business acumen and instinct usually lead him in the right directions, so he has rarely ever encountered opposition.  While he is initially taken aback by your bravado, he’ll find your attitude refreshing, amusing even.  His cock will too (more on this later) 😆

This is the type of relationship where one person fills in the gaps of the other: you'll soften Victor’s hard edges, temper the manner with which he interacts with others, and make him laugh harder than he ever thought possible.  You are the figurative sunshine in his life, the warmth he has been missing for so long.

On the other hand, Victor lends you his unflappable confidence, his expertise and experience, the will to stick to your guns and really fight for the things you want.  He is your safe haven, champion and protector.

Talk is cheap for Victor, who prefers to show love and affection by way of action: brewing medicinal soups when you’re sick (with a spoonful of caramel pudding at the ready to chase away the bitter aftertaste), tucking a cozy throw over you when you’ve fallen asleep on the sofa yet again, cooking your favourite foods when he knows you’ve had a rough day, waiting outside your office in the pouring rain to drive you home when he knows you’ve forgotten your umbrella

He also loves to high-key spoil you: whisk you away on his private jet for spontaneous weekend getaways at Lake Como or Bali, beautiful bouquets arranged on your desk Monday mornings at the office just because, an impromptu Champs-Élysées shopping excursion when you mention needing a new winter coat…THAT BLACK CARD THOOOO

Victor is a steadfast lover: reliable, responsible and always, always there when you need him.  He is your rock, a solid foundation from which you are emboldened to jump and reach for the stars…forever knowing he will be there to catch you if you fall

He often anticipates your needs, sometimes even before you realize them.  And as your relationship progresses, the ways in which he offers help will become less overbearing and more sensitive to your feelings and your right to make an informed decision

Victor is most expressive in the bedroom.  For all his emotional reservedness in his everyday life, the passionate nature he keeps buried deep inside is finally given an outlet through sensual pleasures

As with everything else in his life, lovemaking is serious business for Victor.  He is an intense lover who wants to be the very best, the one to erase even the tiniest shreds of whoever came before him.  He needs to leave his mark on you, physically and emotionally.  Even if he wasn’t your first, he’d be damned if he’s not your last.

Ever the epicurean, Victor is the pussy-eating champion.  Thoroughly devoted to exploring you orally, the man would go for hours if you’d let him, taking care not to miss a single inch of trembling flesh.  Obsessed with numbers, Victor is not satisfied to move on to something else until he’s given you multiple orgasms with his tongue alone.

The man is humming(!) in pleasure as he eats: lips, chin and cheeks shiny with your arousal and his spit.  This will be the only time you see Victor with less than impeccable table manners

Victor considers it a point of pride and responsibility to bring you to your climax well before he reaches his own

The man also loves to see you in elegant silks, satins and lace and will surprise you with the most beautiful lingerie

In all honesty though, garter belts, stockings, stilettos and nothing else are this man's jam when he really gets down to business

Needless to say, Victor’s super fit and muscular physique translates to stamina for days...

The First Kiss:

Having spent an exhausting day ironing out the minute details of your proposal with Victor, you slump onto the leather sofa in the corner of his office, meaning to take a 5 minute power nap to recharge while Victor leaves the room for a bathroom break

“The man is a machine…” you think to yourself, stealing a quick glance at your phone before the weight of heavy eyelids finally shepherds you to slumber: 9:15 pm

You are out cold.  Dead to the world.  You don't even hear the click of the door as it opens, or the soft approach of polished Oxfords when Victor quietly crouches to bring his face level with yours, gazing at your sleeping form, undisguised tenderness completely transforming that stoic visage

Victor is smiling, one large hand curling into a loose fist before it rises to cover his mouth — the side of his index smoothing over his cupid’s bow in an unconscious bid to satisfy the desire for physical contact

Jet black eyes sweep from disheveled hair to the delicate silver chain around your neck, pupils widening as they trace the line of your collarbone upon which the sapphire pendant lay

Then…slowly….as if caught in the pull of some hypnotic tide, Victor moves even closer, Adam’s apple prominent in his throat as he swallows.  Paying no heed to the heat gathering beneath an increasingly tight collar, the man continues studying your face, intent on mapping every smooth contour onto his mind for posterity

It is only when he feels the warmth of your breath on his cheek that he stops, breaking out of his trance and mentally chastising himself for almost losing control.  For losing himself in the sight of your soft lips parted in slumber

Just when he makes to stand and cover you with his suit jacket, your eyes fly open to lock onto his

Time stops.  Lost in the intensity of the gaze, neither of you dare to even breathe, let alone speak, lest the sanctity of the moment is broken

The sheer proximity of Victor Li has you captivated: cedar wood and pine wafting subtle from burning skin, long lashes softening dark eyes that blazed with hunger, lips that trembled ever so slightly with longing until you couldn’t help but become famished for just one taste…

And before you can even make sense of what you’re doing, you've propped yourself up on one elbow, bridging the gap between your lips and his — plush, soft and slightly parted

Victor’s eyes widen for a moment, a thousand different emotions silently brewing inside that busy mind until the slide of your tongue into his mouth blankets the chaos with a quiet calm.  Only then does the LFG CEO yield completely to the warmth of your lips and the fire in his soul, eyes closed as he finally allows his body to take what it wants, what it has yearned for since the day you challenged him

And when he gets to this point, Victor's kiss deepens, becoming more and more aggressive until you’re forced to pull back for a bit of air before diving in for a second round

Confession Of Love:

This man is not the type to throw the word “love” around lightly, so when he tells you he loves you, he MEANS IT.  It’s not lust.  It’s not like.  It’s a Ride or Die type of commitment.

Victor Li leaves very little to chance.  The first time he tells you he loves you, he will have planned it…WAY in advance

The man knows timing is everything (haha!) and will choose the very special occasion of your birthday to make his confession

He rearranges his work schedule (and yours) for the special day, flying you out to Paris on his private jet

At exactly 1:14 pm, he’ll present you with your gift at the very top of the Eiffel Towel: a ladies’ version of the Patek Philippe timepiece he himself wears

The back will be engraved with both your initials and the numbers 1-3-1-4.  You'll start shaking the moment you see it.

1:14 pm, 13:14, 1-3-1-4: all essentially meaning "forever" when pronounced in Chinese

Honestly, it will feel like a proposal and in a sense, it is: once Victor is absolutely certain about someone, he will never let them go.  His love is for life.

You are absolutely speechless, hands trembling so hard that Victor has to hold them steady before he slips the watch onto your wrist

Then, after taking a moment to savour the sweetness of having a shared token of love, Victor bends to place a kiss on the back of your hand, the most tender look in his eyes when he finally looks up to say, “I love you.  Happy birthday.”

Doesn’t that sound much nicer than "dummy"?! 😆

The First Night

Despite all the impossible deadlines Victor sets for you in the course of your professional collaborations, the man is incredibly patient when it comes to matters of the heart

Until Victor tells you he loves you, he will not have sex with you (much to your horny chagrin)

This is actually specific to you and not his personal code of conduct per se.  In the past, the man has had no problems bedding women he’s had, at most, lukewarm feelings for

But YOU are a totally different breed, worlds apart from the starlets and socialites that threw themselves at his feet

Victor is fascinated by your honesty: the frankness of your words, your artless behaviour.  Mesmerized by the fact that he can read you like an open book (which is why he is so keen on protecting you from those who would use that to their advantage).  Touched by the genuine kindness and consideration that guides much of what you do.  Impressed by your tireless spirit in fighting for the people and things you care about

In short, he has never met another person quite like you, especially in the cut-throat world of business and high society where he has learned to excel — a place where poker-faced people keeping their cards close to their chests are the norm and not the exception

Holding out on sex is as painful and torturous to Victor as it likely is to you; the man is incredibly attracted to you, and has been since the day you dared to challenge him to secure funding for your company.  Deep down, Victor knows you had him ensnared the moment he saw the fire burning in your eyes (not like he’d ever tell you though LOL)

And each time work brought you before him, the man couldn’t help but notice something new to admire: the way your hair fell in soft wisps — begging to be gently tucked behind the shell of your ear, the captivating flutter of lashes as tired eyes blinked back fatigue, the pleasing lilt of your voice even as you laced your words with sarcasm

It wasn’t long before Victor found his thoughts drifting to you, haunting his nights and sneaking up on him during the day…especially when he was in the shower, eyes closed and moans amplified in the wet heat as his large hand reached down to stroke the length of his cock — imagining your legs wrapped around his waist, your tongue nimble on his shaft

In spite of all this pent-up tension, Victor doesn't rush into sex because he wants things to be done right.  You are the most important person in his life and he feels the need to eliminate any possibility of things going wrong

In short, he won’t treat you like the women who came before because there’s absolutely no comparison: no one has ever made him feel the way you do

That being said, it doesn’t mean you and Victor won't get up to some extreme heavy-petting: grinding on his lap in his Bugatti, palming him through his dress pants at the office, a hand slipped beneath your skirt when you’re bent over wiping kitchen counters at Souvenir as payment for your meal  

So when Victor gives you the ultimate birthday gift of finally telling you he loves you, the two of you are hightailing it back to your penthouse suite at the grandest hotel in Paris, bodies already flush against each other and kissing as the French do in the privacy of an ascending elevator

BUT Victor is the king of deliciously unhurried love making.  It is his preferred modus operandi.  After all, the man really knows how to enjoy the finer things in life: food, wine, your body and every single reaction of bliss that can be teased out of it.

You can bet that Victor will fuck you nice and slow and thoroughly.

PREPARE TO BE PAMPERED LIKE A QUEEN

Strains of Duke Ellington & John Coltrane's “In a Sentimental Mood” are being piped through built-in speakers as Victor approaches you from behind, notes of pine and cedar accompanying the heat of his body, wafting in gentle waves to make the fine hairs of your skin stand on anticipatory end

And as you watch the sun kiss the horizon through a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows — orange rays setting the Eiffel Tower ablaze in a sea of luminous fire — fingertips are trailing up your bare arms, Victor gently gathering your hair to sweep it over one shoulder before pressing his lips to the nape of your neck, eyes closed and inhaling deep, trying to hold on to the subtle sweetness of your skin

His hands, incredibly dextrous despite their size, easily tease apart the knot of your halter dress and you tremble under the intensity of his gaze over your shoulder as they watch satin trace every curve  — your dress dropping to pool on cool marble at your feet

There is something especially exquisite about seeing the City of Light laid out before you as you’re slowly laid bare by Victor.  And just when you start to blush at standing stark naked before the fully clothed CEO, he places your hands on his chest, seductive command permeating that deep voice when he says, “Undress me.”

Sliding your palms over the broad expanse of his pecs, you palpate the rhythm of his heart, caress the lines of hard muscle beneath that perfectly starched dress shirt  

By the time your fingers are unbuttoning his collar, his Adam's apple is already bobbing in his throat, the deep breaths he’s drawing to rein in desire amplifying the rise and fall of his chest

When the last button is undone, the sight of Victor’s gloriously perfect torso erodes the last of your frayed patience and you’re practically tearing the shirt off his muscular arms, wrestling with his belt.  And although you are dying inside from your lack of finesse, Victor is secretly thrilled that you want him that badly.  Full marks 😆

Finally….finally….that beautiful body is revealed in all its glory: sculpted from innumerable laps in his olympic sized pool and so genetically blessed below the belt that your mouth is watering at the sight

BUT FIRST, a bath!  Blue balls be damned, Victor Li will enjoy this moment to its fullest.  He knows that a slow seduction can build up to the most explosive sex.  Clearly.

The man will absolutely insist on bathing you, don't even try to fight it.  He gets an acute sense of satisfaction from taking care of you in every sense of the word.  Also, there’s nothing quite like the slippery slide of his hands all over your body

Step into the marble infinity tub and lay back against his broad chest.  Soak in the warm waters as you take in the view of the city around you, the peony-scented candles, the white-petaled orchids…all meticulously planned by the man soaping you from behind, gentle hands exploring

Lose yourself in his touch: fingertips trailing after bubbles that glide over the swell of your breasts, large hands submerging to wrap around your waist until they cross at the navel, moving down to rub languid circles between your legs until you tremble — Victor’s lips finding yours when your head falls back against his shoulder in bliss

And when you reach behind to feel him - long, hot and hard  - his soft groans will drive you to the precipice of madness until you’ve got him sitting on the edge of the tub: face a mask of ecstasy to feel your lips on him, your greedy mouth never seeming to get enough of his delicious flesh

Best believe that Victor almost has a heart attack when you let him slip from your mouth when he begins to twitch, observing him with innocence in your eyes as you pump him to completion, teasing the tip of his cock with your hardened nipples while he coats your chest in his release

The man is DONE when you finally look down at your breasts as if surprised, gathering up his cum with the tip of your index and bringing it to your lips for a taste, coy smile blooming all the while on your face

Jaw tightens.  Cock hardens.  And suddenly the world around you slows to a stand-still as you’re lifted so quickly you barely have time to think before his hands are coaxing your legs around his trim waist, your body wet and slippery against Victor’s as he carries you to the bedroom

Laying you upon the king-sized bed, Victor’s lips seek the heat between your thighs — lapping fast, tasting slow, drawing out slick pleasure to coat his tongue and wrench his name from somewhere deep in your throat

Nothing gets Victor Li hotter, faster, than the sound of your voice, desperate and needy for him.  The man is addicted to it.  You can bet he won’t be emerging from between your legs until his cheeks and chin are so shiny it’s obscene, and you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve convulsed against his fingers and tongue, orgasms bleeding one into the other like sweetly turbulent waves

And when he finally rises — your flavour faint on his tongue as his lips find yours — he’ll swallow your moans as he finally pushes into you: gradual, gentle, savouring every searing twitch of muscle adjusting to the welcome intrusion of his long, thick heat

Hips moving fast, swaying slow…pelvis grinding in circles to hit your clit because he can’t get enough of the way you shudder against him, or the sting of your teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulders (mark him up, Victor LOVES it)

EDGING: Victor will hit that spot with expert precision over and over again till you’re on the verge of exploding…only to pull away, rhythm slowing to a grind to leave you hyperventilating and dizzy with need as this torturous pattern repeats

When he finally lets you (and himself) come, you are a sweaty, screaming mess, nails scratching to leave crimson welts on Victor’s back that will make the man smile to see in the mirror the following morning

Victor likes to remain buried deep within you for a bit after his release, holding you in his arms as he peppers you with kisses: on your lips, cheeks, forehead and eyelids

Afterwards, you can bet that the CEO will have a full spread delivered to the suite, where the two of you will spend the rest of the evening feeding each other in bed in between rounds of passionate lovemaking.  Remember?  Victor has stamina for DAAAAAYYYYYSSS and has to make up for lost time 😂

⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱

Thanks so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[cno-inbminor]

a/n: drabble dump time aka random stuff i just felt like writing! ft. spy!au, iwaizumi x fem!reader. all characters are aged up. 

warnings: description of an explosion, presumed reader death, unedited. mainly angst

It’s not often that Iwaizumi wakes up like this, drenched in sweat, chest heaving, and lungs screaming desperately for oxygen. Anyone can agree that it’s never fun to wake up to a damp pillowcase and sheets that stick to skin, yet here he was, experiencing just that. What pisses him off more than anything is the fact that he knows the exact reason why he’s been acting this way. He knows the reason and yet, he’s unable to do anything about it.

When he shuts his eyes again, the vivid nightmare plays on his eyelids like the screen of a movie theatre. His vision fights to discern details through the smoke and dust, his ears are ringing from the blast, his feet stumble over broken concrete and cobblestone, his hands tremble in their hold on his spare pistol; he’s searching, pleading to an unknown force, that you’re around here somewhere.

He brings on hand up to use the collar of his shirt as a temporary dust filter. His choice of weaponry has never felt so heavy before, but he was trained to fight against the strain and the odds. You always stand back up. When you have no choice but to run, run. This was one of those moments where he’d be advised to run.

“Damn it, where the fuck are you?” Iwaizumi curses to himself, trudging through the half-collapsed building to find any sign of you. You had been too many meters away from him and out of his sight when the blast happened. There was no way for him to determine just exactly where it had come from, especially when the licks of flames behind were only growing higher and higher towards the skies. He was on a countdown to find you and get you safely to the rendezvous point, something he never thought he’d have to worry about.

He decides to take his chances and yells out your name, his voice cracking and breaking as the dust scratches at his throat like nails on a chalkboard. Gritting through the pain, he calls out again, looking in every possible direction. The earpiece in his right ear comes alive, static crackling before a familiar voice comes through.

“—jime, can you hear me? Hajime?”

“Fuck, yeah, I’m here, Kenma,” he bites, eyes still flitting everywhere.

“Are you okay? Where’s (y/n)?”

“Really fucking beat up, and trying to find her right now. I can’t see shit though.”

“Tooru’s coming around to the rendezvous point in three minutes and you need to be there. Local police and firemen are already on their way, we have to get you out.”

“Can you locate her?”

“Signal’s lost. She was last seen on the north side of the building.”

“Well fuck,” Iwaizumi groans as he recalls the layout of the building in his mind. “That side’s entirely in flames, do you think…”

“She wouldn’t go down that easy. Two and a half minutes.”

“She has to be here somewhere,” Iwaizumi argues, tone becoming frantic. There’s nothing he can do but turn back towards the fire, desperate for any sort of clue. “(Y/n)! Are you there?”

He stumbles on the path once traveled, scouring the floor and in the rubble. Then his eyes catch a flash of rose gold, buried underneath fragments of brick and stone. His fingers and knees protest when he kneels down to push all of it aside, reaching to pick up the dust-covered chain. His heart sinks past his feet and into the earth beneath him when he gets a good look at the design.

In his hands is the very necklace he had gifted you months ago, one that you never took off, one that he had eyed and seen in many nights of passion, one that he had personally clasped underneath your hair. A thin rose gold chain holding a circular pendant of the same material, no larger than the size of your fingernail, with a small diamond suspended in the middle.

It can’t be.

“Hajime, ninety seconds. You need to get out of there.”

“But—”

“We’ll find her. You have to go.”

Iwaizumi takes one more look at the fires just a foot in front of him before standing back up and heading for the nearest exit. When he stumbles out, a sleek black vehicle pulls up and he wrenches open the passenger door. Not a second longer after his bottom hits the seat, Oikawa steps on the gas, the force aiding Iwaizumi in shutting the door. With deft skills and hands, his longtime friend secures an inconspicuous escape, merging onto the highway in the direction of their headquarter facilities.

Both ignore the incessant beeping from the car, the vehicle protesting the fact that Iwaizumi isn’t wearing his seatbelt. Oikawa only needs to take one look at the chain hanging from Iwaizumi’s fist to understand the situation, quickly letting Kenma know that the retrieval was a success and they were on their way back. His eyes take a glance in the rearview mirror to ensure no one is following them before addressing the elephant in the room.

“She probably made it out and went into hiding,” Tooru hypothesizes. “Maybe she left the necklace as a sign.”

“She better fucking have or she’ll never hear the end of it from me.”

“Must you be so harsh on your girlfriend, Iwa-chan?” He attempts to tease, but it falls flat. Iwaizumi lets out a staggered sigh and leans back against the seat, staring out the tinted window. His heart beats heavily against his ribcage, hoping that in the next few hours, you’ll securely contact them and let them know you’re safe and sound.

But night comes around and there’s no word from you. Iwaizumi can’t sleep, not when the other side of his bed is empty and cold. The morning sun peeks above the horizon as Iwaizumi downs his second cup of coffee, his phone out on the dining table, sitting silent and motionless. Even when Sugawara hands him a bowl of rice, miso soup and natto on the side, Iwaizumi only eats a few grains at a time. He skips his workout routine for the day, instead taking a seat silently by Kenma and scourges through the footage of the previous day’s events.

The hours turn into days, and the days turn into weeks. The agency begins to lose hope and when the two-month mark hits, Iwaizumi watches in despair as your photo in the database gets slapped with an ‘M.I.A.” stamp on it. Oikawa tries to convey his comfort and own pain through the hand placed on his friend’s shoulder. For the rest of the day, everyone who passes by Iwaizumi gives him their best apologetic look. He can only nod and train his gaze to the floor to avoid the pity. Losing a partner is never easy, and even more so when you’re romantically attached to them.

Yet inside his gut, he doesn’t believe it. Kenma had shown him the crime scene report as well as the autopsy results – all bodies found were accounted for and none of the samples matched to any characteristics describing you. There were no Jane Does, nothing that indicated you were there besides the necklace. Whether you had hacked into the database yourself before Kenma got to it or you had just simply disappeared into the flames, you were simply…gone. It just didn’t make sense and Iwaizumi needed to get down to the bottom of all of this. You were alive – he could feel it.

The head of the agency gives him fewer missions and often pairs him with Oikawa, the best person to keep him on his toes. Iwaizumi shuts off his emotions during these times, completely zoned in on the objectives and goals, senses on high alert. He trains and trains until his abs hurt and his arms are jelly, causing Daichi to forcibly lock him out of the gym and demand that he takes a day off. This happens more times than Iwaizumi can count on his fingers and toes, so he spends his free time searching for clues. Sometimes, even Kiyoko and Yachi come by to help.

He’ll find you. He has to.

-

Four months after the incident, Iwaizumi takes a train into a small town in Germany. Thankfully, there are very few people in his cart, and he looks like the odd visiting businessman. He’s got a messenger bag leaning against his body with a worn journal in his lap, one that he had found under the floorboards of your apartment. This was the third place your journal had strung him along to, and he was really hoping you would be here.

“You have two months,” the head told him. “If you don’t find her…”

You’ll need to give up.

The unspoken words had left a bad taste in Iwaizumi’s mouth. He was a month in and beginning to lose his sanity. Reading your journal made him realize how there was so much he hadn’t learned about you, yet you knew so much about him. Had he given over his heart too easily? Were you toying with him? Did you even want to be found?

The train comes to a stop, ripping him away from his thoughts. He steps off and looks around before spotting the street he wanted. Down that road would lead him to the main plaza of the town, the one that had been vaguely mentioned in your writings. Iwaizumi begins setting himself up for disappointment so the pain would be more bearable if he doesn’t find you here in the next few days.

It’s about a 15 minute walk – cream-colored houses in an old European style tower over him as he ambles down the curvy street. He passes by bikers and crepe stands, sometimes the occasional antique store. The ambient noise of nature begins to melt into sounds of spoken word, Iwaizumi’s first sign that he’s nearing the plaza. Eventually, the street opens up into a large square. He’s greeted by restaurants and gelato shops, many people enjoying the fresh air in the outdoor seating. Children run around playing with balloons and each other, no care in the world except for their current enjoyment. Iwaizumi looks around and freezes.

There you are, sitting at a shaded table by a café, sipping on what he presumes to be a latte. A book is spread open on the metal surface and you haven’t noticed him yet. He drinks in all your features, noticing your hair color has changed and your face thinner than before. But despite these concerning changes, you still look as beautiful as ever to him.

He can’t believe it. He finally found you.

As though you felt his eyes, you look up from your book in his direction. They bore right into yours and you process all the emotions running through him. There’s confusion, pain, determination, exhaustion, but most of all, there’s love. Your heart aches at the sight of him – with no doubt in the world, there was nothing, no one you missed more than Iwaizumi Hajime, the love of your life. But it’s too early for him to find you. There was something that you needed to do, and you had to do it alone. For him.

Iwaizumi watches you warily stand from your chair. Your body is tense and ready to act, and he recognizes that stance all too well. No, don’t – !

You run.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t chase after you.

[toohardtoforgetcth]

Too Hard To Forget

Chapter Eight

5,082 words

A/N: evenin’ angels, pls enjoy - the second-last smol chapter of fluffiness basically but also swearing and sadness and death sorry love y’all

Requested: I added a lil scene at the beginning for anon who wanted a reunion between Parker and Gram, the chapter was already written so I had to tweak it a lil. Hope it turned out okay, anon! thank you for the ask <3 

» » » » » »

When Calum woke up the following morning, it took his brain a split second to register that Parker laying in his bed was real and not just a fever dream. His mind played through the events of the night before, his body tingling from all the places Parker had left her mark on him. They hadn’t gone to sleep until past four in the morning, so he wasn’t surprised to read 11:47 on the clock on his bedside table. Calum absently dragged his finger back and forth over Parker’s upper arm, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.

She stirred, blinking her eyes and lifting her head to stare up at him. He smiled down at her. “Mornin’ angel,” he rasped.

“Still the King of waking me up before I’m ready, I see,” she mumbled, smiling sleepily.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he shrugged. “I’ve missed you.”

Parker answered his confession with a press of her lips against his. “Any big plans today?” she asked him.

“Lunch plans with Gram, but other than that, I’m all yours,” he answered. “You can come if you like,” he suggested. “It’s been a while.”

• • • • • •

After a shower and a quick stop at Parker’s to change her clothes, Calum pulled the Charger into Gram’s driveway, cutting the engine.

Parker pushed down the uneasy feeling in her stomach. I’m nervous. Should I be nervous? She asked herself. She wasn’t sure why she felt nervous – the break-up was Calum’s idea, but still she felt weird about showing up uninvited at Grace’s house after sleeping in her grandson’s bed only a few hours after breaking up with her ex-boyfriend. She followed Calum up the steps, standing one step behind him as he knocked twice and pushed the door open.

“Gram?” he called out, shucking off his boots and ushering Parker inside.

“In the kitchen, dear!”

Calum grinned at Parker, guiding her through the kitchen door in front of him. “I found a stray.”

Gram turned around, gasping when she recognized Parker. Her face split into the warmest smile and she rushed over. Parker was surprised at the old woman’s strength, she was hugging her so tightly. “Parker, it’s so good to see you!”

All of Parker’s nerves melted away as she relaxed in Grace’s grip, hugging her back. “I missed you, Grace.”

Grace and Parker chatted over lunch, leaving very little room in the conversation for Calum to join in, which suited him fine – he was just happy to have the two loves of his life in the same room again.

“Calum, dear, I think the tap in my bathroom is leaking again. Could you take a look at it for me?” Gram asked Calum sweetly.

“Sure thing, pretty lady,” he replied as he disappeared into the garage to get some tools.

As soon as he was out of the room, Grace took Parker’s hand. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that you two worked things out,” she beamed.

“We haven’t really talked about it yet," Parker started. “We only talked a little bit yesterday, and it was mostly just catching up,” she admitted.

“There’s lots to catch up on, I’m sure,” Grace winked, and Parker laughed. “But I know you two. There’s nothing in this world that could keep you apart. That boy loves you more than the sun and the stars, and he is never going to let you go.”

“I don’t know, Grace. He was so willing to give up last time. What happens next time when things get hard, and he tries to run away again?” It was a thought that had plagued Parker’s mind since her reunion with Calum, despite his efforts to reassure her that he was wrong and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She wanted to believe him, but he had hurt her and she didn’t want to go through that again.

Grace wore a sympathetic smile. “I know it must feel scary to let him in again, after what he did,” she squeezed Parker’s hand. “But let me tell you something about Calum. He has been through hell and back in his short life, and he is very good at putting up a barrier between him and other people, so he doesn’t get hurt. He pushes everyone away because it’s easier than fighting a losing battle. You know what happened with his mother, my Lina. She never fought for Calum, and he carries that hurt in his heart every day,” Grace wiped a tear from under her eye before continuing. “He’ll never tell you this himself, so I’ll do it for him – he needs someone like you, Parker. Someone who will fight for him. He deserves all the love in the world and I know you love him. He just needs someone who won’t give up, who won’t abandon him like his mother did. He will make mistakes, and sometimes he’ll try to push you away. I promise you that if you stick with him, and you don’t give up on him, he will give you everything you ever dreamed of. He has so much to offer, and when he opens up, there is no one in this world with a bigger heart. I’m so proud of how much he’s done for himself in the last year, but nothing makes him happier than you do. He just needs to know that he deserves you.”

Parker had tears welling up in her eyes by the end of Grace’s speech. She could have tried harder when Calum left. She called, but she could have done more. She was partly to blame in all this, too. She didn’t fight for him the way she should have. She could see that now, and she promised herself, for Calum, that she would always fight for him.

Parker leaned forward, hugging Grace tightly. “I promise I’ll take care of him,” she whispered.

“I know you will, honey,” Grace smiled. “Welcome home.”

» » » » » »

Parker and Calum were getting ready to head to The Wildflower for one of Calum’s shows, and Parker was sitting on the floor, playing with Duke while she waited for Calum to get dressed. She thought back on her life over the last year, how much had changed. The first time she came over to Calum’s apartment, Duke turned his nose up at her attempt to pet him. Now, he greeted her before Calum when they came inside. She smiled as she thought about how this man had become her home, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him.

Calum came out of the bedroom, buttoning his shirt. Parker stared at the stripe of skin showing on his chest until he buttoned it all the way, then finally lifted her gaze to his face. Chocolate brown eyes, full lips, dark curls messy but effortless. It annoyed Parker, how little effort he had to put in to look as incredible as he did every day, but her heart swelled with pride at the same time. This man was hers.

“I have something for you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek and pulling a chain out of his pocket. It was simple; silver, with an intricate key pendant hanging on the end. On the back of the key, the letter ‘C’ was engraved.

Parker smiled. It was simple and dainty—exactly something Parker would have picked out for herself. “I love it,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his. “But what’s the occasion?”

“It’s metaphorical, since you don’t actually need a key for my apartment,” he grinned.

Parker just looked at him, puzzled.

Calum rolled his eyes at her lack of understanding—it was adorable. “I want you to move in with me.”

Parker just stared at him, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

Calum chuckled. “Of course I’m serious, love. You wanna?”

Parker threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a series of little kisses to his lips. She pulled back. “Are you really sure, Cal? I drive you crazy.”

Calum laughed. “I love you, angel. I want you with me all the time. Besides, you already stay over most nights. The boys love you, Duke loves you, I can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t.”

Parker turned, lifting her hair so Calum could fasten the chain around her neck. She turned back to him, beaming. “Okay.”

• • • • • •

When they arrived at the pub, it was quiet; not as busy as it usually was, which gave Calum a good opportunity to play some new music.

“I’ve been working on this new one, think maybe I’ll try it out tonight, if that’s alright,” he spoke into the mic. “Less of you to disappoint,” he laughed lightly, and they laughed, too. These people had become like a little family—he felt so at home here. “It’s called Waste The Night.”

The crowd went wild for his new song. John caught up to Calum as he was packing up his equipment to tell him that he had another steady gig lined up for him at a restaurant on the West end if he wanted it.

It seemed that people were hearing about his music all across town, and Calum was elated. After so many years of feeling like he’d never amount to anything, he could finally say he was living a life he was proud of.

» » » » » »

“Michael, sit still. I can’t do this if you keep flinching.”

Parker was sitting on a stool in front of Michael, applying his makeup to complete his costume. Luke and Sierra, Luke’s new girlfriend, were throwing a Halloween party and Michael had begged Parker to do his makeup, but he had been sitting there for an hour and he was getting antsy.

“You’re getting it in my eyes,” he whined.

“It’s makeup. It’s literally meant to go on your eyes. You’re being a baby,” she rolled her eyes, smiling. She had grown very close to Michael in the time she’d been with Calum. She loved all the boys, but she spent almost as much time with Michael as she did with Calum. It drove him crazy sometimes, but in the end he was just happy his brothers loved Parker as much as he did.

Calum’s life had never been better. He played music for a bunch of different venues around town and the change in scenery kept things interesting, but it always felt like coming home when he played at The Wildflower. He and Parker had been living together for almost a year, and while it had been an adjustment for him at first, as it had just been him and Duke for over five years, his place felt like home with her there.

Parker’s parents seemed to warm up to Calum, too, after realizing that their daughter was head over heels for him and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Calum came into the living room and Parker did a double take at his costume. He was dressed as Danny from Grease—very little effort, considering the only difference from his day-to-day outfit of black boots, jeans and a leather jacket was the styled hair, but he still looked good—like, really good.

“Wow,” Parker breathed, almost forgetting that Michael was sitting there as she shamelessly ogled her boyfriend. “You look amazing.”

Calum gave her a sly grin and winked at her. “Thanks, doll. Where’s your costume?”

Parker looked down at herself, still dressed in lounge shorts and an oversized tee of Calum’s. “I’m not ready yet. I’ve been preoccupied with Michael’s makeup,” she said, gesturing to her handiwork, Michael smiling proudly. He did look amazing. He wore a black and white striped suit, and Parker had dyed his blonde hair neon green for the occasion. His costume was Beetlejuice, but she wanted to do her own less messy version of the classic character, so she did a purple smokey eye and added touches of green to the sides of his face and down his neck. He looked awesome.

The front door opened and Ashton walked in, carrying a backpack full of what was probably an assortment of booze. He was dressed almost identical to Calum—he was supposed to be Kenickie, also from Grease. Parker rolled her eyes at the boys’ complete lack of effort or originality.

Calum made the four of them a drink, Michael’s sitting untouched next to him while Parker finished his face.

“There,” she said finally. “Done.”

Michael stood up and walked over to the mirror on the wall by the front door. “Holy shit, P. I look amazing!” he gasped, a grin splitting his face. He lifted his fingers to inspect his face closer.

“Don’t touch!” Parker shrieked. “It’s not dry yet, you’ll ruin it!”

Michael jumped at her shrill tone, his hand recoiling. “Yes, ma’am,” he teased.

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” she announced, standing and collecting her assortment of special effects makeup from the table next to where Michael was sitting.

The last thing Parker wanted to dress as was Sandy—she felt like the costume was way overdone, but because of Calum’s costume, she decided it would make the most sense. She pulled on a pair of tight leather pants she had borrowed from Jenna, slipped into her red peep-toes, applied a red lip and draped her shoulders with a leather jacket to finish the look.

When she came out of the bedroom, all three of the boys stopped to look at her. Ashton whistled, and Michael’s response of “P, you look hot!” earned him a punch in the gut from Calum.

Calum walked over to her, spinning her around once and admiring her. “You do look hot,” he grinned. “You wanna forget about this party?” he whispered, pressing the softest of kisses to the spot just below her ear. “I could think of a better way to spend the night.”

Parker blushed, but there was no way she was missing out on this party, no matter how good he looked.

• • • • • •

When they arrived at the party, it was already chaos. Some people Parker knew through the boys, but most of them were strangers. Luke pulled Parker in for a hug and took her hand, leading her into the kitchen where he had set up a variation of liquor bottles.

“Take your pick, babe!” he exclaimed excitedly.

The rest of the boys joined them shortly after, where Luke and Parker had already downed three shots each. As Luke was pouring them all another one, Parker noticed Sierra hugging a petite girl at the front door, who had seemingly arrived alone. She was wearing an unmistakable Lydia costume. Parker leaned over to Luke. “Who’s that girl that Sierra is talking to?” she asked curiously.

Luke glanced over to his girlfriend at the door. “Oh, that’s Crystal. One of Sierra’s friends.”

Parker flashed a wry smile, and Luke looked immediately concerned. “Oh, God, I know that look. What are you on about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Parker waved her hand casually. “Just that she happens to be here all by herself, and that she’s wearing the other half to Michael’s costume.”

It seemed Parker was not the only one who noticed the similarity, because the girl’s eyes lit up in recognition as soon as she saw Michael, and she followed Sierra as she made her way back to the group of them in the kitchen. Sierra introduced her to everyone. She was really sweet, and Michael couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I love your costume!” he said excitedly, taking a sip of his beer.

“Thanks,” she grinned. “Your makeup looks awesome,” she added, “did you do it yourself?”

Michael choked out a laugh. “No,” he shook his head, then turned and pointed at Parker. “Parker did.”

“How come you guys don’t have matching costumes?” Crystal asked curiously.

“Me and Parker?” Michael looked confused, then his face softened as he realized what she meant. “Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” he shook his head, and Crystal’s face brightened immediately. “More like my sister, honestly. She’s with Cal. I’m flying solo.”

Parker watched their entire interaction with the biggest smile on her face. Michael was the kindest person she knew—it was about time he met someone as sweet as he was.

Calum snapped her out of her distracted staring when he held out his hand in front of her. “Care to dance, angel?”

» » » » » »

Christmas that year was different for Calum. He always spent Christmas Eve with the boys. They usually went out for dinner and had a couple drinks before making their way back to one of their houses to exchange gifts and watch a movie or two. Then on Christmas Day he went over to Gram’s for the afternoon and she made a big dinner for just the two of them.

This year, their circle had grown by four additional people, so it made sense to have a whole celebration with everyone there. They held it on Christmas Eve so the boys could spend Christmas Day with their own families, and everyone gathered at Gram’s house.

Gram was delighted to have a whole house full of people to cook for, since the last time she had a big holiday party was when Calum’s granddad was still alive. The boys would come over periodically for dinner, but that didn’t really count. All the girls—Crystal, Sierra, Ashton’s girlfriend KayKay and Parker helped Gram in the kitchen while the boys goofed off and relaxed by the Christmas tree. When they all sat down for dinner, Gram at the head of the table, Calum looked around at all his friends, his girl, and he was so thankful that he could call these people his family. After a lifetime spent hating the world and everyone in it, his life was good, and Calum was happy.

» » » » » »

Calum was at home working on some new music at the end of February when his phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen before Calum answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr. Calum Hood,” replied a voice that Calum didn’t recognize.

“This is Calum.”

“Hello, Mr. Hood, this is Dr. Schilling from Blue Cross Regional Hospital. I’m calling regarding Grace Hood.”

Calum’s mouth went dry as his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

“Mr. Hood, I’m afraid we need you to come down right away.”

Calum’s hands were shaking, gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “Is she—what happened?” he managed to reply, voice cracking.

Parker came down the hall from the bedroom, immediately noticing Calum’s rigid posture.

“It’s difficult to discuss over the phone—”

“What happened!” he demanded, voice rising to an angry yell.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood. She passed away.”

The phone slipped out of his hand, clattering to the floor. Calum slid to his knees, fingers tugging on his hair as he rocked back and forth on his heels. He didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t breathe—he felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs, gasping for air as he tried to breathe in deeply. Parker ran over, dropping to her knees in front of him and putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Calum! Calum, what happened?”

He said nothing as she shook him frantically, trying to get him to answer.

Finally, he looked up at her, his eyes glassy and tears pooling in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. “She’s gone,” he choked out.

“No,” Parker leaned back, shaking her head. Her eyes filled with tears, too. “No, she can’t be.”

“She's gone,” he whispered again.

And then his body shook violently, tears escaping as he sobbed, and Parker cried too, holding him, trying to comfort him while he mourned the loss of the only family he had. Grace was the most important thing in his life, and just like that, she was gone. Parker’s heart shattered into a million pieces as she watched the man she loved crumble in front of her.

• • • • • •

When he was sure he had no tears left to cry, Calum stood, eyes red and swollen, the sleeves of his sweater soaked with tears. “We need to go,” he said, voice thick and scratchy from crying. “We have to go to the hospital.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur—Parker didn’t really even remember getting there. She remembered calling Michael in a daze, telling him what happened before hanging up and letting him deal with telling Ashton and Luke. She remembered sitting with Calum in the waiting room for the doctor that called him. She remembered what the doctor told her—that she had a sudden heart attack, likely resulting from her head injury and there was nothing that could have been done. Grace’s neighbour called an ambulance but she was gone before she even made it to the hospital. Parker remembered walking with her hand firmly clasped in Calum’s as they entered the room that Gram was in, her body covered with a sheet.

Calum sucked in a breath, stopping at the door.

Parker stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the room. “You don’t have to see her,” she told him, cupping his face in her hands. “You don’t have to remember her like this.” She spoke calmly, though she felt anything but.

Calum shook his head. “No,” he sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I have to.” It sounded more like he was convincing himself than anyone else.

Parker nodded and grasped his hand, holding tight as she walked with him to the bed.

“Can—can you—”

Parker nodded. She lifted the corner of the sheet, pulling it back slowly to reveal Grace’s face and upper body. She looked peaceful, like she was sleeping, but Calum and Parker both knew she wasn’t.

Calum’s resolve broke again, and the tears streamed down his face as he reached out slowly to touch her. He touched her hand, and it wasn’t warm like it usually was. He crouched down, body shaking with silent sobs as he rested his head on the bed next to the woman who raised him.

“I’m so sorry, Gram,” he choked, over and over. “I’m sorry.”

Parker just stood there behind him, helpless, rubbing his back in a futile attempt to calm him down, but she was crying, too.

After a while he stood, and he hugged Parker tightly, as if he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she just held him while he cried.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered, sliding her hands up the back of his hoodie and rubbing soothing circles on his lower back.

She looked out the window of the room, seeing Michael, Luke and Ashton standing there with somber expressions on their faces.

“The boys are here,” Parker whispered.

Calum lifted his head, wiping his eyes. “Thanks for calling them.”

She followed behind him as he joined his brothers outside the room, the four of them coming together in a hug, comforting each other. Gram wasn’t just Calum’s family—she was all of theirs.

• • • • • •

Parker decided to take some time off work to be with Calum after Gram’s death. The night he got the call, Calum tossed and turned all night. Parker woke up in the middle of the night and found Calum gone. She got out of bed and went out into the living room, seeing him out on the balcony having a cigarette. She wrapped her arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. He was silent for a few minutes, then he finally spoke. “Go back to bed, angel,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I’m gonna have another smoke.”

The next morning, Parker woke, still alone. She wasn’t sure if Calum had come back to bed or if he stayed in the living room the rest of the night, but he was already awake. She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Duke was asleep on Calum’s side of the bed, and Loki was sleeping in his tree by their bedroom window. She rolled over, careful not to disturb Duke, and climbed out of bed. As she stood, she heard a loud crash from the living room, making her jump. This jolted Duke awake, his ears down and shoulders hunched from being startled, and Loki jumped off his tree and skirted under the bed. Parker heard another loud bang, followed by a third, all accompanied by Calum cursing loudly.

“Fuck!” she heard him yell, and she ran down the hall as she continued to hear the sound of smashing glass. She stopped in her tracks when she took in the sight of the living room—there were shards everywhere. The coffee table had been upturned, a large crack in the center, and several vases and picture frames were littered on the floor, a fine dusting of glass shards spanning from the entrance of the hallway where Parker stood, all the way through the kitchen and to the front door.

Calum stood in the middle of the room in nothing but a pair of sweats, his feet bare, hands laced behind his head as he looked down. She could hear him incoherently mumbling to himself, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She retreated back into the bedroom, quickly grabbing a pair of slippers and putting them on before closing the door to prevent their pets from walking through the glass.

She made her way over to him slowly, walking carefully over the glass. It was then that she noticed three large holes in the drywall, dust and blood covering the knuckles on Calum’s right hand.

“Baby,” Parker whispered. “What happened?” she asked stupidly, regretting her question as soon as it left her lips. She knew what happened, obviously. He was angry, and he took it out in the only way he felt could give him control.

“I should have been there,” he muttered. “I should have been with her,” he said as he finally looked up, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“Cal, there’s nothing you could have done. It was a heart attack. There was nothing anyone could have done to save her.”

“But she was alone,” he sniffed. “I should have been with her. She shouldn’t even have been living alone. I haven’t seen her since last Friday. We were supposed to have lunch on Wednesday afternoon, and I bailed ‘cause I wasn’t feeling good. The last time I talked to her was to cancel plans, and now I’m never going to see her again.”

If Parker’s heart hadn’t already broken yesterday, it was definitely broken now. Calum carried so much on his shoulders, and now he blamed himself for Gram’s death.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Parker whispered. Calum ignored her. She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. “This wasn’t your fault. And she loved you. And she knew how much you loved her. You didn’t let her down. She was so proud of you.”

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” he whispered, shaking his head. He seemed to just notice all the glass all over the floor. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he cursed, inspecting her to make sure she wasn’t cut anywhere. His eyes widened in sudden alarm. “Where are the boys?” he asked, thinking of Duke and Loki. “Fuck, I’m so stupid, I wasn’t thinking,” he muttered, taking in the state of the living room.

“They’re fine. I locked them in the bedroom,” she assured him. “Come on, let’s get this cleaned up and then I can draw you a bath,” she suggested, knowing how Calum liked to relax in a hot bath when he had a shitty day.

He nodded. “I’m sorry, angel. This was reckless. I could have hurt you.”

Parker shook her head. “It’s okay, I’m fine,” she promised him, but he didn’t seem satisfied.

“I just got so angry. At myself, at everything.”

Parker nodded. “I know, baby,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his bare torso and holding him tight. She lifted his right hand to her lips, pressing gentle kisses to his bleeding knuckles.

Calum swept up the glass while Parker righted the coffee table and picked up all the broken picture frames. She followed him with the vacuum, cleaning up all the tiny shards of glass he missed until they were sure it was safe for Duke and Loki to come out.

Once everything was cleaned up, Parker drew a bath for Calum and lit some candles, adding a lavender bath bomb to the tub.

She went out into the living room to tell him that the bath was ready, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, angel,” he stood, kissing her forehead and heading into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he always did.

A few seconds later, Parker heard him calling for her. When she entered the bathroom, he was standing next to the tub, naked.

“Get in with me,” he gestured to the tub with a nod of his head. He didn’t mean it in a sexual way at all, he just needed to be close to her. Calum moved to where Parker stood, lifting her shirt over her head, sliding her sweats down and discarding them both next to his own. He got in first, leaning against the back of the tub before holding his hand out for her to step in. She settled in between his legs, resting her head in the space between his head and his shoulder. Calum wrapped his arms around her, his hands folded and resting on her stomach. They lay like that for a while, letting the hot water warm their skin, the smell of lavender relaxing them.

Finally, Calum broke their silence. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, you know,” he murmured. “More than I ever thought I would be capable of.”

Parker’s insides melted, and it wasn’t due to the hot water. She lifted one of his hands, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I love you, too, Cal.”

Even though losing Gram had turned his world upside down, he knew things would be okay again, as long as Parker was by his side.

taglist: @treatallwithkindness @oopsiedoopsie23 @tunnnelvision @wildflower-mmr @crazytarotanon

[likehoneyandsilk]

Alps

Listen as you read.

“How did we end up like this?” His morning voice always sparked a flame in your stomach. Raspy and hoarse, masculine and every word dripping with sleep. Your breath hitches your throat when Mat hovers his body above yours. The chain around his neck dangling, the small pendant resting atop your neck.

An unruly mess of dark brown hair sat atop his head, your fingers tingling to emerge them through the silky strands. His dark eyes stared into your soul, searching you for an answer. You remained quiet, letting his eyes burn into you, allowing him to sigh in defeat. Letting him rest his body atop yours ever so gently, his lips pressed into the crook of your neck. The only thing between the two of you was the thin comforter and his dress shirt from the night before buttoned around your frame.

Hesitantly, your fingers danced through his silky strands. In response, Mat’s hip softly pressed against yours. “Did you feel it to?” His voice was quiet, the words murmured into the soft skin of your neck. You gulped, closing your eyes and choosing not to speak. 

You worried if you did, your voice might break. Like your broken heart. And his.

. . .

When the wedding invitation arrived in the mail a month ago you were not surprised. Julie, Anthony’s fiancé, and one of your closets friends was getting married. You knew Anthony through Mat and had met Julie not long after. You remember your fingers tracing over the cursive glossy writing of Julie’s name, knowing very well your trip to New York wouldn’t be easy. And it hadn’t. But you would do anything for Julie and Anthony.

And now as you sat alone at your table, a half empty glass of sparkling bubbly champagne, you watched your two friends with a tired smile. The newly weds swayed back and forth, lost in their own beautiful little world. They didn’t notice the other wedding guests, all united and swaying to the slow song playing from the record player in the corner of the barn. The barn lights twinkled above all, casting a fairytale glow.

The weekend had been bittersweet. You’d flown in a day before the wedding festivities, your ticket back home booked for tomorrow evening. It was almost surreal seeing all your old friends in Long Island. And it wasn’t easy avoiding a particular someone. Someone you had an extensive history with, gone above and beyond with and called yours.

The past hours had been spent sneaking glances at him, worried he’d catch you. Pretending that it didn’t hurt you to see him again. Portray a strong front that stated “I don’t feel that way about him anymore.” You ignored the flutter in your heart every time he smiled, refused to look in his direction at the sound of his laugh. You pretended not to notice that it wasn’t same as before. Truth was, when you had stepped out of the cab and the first person to open the cabin door had been Mat, you were speechless, tears already brimming in the corners of your eyes, leaving him speechless as well. He knew you would be there, without a doubt, but he hadn’t processed how hard it would be seeing you again. Julie had saved you then, pulling you in for a hug at the sight of you. 

Stealing another glance at him cross the barn, your heart dropped. His dark eyes bore into yours from far, his lips curling into a small smile. A smile that was apologetic. He watched as you blinked a few times, biting your lip and rose suddenly. This was too much.

You waltzed through the tables, blinking back tears furiously. Your chest felt heavy; heart pounding and your mind foggy. Using all your strength to push through the barn doors, you gasped for air at the sight of the moon. Sighing, you settled onto a stack of hay, the Summer night cold settled onto your bare arms and legs.

Your head sprung up as someone pushed through the barn doors. Mat appeared before you, stopping in his tracks. This was the closest he’d been to you since the first day. He didn’t speak, and neither did you. You slowly regained your thoughts. He was here. He was here. He was here. He released the barn door behind him, letting it shut with a thud. Cautiously he made his way next to you, sitting down a few inches away. Your hand resting atop the hay was only a few inches away from his, and your first instinct was the let the tips of your digits touch his.

“Hi” Mat turned his head to look at you, his voice enveloping you in a warmth like it always did. The hair at the back of your neck stood, meeting his eyes again. “Hi” you whispered, letting yourself smile softly, to match his. You were already becoming vulnerable. 

The silence fell over you again. And so you took this time to take the sight of him in. Suited in a navy blue suit, a crisp white dress shirt beneath garnished with a solid black tie. He seemed bigger and broader. His dark hair as soft and silky as before, neatly styled. His lips pink underneath the moonlight.

He let his eyes roam from your face and down. Your long hair, resting to one side of your face, was losing its curls, having been perfectly curled from the morning when he first saw you arrive as a bridesmaid. Your big eyes seemed a little tired, your plump lips as rosy as ever. Julie had chose olive green chiffon dresses for her bridesmaid, and he couldn’t help but notice how absolutely stunning you appeared all night. He would be lying if he hadn’t been trying to get you alone, to speak to you in some way and hear your voice again. You were avoiding him, he knew, but he didn’t blame you.

“How have you been?” The question rested heavily on your shoulders, and your thoughts began to race. The last three months have felt lonelier than ever. When you had moved back to Vancouver you imagined it would feel like it always did. Like home, but truthfully home was where he was. And you’d left him in New York, alone in your tiny apartment, where pictures of your love story hung on the walls, a bitter reminder of what he let slip out of his hands that brutal Sunday morning.

You couldn’t lie to Mat. Never. He knew you inside and out like a book. That was the result of a friendship since you were 9, and the beginning of your love story at the age of 16. You still remembered the smile on his voice when he picked you up for your first ever date. Honesty was your only option.

You felt a lump form in your throat. Focusing your eyes onto the green grass beneath you, your nude glossy heels, with your pink painted toes peeking out. Your arms wrapped around your frame. Why was speaking to someone you had known practically your whole life unexplainably hard right now?

“It hasn’t been easy” the words were heavy, Mat’s heart sinking when he saw you wipe a tear from your eye. He never liked seeing you cry, and it broke him when he was the reason behind your painful tears. “It isn’t easy at all Mat!” you shook your head, returning your eyes to him.

He was broken. His eyes full of regret and his bottom lip jut out slightly. The Summer cold felt like a layer on your skin, the silver stream of light from the moon above you painting you.

“Hasn’t been easy for me either.” It hadn’t and it was evident. You’d heard the stories of how Mat Barzal, star player of the Islanders seemed to be quiet in his game. Less goals in the past few games, even fewer assists. He wasn’t the same Barzal that Long Island knew. He no longer possessed the boisterous laugh, nor the cheeky smile. This Barzal was different. One that was missing a piece of him; that being you.

“Did you see anyone ...” “No, no ... I would never do ...” he shook his head angrily, almost bewildered that you had even possibly asked the question. “I can’t. And I don’t want to.” His eyebrows furrowed, as he turned his head to look straight ahead. His jaw clenched. If you were still together you would hold his hand in yours, and kiss his knuckles, calming him down slowly, murmuring words of encouragement. But he wasn’t yours, and you couldn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Your apology was faint, the heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment and shame. “I shouldn’t have just asked assuming ...” Mat unclenches his jaw, his face softening when his eyes met yours.

“No, no it’s alright. You don’t have to apologize.” His hand rested atop yours suddenly, and you felt electricity surge through your body. He waited for you to pull back, searching for rejection in your eyes . But when you didn’t he let his hand cover your colder one, watching as your cheeks turned pink.

“What happened to us?” It was a question you both had asked yourselves many times. It was a question that haunted you at 3:00 am, a question that popped up in his head during a breakaway with the puck. A question that you asked yourself at the first sound of his name, the question he asked when he walked past the picture of you two at his bedside, one he wasn’t ready to put away.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you held back tears. Mat shuffled next to you, pulling his hand away. Your head snapped in his direction, missing the warmth and familiarity of his hand. He’d removed his coat, placing it around your shoulders. You protested, but he declined, resting his hand back atop yours. “You’re always cold.” He chuckled softly. Moonlight danced across his prominent features, radiating him in his white shirt. 

Suddenly all control was lost. His coat around your shoulders smelt like him, warm, musky and pine. His hand rested atop yours and it felt right. For the first time in three months you felt warm, accompanied and like yourself. This felt like home. And as the tears began to fall from your eyes, and you rose suddenly, he was quick to follow.

“We were so in love we fell apart!” He brought his hands up to rest along your wet cheeks. His thumbs wiping at your tears. “And when we fell apart we couldn’t put the pieces back together. Because it hurt so much …” your voice cracked cutting you off as you stepped closer to him, afraid of what might happen next. Your heavy heart needed to let out the pain, the broken pieces had to be attained, you needed yourself back. You needed closure or reconstruction.

“... we hurt one another so much, we let it all go. All of it.” Your whispered words were barely audible over the music inside the barn. Mat’s own cheeks lined with tears. A sad and somber look on his face. You stared blankly at the ground, catching your breath. His hands dropped, one of them under your chin and the other resting on your side.

“I’ve got you, I’m here now” his voice cracked with every word, in an effort to calm you. Gingerly you allowed your eyes to meet his, your hands shaking as you wiped at his tears. “I’m sorry I gave up on us.” “You weren’t the only one” your voice remorseful. He gently pulled you in, craving the feeling of your body against his. As you leaned into him, your head colliding with his chest, his arms securing around you, your own wrapping around him, his chin resting atop your head, this felt like home.

His thumb rubbed soothing patterns into your hair, murmuring apology after apology. He held you for a while, swaying you back and forth from the music that could be heard on the other side of the door. Your eyes closed in the most peace you had received within yourself, however a pit still in your stomach, knowing very well this could end in many ways.

Pulling yourselves apart Mat still held onto your waist and neck. His eyes searched for validation and consent. “Can I kiss you?” Could he? Should you let him, even though you truly wanted him to? Could a kiss lead to anything more?

You nodded slowly, closing your eyes when he began to lean in, waiting impatiently for his lips to mold against yours. And they did, butterflies erupting in your stomach. Your insides tingled, blood rising and your legs felt wobbly. Your small hands cascaded around his hips, permitting your body to press against his. He was slow and delicate, tasting like champagne and icing. The kiss felt familiar, as it should. It had been the only lips you’d ever kissed. The only lips you’d allow to explore the skin on your body. The only lips that had felt all of you.

“I’m still in love with you. I never stopped.” His lips lingered against yours, his words truthful. His nose brushed against yours, waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to give your answer, yearning to know what would happen next. You thought you would never hear those words fall from his lips again. But they did. And you were very much in love with him, never stopped nor doubted.

“I love you, I never stopped. I don’t think I ever can.” Your confession was all it took, all that was needed for the two of you to forget what you wanted to. At least for one night you could allow yourselves to merge as one, give your entirety to the other and become vulnerable again as you had now. It wasn’t sure what the morning held or what would be done, but in this moment it was an exploration and rekindling of love. A desperation that was a craving, to be loved, kissed, held, touched, roused and given to and by the one you loved the most. 

You followed him hand in hand towards you tiny cabin. Your hands shook as you  twisted the knob, turning the lights on, letting the smell of wood and leftover coffee roam around you. Mat locked the door behind you, gently sliding the coat down your arms from behind you. Your insides tingled, craving the familiarity of his skin against yours, the sensation of his lips on your skin, and the climatic surge of love he got out of you. Without a word you lead the way upstairs, him following behind. 

Reaching your bedroom you turned to face him. His strong arms placed you atop the vanity, the granite wood cold through the chiffon material of your dress. You relaxed as his lips pressed against yours, his fingers holding your jaw in place. Your nimble fingers worked there way through his tie, proceeding to the buttons of his dress shirt. He was slow and steady, kissing you as if warming you up, devouring the taste of champagne and cherry Chapstick. Lips parted as you pulled back, breathless and tinged rosy cheeks. He leaned into you, your legs tightening around his as you guided the sleeves of his shirt down his arms, exposing the broad and firm frame you knew so well. 

Pulling you off the vanity, he guiding you towards the bed, simultaneously pulling down the zipper of your dress. His lustful eyes bore in yours, a sad smile on his lips before he brushed them atop yours. The back of your knees hit the foot of the bed, and lay you gently below him, revealing the body he knew so well beneath him. Silk sheets raveled you in as his lips began to kiss you lips, and all other parts of your skin, his hips pressing into yours. The Summer rain began outside as the wedding party continued to celebrate. Your small moans and whimpers filled the room, your names slipping out of each others mouths, murmurs of love and apologies brushed past your lips. Mat was gentle, taking time as he merged his body with yours, almost as if you were a feather, and you’d slip away from him before his eyes again. 

. . . 

The rain had continued over night, pattering against your window. You turned to look over at the time, the clock reading 9:15 in the morning. Mat pressed his lips against your neck, his silky strands tickling your skin. “It felt right to me. I felt like myself. It felt like home” he pulled himself off you, laying next to you. He searched your eyes for a reaction, as he poured his heart out to you. You stared at him above, turning on your side. 

“I felt it too.” you confessed, pressing your hand into his cheek. He leaning into your touch, his eyes closing. “Then why do I have bad feeling about what you’re about to say next?” Heart break all over again. He knew you well, he always had and always would, Home was where he was, but somethings were better left untouched. And after today, after this weekend, fear was stronger than any emotion you felt. 

“We’re going to hurt each other. If we fall apart . . . “ your voice cracked, tears slipping through your sleepy eyes. “You don't know that unless we try again!” he was hurt, angry, and broken. “How can you say that if we don't try?” “Mat, I’m scared to. I can't put us through it again, we’ll end up hurting each other.” You pulled away, rushing to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, falling to the ground. Sobbing and hurting. unable to give in. Quickly you unbuttoned your shirt off your body, a piece of you feeling lost as you opened the door softly and let it drop to the ground. The lacey garments adorned in your intimate spots left you cold. 

He lay motionless on the bed, covered in silk sheets that smelt like you, a scent he missed. He was losing you again. You were slipping from his fingers. It was happening all over again. Your quiet sobs compelled him to push through the door and hold you, comfort you and tell you he loved you. But there was not getting through you now, you were long gone. 

He dressed with a heavy heart, not bothering to wipe his own tears. As he approached the bathroom door, reaching for the shirt he paused. “I love you, And I’m going to wait for you. As long as it takes.” your ear pressed against the door on the other side heard him loud and clear. You wanted to say you loved him too, tell him how much he meant to you, but you couldn’t. You needed to let him go. 

And when the front door shut behind him, loud and hard, you imagined his furrowed eyebrows, jaw clenched and angry pursed lip. You broke him once, and you did it again. It was time to pack up and go, before it was too late, before you could cause anymore heartbreak. 

As Mat rushed through the rain from your cabin to his, Anthony watched his friend from his own window, sighing in defeat. 

A few hours later as you cab pulled up and your Long Island friends lined up to bid you goodbye, Mat stayed far back, waiting by the cab. As you passed through each member, hugging them with a sad smile, you knew that Julie and Anthony would have something to say. Julie’s blue eyes were sad, her smile soft. “I’m going to miss you” she whispered, pulling you in for a hug. “I’m going to miss you too” you gulped, squeezing her tightly. You smiled as you moved to Anthony, whose expression was apologetic and sorrow. 

He pulled you in for a hug, stroking your hair gingerly as his lips hovered from your ear. “He misses you. He regrets it all I hope you know that.” You remained silent, pulling back from his hold. “We’re better off on our own Tito.” you whispered, Julie’s hand stroke your arm gently. “You and I both know that's a lie.” Anthony’s voice was cold, his eyes set into yours. “I’m sorry.” you shook your head, turning to head towards you cab. 

The wedding party behind you parted, leaving you to walk underneath the rain, protected by a dark umbrella above your head. As you approached the cab, the driver greeting you with a small nod, you thanked him as he placed your suitcase in the trunk. Mat stood not to far off, watching you with a painful look. He looked cozy, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and an Islanders hoodie, one you always stole once upon a time ago. Your mind told you to sit in the cab, but your heart said go to him. 

You excused yourself from the driver, making your way towards Mat. His body relaxed as you neared, dark hair wet from either the rain or a shower. He stood tall underneath his own umbrella. You stepped close to him, closing your own umbrella and stepping underneath his. Your hair rested behind your ears, the black rain jacket secure around you. Your blue jeans matched the color of his hoodie, and the tips of your muddy sneakers touched his. 

“I meant what I said, all of it.” he whispered, his finger tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You closed your eyes at the touch. “I can't let you do that Mat.” you retorted. “You can't no, but I meant it, and it’s my choice.” his words dripped with scorn and pain. His dark eyes longed for yours. “I’m sorry for hurting you Mat.” He nodded, accepting your 100th apology. “You’re hurting me even more right now.” 

The cab driver called your name, alerting you that you were getting late. This was it. This was the end. 

“Please don’t go.” he whispered. “I’m sorry Mat, I am so sorry.” and with that, your pulled him my the jaw in for a kiss. He kissed back immediately, holding onto your waist tightly. “I love you.” your words brushed against his lips. “I love you too” he sighed as you pulled away, turning abruptly, and ran. Running back to the cab, away from him, just like you had that brutal Sunday morning.