#but considering i doubt anyone will read this here it is

[amuseintime]

Scriptfrin: Town Limits

After an extended camping trip, the party finally leaves the forest and goes to the next town over. Everyone is excited to be out and about, sharing plans for what they'd do now, when Odile notices Siffrin hasn't said his. A seemingly simple task, now more complicated. Set after Line, Please, but probably before Midnight Snacks (... never did specify how close together those were... or said there was only one woods... shhhhh, I'll make the timeline work somehow)

CW: Disability, a smidge of internalized ableism from Siffrin, typical Scriptfrin issues :3. Also, a less than ideal place to have a chat but y'know.

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

Odile was more than pleased to finally have arrived at an inn. She’d been understanding as long as she could of Mirabelle feeling overwhelmed—her anxiety medications took some time to build up—and Siffrin needing some time and space with just the party, but food had started running low, they probably needed to at least mail a letter to Petronille to let her know Boniface was safe, and, frankly, she was sick of sleeping in a tent. Besides, unless they intended to disappear into the wildlands of Vaugaurde to live out their days as cryptids, they’d eventually have to face society again. Gems, even if they did try to do that, they’d probably still have half the country clamoring about the “legendary” saviors who’d saved Vaugaurde and disappeared.

For the sake of their two quieter party members, they opted not to get the Savior’s discount, but she suspected the innkeeper might have also suspected, because the rate was suspiciously low. That, or the rush of misplaced travelers was no doubt moving outward, and this would’ve been the last places effected. They likely would take whatever business they could.

Regardless of why the price was cheap-but-not-free, Odile slept well in a bed that night. Gems, she’d missed these. Apparently everyone agreed, given that even Boniface and Isabeau slept through breakfast. Gems, look at them, out here acting like Siffrin.

Though speaking of which, as they met up for lunch in the inn’s dining area, everyone spoke of what plans they had except Siffrin. It was halfway through Boniface asking Isabeau to help them carry food in the market that she realized their little rogue hadn’t said a word. Mirabelle had already said she planned on getting some new clothes—partly for the weather, partly just for fun, and partly in penance for not wearing her Change pins(?)—and Odile herself had been considering simply window shopping. Siffrin though, he hadn’t said anything.

This wouldn’t do.

“And what about you, Siffrin?” Odile asked.

Siffrin jolted as though caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Though he lacked his hat, he still buried his lower face in the collar of his cloak. “Oh, um. I’ll just do what I normally do.”

Uh huh. “Which is…?”

“Oh, you know,” he said flippantly. But try as he might, he wasn’t as good of an actor as he thought. The smile was off, eye scrunched in pain.

“SECRET?! MISSION?!” Boniface yelled.

“I mean, if you just want to take it easy for a day, I don’t think anyone would blame you,” Mirabelle said. “Stay in, read a book!”

Though it hadn’t been the focus of their efforts, Siffrin had been noticeably less energetic than beforehand. Restless at times, but not as alert, not as fast. Even after recovering from the worst, craft exhaustion had taken its toll. He was better than he’d been leaving Dormont, and in short bursts, he cut through Sadnesses like warm butter, but it wasn’t sustainable as it’d once been. Maybe he’d build himself back up to the level he had before, maybe not. Gems, he’d been through too much. Both physically and mentally… And here was another issue, one she wasn’t content to let fester.

“Siffrin, do you remember what you’d do before the loops?” she asked.

They flinched. “Sorry. I…” He trailed off. That was evidence enough.

And Isabeau reached over, gently setting his hand over Siffrin’s even as their rogue flinched at first. Isabeau said, “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t. Or, well, I guess it wouldn’t be, I can’t imagine what it must be like, but you don’t have to hide it.”

“Well put, Isabeau,” Odile said. She looked at Siffrin. “We used to go antiquing, sometimes. I’m not sure if this city has a good shop for that, but you’re welcome to come window shopping with me.”

“A-Are you sure? I don’t want to slow you down.”

Odile raised an eyebrow. The look on her face must’ve been suitably pointed, as Boniface swooped in and said, “But Dile’s the SLOWEST, Frin! You can’t have forgot that! You were walking with us all the time!”

“Yeah, well-!”

The group was silent, waiting for an answer. Instead, Siffrin decided to stuff his cheeks with some chicken. This effectively rendered Isabeau useless as their dear Defender was too busy staring to form sentences. However, it didn’t work so well on everyone else.

“Was there something else you did want to do? If you’d like to keep it secret from certain parties,” Odile said, eyeing Isabeau, “Then I understand, I just—”

“Want to make sure I’m not going to destroy the world again.”

“Siffrin, no! I’m sure she wasn’t thinking that at all!” Mirabelle said.

She might’ve been thinking it a little bit.

 “Hey, Sif. Siffrin. Siffarooni,” Isabeau said. He squeezed their hand in his. “Maybe we are worried you’ll get upset, yeah, but that’s because we care about you. That’s, like, a normal friend thing. And boyfriend thing! And family! Really basically a thing in any positive relationship. So sorry, that will keep being a thing because we love you.”

“NNNN?!”

“Pfft, oh no, he’s gone full turtle!” Mirabelle said.

Odile chuckled along, watching as the rogue sunk below the table, pulling the cloak over his head. Even that didn’t make them safe though, not with Boniface around. The littlest one hopped out of their own seat, running over and deciding they were also wearing Siffrin’s cloak now. In other words, Siffrin got surprise hugged. Then he squeaked and—

THUNK!

“Oops! Sorry Frin! I didn’t meant to make you hit your head on the table!”

Isabeau was clearly fighting not to snicker as he helped the cloaked pair back into the seat, and Mirabelle walked over to apply a little bit of healing magic to the newly formed bump. Cute.

After a few seconds, Siffrin reemerged from their hideout, Bonnie still holding tight to them like a particularly determined little bear cub, “No escaping, Frin!”

Siffrin glanced around. The inn’s dining area wasn’t the busiest, but wasn’t abandoned either. A small band played music loud enough that the crowd wasn’t entirely subjected to each other’s conversations, but…

“Do we have to have a feelings talk here?” Siffrin said.

They all looked between each other. It was, honestly, a reasonable request, but it’d be all too easy for the little rogue to wriggle away. Siffrin was already cornered now, so…

“A small one,” Mirabelle said. “Not even a real feelings talk! N-Not if you don’t want to! We just, um… We just want to make sure you aren’t going to be here all alone when you d-don’t want to be.”

“Just tell us what you’re feeling, okay Sif?”

“Yeah! Don’t be stupid, Stupidfrin! Tell us what you want!”

“I’m just looking for some new clothes!” Mirabelle said.

“This place has food! I can wait one more day!” Boniface said.

“I’m just helping Bonnie,” Isabeau said.

“And I’m literally just browsing to have something to do,” Odile said. This whole conversation felt strangely familiar, actually…

“So tell us!”

“Tell us!”

“Just tell us!”

“Tell us what you wanna do!”

Siffrin had graduated from hiding in his own cloak to hiding in Boniface’s hat. Maybe they’d pushed a bit too hard there. But she could see the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his chest expanded in a familiar rhythm around Boniface.

They looked up, even if they didn’t quite meet anyone’s eye. “I, um… I was thinking of going to the library. Seeing if they had any books from…”

Odile wasn’t sure why they trailed off, but she couldn’t help but sigh. “Really? Gems alive, Siffrin. You’ve got at least two bookworms in the party.”

“Three,” they muttered.

Odile continued, “I don’t see why you need to make this big of a deal of going to the library.”

Siffrin huffed, giving her a half-hearted glare. “You guys already had plans.”

“I’m window shopping!”

“You shouldn’t have to go with me!”

She was missing something, she had to be. “Then go alone?”

“I can’t! What if- what if…” He gritted his teeth, fists balling in Bonnie’s short sleeved shirt. “Clocktower, sleepover.”

“You’re afraid you’ll start scripting,” Isabeau said.

Siffrin nodded, and Isabeau pulled him gently into a side-hug, running fingers through their darkless hair. “That’s gotta be frustrating, but it’s a library, right? Talking isn’t super required there.”

“Yeah! You can just walk in there and not say anything for hours!” Mirabelle chirped.

“Yeah, but…” Siffrin nestled into Isabeau’s side, pulling Boniface closer. “What if- what if before that…?”

Of course. It was a city, and Vaugaurdians were exceedingly friendly. While most were also very understanding, Siffrin’s issues were both fairly recent, and fairly unique. Plus, this would be their first time in public since beginning scripting, and honestly, the first time in any town except Dormont in what must’ve been several months from his point of view.

Gems, that was hard to remember sometimes, no matter how crucial. For them, it’d been what? One, maybe two months since they’d seen another town? And a good deal of that time was either celebrating in Dormont or recovering in the forest! But for Siffrin, it’d been all that time and several months in the loops. Several months of repetition, dying, and isolation. Several months with their entire world narrowed to a meadow, a section of an already small town, and the King-twisted House of Change. Maybe the surrounding woods, but it didn’t sound like he’d taken much excuse to slip away and explore, and the curse had been encroaching, but at least he was familiar with the trees. This? Gems, it was a bit of a shock to her, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to them.

What to do about it, on the other hand, she had no idea. She could sympathize with the frustration, but had no idea how to fix it. Offering to walk him there like a child would be an insult to his independence, but leaving him to go alone could be dangerous. Suddenly deciding she wanted to go to the library would be as transparent as window glass, so that was out as well…

And given the miserable look on Siffrin’s face as they held Bonnie, nestled against Isabeau, he already knew. There was no good answer. No way to satisfy both his need for independence, and the safety of himself and all around him—neither of them were stupid, Siffrin was incredibly skilled, more than enough to maim by accident if left unchecked, and he likely knew it.

Wait.

He’d been saying he wanted to look for a specific type of book, right? Hah, how the tables turn. “Well, I could probably ask to borrow something for you, if you’d wish. Just tell me what you’re looking for.”

“NO!” Siffrin snapped. All eyes were on him, and he sunk into Boniface’s hat.

“Sif, Siffy, Siffarundo, um… What?”

Knock knock knock.

“Oooookay, guess we can leave that for later,” Isabeau said.

There was a tense silence at the table, a poor match with the more upbeat music playing from the nonexistent stage. Barely audible, Siffrin muttered, “Sorry. Private.”

One by one, they started picking at their food again, if only for something to do. Even as they tried not to stare at Siffrin, their eyes kept flicking back to him. Odile stared down one rude stranger whose gaze lingered a bit too long.

Apparently, the space was what Siffrin needed most, as he eventually sighed and looked up to her, “Odile, um… Walk with me?” The way he said it somehow sounded fragile, like he was asking for some grand favor, or perhaps admitting to a horrid secret. Like if she answered wrong, he’d simply fall to pieces, nothing left.

So she just gave a small smile, “Of course, Siffrin.”

“Thank you.”

----

That's it for now! Might or might not continue. I'll also be crossposting on AO3 soon.

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?

I think of this line a lot in terms of scenarios where Siffrin has higher support needs post game. Oh, they're gonna be so pissed when the disability is disabling. How dare they need help with anything ever.

[henryhengli]

Working It Out (Part 3: Finale)

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! I really agonized over this part, but it's in a place where I feel I can stand by it. Thank you in advance to anyone who might have read the entire work, I appreciate it very much. The entire story will be published together on Ao3 soon, when my account is approved. Thank you again for reading and enjoy.

______________________________________________________________

Part 3: Found 

“How are you holding up?” Tommy says quietly, his initial excitement at making contact turning to concern.

“I’ve been better.” 

The first honest thing I’ve said all day. 

Buck grimaced, grateful that he couldn’t see Tommy’s face, and that Tommy couldn’t see his pained expression. 

Of all the people…

“I suppose you three have been cooking up a plan to get me out of here?” Buck’s inflection is monotone, none of the usual charm and familiarity present. He wasn’t up to conjuring that kind of performance. 

“We have. The wires around the site are too hot to come in and extract you on foot, but the fire is dealt with, and the air around the site is clear. We’ll- I’ll come in from above and airlift you out.”

Buck said nothing. 

“Are you hurt?”

Only emotionally.

“I’m okay, mostly sore and exhausted.” 

He imagined Tommy’s face on the other end of the radio, his eyes going soft like he always did when Buck needed his comfort. He closed his eyes, trying to stay present in the moment. 

“My end of the deal will be the airlift, you’ll need to get to higher ground yourself. The city provided us with a map of the station, so we’ll try to guide you out as best we can from here. Where are you now?”

“Basement floor. I jumped down an elevator shaft to get out of the thick of things.” 

“Wow.”

Buck chuckled a bit in bemusement. 

“It’s not quite as dramatic as it sounds.”

There was silence on the line for a moment. Buck assumed they were poring over the map. 

“Basement floor…down from the elevators…here. There should be a stairwell at the opposite end of the floor, it’ll take you up to ground level. From there…the building is mostly in ruins at this point, doubt this map will be any help. Look for the giant holes in the ceiling, and make your way there.” 

Tommy’s professionalism was always something Buck had admired about him. 

“Look for the big holes, got it. Listen, my radio situation down here is…temporary. Once I get moving, we won’t be able to contact each other.”

Brief pause.

“I’ll pick up a spare and drop it down to you. Through one of the big holes. Look for it when you have a chance.”

Another pause, as if Tommy was very carefully considering his next words. 

“And Evan-”

Buck cut the connection. 

Sorry Tommy, I just can’t. Not right now. 

When the room was silent again, Buck unclenched his fists and sat up, opening his eyes. He hadn’t realized how withdrawn physically he had been talking to Tommy. 

Guess it’s just me that makes you nervous. 

Buck put on a wry smile. Another memory from a million years ago. He sat up, collecting his flashlight and what remained of the radio. It wouldn’t do good to litter after all. Panning around, he recognized the central hallway that would take him to the other side of the basement floor. 

Better get to it. 

I’ll be there, Evan. Even if you never want to see me again, I’ll- I’ll still be there. 

The familiar whir of helicopter blades spinning overhead greeted Buck as he emerged from the basement stairwell. The power station was mostly a husk, turned to ash that was now cool to the touch. A burned-out building always had an air of sadness around it, even if the only people missing this place were those horny teenagers. He looked up; the ceiling was barely there, large swaths of it having buckled and fallen to the ground below, littering the ground with all manner of beams and bricks and dust. Luckily for Buck, all this rubble had arranged itself in neat piles easily climbed, saving him a walk to find another staircase up. The helicopter grew louder as he climbed, then grew quiet in regular intervals as Tommy kept it in a tight circular path. Morning light had just begun to pour in through the massive holes in the ceiling, bathing the place in an odd glow. Below one of those holes sat a conspicuous yellow piece of fabric- a small parachute, tied to which was a brand new radio. The light from above shone like a spotlight on it. Buck shivered. He weighed his options. Pick up that radio and be forced into a conversation with Tommy- or be stuck in here forever. It wasn’t an easy choice. 

I’m such a fucking asshole. 

He shook his head in disapproval at himself. 

Time to be brave, Buckley. No hiding anymore. 

He walked over to the radio, tentatively picked in up, and pressed the transceiver. 

“Pilot Kinard? Do you copy?”

“I copy, firefighter Buckley.” 

Buck looked up, wondering if Tommy could see him down here. 

“Is it just you up there?”

“It’s just me. I’m the only one who could drag themselves out here at this hour.”

Buck smiled. 

“How long can you keep circling?”

There was a pause from the radio, as if Tommy was considering the question. It was a bit of an odd thing to ask, after all. 

“As long as you need me to. The city might send you a bill, though.”

Buck chuckled. 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

The fondness in Tommy’s voice crushed Buck, tears already welling up. He wished this was going to be easier. 

“Listen, I wasn’t ready to do it earlier, not with Chim and Hen there and me in that basement but I- I think we should talk. I…I’m not ready to come up.” 

Buck stared up at the chopper, hoping that Tommy would understand. 

“Okay.” 

Tommy sounded anxious. Suddenly Buck was feeling the sheer exhaustion of the day and of the past few weeks on his shoulders. He staggered over to a nearby pile and plopped down on it, not caring about its roughness. 

“I’m not sure where to start.”

“How are you, Evan?” 

The one question Buck had been dodging for weeks, and there it was right off the top. He shook his head, basking in the irony. 

“I’m exhausted, Tommy. More than I ever have been in my life. Bobby left me to hold everyone together, and it’s miserable. That’s why I don’t want to leave, I’m not ready to jump back in. To face them.”

He paused for a moment, considering his next words. 

“I’m not ready to face you, either.” 

A pause. 

“I can understand why you don’t want to see me. Your family, though? The 118? What have you been putting yourself through that you can’t go to them anymore?”

Every word dripped with concern. 

“I’ve done everything I could. I’ve let them eat away at me, been their shoulder to cry on, been their punching bag, been their grief counselor, been their babysitter…I’m done, Tommy.” 

“I don’t think you want to cut yourself off from them, do you? Bobby wouldn’t have wanted that.” 

“At this point, I don’t give a fuck about what Bobby would’ve wanted!” 

Buck’s tone was uncharacteristically harsh, surprising even himself. He started crying as soon as he realized what he said, the guilt twisting his stomach around. Tommy was quiet on the other end, no doubt surprised by the outburst. 

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

Buck sighed, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed in frustration. 

“I wish it was.” 

“I’m sorry, Evan. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” 

“I know you didn’t- and I’m sorry for taking it out on you…I just, part of the reason I’m like this is that I haven’t been honest with anyone. Being down here, being alone…I realized I’ve barely been honest with myself.” 

“I’ve seen- how this has been affecting you.”

Buck arched an eyebrow, his tone questioning. 

“How could you? Not even my own sister knows.”

Tommy took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. 

“I saw you. In the lab. In- In the hallway. After Bobby… I saw it on the cameras.” 

Buck thought back to that moment, that guttural wail he had let out. 

“You…saw me?” 

“Yeah. So I- I know you’ve been putting on a brave face.”

Thank you, Tommy. For seeing me. 

“I’m sorry for avoiding you since that night.” 

“I get it.”

“I…I wish you could be a little less understanding when people hurt you, Tommy. I used you and left you out to dry. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t use me, I came because I wanted to.” 

“Both things can be true. You deserved more from me than what you got.” 

“I don’t expect anything from you, Evan. Really. I’m not here because I’m holding a candle for you.” 

“Why are you here?” Buck tried his best not to sound accusatory, but earnestly curious. 

“You were in trouble. We needed a pilot.” 

“But why are you here? Why is it always you coming to my rescue? Why can’t you let me go?”

“Because I-” 

Buck heard Tommy sniffle on the other end. 

“Because I need to know that you’ll be okay. Despite everything I did to you, you’ll still be okay.” 

Buck was getting angry, his tone getting sharper. 

“It was six months, Tommy. We’ve been apart almost as long as we were together.”

“Six months I was happy. That means a lot to someone like me. The time apart…I regret it. More than anything. But it- it gave me time to think about what really matters. Whether it was worth cutting short something I loved so much to protect myself in the future. And it gave me time to realize what an idiot I was for thinking that it would be. And how sorry I am for crushing your hopes that day. I’m so sorry, Evan.” 

Buck took a deep breath, sitting with Tommy’s admission. He was too tired to hide anymore. All he could do was face this head-on. 

“I’m sorry too.” 

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Tommy’s tone sounded like he thought what Buck was saying was completely absurd. 

“Yes, I did. You breaking up with me might have hurt like hell but I can understand why. And that morning, after we spent a great night together, after you said you wanted to try again…I lashed out. And I’m sorry. For all of it. And I have to be better. And you have to be better too. I just…I’m not sure I have it in me.” 

“Don’t say that. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I have no doubts you’ll make it through this.”

“But you have doubts about yourself?”

“The only place I don’t is in this cockpit.” 

“You’re going to have to work on that.”

Buck shook his head, resolute in his convictions. He had to go all the way with this. 

“If we’re going to make this work, we- we have to be better than we were. We have to have learned something from the first go around. Both of us. It’s not about penance, it’s about being better partners.” 

“If we want to make what work, Evan?” 

“I don’t think either of us should kid ourselves that we don’t still have feelings for each other.” 

Tommy paused, silently agreeing with Buck’s statement. 

“What do you need from me?” 

“Don’t patronize me. I don’t want to be told that what I’m going through is understandable, or that grief is a complicated process, or any other useless phrase. I…I want the pain to go away.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Evan. As much as I wish I could.”

“No, you can’t. You can’t make it better. You can’t protect me. And it’s not your job to. Stop thinking that it is. I…I want you to be able to feel fragile around me. This relationship isn’t about me, it isn’t about my feelings, and my wants and my needs, its about us. That was the mistake we made. You went out of your way to protect me, and didn’t share your anxieties with me, you just…let them blindside me. Don’t make the same mistake twice. Especially not about Bobby.” 

“It’s just that I…I can’t possibly know what you’re going through.” 

“He was your captain too.” 

“And I’ll mourn him in my own way. You don’t need to help me. I don’t want to add to your burden.” 

“Don’t you get it, Tommy? It’s not a burden when it’s with you. It’s not a burden when we’re partners, who help each other. Who work together. Who talk to each other, who let each other in.” 

Buck let his voice cool down, his passions having flared up during the last sentence. 

“Let me in, Tommy. Stop thinking you’re protecting me by hiding yourself away. I’m not any more of a priority than you are.” 

“I’m sorry. I just get like that.”

Pause.

“But I’ll be better.” 

“I’ll be better, too.” 

Buck smiled. 

“I forgive you, Tommy.” 

“I forgive you too, Evan.”

“I think I’m ready to come up now.”

“I’ll be here.” 

Taking the rope in his hand, Buck let himself be pulled up into the daylight.

[soyforramen]

Apologies, my brain has latched onto a new fandom and just. Cannot process until I vomit this out. So buckle up babes, it's a long one. All apologies in advance.

Complete change of timelines where Madam Yu is the one to find Wei Wuxian, or rather her maids do. They're sent out to Yiling for like... cultivation things, night hunt, secret assassinations, or whatever. They find him very soon after his parents die, early enough that he's just barely on the streets for a few months. Jinzhu and Yinzhu hear about the death of a cultivator who trained under Baoshen Sanren and that her child was recently kicked out, such a shame, but who can feed any more mouths the winter after a bad harvest?

So Jinzhu slips out, finds the kid and they abscond back to Lotus Pier. As they show up they're like, wait out here kid, we've got work to do. And as he's waiting, Jiang Yanli comes up with tea for her mother and is like ??? And Wei Ying imprints on her the moment she gives him a few biscuits and tells him she makes him laugh. So when she goes into the room, Wei Ying follows her in and Jinzhu and Yinzhu are like.

Oh. Right. We found this kid and his mom is supposed to be that lady you really didn't like back in the day, what do you want us to do with him? And Madam Yu at first is like,

But then she sees how starry eyed he is over Jiang Yanli and Madame Yu has a light bulb moment of seeing him waiting for Jiang Yanli to tell him what to do and is like. Wait. And looks betwen Jinzhu and Yinzhu and is like. Wait.

She tells them she's going to adopt him and immediately goes and gets that done. When Jiang Fengmian finds out she tells him to go find his own orphan and just shuffles Wei Ying over to stay with Jinzhu and Yinzhu. (It's not like he's stopped her before, and it's not like he can now. Besides, she found him first. Don't you have a sect to run?)

So now Wei Wuxian is going to be raised alongside Jiang Yanli rather than Jiang Cheng. The twins start to train him and raise him, and eventually he tries calling Jinzhu Mom and Yinzhu Auntie in public and they're both like.

Don't call me that. We are not related. But inside they're all.

It doesn't help that he's quick to learn and sweet, and they're quick to praise him and correct him in an age appropriate way even though they're still really strict and seemingly cold to him. (Wei Wuxian had to get it from somewhere is all I'm saying.) But also they make sure he's fed and clothed and has proper training and an education.

It's constantly impressed upon him that Jiang Yanli is his sister and that he needs to protect her and she'll take care of him in return. Madam Yu especially does her best to make sure they bond, because if her daughter is to marry into Jinlintai, she's damn sure going to have more protection than just a coterie of maids and random Jiang disciples. Especially since it's becoming clear to everyone that there's something wrong with Jiang Yanli's overall health, and there's some chronic pain and fatigue that hits her every so often. So if she had someone who knew her best and could take care of her throughout her life...

Since Wei Wuxian is only five and Jiang Yanli is only a few years older than him it will be similar to how the Meishan Yu heirs are raised alongside their own bodyguards. (I have this image that the Meishan Yu Clan is like a snake, in that they move quietly and lurk in the shadows until they strike, which would also explain a lot as to why Madame Yu is called the Purple Spider.)

As he grows up, Wei Wuxian is still an absolute chaos demon, only this time the first time he tries pranking anyone and he's caught, the twins make him do twice the amount of training and subtly imply that the reason he's being punished is not the fact that he's being silly with harmless pranks, but the fact that he got caught at all.

So they train him in the Meishan Yu way, which is far more covert and focused on getting in quick and dealing with things, and in the Jiang swordplay, which is focused on speed and agility. Meaning he's good with a sword, much better than good, but he's not at the same level as he is in MDZS OG. But he's also got an extensive collection of daggers, stilettos, hidden talismans, and fighting dirty and shamelessly.

Jiang Cheng is jealous that Jiang Yanli now has another brother, and that Wei Ying is monopolizing Jiang Yanli, but both his father and his mother are focused on his training and education in becoming a sect leader, and Madam Yu isn't constantly comparing the two since they're not 'competing' against each other like she seemed to think in cannon. Instead when Jiang Cheng gets too frustrated about not figuring something out or is too hard on himself, Madam Yu throws Wei Wuxian at him to train with.

As they get a bit older, Wei Wuxian is like, but is jiejie learning all this? And Jinzhu has to tell him that no, she's got a small core, besides she has you. Wei Wuxian thinks that's stupid, and says so loudly, so he goes to teach her at least the basics so she can defend herself with hidden daggers, terrifying hair pins, and talismans at the very least.

It's at that point that they realize how adapt he is with talismans, so they make the decision to send both him and Jiang Yanli off to Meishan Yu for him to train with their masters. Jiang Yanli meanwhile is sent to her grandparents and aunts to learn more about political manipulation training, management of sects, trade, logistics, etc.

It's at this point that they get the invitation to Gusu, and Madam Yu insists both her kids go. Which also means Wei Wuxian, professional rule breaker, also goes along with them. During the day he's as perfect as Jinzhu and Yinzhu could ever dream, but he immediately breaks curfew the first night because a) Emperor's Smile, and b) jiejie's in pain again, and the medicines they were sent with weren't working right, and jiejie's dorm mate said that these herbs from Caiyi could help...

Anyways, Lan Wangji is totally able to win against Wei Wuxian in strength, and breaks one of his wine jars again, but since Wei Wuxian was always told to make sure to never get caught, at least this time he had a mask on. So technically Lan Wangji can't say for 100% certain who it was who broke curfew. (Discretion, always, might have been tattooed on his forehead by Yinzhu.)

But like. Lan Wangji is like. Bro. My man. Dude.

Thus beginning his utter fascination with Wei Wuxian because of course the Head of Discipline can't let any infraction go, cause denial (whomp whomp).

Wei Wuxian is thrilled to get such a response out of someone so poised and stoic, especially since he's never been able to do that with his mom or aunt or even Madam Yu. Jiang Yanli thinks it's absolutely hilarious, immediately pegging Wei Wuxian's interest as a crush, and when Wei Wuxian dismisses that, she has to be like

Sir. I know you. I helped raise you. This is a crush. So she's super encouraging that they spend time together, and shows her true colors as an instigator when it comes to her didi. But Wei Wuxian pushes back since they won't be there long enough to form any real long term attachments.

(Actual video of Wei Wuxian during this conversation)

Anyways, Gusu Arc is similar to last time, only Wei Wuxian isn't technically a student, but he does sit in on the classes and surpringly draws 0 attention to himself, making Lan Wangji's suspicion of him even more suspicious to Lan Xichen.

This time, Jin Zixuan isn't punched. Jiang Yanli gives him a cold bow and walks away, but that night Wei Wuxian definitely makes sure that Jin Zixuan knows that that wasn't cool, cause like. It's Jiang Yanli, she's the best why wouldn't you think that? Wtf sir, why would you say anything like that? And oops, look how sharp this dagger is, and oops my talisman slipped. Again.

Needless to say, the next day Jin Zixuan has a healthy respect for staying far away from Jiang Yanli or even thinking about her, and if he doesn't even look Wei Wuxian's way? Well, no surprise there.

MianMian is totally Wei Wuxian's BFF now, though, since she's never seen anyone be able to handle Jin Zixuan so well, and that includes his mother. Lan Wangji is, obviously, jealous, Jiang Yanli continues to instigate meetings between them, and the day of the Waterborne Abyss Wei Wuxian is finally like.

Oh. That's what Jiang Yanli meant about Lan Zhan. And Wei Wuxian is just like,

This leads to further shenanigans between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian to the point that even Lan Qiren is like. Lan Wangji, just ignore him. We have three weeks left, it's fine. But Lan Wangji is like, he gave me rabbits? But also broke 82 rules in less than 10 minutes? And also he's annoying? But why is he paying more attention to Luo Qingyang?

Anyways, they finally go home, Cloud Recess is attacked, and the Wens are like. Time for the worst summer camp ever! Jiang Yanli begs Wei Wuxian to go to the Wen Camp with Jiang Cheng to keep an eye on him. Wei Wuxian refuses until Jinzhu steps in and uses her mom voice, telling him in no uncertain terms he's going, and Jiang Yanli will be in Meishan, as far from the Wens as she can be right now.

Turtle Time! All of the disciples are essentially going:

the entire time they're there. The arc goes basically the same, only more Wangxian cuddling, teasing, and Wei Wuxian being a shameless flirt to Lan Wangji's horror.

Jinzhu and Yinzhu travel back with Jiang Cheng to save Lan Wangi and Wei Wuxian, and for the first time Jinzhu and Yinzhu show in public that the familial connection with Wei Wuxian goes both ways. The twins insist Lan Wangji stays until he's healed because they owe him a debt for saving Wei Wuxian, but mostly because they're nosy as shit about him. Wei Wuxian would not stop talking about him in his letters and when he returned, so they're like who is this?

Then they meet him, and are all. Ah. Fellow Introvert. Amazing.

We will still kill you if you do anything to our surrogate child/nephew.

Lan Wangji is like. Fair. But also what are you talking about I totally didn't write him a romantic song or anything.

Things tighten down all over the cultivation world after that, and Wei Wuxian is sent to Meishan Yu where Jiang Yanli is, and they miss out on the Lotus Pier attacks. When they get news of what happened, Jiang Yanli has to keep Wei Wuxian from immediately going back, since they both know that if Lotus Pier burned then their parents died defending it. A few days later, Jiang Cheng shows up, along with a badly hurt Jinzhu. Madame Yu forced Jinzhu to go with him since she knew Jiang Cheng would immediately be like. Nope, gonna go back to Lotus Pier to my death the minute Zidian released him.

Both of them are going through major surivor's guilt, but Jiang Cheng sneaks off to get his parent's bodies at the very least, and Jiang Yanli sends Wei Wuxian to chase him down. When they get there, Wen Ning finds them and shows them where the bodies have been moved to.

(Wei Wuxian sees his aunts body and has a major trauma moment, realizing that he's lost what basically amounted to his second mother, and almost lost his first. He decides he's not going to lose either Jinzhu or Jiang Yanli, and he'll do his best to keep Jiang Cheng around either.)

Basically it's the same progression, only this time Wei Wuxian's loyalty isn't to Jiang Cheng, but to Jiang Yanli, so he drags him back to Meishan. There, Jiang Yanli begs for something to be done to help her brother, but the healers are all at a loss.

Jinzhu, meanwhile, only wants to get revenge even though she's still really weak from the attack. All she wants to do is go on a suicidal mission to take out the Wens and Wei Wuxian is Not Having That. He refuses to let her go alone, and Jiang Yanli refuse to let Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng out of her sight. She knows Wei Wuxian would definitely sacrifice himself for Jinzhu, but he's her brother. They're far close than Jiang Cheng because they spent almost every waking moment together due to the circumstances, and by their own choice.

Jiang Yanli starts openly calling Jinzhu her aunt, putting her on the same level as her mother's sisters, and Wei Wuxian calls her mother in public, even though she fights it at first.

Eventually it becomes obvious that neither Jiang Cheng nor Jinzhu are getting better, so Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian decide to seek out Wen Qing, who had grown close to Jiang Yanli when they were at Gusu, and ask for her help. They come up with a plan where Wen Qing and Wen Ning are 'captured' by the remaining Jiang disciples, and brought back to Meishan.

There, Jiang Yanli finds out about Wen Qing's research into golden cores, and begs Wen Qing to transfer Jiang Yanli's to Jiang Cheng. After all, she's never been able to do anything to it due to her illness, and even as weak as it is it's still enough for him to cultivate.

Jinzhu is still trying to sneak out, and Wen Qing finally sits her down and tells her she still has a family, even though her sister and mistress are gone. The best thing Jinzhu can do now is to watch over Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli and her own child rather than trying to stay in the past. Jinzhu is not happy about this, but Wen Ning speaks up and says that since Jinzhu helped raise them, if Jinzhu left it would be like losing another parent all over again.

This, and Wen Qing's locking down of her core, make Jinzhu calm down and think long term rather than emotionally. Once Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli, and Jinzhu are healed enough, Wen Qing and Wen Ning are 'released' and go back to the Wens.

The Sunshot Campaign progresses in much the same way, only Jinzhu and Wei Wuxian work together to gather intelligence, while Jiang Yanli works closer with the sects in strategy and logistics behind the scenes. Jiang Cheng is still an angry butterball at this point, but Wei Wuxian isn't doing demonic cultivation, which creates problems, but they somehow manage to struggle through.

Jiang Yanli works to make sure the Dafan Wen get 'captured' very early in the campaign who have to look at the rest of the sects and be like. Y'all. They hate Wen Ruohan just as much as us. But also.

Free Healthcare.

In a war.

(NMJ is still against it, but he's overruled by literally everyone else.)

When Lan Wangji is away from the camp, Jiang Yanli and Jinzhu are both like, no, no moping Wei Wuxian. And they throw a bunch of paper at him and tell him to go do something useful. He ends up making new talismans that help with the war effort, and some that just make life easier, and hands them out to as many people as he can.

Once the Dafan Wen reach them, Wei Wuxian, once again, latches onto the orphaned A-Yuan. Jinzhu takes one look at them and immediately thinks,

and sets off to try and figure out how to adopt a grandchild. Lan Wangji is just thinking 'Yes. Perfect Husband Material' when he sees Wei Wuxian with A-Yuan.

Jiang Yanli has to be the one with the brain cell, pointing out to Wei Wuxian that he cannot adopt a child during a war. And especially not if he's still single. Seeing how Lan Wangji is looking at Wei Wuxian, Jiang Yanli seeks out Lan Xichen and tells him, this is what we're doing. Don't ask any questions. But your brother is going to marry my brother, so make sure neither of them die. Thanks.

Once they get close enough to Nightless City through the strength and power of Nie Mingjue's mustache and (insert epic war arc here), Jinzhu and Wei Wuxian sneak into Wen Ruohan's palace, and Lan Wangji invites himself along for Reasons.

When they share the logistics they've found out (time tables, the fact that Wen Ruohan is having health issues, the lack of cultivators within the walls of the city) with the rest of the war council, Wen Qing (invited there by Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng, specifically), points out to the rest of them that the medicine's Wen Ruohan takes are healthy in small doses but are also. Hella Poisonous.

And the rest of them are like, ok? Cool? But what does that have to do with us?

And Wen Qing just looks at them. You captured me, babes.

So Wen Qing 'escapes' back to Nightless city and because she looks absolutely awful (again, she knows what herbs and medicines to take to make her look tortured and miserable), and Wen Ruohan sees her and is like, my niece! You have returned to me, even though I no longer have your family to blackmail you! You do like me!

And she's like, yes, of course I do. I also brought the Jiang Sect Leader with me, and you could totally lock him up in the dungeons, or you could just. Let me keep him and experiment on him, that would be awesome?

And Wen Ruohan is like,

(Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng is the one sending information back to the Sunshot Campaign through lights in the window at night.)

Anyways, Wen Qing ends up being Wen Ruohan's doctor, again, while the fighting goes on outside, and rumors start to go around about one or three spies being inside Nightless City. Wen Qing says that they've got to rout the spies out or we'll lose this war.

Meanwhile, Meng Yao is just

Paranoia grows rampant as Jiang Cheng uses Wei Wuxian's talismans to make it seem like the spies' activities are increasing until Wen Ruohan only lets Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao supervise and bring him his meals. So its a THING when he ends up bedbound with a poison that only Wen Qing can treat him for. And since Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao were the only two who could have tampered with his food, and Wen Qing is above reproach being the prodigal son doctor (and the spying and the evidence of it was going on before she got there), Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao are executed.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch Sunshot Campaign:

Jin Zixuan is still being stupid about Jiang Yanli, and he lets the same woman take all the credit for Jiang Yanli's food, and he confronts her when she tells him that no, that's from me. And Jiang Yanli just bursts into angry stress tears - but no one other than her knows that - and Wei Wuxian snaps. Jiang Yanli takes him down before he can get to Jin Zixuan, though, quicker than anyone but Hanguang-Jun has been able to.

(Jinzhu pointed out all his weaknesses to Jiang Yanli long ago, and Jiang Yanli Does Not Hesitate.)

And everyone else is just looking at her like, wtf? Then Jiang Yanli proceeds to dress Lan Zixuan down and his only thought is

Nie Mingjue continues to be a bear of a warrior and wins skirmishes and takes out Wen Xu. At this point Jiang Guangshan is looking at it and being like, ah yes. I help. Here's two more cultivators. And generally continuing to be The Worst.

Jin Zixuan and his contingent of MianMian and other cultivators collectively roll their eyes.

But Nie Mingjue's story is a completely different story with grand, overarcing themes of brotherhood, trauma, war and glory, and family trauma, but that is not what we're on about today folks.

Flash back to Nightless City where Wen Ruohan is losing his shit and Wen Qing keeps on gaslighting him, because she is a chaos demon on the same level as Wei Wuxian when given a chance. Wen Ruohan decides he can only trust like, two people besides Wen Qing, and the rest of his sect is just waiting for him to show any weakness.

Wen Qing very gently tells him that he hasn't been sleeping well, that's why he's so paranoid, and makes him some very strong sleeping droughts. She warns him not to take too much all at once, though, because when taken in large doses it's deadly. Only he doesn't realize that not only does it have a strong depressants in it, it's also full of stimulants that don't let him fall asleep.

After only a few days, Wen Ruohan is hella hallucinating and it gets to the point where his liver just. Fucks off. and he dies brutally. And since he's executed all of his remaining line, Wen Qing is the next in line for sect leader.

Immediately her first decree is that the Wens are surrendering and she throws open the doors to Nightless City and orders the remaining Wen soldiers to stand down. Jiang Chang comes out and is like, can I go home now? And Wen Qing is like,

The Jin are still like, the Wen have to pay we lost sooo much to them, wah wah wah, but this time even Jin Zixuan is like Bro-Dad. Chill.And Jin Guangshan kind of has to since he isn't able to claim Jiggy's killing of Wen Ruohan this time around.

So everyone fucks off to rebuild their sects; Jiang Cheng works on his 'new' core; and Jiang Yanli works to rebuild the sect, forcing Wei Wuxian to do a lot of the work because she's tired, man.

Eventually, Lan Xichen gets tired of Lan Wangji moping about and sends him to Lotus Pier under the guise of intersect relations, along with a letter outlining a marriage proposal because at this point even Lan Qiren just wants to marry Lan Wangji off to put him out of his misery.

Side Story: Wei Wuxian absconds with the rest of the Dafan Wen who have all looked at Nightless City and been like, nah. I'm good. And Wen Qing is like. Same. Especially since

So the Wen are disbanded as a sect officially as a condition of surrenduring (and she didn't want to lead the remaining Wen soldiers, they super suck).

Instead she goes to Nie Mingjue, since the Nie's were the only sect who didn't have majorly damaged land during the war, and Nie Huaisang and her got on famously, and rolls up like, Yo. NMJ. I want to build a medical pavilion, and he's like. No.

And NHS is like. Bro. Please, let me handle this. Wen Qing here's a nice spot just outside our home, and here's some money to train medics and learn about our terrifying cultivation methods, thanks.

Side Story Time!

Wen Qing and Nie Mingjue end up in a hate/fuck relationship, playing a long game of chicken until they end up married. Wen Qing is able to cut back on the resentful energy of the Nie Cultivation methods through a combination of Wen medicine and Lan musical cultivation to extend his life in a 'You can't die yet, I need more funding,' sort of way, and Nie Mingjue agrees to her methods because 'I'm still suspicious of you."

Everyone else is like, please use better silencing talismans Sect Leader we are begging you.

Nie Huaisang is currently commissioning three seperate plays dedicated to Wen Qing Alone.

Back at the plotline: The Phoenix Mountain Hunt still goes on as planned; Wei Wuxian still throws a flower at Lan Wangji; only this time he spends the entire opening ceremony at Jiang Yanli's side, who is there more in an official pseudo-sect leader capacity rather than at Madam Jin's invitation.

Madam Jin is still like, My son's a dick, yes, but marraige maybe?

Wei Wuxian snarks at this underneath his breath, and Jinzhu discreetly stabs him with a hair pin and reminds him to behave. Jiang Yanli tells Madam Jin that the Jiang Sect is willing to honor the marriage if the Jin are since their sects are so close, but only on the condition that Jin Zixuan is the one wanting to enter the marriage. Otherwise, if he is still against it, they should dissolve the marriage since the Jiang's have already taken so much insult from him personally.

Before Madam Jin can protest too much, Jiang Yanli steers the conversation with the other sect leaders around them to matters of trade, adeptly putting to use the more intensive training of a sect she received at Meishan to use.

A few hours into the hunt, Wei Wuxian gets fidgety, and Jinzhu chases him off to check on Jiang Cheng to keep him out of trouble. On the way, he 'finds' Lan Wangji and at some point in their walk, Lan Wangji looks as if he wants to confess something, but they're interrupted by Jin Zixun's appearance, along with Su She and a few other reprobates.

Wei Wuxian manages to be polite enough, and waits until he and Lan Wangji are walking off to slip a few talismans Jin Zixun's way so he can't reasonably be blamed. Su She, ever the sycophant, still blames him, claiming that he saw Wei Wuxian do it. And Lan Wangji is like, I was right right next to Wei Ying and I saw nothing.

Jin Zixuan stumbles upon them, along with Jiang Yanli, presumably on a walk together, with Madam Jin and Jinzhu behind them. Jin Zixun whines about it to his cousin until Lan Wangji pushes him for proof of a talisman. Surely there would have been a paper or ashes or something left to prove that there was ever a talisman to begin with.

(Knowing full well Wei Wuxian has come up with a talisman that leaves no trace.)

When Jin Zixun turns to Jinzhu, thinking that surely one of Madam Yu's maids knows just what Wei Wuxian gets up to, she just turns to face him and stares, letting the numerous scars on her face scare him off of it.

As they return to the pavilion, they all have to watch as Jin Zixuan is awkward and weird around Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian can't help but make faces about it. Jiang Yanli catches him and points out, to his utter embarassment, that he's worse around Lan Wangji, and since she's had to deal with it for the last ten years, he can deal with it for one hour.

That's more than enough to keep him quiet until the banquet that night, though it doesn't help to keep Lan Wangji from looking too smug about it.

[phagodyke]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[flowersforthemachines]

a n y w a y. what if I wrote a snippet about that AU. what then.

1.3k words of Lucanis and Ghilasara arguing if she should follow him into a suicide mission, with a guest appearance from Neve. no game spоilers, can probably be read even if you haven't played it (if you are just willing to roll with the premise).

“You can still change your mind.”

He tries to pass Ghilasara a glass of wine, but she casts only a cursory glance at his hand before looking away, as if accepting the drink from him would mean she is agreeing. 

“Seriously?” She quirks her brow, almost condescendingly, like he’s a dog pestering her for a treat, and not a lover attempting to bring her to her senses. “Not this again, Lucanis. We’ve had this conversation too many times already.”

“Today is the last time we can have this conversation, as you are aware,” he says, trying to be amicable. The last time I can talk you out of throwing your life away. “Maybe, you can finally reconsider and stay here.”

The ribbon on her armband flutters as she crosses her arms. “If you know me at all,” she scoffs, “you’ll know I won’t change my mind. I’m coming with you. And that is final.” 

“Please.” 

Pleading is a low blow, always the last resort. They are both terribly susceptible to it, and aware that such words are not used lightly. For him to beg means every other option is exhausted, and not even demeaning means are too much for a chance to get what he wishes for. 

“Your life must not be tied to mine,” he tries again. “You can have your own, here — there is no need to follow me. It’s not your time, not yet.” 

Her eyes flicker to him, viscous, like he’s insulting her very being. 

“You place such great value on a life without you,” she speaks through gritted teeth. “But I don’t see it. One year with you means more than wasting away for another five years here in Lumière.” 

It wouldn’t be five years; if there was any mercy in the world — the idea that seemed less doubtful with each passing year — and he could devise a way to make her stay, she’d leave with the next year’s expedition should this one fail, he knows that for sure. After he's gone, there is no universe in which she waits until the final year of her life before attempting to turn it into a sacrifice. 

“It’s only one year if my expedition fails,” he argues. My expedition. A part of his mind still refuses to accept her as a part of it. “Do you have so little faith in me and the others? That there is no chance we could be coming back?”

“It’s not a question of faith. I simply consider the worst-case scenario. Our world seems to favour those.”

He has little to say to that. It has been sixty years of deaths with little to show for it — standing inside the Dome, they seem no closer to stopping the Paintress, any advancements made on the Continent outside it left only to imagination, secrets kept by all the expedition members that never returned. 

“And don’t lecture me on lack of faith,” she says. “If you believed in Expedition 37, you wouldn’t try so hard to make me stay away.”

 She snatches the wine from his hand and turns to walk away. 

“You can accept I’m coming and enjoy my presence,” she throws one final look at him, “or you can scowl, and frown, and get up in arms and waste the time we have. Your choice, love.” 

She disappears into the market stalls, merging with the crowd of other expeditioners he doesn’t dare join. How anyone can partake in light-hearted fun before setting out on a suicide mission is beyond him. 

“She steamrolled all over you, didn’t she?” Neve greets him with an elbow poked at his side and a delighted smirk. 

“She isn’t acting rational,” he mutters.

“We all caught on to that side of Rook when she started courting you.”

He rolls his eyes, reaching for more wine, the only part of the celebrations he is willing to indulge in. 

“She’s right, though,” Neve adds. “About lack of faith.”

“A cynic, chastising me for not believing in doomed ventures?” he sneers. “Maybe we are all already dead, and I am stuck in hell.”

“Oh, I’m not saying we will succeed,” she corrects herself. “But we can lay a path. For those who come after, and all that — you know the drill.”

“I wish we weren’t laying that path with our corpses.” I wish her corpse would never have to be a part of it. 

“Well,” Neve laughs, “you might as well try wishing the Gommage away. Think that’s gonna work?”

He sighs. Neve’s scepticism is a welcome reprieve from dealing with someone who considers logic an optional accessory to decision-making. He isn’t sure if Ghilasara’s choice to join their expedition involved anything outside wanting to be by his side, a level of devotion he finds frightening. 

And welcoming; a twisted part of his heart that knows that, were their roles reversed, he’d follow her just as vehemently, is aching with relief to know she will be there. 

“I should talk to her,” he says, like a ward against shying away and avoiding her for the rest of the evening. 

“Good.” Neve smiles. “I suggest settling all differences tonight. Nothing worse than relationship drama in the middle of a suicide mission.”

“I appreciate your practical approach.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” she says. “And, it looks Rook had the same idea. I’ll leave you two to it — try not to get into a shouting match in the middle of the square, would you?” 

He notices Ghilasara’s figure flow out of the crowd and head towards them in rapid steps as Neve slips away after giving him a nod. He straightens his back, instinctively, like another fight could be coming; they didn’t exactly part on peaceful terms. She could be here only to reaffirm her stance, and hear none of his.

“Lucanis, I—”

“Ghilasara—”

They both cut off and look at each other, teeth clenched around the ends of their unfinished sentences. 

“You go first,” he offers. It will certainly be easier for him to speak if he knows her current disposition. 

“I…” Her breath hitches before she shakes her head and raises it to look him in the eye. “I’m coming with you. It’s non-negotiable.” 

“Alright.”

“Alright?” she asks, incredulous. “I expected you to put up more of a fight.”

“Would you like me to?”

“No…”

"I still don’t think that you should go," he says. “It’s likely a mistake. One that you’ll soon be too late to fix.”

“I said, I—”

“But,” he interrupts, “I see you’ve made up your mind. And I’m…”

He cuts off, the rest of that thought stuck unformed around a lump in his throat. Words never came to him easily — important words most of all.

She steps closer and reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers, and he feels at ease, like she’s a key to the locks he tends to bind himself with. With another breath, the lump is gone, even if the words he has feel insufficient. 

“You what?” she asks softly. 

“I’m glad that you’ll be there. With me,” he finishes. “For however long it lasts.”

She squeezes his hand as her expression eases before slipping into a confident smirk.

“Enjoying my presence it is, then,” she says proudly. “I had hoped you’d make the right choice in the end. How lovely that you don’t disappoint.” 

“I try my best.”

“You are getting better at it,” she laughs. “Perhaps we should work on your lack of faith next. Tomorrow comes, Lucanis. We only lose it when we stop believing.”

Sometimes, it feels like he could believe anything as long as it came from her lips; instead of examining the feeling, he looks at her, the party lights dancing in her eyes as she smiles, the slow death of their world seeming infinitely far away. 

I don’t know about tomorrow, he thinks, but we have today. For now, it is enough. 

sometimes two brainrots can collide, and I want to say that Ghilasara would be a fan of suicide missions, so she would've felt right at home in the world of Clair Obscur

[snowballseal]

How they react to you feeling insecure (LaDS)

Summary: How the Love and Deepspace boys react to you feeling insecure about various things. Includes Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier. Lots of fluff.

Word Count: they're all around 1000 roughly

Note: Warnings of different kinds of insecurity, ranging from physical to mental. I'm not sure of how well the Xavier one turned out, he's harder for me to write, but I couldn't leave him out!!! Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Rafayel

His ended up being a lot longer, so it's posted separately.

here

--

Sylus

Being partners with Sylus is a…daunting position to be in.

You always considered yourself a fairly average person, more focused on who you are than what you look like. It’s not that you don’t like the way you look - you do - and you don’t like comparing yourself to anyone, but you don’t plan on being a model anytime soon. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Then you met Sylus, a man who looks like he was carved from the marble of ancient architecture. He could stand in a room of masterpieces and people would still look at him instead of the art. And since you’re by his side now, that means they’re also looking at you.

Being stared down by wanderers in one thing. Being stared down by the most powerful and prevalent members of the N109 Zone? You hate to admit that it gets to you. In fact, it gets so under your skin, that even when you’re dressed in the most extravagant dresses and decadent jewelry, you can’t help but feel…insecure.

Twisting in front of the mirror, you eye every detail of the dress Sylus bought you. It’s perfect, of course. The man has an annoying knack for getting you the most beautiful things and knowing exactly what fits you. The color compliments your hair and it’s comfortable to boot.

Still. You can’t help but feel like a kid trying to fit in at the adults table, wearing your mother’s heels even though they don’t fit. A bit ridiculous.

“Do you not like it?” Sylus appears behind you, dressed in a matching, lavish suit. 

You jump a little, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. His eyes burn into you, reading the hesitation on your face as you curl your arms around your stomach. There’s no fiery retort or witty comment like usual. You just look back at your dress, the tips of your ears tinging pink.

A frown pulls at Sylus’ lips, his voice softening, “What’s wrong?”

“...Do you really think people believe us? That we’re together?” You ask quietly, shuffling your weight back and forth. “That I’m a good match for you?”

You’re keenly aware that you’ve never had a conversation like this with Sylus. For the most part your relationship has been filled with teasing and playful bickering. It’s always light. Or about work. This is new, and while you trust him more than anything, you hate not knowing how he will react.

Sylus hums, low and thoughtful, as he curls his arms around you, “Does it matter to you what others think?”

You let out a sigh, leaning back into his touch thankfully. You want to say no. You want to keep up the air of confidence, but that quiet voice of doubt keeps worming its way through your thoughts.

“I just…I feel like I’m not what people expect. And…” you try to explain, hesitating. Sylus presses a kiss to your shoulder, offering a hum of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you add, “It bothers me. It feels like I’m being forced into the spotlight but I’m not meant to be there. Like I don’t fit.”

“Hmm, so you feel like an odd duckling.” You give him a small jab, and Sylus chuckles. “My apologies. I think you misunderstand the attention though.” He pulls you closer. You shiver as his lips trace along the crook of your shoulder, pressing delicate kisses up the side of your neck, until he can murmur lowly into your ear, “You’re too humble, kitten. When you walk into a room, all eyes turn to you, not out of judgment, but out of jealousy. Afterall, you’ve tamed the leader of Onychinus. Even if you walked in with your uniform, they’d look at you the same. And I get the pleasure of walking around with the most powerful-” He presses his lips to your jaw. “-beautiful-” His lips trace against your cheek. “-woman of Linkon City. Don’t let the attention of those lesser than you make you doubt, otherwise I might have to find another way to show them just how well we fit together.”

Sylus’ eyes catch yours in the mirror again. They’re dark, like coals surrounded by flickering cinders. So intense you can almost feel the flames licking along your skin. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s being genuine. And that sets your heart racing. Along with the way he holds you so close, equal parts possessive and reverent. Like worship.

“Your devotion might scare some people, Sylus,” you whisper, glancing sideways at him.

He flashes a dangerous smile, “Does it scare you?”

You cast one final glance at your reflections before turning around in his hold and curling your arms around his neck. Sylus raises a challenging brow.

“I’m not. I like how you stand up for me, even when it’s against my own insecurities.” You draw him down, pressing a kiss to that carnal smile. Sylus softens immediately, cupping your jaw to draw you into a deeper kiss. The warmth that simmers in each and every touch leaves you a little breathless when you pull away. Pressing against his chest before he can drag you in again, you make sure to say one last thing, “Thank you, Sylus. I’ll make sure to remember all of that…especially the part about you being wrapped around my finger.”

“Hmm, such a cruel mistress, indeed.”

“And you love me.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “Yes, I do. So, will you accompany me to this auction now?”

---

Zayne

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m going?” You ask, voice wavering with nerves as you straighten Zayne’s tie for him.

“Isn’t it natural to bring one’s partner to these kinds of events?” He tilts his head, brow perked ever so slightly.

You nod, but can’t seem to erase the frown on your lips.

A week ago, Zayne had asked if you would accompany him to his medical school’s class reunion banquet. He had been asked to give a special word, given the reputation he had developed in his time at Akso Hospital, not to mention winning the Starcatcher Award for his work.

At first, you were ecstatic to have an opportunity to learn more about his old life. He has such a thing about living in the present, you hardly get to hear any stories about his time in med school, or when he was doing rotations at the hospital. You were eager to meet the people who he used to spend time with and hopefully catch a few stories you could tease him with later.

But as the night drew closer, you started actually thinking about all the people you would be around, all of whom graduated from the same medical program Zayne did. You can only imagine how smart they all are. And how you’ll get lost the moment any medical jargon comes up. 

The more you think about it, the more nerves you feel buzzing under your skin. You know you’re not the smartest, not compared to Zayne at least. He’s a genius, after all, and could probably outsmart most anyone. You’ve always been better at the physical stuff. That’s what makes you such a good pair. 

It’s not like you can impress everyone by whipping your gun out and fighting, though. All you’ll have are your words, and you’re not particularly good with those…

You blink when a large hand suddenly circles your wrist. Glancing up, you find Zayne looking down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“While I appreciate your attention to detail, I believe you’ve been straightening my tie for five minutes now.” Heat creeps up your neck. You hadn’t even realized you had been lost in thought. Zayne’s eyes narrow inquisitively.  “What are you thinking about that has your mind so preoccupied?” 

His thumb brushes casually along the inside of your wrist, not so subtly checking your pulse. A strangely endearing habit of his when he’s worried about you. You let out a long sigh and hide your face against his chest, feeling the heat bleed across your cheeks.

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re insecure about how smart all his friends must be?

Zayne doesn’t push right away. He knows you’ll explain when you want to, and if you don’t, then he knows you’re not ready to. It was an unspoken rule between you, something you started with him because you noticed he likes to think his words out. It felt natural to offer you the same when you struggle to express yourself. Like now.

Ultimately, you figure it’s better to just be straightforward. That’s how he would do it, and it’s better than dancing around the subject.

“I guess I’m nervous because I feel like I’m going to be the dumbest person in the room tonight,” you mutter against his coat. Your fingers tap out an anxious beat against his abdomen. “It’s silly and I know it shouldn’t matter, but I just don’t want to make you look bad.”

Zayne remains quiet for a long minute. Your fingers move a little quicker, matching the stuttering rhythm of your heart. His hand slides up, gently trapping them against his body.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Physical tics are a common result of anxiety,” he hums dismissively, thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “As is your rapid heart rate. This truly bothers you.”

“Of course it does,” you sigh, a bit exasperated, ”You’ve worked hard to get where you are, Zayne. I love you so much, and I respect your work more than anything. I don’t, I don’t want to say something stupid and have it reflect on you badly.”

The doctor clicks his tongue, “First, I would prefer if you stop using that language to describe yourself.”

Your heart falters when his cool fingers touch your cheek, drawing your face up to his. He looks upset, but not exactly at you, the sharp line of his jaw contrasting with the softness of his eyes. Like it pains him that you think this way. Which it does.

“Those words don’t suit you. I wouldn’t allow another to call you them, so why would I allow you to?” He asserts, the corner of his lips twitching with distaste. “I don’t want to hear them again, do you understand?”

“Okay.” A thread of warmth curls around your heart when Zayne nods approvingly. His protectiveness really knows no bounds.

“Second, I do not agree with your diagnosis.” 

Your brow furrows a little. What? What does he mean, he disagrees? He’s literally surrounded by geniuses, you can’t match up to any of them if they’re anything like him. 

Seeing you start to overthink, Zayne shakes his head and gently pinches your cheek. You jolt back a little. The corners of his eyes crinkle, making you pout.

“Meanie,” you grumble, “Fine, explain your reasoning, Doctor Zayne.”

“It’s simple. Intelligence is made up of more than just academic knowledge, which, I assume, is what you are thinking of when you make such comments.” You nod. He’s not wrong about that, you guess. “Intelligence also includes the knowledge of how to use one’s strengths to achieve the best outcome. It is true that for some, this means using academic reasoning. However, it also includes those who develop the skills and discipline to maintain their bodies and fight for those who can’t, like…”

He pauses and gives you an expectant look.

“...me,” you finish slowly.

“Yes,” he hums, stroking the redness of your cheek, “I believe, under these standards, you are far more intelligent than most of the people you will meet tonight, darling. Though there is no comparison in the first place.”

His words sink in slowly but surely, filling in the cracks of your doubt. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he probably has some kind of healing magic, because you can already feel the burden of your insecurities melting away.

Leave it to Zayne to know exactly what to say, but in the most complex sounding way.

“You always know how to make me feel better, huh?” You ask, finally cracking that smile he loves.

“I am simply telling you the truth.” Zayne leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “There is not a lifetime in which my reputation will be more important than you. I would gladly throw it all away if it meant reminding you of that.”

You snort, “Don’t do that, please. I can only imagine the fit Doctor Greyson would throw. He’d be so mad at me.”

“I can handle Doctor Greyson, in the same way I can handle everyone tonight.” He slips his fingers between yours, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. You wiggle your fingers  happily and Zayne can’t help but grin to himself. “If at any point you find yourself uncomfortable, just stay by my side and I will act as your distraction. Though, I’m sure they will all love you, just as I do.”

“...Thank you, Zayne.”

“Of course, my jasmine.”

---

Xavier

Working with Xavier is a blessing, as much as it is a curse. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. Someone who you know will always have your back, who can handle himself completely, who is probably the most talented hunter you’ve ever met in your entire life. He’s undeniably amazing.

On the flip side of that, though, you often fall into the trap of thinking about how he deserves better. Wondering if, maybe, the only reason he chose to stay with you was because of the aether core in your heart. If that’s also the reason you’re in a relationship now…

And some days, these thoughts win out over the rest. Like today.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink, eyes flickering up from the bowl of ramen in front of you. Early on, you had started a tradition of eating a meal together after a successful mission, to just enjoy the peace of your home and each other. But today, you weren’t feeling that hungry, just…tired.

Xavier tilts his head, concern furrowing his brow - he noticed your mood start to shift days before, but didn’t want to push since you didn’t seem to notice it yourself. Now, though, it’s too obvious for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you sigh, flicking your chopsticks back and forth to watch the noodles swirl around in the broth, a small frown capturing your lips. It’s a horribly obvious lie.

“Is it something I did?” His voice isn’t accusatory or upset. It’s just a rational question to help him figure out what’s wrong. Still, you feel guilt tug at your chest, and you set the chopsticks down with another sigh.

You don’t want him to think that. You’d never blame Xavier for something like this. That would be like asking him to be a worse person, which is stupid. It’s just you. Your problem. Dragging him into it will only make you feel worse.

“No, Xavier, you didn’t do anything, promise. I’m not upset…with you.” 

“But you are upset.”

Chancing a glance up at him proves a bad idea, making it all that more difficult to keep your thoughts quiet. Behind his normal sleepy expression, worry gleams in the deep blue of his eyes, unyielding and undeniably calm, like waves lapping gently at the beach. 

The sight makes your heart ache and the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Do you think I’m actually a suitable partner for you?”

Surprise flickers across the hunter’s face. Of all the things he was expecting you to say, that wasn’t even on the list. He doesn’t laugh though, or take your question lightly.

“Do you mean, as a hunting partner? Or as a romantic partner?”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes falling back to your ramen, “I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He hums softly. You try to ignore the nerves fluttering in your chest as Xavier gets up, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he circles the table to stand next to you. The hunter drips his head, catching your gaze.

“May I see your hand?”

A small frown pulls at your lips, not exactly sure where he’s going with this, but you offer him your hand anyways. Xavier takes your wrist, touch featherlight, and moves it so your hand is held up flat, facing him. Your brow furrows.

“Xav-”

“Look.” 

Pursing your lips, you let out a little huff. He really hates giving direct answers, doesn’t he? Still, you’re in no place to really judge him, or expect anything for that matter. He’s always been a bit of a mystery to you.

You watch as Xavier places his hand against yours. His palm is warm and you can feel the calluses from who knows how many years of hunting. Your hand looks tiny in comparison, his pale, delicate fingers long enough to curl over your own a little. The sight makes your heart squeeze, fondness competing with the feeling of being so…small.

“They’re pretty different,” Xavier hums, voice still calm, his own eyes fixed on your hands. “Your fingers are always cold, and your hands are small. You have a scar here.” His free hand grazes the side of your palm, along your pinky. “And here” He traces another along your knuckle. Your breath falters at the tenderness behind his touch, like you’re delicate porcelain. “Mine are in different places. Yours are skilled at weaving silk balls and mine can…open jars.”

You snort. Xavier’s eyes dart up to yours, sparkling with humor, a brow raised. You try to smother your laughter, rather ineffectively, and motion for him to continue.

“They’re different, but-” His fingers spread apart, and you mimic him instinctually, only for his fingers to slot between yours in one fluid motion. You inhale softly, laughter dying in your throat. It’s like two puzzle pieces fitting together, a perfect embrace that washes over you with a comforting warmth.

Xavier watches you, keenly aware of the way you squeeze his hand tightly, desperately, like you’re worried it might disappear. He gives yours a tender squeeze in return, thumb brushing over your knuckle.

“I think they’re a suitable match. Don’t you?”

God, how could you go without this man? The worries that have been pricking at the back of your mind all week seem to melt away. It leaves you with that warmth, the kind that only comes from Xavier, that he offers you over and over again.

You give his hand another squeeze, finally smiling, “Yah. I do…Thanks, Xavier.”

The hunter leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You can feel his lips brush against your skin as he murmurs, “Let me know if you ever feel this way again, angel. I’ll be more than glad to remind you.”

“I will.”

---

This was really fun to write!!! I really hope you guys like it! There are so many freaking tags on this puppy.

[perpetuallyfive]

God, I'm so happy with what they did with Maddie Nolen.

I'm sure there will be plenty of people mad because obviously there was a weird backlash over a character who has sex with one half a ship, so I'm sure some people worry this will lead those people to feel justified in their initial response.

But ignoring people who can't emotionally regulate for a second, because those childish impulses aren't worth dictating the fun things a narrative can do: Maddie is SO INTERESTING as a character and she fills in a lot of the questions people seemed to have about the rest of the season.

Consider for a moment that it wasn't Caitlyn who convinced Vi to be an Enforcer. It was Maddie.

I know that some people took this line to be about Zaunites, a sort of obvious connection to the very racist idea of "one of the good ones," but since Maddie is talking about Marcus and his betrayal of the Enforcers just before this, I'm pretty sure her framing here is something else. The point she's making is specifically targeted at Vi's own beliefs and weaknesses, her desire to protect. That seems clear to me now with all we know about Maddie's capacity for manipulation.

She's not saying, "You're good, for a poor."

She's saying, "Wow, I agree with you, the Enforcers are really bad; it's so upsetting. I think you might be the only one who can change it, but only if you join us." This is what convinces Vi to do something she never thought she would.

Well, this and the fact that Caitlyn believes in her so much which, again, is information she gets fed to her directly from Maddie. It even seems like Maddie seeks her out just to say this, which on first viewing felt oddly convenient. Wow, Vi just happens to meet this naive girl who just happens to say exactly what she needs to hear to do something so out of character.

Except obviously none of it was coincidence. Everyone already knew how much Vi meant to Caitlyn and getting Caitlyn under control would require either controlling Vi or removing her from the equation. This was a push in that direction.

Then there's her more obvious role as the spy in Caitlyn's bed, there to reassure her that the Noxians are only trying to keep all of them safe. Then when Caitlyn expresses larger doubts, she's immediately ready to lay out an alternative. You could just give up, Maddie seems to whisper gently in her ear. Just reestablish things as they were before.

But she knows Caitlyn isn't going to go for that. She's not going to go back to the council as it was, because it's only going to remind her of the empty place her mother left behind. Maddie knows that Caitlyn isn't going to take this offer, which is precisely why she suggests it. She frames quitting as the only clear alternative to going along with everything Ambessa wants because she knows that Caitlyn will refuse, which leads her right back into alignment with Ambessa. She makes continued obedience into an active choice that Caitlyn affirms she's making.

Even Maddie's comments that suggest direct opposition to Ambessa — "you're our leader... I follow you" — are designed to frame herself and her true leader in direct opposition, just as Ambessa's own warning about entanglements is there to further that point. They both make a point of reminding Caitlyn that they are her true ally, isolating her further from anyone who isn't the devil and (other) devil on her shoulders.

This way Maddie and Ambessa can both tug at Caitlyn, pulling in what feels to her like opposite directions, all so that she lands precisely where they wanted her all along but with the illusion of active agency.

And look, I'm not saying my read on her is gospel, because I think they intentionally gave us enough room to really speculate and wonder about her, someone who could have been just a background nothing character but ends up being such a huge part of the second season. That's so interesting!

I especially love that she comes across as really naive and innocent, just some poor little thing swept up in the fervor, when in reality she's a true believer who has been manipulating things to go her way from the start.

[brujaluas]

What your future spouse will think of you when you are starting to get to know each other??

i love my isabelle 🎀

pile 1

I'll tell you, I was doing the reading and I was like "wow", really shocked. I don't know what you did, but it caused an EXTREME impression on your spouse. When you meet them, you will probably be doing very well in life, especially in your professional and career field, and they will think that's great. That Lady Gaga song called Paparazzi came to mind, "I'll be your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me" something like that (I'm sorry if the lyrics aren't 100% accurate lol). They may be colleagues, something like that, but they will see you and recognize you as a very intense figure of authority and someone who really puts things in order and knows how to lead people. They see you as a leader, especially if you are a woman. They think it's incredible that you seem so impassive and well-structured. They may not be so good with words, but you make them nervous, so they end up talking nonsense that in their minds is incredible, but in reality it can even be an insult.

pile 2

what's happening with you guys? I'M NOT DOUBTING ANYONE'S POTENTIAL, but I'm shocked at how you manage to make REALLY strong impressions on them in such a short time. It's a mess here. I don't know why, but they'll consider you famous (?), they'll see you as a star like Maxxine screaming I'M FUCKING STAR, but anyway, they think you're somehow flashy and stand out to the public. If you wear clothes that show a lot of skin, they like it and will think a lot about it. They also think you'll have to give up a lot of things for this relationship or they have to change a lot of things for you. In a way, it's as if one or both of you are in a comfort zone, but you'll have to face it like having a relationship, ending cycles and starting new ones.

pile 3

They'll see you as a very rational, inflexible and bossy person. a difficult person to tame (?) (that was the phrase that came to mind, probably a thought that crossed their mind), anyway, they will think that you are in some kind of transfer of sectors in life (I don't know if that makes sense to you, maybe to a very small group of people), they will think that your life is turned upside down, experiencing many things, it is as if your life is very intense and you have to deal with everything at the same time but at the same time they have faith in you! They believe that you can achieve what you want, they root for you, like they know that you will be able to get there.

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: Uplifting messages from your spirit guides

Hello and welcome to this pick a card! In here I will give you some uplifting messages from your spirit guides. I hope you guys enjoy and find this interesting!

masterpost > paid readings > patreon masterlist

The extended version of this reading is found on my Patreon, the link of which is here.

Pile 1:

There is no one in the world who is as funny and intelligent as you.

People who complain about your personality simply have none of their own.

It is okay to be upset and to be influenced by others’ their words, even if they’re nonsense.

You are going to make it very far in life, we can see it all.

You need to give yourself more credit because you’ve grown so much over the years, god knows why you don’t see it yet.

Slow progress is still progress; no one shoots up and continues to do so for the rest of their lives.

You’ve survived so many bad days so far, it is proof that you are strong and resilient.

It is okay to rest and not be productive every single day. You are no machine.

You are allowed to be proud of yourself for things others might consider normal or unimpressive; they’re impressive for you.

You’ve got a softness the world needs, but at the same time a softness that is too good for this world.

extended reading > paid readings

Pile 2:

You do not owe anyone an explanation about your (mental) health.

Crying and feeling emotions don’t make you weak, it makes you real.

Your progress doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s, you are unique so you have unique progress.

Just because you are struggling doesn’t mean you are failing.

You’re allowed to start over as much as you want; eventually you’ll get it.

You make a difference in people’s lives; you help people enjoy life.

You are too much of a perfectionist, be kind to yourself.

It’s okay if you aren’t who you were before, everyone grows and changes. You get shaped by experiences, and the older you get the more you have.

There is still light and hope inside of you; you’re not gone yet, you’re still fighting in there. Keep going.

You don’t have to be productive in order to be of value.

extended reading > paid readings

Pile 3:

You don’t owe anyone a version of you that makes them comfortable if it isn’t authentically you.

It’s not all in your head; you’re onto something.

You’re more powerful than you think, stop doubting yourself.

Being soft in a hard world is brave.

You don’t need permission to take care of yourself and listen to your body; do what you need to do.

It is okay to want more. One can be grateful but still wish for more than the bare minimum.

You weren’t made to please everyone around you.

Not all energies are meant to align; sometimes you just don’t get along with others for no reason, and that is alright.

It’s okay to change your mind; it is normal and natural.

You’re not annoying for reassurance, it is human. Voice your needs.

extended reading > paid readings

[jordiemeow]

Two guys for every girl. Once you boys get started you’ll be at it for hours. Come on boys, I know you’re not damn cowards.

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

summary: vying for one of the bridesmaids at their best friend's wedding gets a little out of hand, but they're tennis players. they aren't above some friendly competition.

warnings: smut, threesome, a trip to paris, throat fucking, drunk sex, tbh i'm lazy just generally 18+

Acting as bridesmaid for a girl you grew out of in college wasn’t really how you planned to spend your summer. Attending dress fittings, rehearsal dinners, bachelorette parties… but hey, free booze is free booze. And Megan’s fiancé Adam (soon-to-be husband) splashed out to pay for all the matching dresses. You reassure yourself you would have felt bad turning her down when she asked you to be a part of her bridal party.

Sure, you hadn’t talked as much over the last few years… but you were inseparable, once upon a time. She clearly hasn’t changed, considering the several breakdowns about table placements and flower arrangements you’ve witnessed over the last few weeks. And you doubt you’ll be best friends after this, but it’s nice to rekindle with someone who was a major part of your life, even if it’s not permanent.

The ceremony itself is beautiful. A beautiful stone chapel, austere lines evoking the early Christian churches of Rome; warm lights bathing the princess gown-sporting bride in an amber glow, stained glass windows glinting behind the wedding party as they read out their “I do’s.” The only modern element of the ridiculously elaborate wedding (yeah, Adam has to be fucking loaded) is the absence of any organ to reflect Megan’s aversion of them. But really, the harp just makes them seem that much more pretentious.

It’s the type of wedding children dream of. But there’s two people who clearly couldn’t give two shits about the white roses or the music being played as your friend walks down the aisle: the groomsmen. One blonde and one brunette, the latter of which is clearly bored of this entire thing, tuning out what the priest has to say and letting his eyes wander.

“Patrick, pay attention,” Art hisses under his breath from where he’s standing behind Patrick, and in clear view of his friend’s lack of interest in the upcoming vows. Considering the congregation makes up of several hundred people (who are definitely just here for the reception and Instagram stories), it’s embarrassing for him to be associated with a disinterested fool.

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” Patrick mutters back, with a low whistle that makes Art wince. “Just not to Adam and his gold-digging bride.”

Despite initially feeling the need to jump to their friend’s defence and insist he was perfectly capable of finding a wife—Megan was lovely, as far as Art was concerned—that train of thought vanishes as soon as he follows Patrick’s gaze to the opposite side of the altar. Standing behind the bride and her maid of honour, one of the most beautiful women he’s ever had the privilege of laying eyes upon… you.

He’s not sure how you manage to pull off the bridesmaid dress that the rest of the poor ladies seem to be drowning in, but god, you look gorgeous. A vision in pastel pink, even with that hideously large flower embellishment clinging to your left shoulder. Maybe Patrick had been right about Megan being a bitch for the last two years; nobody who loves their friends willingly puts you in something like that. And yet, against all odds, he’s ready to drop to his knees and worship you right here on the chancel. A true angel, illuminated by the mural of Mother Mary shining through the window. How anyone is paying attention to the bride when you’re standing right there clutching your bouquet of flowers is beyond him.

Patrick’s thoughts are far less pure, of course. Daydreaming about the sound your dress would make when he tears a slit up the back to see what colour your panties are. Fisting his hand in your hair and pulling those ringlets out of your pretty little flower pins, because why would you need those to hold it up when he has a perfectly good hand right here? Bent over the altar, crying out his name like he was your god, and not the Christian deity Father John was currently droning on about watching over Megan and Adam’s nuptials.

Both of them are half-hard in their slacks by the time they hear the priest rejoice, "You may now kiss the bride." Neither of them mention the way they adjust themselves in sync while stepping down to congratulate their friends and take wedding photographs.

Art gets to stand beside you in the pictures. He tries to make small talk about the happy couple, but his throat feels like it's closing up and he already knows he's going to look flushed in the picture album by the end of this. He swears he almost passes out from embarrassment when you regard him with a pitiful look as he stammers over his words trying to tell you he thinks your hair looks lovely.

If the looks Patrick keeps sending his way are any indication, he's royally screwed this up. And that little smirk he flashes as you rush off to gush at the viewfinder suggests he is absolutely going to pay for that fumble later.

He does.

—

"Dibs," Patrick announces, nursing a champagne flute and eyeing you from the opposite side of the reception venue.

Another intricately decorated hall with a local, well-known DJ Adam has connections with. Neither of them would care about the music if it weren't for the fact you looked so fucking good swaying your hips and grinding against another woman to Don't Cha by The Pussycat Dolls. They don't have girlfriends, but yeah, if they did... they'd wish she was hot like you.

"I talked to her first," comes Art's instant protest. He's already downed three glasses by now to quell his nerves, but it's only serving to make him more antsy. At least he probably won't remember any of this come morning.

"Yeah, and look where that got you," he snorts in return, mimicking the pity grimace you had given when Art restarted his sentence for the fifth time. That deflates Art's sails somewhat, and he mutters something about his friend being a dick under his breath.

"Fine. Go talk to her, then. I'll just sit here all by myself and wallow in my own self pity at a celebration of love. Knowing I am forever doomed to be alone."

Patrick shoots him a flat look for that, and Art visibly deflates. Yeah, that was a little dramatic, but he's tipsy and moping about how socially inept he is when it comes to pretty women at weddings. Give him a break.

"Nah, she'll talk to me first. We've been making eyes at each other for thirty minutes. I don't have to do anything."

"So... you aren't going to go talk to her?"

Given Art perks up a little at that, Patrick should probably be a little more sceptical. But he just shakes his head, sipping from his champagne and watching you laugh and excuse yourself from twirling around the floor with that other bridesmaid.

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool…” Art hums in reply. Patrick doesn't even get the chance to reply before he's shooting off across the venue to catch you by the refreshments table.

Oh, that's how he's playing this. But Patrick said he wasn't going to talk to you, so it's his fault, really. That's how Art justifies it to himself as he dodges and weaves through dancing couples, tripping over his feet a few times in a bid to get to you.

"Does dibs mean fucking nothing to you?" Patrick hisses as he catches up to Art, just as the pair reach you.

"Hey," Art slurs, a lopsided smile on his face as he pointedly ignores his friend's complaint. "You look... really beautiful. I know I told you that earlier, but you're like... an angel."

Smooth, Donaldson. That's Patrick's queue to swoop in and save him from embarrassment, while hopefully pulling you in the process. He's not above knocking his friend down a few pegs if he really has to, though.

"We've never seen you before," Patrick says, giving you a quick once over that's far more appraising than it ought to be. It's hard not to blush and match the pretty pink alcohol-induced flush on Art's cheeks. "Friends with Megan long?"

"Uh... yeah," you reply, a little sheepish, plucking a h'ordeuvre from the table as you glance between the pair of them. Art isn't sure if you're wary or just amused. "We go way back."

"Really?" Art says, blinking. "Adam's never mentioned you before. Which is weird because he never shuts his—"

"So she's been keeping you a secret from us, then?" Patrick cuts in. God, his best friend gets so mouthy when he's tipsy. He's more of a lightweight than his fucking grandma. At least Nana can tolerate a few eggnogs without running her mouth.

"We just have conflicting schedules," you smile. "Not teenagers anymore, you know?"

You don't mention the fact you've hardly had contact with Megan since her twentieth birthday, where she deemed your gift lacklustre and cut you out of her social circle over the following weeks. Maybe that attitude is why she had been so desperate to have you as a bridesmaid in the first place—nobody else would stick around to deal with bridezilla.

"What about you and Adam?" You add a moment later, when both men giving little hums of acknowledgement. You pretend not to notice the way Art downs the last of his champagne as liquid courage before he gives his answer.

"Well, Adam's been our—"

"My friend since I was a kid," Patrick interjects again. Art sends him a look of inebriated betrayal, but the brunette is too busy eyeing up your cleavage as he talks to take much notice of it. "Our parents work together. Art's a groomsman because he's an extension of me. Fire and Ice, right, bud?"

A little nudge to Art's side, who looks thoroughly dejected at the depiction of his relationship with Adam. And the fact he's just come off as Patrick's little sidekick. So fucking unfair.

"... Right," he mutters.

"Fire and Ice? What's that?" You offer, in the hopes it'll brighten his spirits. It seems to work.

"We're tennis players. That's our nickname. A little childish, but we've been called that since we were kids."

"So you've known each other a long time?"

"Since we were twelve. Bunkmates at tennis camp," Patrick chips in helpfully, crooked grin permanently plastered on his face as he eyes you intently.

Well, they certainly have the build for it. Not that their suits leave much on display, but you can still see the way Art's muscles strain a little against the sleeves—his suit clearly isn't as tailored as Patrick's—and the way Patrick's ditched his bowtie to unbutton a few buttons of his shirt to give you a peek of his chest hair. And if the way he keeps reaching for h'ordeuvres to give him a peek of your ass every time he leans around you is any indication, that view is definitely intentional.

"So... which one's Fire, and which one's Ice?" You ask, glancing between the pair with a tilted head. Art seems eager to reply with a genuine reply, because he's just tipsy enough to actually be comfortable with you now, but Patrick speaks up before he can open his mouth.

"Why don't you find out?"

And, despite your better judgement, you intend to take him up on that. Spending the next hour at the reception taking candid photos and alternating between dancing with the pair of them; two gorgeous men on your arm, each equally as eager for your attention as the other. Suddenly, the last few months of Megan's temper tantrums feel worth it.

Not to mention you never expected Art to be able to breakdance. Five champagnes in and he's tearing up that floor, a far cry from the man who blushed crimson when the photographer asked him to place his hand on the small of your back after the ceremony.

—

When you all get a little too tipsy, they offer to walk you back to your hotel. You're all staying in the same one, anyways. It's no hassle. No point in sticking 'round here. Party would be boring without you. You can't remember which one of them told you that, but it was flattering nonetheless. Adam placed all of the bridesmaid's on the same floor, insisting it was the least he could do, but Patrick... well, apparently he has a presidential suite, so how could you possibly deny him when he offers to show you? That's the only reason you're going up to their room. Couldn't be anything else.

You trail in after them, heels hanging from your hand as you take in the sight. You're pretty sure this place is bigger than your entire apartment. Hell, the complimentary wine and gift basket on the table probably cost more than one month's rent for you.

"You look like a kid in a candy store," Patrick remarks, lips quirked up into a little smirk as he watches you ogle the sight. Both of them shrug off their jackets and abandon them on two armchairs, leaving you another sight to ogle.

"This place is... nice," you manage, eyes trained on the way Art is removing his cufflinks and rolling his shirt up to his elbows, muttering something about it being way too hot in here before collapsing into one of the arm chairs.

You almost make a remark about how it'd be considerably more tolerable if he just took the shirt off entirely, but Patrick beats you to that idea. Peeling off his own shirt and grinning to himself like a fucking idiot when he catches a glimpse of you admiring the way the muscles in his back flex as he moves. He even gives an exaggerated stretch and a groan to really seal the deal.

You have to take a seat and squeeze your thighs together after that.

"Nice is an understatement, babe," he replies. Babe? He's ballsy. Art is just drunk enough not to mask the exaggerated roll of his eyes he gives at Patrick's choice of words.

The three of you pop open that expensive bottle of wine and pass it around for another thirty minutes (with Patrick gradually giving Art less and less time to hog the bottle the drunker he gets), chatting about Adam and his stupid wife Megan and their stupid wedding. About tennis, and your own career, and who you think is going to win the Olympics this year or whether there are really aliens in the ocean. The kind of stupid shit drunk people discuss just because the conversation is as seemingly bottomless as the wine bottle you're drinking. You somehow manage to persevere throughout it all without staring at Patrick's chest too much.

"Well, I should probably go," you say, standing up (just a little wobbly on your feet) and offering a grateful smile to the pair of them. "Definitely going to be nursing a hangover in the morning."

"Wait—" They both protest in sync, sitting up.

You tilt your head at them, questioning.

"Aren't you going to sleep with one of us?"

Well, that's tactful, Zweig. Art reaches over to smack him up the back of the head, sending you a wordless apology in the form of a wide-eyed look, like a dog that's about to be scolded. But you take it in your stride, laughing as you pick up your heels.

"I don't want to pick between you. Seems mean," you reply. And you don't think you even could choose.

"You don't have to pick between either of us," Art says hastily. Even Patrick seems to be surprised by that. They've joked about sharing girls for years, ever since the Kat Zimmerman incident, but he never thought Art would be the one to actually suggest it. He averts his eyes when Patrick is searching for a towel after the shower, for Christ's sake.

But Patrick recovers quickly.

"Yeah," he chips in. "Don't you wanna find out which one of us is which?"

That gives you pause. Right. Fire and Ice. And judging by the victorious look they share at your silence, all of you are aware of the decision you've subconsciously made.

Your clothes don't take long to disappear. A tangle of limbs backing up into the master bedroom (Patrick's), hair pins discarded in a bid to yank your head back and mouth along the expanse of your neck, both men in just boxers before long. Touching each other in ways that are far from platonic but they'll both blame on alcohol and wanting to get the three of you undressed as quickly as possible.

"This is really ugly. I'm sorry," Art tells you candidly, as you straddle him on the bed. His fingers are tracing the large pink rose pinned to the shoulder of your dress, and you bark out a surprised laugh. The pair of you are giggling like idiots between kisses, insulting Megan's taste in bridalwear before there's a loud tearing sound, and suddenly you can feel the humid air hitting the back of your thighs.

That's Patrick. Doing the things he's fantasised about since he first saw you at the altar and ripping up the back of your dress to reveal your underwear. God, they're even better than he expected.

"Patrick, what the fuck—" Art starts, but his friend makes a kissing sound through his teeth.

"What? She said Adam paid for it. It's fine," Patrick mutters. "Besides, it was so fucking worth it. You should see the view back here, man."

His fingers trail over the dampness of your panties, the lacy white just as pure as Megan's wedding dress. If he wasn't already hard in his boxers (he has been since you entered their hotel room), he certainly is now. Pushing the fabric of your dress further out of the way and leaning in to lick a stripe over your panties, a low groan slipping past his lips at how soaked they are just from kissing. You would be embarrassed but... double the men, double the wetness, right?

Your hips jerk involuntarily at the sensation, a pair of matching moans escaping you and Art as it grinds you down against his clothed erection.

"I don't think Megan would be very happy you wore white on her wedding day," Patrick says, smiling against your clothed cunt as you push back against him.

"Fuck Megan," you reply breathlessly.

"No, fuck you," he shoots back. And he very well intends to. Both of them do, actually, given the way Art is whining and arching his back off the mattress in an uncoordinated attempt to get any friction against you. He's pretty sure he might cum untouched just from the sheer anticipation of it all.

Your panties go next, lost to the heap of the rest of your clothes on the floor. It doesn't take long for strong, calloused hands to rest on your ass, spreading you open so he can tongue-fuck your pussy. Mumbling something unintelligibly about how you taste even better than the wedding cake while your whines synchronise with Art in between sharing lips and spit. Stubble grazing your face and your ass, all three of your mouths too busy for any more wisecracks.

At one point, Art tries to snake his hand in between you and rub your clit, but the front of your dress is still in the way. He still makes the effort to roll his fingers against it over the fabric of your dress, and the sound you make in reply tells him he's at least contributing somewhat to the mess Patrick is making of you. He's content enough to just lick into your mouth greedily and swallow the keening sounds you're making.

"Cumming—" is all you manage to gasp out between kisses before you're clenching around nothing, and Patrick is lapping dutifully at your release. All three of you are groaning like the orgasm is shared between you. It's only when you're bordering on overstimulation and letting out pathetic little whimpers that Art realises he's still circling your clit on autopilot, and his hand falls back to grip the sheets.

"God, she's so fucking pretty when she cums," he moans, and you'd be offended by the fact he's talking about you like you're not here if you weren't so blissed out. "You should have seen her face, Pat."

"I'll see the next one," Patrick says.

Next one? Both a promise and a statement. Just hearing that has you whimpering as Art eases you off of him. Both of them help you out of your dress, a little more gently this time, and you have to ignore the comment Patrick makes about no bra, just for me? You don't have it in you to explain built-in cups and the power of pasties to a man right now. You just want to get fucked. It's only then, when you're all spread out and wanting on the bed, that you realise the wet patches in their matching black boxers (cute, you think) are just as vivid as the one that no doubt stains your lost panties.

"Jesus, you're big." You didn't mean to say that out loud, but you're in too deep to be ashamed about any of the events transpiring right now.

"Which one?" They both ask. The question goes unanswered when you start palming them both through their boxers, a chorus of moans elicited from the pair of them. (You all know the answer, anyways.) Hands grabbing at whoever they can touch, whether it's you or each other, until Patrick has the sense to yank down Art's boxers.

The protest dies on Art's tongue when he sees the way Patrick is eyeing his cock, flushed red tip glinting under the harsh hotel lights with the amount of pre-cum smeared across it. There's a moment where you all think he's going to touch him, wrap a hand around his closest friend's pretty pink dick and jerk him off, but then he simply shrugs off his own underwear. You aren't sure which one of you is more disappointed.

Everything is a haze from then onwards. You can vaguely hear them discussing positions as you kiss at Art's neck, red lipstick mottling his pale skin until it's hard to tell which stains are makeup and which are hickeys.

"We can't ask her to do anal, man. We hardly know her."

"Why not? I bet she'd like it. Fucked in both at once."

"Because that's... it's violating!"

"Oh, right. Because whatever else we're about to do won't be. Real innocent, vanilla sex with three drunk people in our fucking hotel room."

Fucking hotel room. The double-meaning of Patrick's own words makes him snort. The only reason they stop whispering back and forth is because you pull away, settling on all fours. Back arched in a silent invitation, pretty little ass stuck up in the air and arms braced against the silk sheets. They glance at each other, before scrambling to follow, with Art shoving Patrick aside to press himself behind you.

"Why do you get her pussy?" Patrick protests, sitting up and fixing his best friend with an indignant look.

"You said you wanted to see her face when she cums!"

Fuck. He did say that. Stupid logic. Well, it's not as if your throat would be unpleasant; he wonders if your mouth will be as welcoming to his cock as it was his tongue.

"C'mon," you whine, pressing back against Art's throbbing arousal. "Can one of you just do something?"

"D'you want me to use a condom? 'Cause my wallet is in my jacket in the next room—" Art starts, but you're already reaching back to guide his tip between your slick folds. Well, that's an answer if he's ever witnessed one.

Patrick is too busy getting situated in front of your face to make a comment about filthy girls taking it raw. Art's almost disappointed—he'd never be brave enough to make the comment himself. One large palm cupping your face, tilting your head up while the other slaps his cock against your lips. Whatever gloss they'd kissed off was replaced in a new sheen, one that makes him give a soft hum of approval.

"You look pretty," he tells you, and your thanks dies on your tongue when Art pushes into you. Easing himself in inch by inch, until you're practically drooling onto Patrick's tip. "God, what a fucking sight." For a moment, his eyes are on the way Art's face contorts in pleasure at the tight warmth surrounding him. It's even hotter than the way he looked when they used to jerk off in the same room at night.

"Open wide," he instructs, eyes flitting down to you. Smiling down at you with that shit-eating little grin and talking to you like you're at the dentist, not getting spit roasted after your friend's wedding. "Big girls take it all, right?"

You oblige, though—how could you not, when your senses are clouded by Art drilling into you from behind? A few more slaps of his cock against your tongue, and he's pushing himself in, too. His breath catches in his throat as the warm wetness of your mouth envelopes him—yeah, definitely just as welcoming.

You can hardly tell who's moaning at this point. There's something almost beautiful in the synchrony, the way your hands and bodies move against each other. Clutching at Patrick's hips, while he fists your hair, admiring the way the ringlets spill through his fingers like a waterfall as he pushes you down further; gagging at the intrusion in your throat while Art whimpers behind you like this is his first time getting pussy. Each of you are in your own individual heaven, while simultaneously in ecstasy together.

"Good fuckin' girl, just like that—"

"Oh, Pat, she's so tight—"

A hand slaps against your ass, and you can't tell who it belongs to. Patrick seems like the most likely culprit, given how sweet Art had been earlier, but with the way he's ramming into you like a jackhammer leaves you doubtful. It doesn't really matter, though—they both know you enjoyed it, given the way you garble out a moan around Patrick's dick. You don't know if you're praying for mercy or for more.

He lets you come up for air occasionally, telling you how pretty you look taking Art's cock. Such a good girl, before you're being degraded for letting him fuck your throat like a slut. There's no time for arguments before his tip is at the back of your throat again, the sound of your gag reflex going off hardly audible over the sound of moaning, wet slapping and skin hitting skin.

You think you know now. Fire and Ice.

Art reaches around to rub your clit at some point, slurring, "want you to cum first. You deserve it. So fucking good for us."

Patrick makes a sound of disagreement, tightening his grip in your hair as his hips begin to stutter. Not because you aren't being good for them—you're so fucking perfect—but because he wants to be able to see and hear you properly when you cum. He doesn't have the vocal capabilities to voice that aloud right now, though, so he just continues to thrust eagerly past your swollen lips until his climax hits him. You'd be worried about the obscene slew of noises coming from Patrick's hotel room if it weren't a presidential fucking suite. God, why does that make this so much hotter?

He groans out your name—or maybe it was Art's?—as he releases, holding your head in place to ensure it's all aimed down your throat. The salty taste isn't foreign to you, but you still grimace. Patrick takes it as an expression of pleasure, though, withdrawing from your mouth and leaning down to press his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss.

"You can cum," he murmurs. You weren't asking for permission, but you nod anyways. Art's grunts of exertion are the loudest sound in the room, the occasional whine slipping past his lips when your cunt squeezes harder around him. Slick fingers circling your clit until he feels you convulsing around him.

You mewl with pleasure, bowing your head forward, your arms and legs threatening to give way from your arched position. But Patrick catches your chin and tilts it upwards, watching the way your eyes roll back as Art fucks you through your orgasm and your spit-slick lips part around his name. “Art, fuck, yeah—“ It's only after Art announces his own climax with a low moan and collapses on top of you that Patrick is kind enough to wipe the drool coating your chin away.

It's all a bit of a blur after that. Shared kisses between the three of you in the darkness when the light has been switched off—sometimes between Art and Patrick, though neither of them have any intentions of acknowledging it. Gentle caresses against sweaty skin as you lay tangled in Patrick's queen-sized bed, praises whispered aimlessly into the quiet of the humid night.

—

You're gone by the time they wake up. A walk of shame back to your own hotel room in a shirt borrowed from one of their suitcases (you don't know which), mourning the loss of that ugly dress you wanted to sell on eBay afterwards to cover dinner for the month. Neither of them speak of the events that occurred the night before until after breakfast has been ordered and Art has taken several pills for his hangover, eating room service on the same chairs you all sat on last night, their jackets still strewn across the back of them.

"I think that was better than either of us getting laid alone," Art comments, poking at his egg with his fork. Both of them are littered with hickeys, but Art bears the worst of it. He's pretty sure most of the marks came from cuddling with Patrick in bed afterwards, but he’s too afraid to mention it. Not a can of worms he wants to open right now.

"Yeah?" Patrick prompts, with a knowing little smile. Even tired and hungover, Art has enough wits about him to know that something is up. He narrows his eyes, dropping his cutlery onto his plate and sitting up straighter.

"What?" He demands.

"Nothing."

Art leans forward. "There's obviously something, Pat."

"Just... when have I ever not approached a girl I wanted?"

It takes a moment for Art to really process what that means. Last night was a pleasurable, drunken haze, but he does remember Patrick's words in the reception hall. It makes sense now—that bullshit about Patrick waiting for you to approach him.

... Manipulative little bastard. That doesn't stop Art from replying with:

"Fuck you, man." A pause. "... But I think we should do that again some time."

[lordprettyflackotara]

danger || masky & eyeless jack

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: threesome! congrats you take a trip to paris! exhibitionism, breeding, slight size kink, rough sex, degrading, face fucking

Masky did not consider himself a selfish man.

If anything he thought of himself to be reasonable.

So when it came to meeting you by mistake, a stereotypical robbery he was performing going wrong, he didn’t consider himself selfish for not killing you.

If anyone knew the proxies golden rule of never being able to be traced it was him. But maybe he was selfish when it came to you. You were a little small town receptionist in a town he frequented. Not necessarily for missions, but he passed through frequently. If anyone knew of your existence you’d be terminated on the spot. You knew Masky lived a fast and unpredictable life, but he made sure to keep you in the shadows as to why or how. He figured you just accepted that he was in a gang or the mafia or something. It would be the most logical assumption, especially with the mask glued to his face and off putting name. Still though, Masky found himself going to see you every chance he got. As time went on he began accepting and asking for more solo missions, using the extra tasks as an excuse to see you.

He thought he had done a damn good job of keeping you safe from his terrifying life, until you had followed him into the forest as he trudged home.

It was nothing but morbid curiosity that led you to nip at Masky’s heels as you followed him. You were surprised he hadn’t heard you, your lover stopping at the forest line. Your eyes widened at the sight of a large seemingly unoccupied mansion that sat in the middle of a well trimmed field. Many questions ran through your mind, the most important one being: why would Masky willingly live here? It wasn’t necessarily out of character but it wasn’t the most flattering choice. Your boyfriend was ominous and mysterious, purposefully keeping you in the dark about his life. At first it was intriguing, but the longer he kept the affair going, the more curious you became. Despite the relationship revolving around sex, you wanted to discuss taking things to the next level. Maybe instead of raw dogging in your car you could try a movie instead. You couldn’t think of a better way than showing him you were serious by showing your dedication.

Most people wouldn’t follow their possible mafia boyfriend into a patch of secluded woods, but nevertheless you did so. You thought maybe he realized you were there, inhaling his cigarette as he stood at the forest line. “Hey there,” You greeted excitedly. Masky jumped at the sound of your voice, realizing he was too lost in his own thoughts to hear you follow him. “Princess? What the fuck are you doing here?” He snapped, becoming increasingly panicked. There were many horrific scenarios that could occur with you being here. It was a miracle The Rake hadn’t heard your heart beating or smelled you. The next terrifying scenario was Smile Dog smelling you, but he remembered Jeff took him and Nina on a late night killing spree. They called themselves ‘the triple threat’, which until now Masky thought was incredibly stupid. He now was suddenly thankful for Jeff and his inflated ego.

Next was The Operator, who could most likely read your thoughts. If he suspected an unwelcome guest was on the property he would know to search. Otherwise unless he physically ran into you, Masky doubted that would be a problem. His eyes widened as he realized the last scenario, was undoubtedly the most realistic and the least preventable. “I followed you. I think it’s time to take things to the next level and-” You began, Masky roughly grabbing your arm and cutting you off. He yanked you into the clearing, bee lining straight for the house. “Ow! Masky what the hell?!” You hissed, The brunette angrily threw his cigarette on the lawn, stomping on it and trudging closer to the mansion. You began to try to pull away when he didn’t answer, this only angering him further. In a fit of rage he turned around, glaring down at you. “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re in by being here?” He seethed.

“Relax no one knows i’m here, it’s not like they can smell me,” You argued. Masky pulled you further, clenching his jaw. “Actually princess, they can,” He barked. He threw open the back kitchen door, looking around before dragging you inside. “You need to stay quiet, just stay behind me,” Masky whispered. He loosened his grip on your arm, slithering it down to your hand. You intertwined your fingers with his, allowing him to lead you further into the unsettling mansion. Masky peaked around the corner, Ben passed out on the living room couch with an open bag of doritos on his chest. “Who is that-” You began to whisper, Masky hissing at you to shush. You zipped your lips, trailing behind him as he led you up the stairs. Masky was acutely aware of how intense the situation was, his heart racing. Any creep could come home at any time, which would result in your untimely demise. You followed him down the seemingly endless hallway, looking around and noting the countless doors that lined each wall.

Masky yanked open his bedroom door, throwing you inside and shutting it quickly. He fiddled with the lock, dead bolting it before turning to you. “You need to listen to me very carefully, you are in grave danger being here,” Masky said as calmly as he could muster. You sarcastically chuckled, crossing your arms. “Oh cmon, what could your mafia friends possibly do to me?” You asked naively. Masky turned on his bedside lamp, illuminating the serious expression on his face as he took off his mask. “I am not in the goddamn mafia. I live amongst immortal serial killers that would tear your organs out if they knew you were here,” He rambled. He ran his fingers through his hair, his brain racking itself for a solution. “Masky if you don’t want us to be anything more than fuck buddies just say so don’t make up some elaborate lie,” You argued flatly. Masky turned to you, gripping your forearms. “Elaborate lie??? Are you fucking listening to me?” He hissed.

It was a loud knock on Masky’s door that interrupted your argument, the two of you looking over at the door in horror. “You weren’t lying were you?” You whispered. If Masky didn’t know who was at the door he would’ve rolled his eyes. “No I wasn’t now hide,” He whispered aggressively. You threw yourself around his bed, crawling underneath it. Dust buddies danced around your body as you tried to hold your breath, Masky opening the door. He wasn’t surprised to see Eyeless Jack standing outside. His mask hid his facial expression, making his presence ominous. “EJ!” Masky greeted, trying to not visibly sweat bullets. Jack didn’t move, standing completely still. “Masky,” He replied flatly. You itched your nose, the dust buddies violating your nostrils as you hid under the bed. You couldn’t see the horrific monster that was Eyeless Jack, hiding under the bed only allowing you to see his large boots. “What uh, what brings you here?” Masky asked as calmly as possible. Jack tilted his head to the side, his ears twitching. “I think we both know why i’m here Masky,” He said coldly.

Masky threw his hands up sarcastically, leaning on the bedroom door. “No not at all would you like to elaborate?” Masky asked. You cringed as you tried to itch your nose, the dust causing you to awkwardly try to put your sleeve over your face. It was then you couldn’t hold it back anymore. You sneezed, Masky trying his hardest not to turn around. “Did your bed just sneeze?” Jack asked. Masky grabbed Jack by his sleeve, dragging him inside of his bedroom. He shut the door. You awkwardly took it as you cue to crawl out from under the bed, meeting the assertive gazes of Jack and Masky. Jack extended his hand for you to take, helping you rise to your feet. You stared up at him in awe, visibly gawking at his overbearing height. “Do I want to ask?” Jack questioned. Masky awkwardly shuffled his weight on each leg. “Jack this is my girlfriend….” Masky said, his voice trailing off. With wide eyes you waved, Jack’s eye sockets narrowing under his mask.

“Bringing another human here with a loud ass heartbeat like that wasn’t the brightest idea,” Jack said. Masky ran his fingers through his hair anxiously, before digging in his pockets for a cigarette. “He can hear my heartbeat?” You whispered to Masky, who side eyed you before returning his attention to Jack. He sighed, finally finding a cigarette in his pocket. “Jack you do so much for me I need you to do me one final solid and help me transport her out of here alive,” Masky said. You looked back and forth between the two.

“Uh Mask that sounds just a little bit traffick-y if you know what I mean-”

The death glare he delivered demanded that you be quiet, but the two of you were awaiting Jack’s response. “What’s in it for me?” The demon asked, his large hands leaving his hoodie pockets. You couldn’t help but notice the dark ash color that seemed to be his skin tone, your heart pounding even faster. “Whatever you want Jack, seriously, i’m in your debt,” Masky rambled. Being in debt and/or owing a favor to anyone in the mansion was practically a death sentence, but he’d do anything for you. Jack looked over at you, causing you to stand more awkwardly. His gaze went up and down, scanning your body. Masky immediately picked up on what he was doing, clenching his jaw. “Nuh uh no way EJ, burn in hell,” He growled. He fumbled to find a lighter, finally locating one in his coat. “My seasonal heat is only a few days away. If I release appropriate steam beforehand perhaps I won’t accidentally terrorize Jane this year,” Jack fully proposed. Your mind swirled at the phrase ‘heat’, instantly trying to dissect the meaning. “So what? You want a threesome?” Masky questioned through gritted teeth. Jack sighed, watching the proxy scramble to light his cigarette. “Of course not, i’d expect you to watch. I don’t think you could keep up with my pacing,” Jack denied.

The realization of what was happening made your eyes widen, a chill running down your spine as you watched the two bicker. You loved Masky endlessly, but the sight of a giant demon requesting to have sex with you so formally was turning you on. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you found yourself terrified but also aroused as to what such an unpredictable monster could do to you. Masky was rambling at this point, before Jack stopped him.

“She wants me.”

“What? EJ you’ve lost your goddamn mind-”

“I can smell her.”

The silence in the room was heavy as Masky’s gaze fell on you. “Really princess?” He asked. You watched him inhale his cigarette like he always did, something different crossing his eyes. Nodding, Masky then sighed. “Alright fine, whatever it takes to keep her alive. I’ll be in the corner watching though. Gotta make sure you won’t eat her,” Masky agreed. You watched him grab a wooden chair, pulling it and sitting on it in the corner of the room. His legs were spread as he slid his mask back on, hiding his facial expression as he watched you face Jack. “Uh hi,” You greeted awkwardly. Jack had a sinister grin curling up his lips under his mask as he looked down at you. “I’m not much of a talker, just let me know if things are too much for you, alright?” The demon asked. You nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. Jack crawled on top of you, guiding you to lay on your back. Anxiously you closed your eyes, feeling him lift his mask to kiss your neck. He could feel the blood pumping through your veins, with each kiss, his own heart beginning to race.

Jack couldn’t recall the last time he had a mate during his heats and he planned on taking full advantage of the situation. And with you being a small human girl, he knew his plans would go very smoothly. It was easy to please a woman, he thought. He sucked and nipped at your skin, his razor sharp teeth grazing your skin. “If I see blood i’ll have your head EJ,” Masky interrupted, his voice cold and dripping with venom. Jack brought his large hands to your breast, ignoring Masky’s comment. He could smell your arousal becoming more apparent, the demon almost sure your panties were soaked by now. He palmed at your nipples through your shirt, quite frankly finding himself becoming impatient. Unfortunately though due to the size difference you’d need prep work. It was taking Jack everything in him to not bend you over in front of the proxy and fuck you senseless. He kissed down your stomach, relishing in the sight of your hips bucking upwards eagerly. “You can be loud you know, won’t bother me at all,” Jack hummed. You were sure your face was red, the embarrassment of his words and Masky’s endless stare humiliating you. “R-Right of course,” You swallowed, the demon’s long fingers looping through the hoops of your jeans.

In a swift motion he pulled them down, exposing your lacey pink panties. “How cute is this, did you wear these just for Masky?” Jack asked, his mischievous smile allowing you to see his rows of razor sharp teeth. You babbled an agreement, your hips bucking upwards with desperation. Goosebumps trailed across your skin as he began to pull your panties downwards with his teeth, the pointy ends tearing at the fabric. By the time it reached your ankles it was a pile of scraps, one Jack threw at Masky before nuzzling back in between your thighs. He ran two fingers up and down your slick, collecting your arousal before shoving it back inside of you. Jack’s fingers were much longer than your lovers, your back arching off of the bed once he curled them. “There we go, why don’t you relax and loosen up for me?” Jack purred. The feeling of your walls clinging to his digits were only making his cock harder, your thighs attempting to close as Jack unexpectedly began to ruthlessly finger fuck you. He didn’t bother going slow, knowing you were beyond eager to have him ruin you as a show for your pretty human boyfriend. Masky had already finished his first cigarette, going for a second one as his cock grew harder in his jeans. His pride refused to let him admit seeing you melt for a demon aroused him.

His fingers abused your g spot, his other large hand prying your thighs open and forcing you to take what he was giving you. You were seeing stars, your sinful moans surely loud enough for the mansions other residents to hear. “Awe, doesn’t that feel good human? So impossibly good?” Jack chuckled darkly, watching your thighs begin to tremble. You grabbed onto his wrist in an attempt to slow him down, unable to control your body from chasing its first orgasm. “Wow would you look at that. About to cum already? That must be some sort of world record, don’t you agree Masky?” Jack asked sarcastically, grinning as he pinned one of your thighs down onto the bed. Masky clenched his jaw, inhaling his cigarette as reached your first climax. Jack’s motions were not only rough but ruthless, finger fucking you through your orgasm as your vision turned white. You were palming at the sheets, Jack quick to rearrange you once you had rode out your high. You could barely process it as Jack put you on all fours, grabbing your ass and guiding it against his cock. Masky narrowed his eyes as you eagerly tried to wiggle your ass against Jack, desperate for him to get on with it.

Jack gripped at the mounds of your ass, spreading them open and examining your holes. “You sure did pick a pretty one Masky,” He complimented, your face flushing as you heard him unzip his pants. The demon teased you with the tip of his cock, your body stiffening. You had never seen nevertheless felt such a large cock, your anxiety rising as he collected your slick. “Arch your back human, give Masky a proper show,” Jack encouraged, pushing himself inside of you. Surprisingly it didn’t take long for the impossible stretch to become feasible, your walls milking Jack’s cock as he sank deeper into you. Along with this satisfaction came your moans, the demons name finally falling off of your tongue. The sound of that pushed Masky to the limit, the proxy flicking his cigarette to the side and rising from his chair. Angrily he grabbed a fistful of your hair, unzipping his jeans. “This wasn’t apart of the agreement,” Jack hummed, his cock buried inside of your cunt. He hadn’t moved yet, curious to see what the proxy would do. “I don’t give a shit. No girl of mine is gonna be moaning your name,” Masky huffed, shoving down his jeans and boxers.

The sight of your aching boyfriend’s cock made you roll out your tongue, your mouth practically watering at the sight of it. Masky was quick to stuff your mouth with his shaft, causing you to choke as he pushed you down further onto him. Jack took this as his cue to begin fucking you, his slender fingers digging into your ass as he snapped his hips into yours. You braced yourself as best as you could, Masky groaning as he shoved himself down your throat. “Dirty fuckin whore, gettin’ off to me and a demon ruining you? Pathetic,” Masky snarled. It infuriated him to see you enjoying Jack’s cock as much as you were, your body shaking with ecstasy as you were squished between both men. But something about the humiliation of seeing you enjoy it so much did something for the proxy, whether or not he wanted to admit it. He shoved himself further down your throat, watching you gag on his cock. Saliva dripped down the sides of your mouth, tears flooding your waterline. “You picked a fine mate. Is very easy to breed it seems,” Jack added, noting your walls fluttering around him as he spoke the statement. “Fuckin slut,” Masky growled, yanking forcefully at your hair and making you gag on his cock. Your moans were nothing but extra vibrations for Masky to enjoy, your ability to breathe delightfully restricted in the best way.

Jack’s thrust were merciless, the urge to breed you forever clouding his mind as he focused on the task at hand. Masky wanted nothing more than to see you suffer for his own pleasure, face fucking you as roughly as he possibly could. “You’re such a fuckin slut you’re gonna let a demon cum in you? Really? Stupid bitch,” Masky rambled, feeling his own high coming on. Jack’s fingers were leaving indented bruises on your ass, his cock abusing your cervix with each thrust as he pushed you further and further towards your boyfriend’s cock. You were on a mind numbing high, your body convulsing as you unexpectedly came again. You were too dazed to think, allowing your body to go slack and expecting both men to keep you upright. It wasn’t long before both men filled both of your holes. “Dont swallow my cum slut, stick out your tongue,” Masky barked. You did as instructed, smudged mascara and lipstick down your face. You could feel Jack’s warm cum fill up your womb, so much so extra semen was dripping down your cunt. The demon rounded the bed, joining Masky’s side as they stared at you. You were humiliated as their cum dropped down your tongue and abused cunt.

“What a filthy fuckin cum dump.”

“You seem to be right on that.”

“What’d you say we fill her up some more? She still has another hole to fill after all.”

[copper-16]

Remind Me That There’s A Room To Grow Part 3

Broken, rueful, and mended as it should have been.

(a/n: Part 3, here we come! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on these, I'm so grateful! Reminder for anyone who likes a musical touch that you can find the Spotify playlist here, if you would like. Please enjoy this part, and I would love to hear your feedback about the note at the end!)

Alexia sat on that damn park bench for God knows how long. 

She didn’t care if she got no sleep or looked absolutely insane sitting there for hours on end. The things you had told her rattled around in her brain disconcertedly, unending every single thought that attempted to interrupt. The brunette had gone from feeling like she was the most stable and vindicated person on the planet to a feeling as though she were a shell of herself. 

This whole time, there had been so much more to the story than she ever could have imagined. And though she knew it really wasn’t their fault, resentment flared within her at how quick Eli and Alba were to blame you for everything. 

Everything in Alexia felt anguished. Just thinking about looking at your face made the Catalan feel nauseous, stuck on how distraught you had been. It wasn’t as though she could blame you either, not when she had been so irate. 

She had allowed herself to be influenced by every single person around her instead of trusting you, as she always had. She should have trusted herself, should have trusted the fact that she knew something was wrong. The last nine years had been spent giving you the benefit of the doubt, but when it came to it, she had treated you with such animosity. 

Never in a million years had she expected the reasoning behind all of this. 

Cancer. It seemed impossible for someone who was only eighteen years old, but it wasn’t as though stranger things hadn’t occurred. Now all Alexia managed to think of was how scared and alone you must have felt. She had lost you, but she did so when she was chasing her dreams. You had to watch her leave you behind because of a situation entirely out of your hands. 

All this time where she had felt abandoned, and in reality it was the other way around. 

What an absolutely fucked up situation. 

When the footballer finally stood, a chill wrapped around her and caused her to shiver violently. She didn’t remember it getting cold, but it wasn’t as though she cared about the temperature when her mind was a ruction of emotions. 

She booked it back to her car, driving herself toward her Mami’s house in what would have been considered a fury. The brunette knew that her sister was there as well, so she could kill two birds with one stone.  

When she arrived, the brunette barged through the door with no care at all for the hinges, her inner turmoil gathering and growing with each and every step she took. She found her family in the kitchen, enjoying some dessert with a glass of wine in each of their hands. 

“You were wrong,” Alexia seethed, almost heady with the amount of wrath she felt within her. Eli and Alba both turned to her in an instant, instantly confused at the animosity in her tone. It was so rare to hear the brunette truly upset in the way she was right now, and they glanced at each other for a second before they turned to Alexia fully. 

“What happened?” Alba asked, very confused as to what her sister was talking about. They had no idea that the pair of you had talked, but Alexia didn’t care to give them context. 

“You both blamed her for leaving me behind, you made her out to be the villain and she never was! This was all of your fault, how could you do this to me? How could you twist my mind in such a way?” Alexia snapped, her whole body tense with rage. 

“Alexia, what the hell are you talking about?” Alba demanded, understanding dawning on the subject her sister spoke about but still confused as to the circumstances. 

“She was fucking sick, you two. She let me go alone because she had cancer, and she didn’t want me to have to live through it when I was moving away. She broke up with me so I could go chase my dreams and build my career without being bogged down. She gave up her own happiness so that I could have my own,” the brunette spat, her face red with exertion. Whether it was to keep her anger inwards or to stop the tears that burned in the back of her eyes, the Catalan was unsure.   

“She did it to protect me, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt for her decision for a decade before you two got so defensive and twisted my mind. She was never the selfish person you made her out to be, she was always the most selfless, empathetic, compassionate of all of us!” Alexia argued, and she seemed only to be growing more and more in her anger. 

“Alexia–” Eli tried to interrupt, but she was quickly cut off. 

“No! I don’t even want to hear you two attempt to explain yourselves. I don’t want to hear it. I loved her, I love her now, and I’ve fucked it all up with your words in my mouth! She left the conversation in tears, she told me to leave her alone. If you two hadn’t been so horrible about the whole thing, I never would have been so skeptical in the first place!” Alexia was ready to burst at the seams, and she couldn’t handle it. 

“Now Ale, we only did that because we wanted to protect y–” Alba attempted to interject, failing just as her mother had. 

“I don’t even want to hear it! I am so angry at the two of you, especially considering that you hardly let me get a word in edgewise about her character. She grew up with us, she loves us, and she trusted you with her heart just as much as you trusted her with mine. So don’t sit there and say anything, but maybe think about your own actions!” Alexia finally demanded, her words fervent in manner. 

When her mother and sister said nothing but looked at her in shock, the brunette shook her head and chuckled austerely, not a trace of humor in her tone. 

“God, and now you don’t even have anything to say for yourselves,” she looked around at her mother’s kitchen as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The midfielder was aware she was only redirecting her anger onto two people whose blame was minimal, but the affliction in her heart needed somewhere to go. 

“I have to go, I will talk to you two later,” Alexia said after a second, defeat heavy in her expression as the anger began to drain out of her. It was replaced by an excruciating misery that weighed on her shoulders exactingly, as though it knew that she was really the one to blame in all of this. 

She felt as though she had lead in her shoes as she walked out to her car. The drive back to her apartment was done in complete silence, the Catalan unable to deal with anything other than the chaos in her mind. 

She barely made it one step in the door before the first sob bubbled up her throat. She finally allowed herself to succumb to it, sobbing so hard that her ribs ached and her eyes swelled, and she had nobody to blame for everything except for herself. 

—

Every single person on the team could immediately tell something was wrong with Alexia when she showed up at training the next day. 

Alexia had always been the most dedicated of them all, relentless in her pursuit to be better. She was endlessly pushing herself and those around her to be their best selves, and it paid off. The team worked hard, and they looked better than ever. The Catalan had helped to lift them from relative obscurity into a team that people feared to play, and as much as Vicky was their fearless leader, every single player would tell you that the Catalan was their beating heart. 

But today? Well, today the brunette looked about two steps away from death as she walked into the changing room.  

Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Her hair was mildly unkempt, her skin sullen, the bags under her eyes endlessly listless. She kept her head down, and changed as though she wished she could curl up into a ball and never be seen again. The midfielder was usually a quiet person, but today she seemed…unobservant. 

Somehow, that made all of it seem worse. 

Jenni and Mariona were instantly alarmed because they knew what had happened, while the other girls were both confused and in a state of shock. Nobody had ever seen Alexia this clearly upset, considering the fact that she typically kept things close to her chest. 

To be this outwardly downtrodden was incomprehensible, to the point where the rest of the team wasn’t sure how to act toward her. They all seemed to avoid her as though she was radioactive, and she made no attempt to engage with any of them. 

Jenni, Mariona, and Vicky, however, had no problem marching over to the Catalan as they created a concerned cocoon around her. 

“What happened Alexia?” Vicky questioned gently, only to receive nothing short of the death glare back from Jenni and Mariona in response. 

“How did it go?” Mariona amended quietly, hopeful that they might have been able to draw out some sort of reaction from the midfielder. It was clear the conversation had not gone well, but they did not know why. 

And sure enough, Alexia’s entire face flashed into something nearly venomous, and she shook her head with what looked to be a clearly concerted effort to remain in control. 

“Nothing. I would appreciate it if everyone left me alone and we could conduct training as normal, like we are supposed to be doing,” she managed to grit out pointedly, her voice bolstered with hostility and malice. The three women looked around at each other, none of them in the least bit convinced, but the mutually agreed upon decision seemed to be that they clearly weren’t going to get anything out of the brunette right now. 

The midfielder was a monster at training that day, and not in a good way. 

Every single ball was launched with a lethal ferocity. Every single pass was too hard, every single first touch sloppy and heavy.  

None of the movements were reminiscent of the Alexia that everyone had come to know. It wasn’t great football, it wasn’t even good football. The midfielder was clearly angry at something, and the longer practice went on, the worse it got. The Catalan was frustrated with herself, bitter and enraged at how she seemed unable to play with any ounce of grace. 

It felt ironically similar to how she seemed unable to converse with you without accusation, a thought she was ruefully reminded of. 

It was when she sent a ball flying angled toward Caro’s head that Vicky and Marta finally pulled the midfielder aside brashly. The captain of the team had taken one look at their manager, whose expression agreed with her own, to know what needed to be done. 

“You’re done for the day,” Vicky stated without an ounce of discussion left in the conversation. Alexia certainly wasn’t in the mood to be ordered around as she decisively brushed them off. 

“I’m fine, we still have another half hou–” The brunette was cut off without even managing to finish her sentence. 

“No. You are done, you’re going to go back to the changing room and take a long shower. You’re going to get dressed and go home and process whatever you’re trying to avoid right now by almost murdering your teammates,” the Barcelona captain dictated with even greater finality, her eyebrow raised as though she dared the younger woman to argue with her. 

Alexia looked posed to respond, but when she caught Marta looking back at the Norwegian with worried eyes, she felt the fight drain out of her. The older Spaniard had always had a sweet spot for the nervous Wolfsburg transfer, and seeing it right in front of her eyes made her deflate like a balloon. 

She knew that look. 

She had lived that look before, when she hadn’t fucked all of this up seven ways to Sunday. 

With a reluctant, apologetic glance at Marta, the midfielder nodded her head. She turned on her heels, much to the surprise of her co-captains, who were honestly expecting more of a pushback. 

As they watched the midfielder walk off the pitch, they stared at the way her body seemed to curl in on herself, almost as though the brunette couldn’t bear to stand up straight as she stared down at her feet. 

“What the hell happened?” Marta asked Vicky as she looked over at her captain. But the Barcelona captain was unable to tear her eyes away from Alexia’s retreating form until it disappeared into the building. It was only then that she looked over at Jenni, who hovered a short distance away from them with a look of unease on her face. 

Vicky shook her head before she turned back to the pitch. 

“I honestly have no idea,” she replied curtly as she made direct eye contact with Jenni, who seemed to understand the silent request of her captain as she turned back toward practice. 

When the team filed in after training was done, Alexia and all of her stuff were gone, nowhere to be seen. 

—

Nine years. 

You had lived with the grief of losing her for nine years. You would never change your mind on the decision, but God did it feel as though you were sucking the blood out of your body. Even all of these years later, it still stung to think about how much you had lost in that moment. 

Alexia took every ounce of happiness and peace with her when she left. While you still had other friends, you were by no means alone, it was never the same without her there. You hardly had to speak a single word for the brunette to understand where your mind was at. There was a closeness to the two of you that was impossible to replace. It hadn’t been the same after she had left, no longer having a confidant who held space for you. 

Your father, while a lovely man, was never terribly involved in your life. He loved you, but having children was never his dream, and with how much he worked, you rarely saw him. It was a loss that you didn’t feel rather acutely, especially not when Jaume had swept you into his orbit through your friendship with Alexia. He had loved you like a daughter, and you cherished him for it in a way you had never managed with your own father. 

Your two younger brothers, Leo and Adan, had struggled when you had gotten sick. They always looked up to you as their protector and ring leader. Seeing you unable to help, organize, and work as you usually did was strange for them, especially considering the fact that they were only fifteen and fourteen at the time. And while you spent much of your childhood watching over them with a loving gaze, it was your mother who stepped up to take care of them more. 

Your mother Paula was a lovely, exuberant woman, if not a touch frazzled. She was a better entertainer than she was a mother, but there was no question she loved the three of you. The two of you had been a team in helping to raise the boys, because while your mother had wisdom you were steadfast in your ability to calm. You had been a significant help in raising the two boys, and your mother had come to rely on you as a result. It had all gotten thrown out of place when you had gotten sick. Your mother tried to pick up the slack, bless her, but she struggled. She did as best as she could until you were declared cancer free, and able to help pick up some of the slack that had been created. It helped that your brothers were compassionate and kind, never one to try and cause too much trouble. 

Your mother passed away just a few years ago because of a brain aneurysm, much to the devastation of your father. While you missed her terribly, you never needed her for stability and strength. That was found on your own. 

Chemo treatments were mostly done on your own, a book and a sick bag in hand. It was a tough three months, but you made it through with as big of a smile as you could muster. A friend would accompany you occasionally, but they never quite knew what to do when they were there with you. Not that you faulted them for it, but it only made you more exhausted having to entertain on top of feeling ill. 

After a grueling few months, the tumor had shrunk enough to be surgically removed, and a few rounds of radiation killed off the last of it. It had been less than a year to get rid of everything, though in your mind it had felt much longer. 

Overall, the treatment had gone well from a medical perspective. You had responded well and were declared to be in remission swiftly. You were young and otherwise healthy, making you the perfect candidate to respond to treatment. 

That didn’t seem to account for the ache that persisted deep in your chest, but it wasn’t as a result of your sickness. The sense of loss that pervaded your mind for years afterward was impossible to banish. You had not made a mistake, and yet your mind and body betrayed you with a wanton amount of unearned yearning.

There was a restlessness that existed within you, a restlessness that needed to be solved and yet had nowhere to go.  

You had begun university toward the end of your treatments and sped through a track in finance, turning heads each and every way you went. There was always a level of intelligence to you that you were aware of, but investment analysis and management came naturally to you it seemed. 

Though you had the opportunity to go earlier, you waited dutifully for your brothers to finish school and go off to university before you left your hometown. Leo ended up in Valencia for school, and a year later Adan made the decision to stay in Madrid for his degree. 

Once you were certain your brothers were settled, you began to dig for opportunities in your own career. The work you had put in paid off, and you had offers not only in Spain but France, Italy, the United States as well. 

You didn’t care about any of that, though. You took the one job that put you directly in Barcelona and decided to figure it out from there. 

There was a safety and security to being in the same city as Alexia, even if she had no clue you were there. You were thankful for the move, honestly, thankful for the opportunity to meet new friends and build your own life. The sun forever shined and the city was exciting and vibrant, devoid of the reminders that face you everywhere in Madrid. 

Both of your brothers ended up staying in or returning to Madrid, living near your mother until her death and trying to stay vaguely connected to your father. He had struggled immensely in the wake of her passing, but both Leo and Adan never seemed to mind stepping in to keep him on the right path. 

By all logical standards, you had a wonderful life. An amazing group of friends, a job you really enjoyed, hobbies you found interesting. It felt like the whole package of what someone would want in their life. 

But you found in the morning after your talk with Alexia, there was nothing you wanted to do with this life. You simply wanted to be left alone to rot, and you found that you didn’t care who disagreed. The longing in your heart threatened to swallow you whole, your hatred for your decisions every single day of the last nine years. 

You had finally been honest with Alexia, you had told her the truth…but was it worth it? 

Based on the feeling inside of you right now, it wasn’t worth it. 

You would have taken anger over devastation on her face any day. 

You loved her too much to care about your own peace of mind. 

And yet…

—

Alexia nearly jumped out of her skin when she unlocked the door of her apartment, only to find that Jenni was sitting on her couch with a glass of lemonade and a raised brow. The midfielder did a complete double take, confounded when she reminded herself that the door had in fact been locked before she came in here.  

“How the hell did you get in here?” The Catalan asked with confusion as her heart rate struggled to return to an acceptable level. She looked around her apartment with a perplexed glint to her expression, as though she expected to find the answer laying in front of her in the form of a crowbar or something. 

“Oh please, we’ve been friends for many years. We are both allowed to have our little secrets, no?” Jenni diverted, and Alexia shook her head instantly, looking toward the striker with a lost expression. 

“What – no?! That doesn’t mean you get to break into my apartment! How did you even get in her–” 

“This is not the point of this conversation, Alexia,” Jenni cut her friend off easily, ignoring how bewildered the brunette was as a result of her surprise appearance. The striker settled, a concerned look flashing across her features. “You fucked up that conversation, didn’t you?” 

“You’re not allowed to just barge in here whenever you want!” Alexia spat, a sudden rush of anger coursing through her at Jenni’s words. Defensiveness coursed through her veins with a fury, and nobody had managed to pin her down for long enough to have a real conversation with her. 

Until now, apparently. 

When the raven-haired woman leveled her with a disbelieving stare, the Catalan’s shoulders collapsed just slightly. When Jenni wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone. She would stop at absolutely nothing to get it, and the midfielder knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation with anger or deflections. She sighed forcefully, settling her keys down on her kitchen counter and pressing her head into her hands. 

“I did,” she conceded after a moment, her voice shaky and impossibly quiet. When she finally looked up, the torment inside her entire body seemed to reflect in her expression. Jenni felt horrible, seeing how torn up her friend was. 

“I fucked everything up Jenni, everything. I came into it with so much aggression and fear, and made all these accusations I don’t even really think I meant,” she admitted with a humorless chuckle, an echo of agony in her words. 

Silence cascaded around them, the air thick with regret and despondency. 

“She was sick,” Alexia revealed after a moment. She glanced up at Jenni, struggling to control herself. “She was sick, and so she broke things off because she couldn’t leave, but she wanted me to. She saved my career, made a sacrifice for my own happiness, and in return I screamed horrible things at her. What kind of person does that make me?” Alexia pleaded, her voice cracking over the last sentence. 

Jenni thought about the question for a moment before she shook her head and looked back at Alexia. There was a compassion in her expression, and the Catalan forced herself to look away in the face of it. She didn’t deserve it. 

“It makes you human, Alexia,” the raven-haired woman countered, her words soft and sympathetic, almost saccharine in their amount of sweetness. 

“No it doesn’t,” Alexia grumbled under her breath, but Jenni was quick to continue. 

“Yes it does. You did not have all the information at the time. And okay, you said some things you regret? Go apologize for them then! You made a mistake, and you feel remorse, Alexia. That in and of itself means that there is love and compassion in your heart.” 

“And if she doesn’t accept that apology?” Alexia shot back, fighting to be kind as she was gripped with fear. She looked over at Jenni with a flame in her eyes, anything to hide how upset she truly was. It was easier to mask it than it was to face it, after all. 

“Then she doesn’t accept the apology, and life moves on. But you won’t know if you don’t even bother to try,” Jenni offered as she walked over and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder comfortingly. 

“Forgive yourself enough to give her the opportunity to forgive you. If she was in your spot, you would do the same. If she cares as much about you as you say she does, I think you have a fighting chance,” the striker suggested, her voice gentle. The brunette remained deep in thought, thinking hard about Jenni’s words. The raven-haired woman let herself out before Alexia could even formulate a response. 

And while there were a lot of thoughts swirling around in Alexia’s mind, perhaps the top of the list was that she really, really needed to get a locksmith to her apartment. 

—

It was a thought that often consumed the brunette as her career began to take off. It had been a question, something that weighed on her mind in the dark of night when she lay alone. 

Was it worth it? 

The duty to herself, to her career pulled at her endlessly. Everyone around her was dedicated to their career, putting it above their family at nearly all cost. And she understood, she wanted to be the best. The pull to change the sport, to leave a legacy behind that made women’s football better than where she had started. 

But what was the cost? 

How many family dinners had she missed? How many birthdays? How many celebrations? 

How many moments had she missed, even just the mundane, small things in life. How many inside jokes and how much late night laughter had evaded her because of this choice? 

And she knew that her family loved her, and that they understood how important her career was to her. But it never took away from the fact that she was gone often. That unlike her teammates and peers, she spent the least amount of time with her family as the years had passed. Whereas many of her friends grew more committed to their families, getting married and even having children, football had become her sole focus in life.  

Other than you, she had never been in a committed relationship with anyone. Her friendships were from football, everything in her life had revolved around football. Protecting her image, embracing the game, doing whatever she could to advance the team and herself to perfection. 

It wasn’t until you had stumbled back into her life that suddenly she remembered what it had been like to live a life. And sure, she knew that her career was different now, much more intense. But the Catalan also knew that you never would have allowed her to become so overwhelmingly immersed into her career. 

It was less the time commitment and more the mindset she approached her career with that had changed in your absence. Alexia had always assumed that in order to be the best, she had to be so devoted to football in every aspect of her entire life. That there was no room outside of it for distractions. 

Her friends hadn’t become worse because they had loved ones, because they took a step back. They were still dedicated, but also well rested and prepared. 

The two of you had been together for so many years, and then football had been the thing to divide you. It was Alexia’s career that had been prioritized above you, a decision that you had made and believed in. 

Had you really ever thought you were more important than football? 

Had she done that? Had she felt that you were more important than football? 

All she could think of was how you were sick and alone, a burden to bear alone when you should have been loved and supported. 

Alexia was not angry that you hadn’t told her, not by a long shot. But she was furious with the circumstances, with her own choices, with everything else in the situation besides you. 

You had meant so much to her, and she had let you go without any recourse. She never even considered that there was so much depth to the decision you had made. 

And now here she stood, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had gone from broken to shattered entirely. 

Alexia knew that she loved you. 

That she still loves you, even after all this time. There were parts of a person that never changed, and she saw it in your expression. 

Even after all this time. 

Her career came first in every aspect of her life, but maybe just this once it didn’t have to. Maybe some personal happiness was deserved, maybe it could be her choice to try and fix this. 

Maybe she deserved a break, or some peace, or to undo all of the mistakes she had made in the last decade. Maybe the choice she made here would make her better, and not worse. 

The brunette had no idea if you still loved her anymore, not after the appalling things she had said, but she couldn’t let it go without at least trying to get you back. 

She had lost you once, and she wasn’t prepared to let it happen again without a fight. 

—

Alexia can’t bring herself to pick up the phone and dial, so she took the coward's way out and texted you to ask for your address. 

Much to her surprise, you answered her. It’s nothing more than the address rattled off, but it’s there. The brunette felt her heart constrict for a moment at the thought that it wasn’t really your address, that you had sent her a fake location. 

But at the same time, even if that were the case, a part of her would understand. For all the years that she had been hurt and alone and yearning desperately for you, it had been the same for you. 

The choice you had made was impossible, indescribable even, and Alexia knows in her heart that her career wouldn’t be where it was without your sacrifice. You had sacrificed your own dream so that she could live hers, and when it all came back to the two of you all these years later, she had completely desecrated that sacrifice without a second thought. 

She continued to be appalled with herself over that entire conversation. It was all she saw every time she closed her eyes, the words she had said rattling around in her brain all night long. 

The look on your face as she dug herself into a deeper hole, filled with disregard for how much care you had tried to give the situation. It was never going to be perfect, but you had tried to be perfect. And in that moment, she had acted as though it wasn’t enough. 

It was. 

You had always been more than enough for her, regardless of whether you two were together or not. 

Every single time she had laid in bed since, memories both good and bad of the two of you had pooled in her eyes, rolling down her cheek and escaping onto the pillow beneath her. 

She had lost her curiosity inside the ferocity of her own judgement, and she regretted it with every molecule inside of her. She regretted it so much that it made her feel physically ill, to the point where she no longer cared about being appropriate or saving face. 

It was late in the evening when she drove over to your apartment. She had a plan to go on Sunday morning, but it was Friday night and her self restraint had ground away until it no longer existed. 

The Catalan took the steps two at a time up to the third floor, knowing that each moment likely brought her closer to you. She hoped it did, at least. It was highly possible that you were out with friends or doing something fun, as you should be. 

But still hope gripped her with a strength she was unaware she ever had. Loving you was never the detractor she had spent the last decade convincing herself it was, but was where she got her strength. 

Loving you had breathed life into her and she was silly to have ever thought differently. 

She knocked on the door to your apartment before she could stop herself from overthinking every single one of her life choices. Her knuckles struck against the wooden door exactly three times, each one more forceful than the lost. 

The brunette waited with everything in her for the sound of anything in the wake of knocking. Any movement, any sign of life, anything. The seconds felt like hours and years as her heart rammed its way into her throat. 

And then she heard it, the softness of your voice as you called out that you were coming. 

Alexia was known for being a stoic person, never one to overly show emotion. She kept everything close to her chest, and rarely did she express how she was feeling. It took hours of knowing her, and even then she was still hesitant to show weakness. 

But the tears were pooling in her eyes even before you opened the door. 

And there you were. 

Standing in your pajamas, a book in your hand and an expression of mild surprise at the sight of Alexia nearly in tears at your door. It certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, though you knew the footballer had your address.  

“Ale?” You questioned softly, your voice barely there. The brunette swallowed thickly, trying and failing to conjure an apologetic smile. 

“I am sorry…I meant to come later but I couldn’t…wait,” she finished lamely, rather breathless as she fought to keep the pressure in her throat from turning into full blown sobs. You stared at her for a second, at how tense she was, at the anxiety written across her face. After you had tucked some of the hair away from your face, you stepped back into your apartment and widened the opening of the door. 

“Would you like to come in?” You proposed, and the footballer took your offer up with a shaky nod of her head. 

The brunette trailed after you further into the apartment. It was a large apartment, but it felt cozy and lived in. Half-burned candles and ear-marked books were strewn around the space, and a throw blanket could be found on every surface. 

She remembered that you had always run cold. When the two of you were young and in love, she would whisper to you about the warmth Barcelona would offer, even as she provided you plenty of her own body heat as she laid curled around you. 

“Alexia?” You probed lightly, and she shook her head as she glanced up, realizing that she had let her mind wander. Concern and compassion stared right back at her. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she replied harshly, trying and failing to be discreet as she wiped at her eyes. 

“You don’t have to be,” you said delicately, gesturing toward the couch. “Why don’t we sit down?” 

You couldn’t help but realize that right now with just one look at Alexia, you already forgave her. Every line etched into her skin was written with devastation and contrition. Somewhere deep within you knew how she felt, and knew that she did not mean the things she had said. 

There was so much information to process, so much confusion and chaos, that you had both lost yourselves. 

Maybe there was an opportunity to be found again. 

You weren’t going to let the weakness of one moment detract from the opportunity that lay in front of you. 

You led her over to the couch, and the pair of you settled down across from one another. You sat with your back against one arm of the couch, while Alexia was across from you, her hands on her knees. Her knuckles were nearly white, and you wished in that moment to reach out and soothe the ache in her heart, even if you knew that you couldn’t. When the midfielder turned toward you, all you found facing you was suppliance. 

“I cannot explain to you how sorry I am,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I had no idea the sacrifice you had made for me, I had no idea that there was so much more behind all of this. I was foolish to believe that you broke up with me over something selfish or petty.” 

She seemed to bite her words back, as though her self-loathing was simply too great of a burden to contain for a moment. When she settled, the Catalan continued. 

“I never should have spoken to you that way. The truth is that I’ve spent the last nine years missing you, thinking about you, unable to get myself over the years we spent together. It feels as though you’ve been out of my life as long as you were in it, and I hate that. I hate that I haven’t been able to grow with you. I hate that when I lay awake at night I miss you with an ache I cannot even begin to describe to you. I hate that I wasn’t able to be there for you when you needed me. I hate that your sacrifice probably saved my career, even though I wish with everything in me that I was there for you when you needed me,” Alexia finally admitted, deciding to be nothing but brutally honest. 

“And I won’t lie to you and say there haven’t been other women in the years without you, but God it never compared to you. I didn’t give a shit about any of them, and I never really expected to. You’re intertwined within my soul in a way I don’t even fully understand, and living without you feels like walking around missing a limb. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over you, and I tried to force football down my throat because if it was the reason I lost you, it had to be worth it.” 

“I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way you roll your eyes at me when I do something ridiculous, or how patient you are with me when I get frustrated. I still find myself looking for you in every crowd, at every family gathering, everywhere. When I finally did see you again, it felt like a fever dream. The one thing I’ve wanted for the last nine years was granted to me, and there you were.” 

“You were standing there so perfectly and in one piece, and inexplicably, you seem to care about me still. I never could have imagined that happening, even if I dreamt about it every single night of my life that you haven’t been in,” Alexia continued, allowing herself to take a deep breath and center herself. Frustration passed over her face for a moment, entirely  

“I fucked this up royally, I know. I let the fear in my heart and the fear that those around me held get in the way of seeing the truth, and I need you to know how sorry I am. I never should have treated you that way. I never should have acted toward you with such hostility. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that everything I said, I don’t believe. You are brave and wonderful and empathetic, and so, so, extraordinary. Please do not let anyone else ever say that you are not,” Alexia urged, looking at you with such clear intent you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

“I still love you, Flori. I think that I always will. My heart knows what it means to love and be loved by you, and nothing will ever compare to that feeling. My heart was always yours to break, and I don’t care if you do it once or twice or a million times. All I know is that even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know that I love you,” Alexia said with finality, barely able to see against the blur of tears that swarmed in her eyes. 

You stood up from your end of the couch slowly while her eyes tracked every single one of your movements. You walked closer to her, settling down next to her as closely as you could while you reached over to place your shaking hands against the frame of her face. 

“You big, blithering idiot, of course I still love you,” you whispered fiercely, your face scrunched up somewhere between disbelief and teasing. Alexia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was even holding, the entire upper half of her body collapsing into you. 

It was easy for you to catch the brunette, cradling her against you as she sobbed without restraint against you. It was easy to rock her back and forth softly, while you whispered sweet nothings into her ears. And it was just as easy to pull her away from you and utter the words she never thought she would hear. 

“I forgive you, and of course I still love you Ale. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and you still are. I’m right here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere, if you’ll have me. We might have lost our chance when we were young, but maybe we can have another one?” You proposed hopefully, almost with disbelief. Neither of you ever expected for this to be anywhere near possible, but here you both were. 

The Catalan’s expression broke entirely, silent tears rolling down her cheeks in defiance as she placed a hand on your arm and held it tightly. 

“I’m here,” was all she could manage, but it was enough. 

You leaned into her slowly as you glanced down at her lips, giving her time to pull away. It was a concern you needn't be worried about when she met you halfway, the feeling one of muscle memory even after all this time. You could taste the salt from her tears and yours as you kissed her. 

“Please stay,” you murmured through the ball in your throat as you pulled away just a touch, and Alexia gripped you impossibly tighter as she pulled you into a hug. 

For the first time in nine years, you fell asleep that night with the footballer’s body curled around your own, the feel of her chest breathing steadily against your back as she held you in her arms with content. 

It was the first time in a long while that you had felt warm enough when going to sleep, and hope ballooned inside you fervently. 

[luveline]

hi jade! ☺️☺️ ur one of my favorite writers gosh you feed my heart everyday

im currently going through my usual body-wrecking periods 🥲 ur fics are helping

could you write something for bombshell! x spencer where maybe deeper into their relationship she is open with him about her period and he comes over to take care of her when her body is aching or she feels nauseous. im thinking some hair playing or some tummy rubbing.

i hope your weekend is lovely 🫶

thank you ❤️❤️❤️ fem, 1k

Can I come over? Are you home 

You summon your first smile of the day, reading Spencer’s text. 

Don’t know, you text back, can you handle me? 

Usually not, but that hasn’t stopped me so far. I’ll bring dinner? 

What kind of dinner my love  

Maybe Indian? What do you want? I want tandoori chicken 

Indian food is awesome if that’s what you want, I’m just messing with you 

You can hear his voice in his next text, I know that. So I can come?

You can always come over but I have to warn you, I’m irritable 

What’s wrong??? 

Spencer texts again before you can answer, I’ll come now and we can order delivery, I’ll be right there 

You decide to call him before he can make the wrong conclusions. He answers so quickly you laugh down the line. “Spencer, hi, there’s nothing that wrong.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“You don’t have to rush over.” 

“Well, what’s wrong? Did I do something?” 

“Why do you always think that, babe? No, you didn’t do anything. You’re actively making me feel better just talking to me.” 

Spencer pauses briefly. “Really?” 

“Really. I’m on my period, it’s kicking my ass,” you mumble, dropping your face into the soft top of your couch. “It would make me feel so much better if you were here. I want a hug.” 

“I’m coming. I haven’t brushed up on my hug skills for a while–”

“You hugged me yesterday before I went home?” 

“How would you rate that? On a scale of one to ten?” 

“Ten, definitely.” You sigh and stretch out your legs. “No, just, my stomach is hurting and I feel sort of sick from the cramps. I’m a bit… depressed, maybe, so you don’t have to come over if you don’t want to. I might not be good company.” 

“You’re always good company, you loon.” 

“You what?” 

“Sorry, I’m trying to be playful.” 

“I know that, you loon,” you say, grinning. “Okay, you better be putting your shoes on. My patience is running out.” 

“I’m by the door!” he says, giggles woven through each word. You can picture his smile, his unbuttoned coat. “You feel sick, should I still get dinner?” 

“Yes, please. Tandoori chicken for me too, and–”

“I know what you want.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna go shower before you get here and see me all disgusting–”

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Spencer!” you laugh. 

“I’ll run you a bath when I get there. Can you sit down until then?” 

“I can’t believe how you’re speaking to me. You used to blush when I said hi.” 

“Because you never just say hi. And it’s not like anyone else saying hi, it’s you.” 

Spencer lets that kindness sit with you and says goodbye, promising he’ll be there soon with dinner. You hold your sore stomach and wait, flicking through tv channels, craving something warm to eat and a warmer chest to lay your head. Spencer’s hugs are without doubt a ten out of ten experience, he’s weirdly good at them for someone who maybe hasn’t had as many as he deserves. His hands are active as the rest of him stills, rubbing over your shoulders or your chest with care, his hair soft and ticklish on your cheek or his lips right next to your ear. 

You’re dozing when he lets himself in. The rustle of a plastic bag awakens your dormant appetite, and you force yourself to meet him in the hallway. 

He drops the bag like it isn’t forty dollars worth of food and beams at you. “Hi,” he says, fawning at your sloppy pyjamas. “These are cute, they’re way too big for you.” 

You manage to hug him first, your arms around him and face screwed up in his chest. “Hi. My stomach hurts so bad, I missed you.” 

“How bad?” he says, dropping his volume. “Have you ever considered you might have endometriosis?” 

“Spencer, I love you, can you hug me for now and tell me about it later?” 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “Where does it hurt, everywhere?” 

“It’s in my back.” 

Spencer drops his hand lower. “Oh, here?” He rubs your back, and he leans away enough to see you eye to eye. “Let’s have dinner, then at least you’ll have a full stomach.” 

“I don’t know if I can manage it, but I’m starving.” 

“You don’t have to eat everything.” He visibly looks you over, one feature at a time. His eyes get stuck on yours, your lashes, and his lovely mouth tips down. “Were you sleeping?” 

“Got bored waiting for you. I’m not tired,” you promise. 

“It’s okay.” He grasps your back and rubs at it with good pressure, the shard of a cramp held back by his touch. “You okay?” 

You lift your chin, turn your head just a touch to one side, asking and not asking. He smiles in that not so secret pleasure as he gives you a quick peck. It’s quick and chaste and everything you need, better when he encourages your face into his neck to give you a last good rub on the back. “Do you wanna sit down? I’ll make you a plate and we can eat on the couch.” He dots a kiss against the highest point of your cheek. “I got you motrin. And tylenol, too.” 

“I don’t need any painkillers, you’re gonna rub my back.”

Spencer smiles into your cheek. “Mm, I’ll relax your uterus. Rhythmic touches.” 

“That’s one way to say it, sweetheart.” 

“How would you say it?” he asks, cupping the back of your neck tenderly. 

You deflect, not wanting to make fun of him. “I love you.”

He pulls away, grinning, failing to talk. He's smiling so hard. When he goes in for a third round of hugs, you aren’t surprised. 

[27spoons]

You Are a Memory. | Natalie Scatorccio

pairing: natalie scatorccio/gn!reader

summary: Natalie says goodbye to an old friend. (mid-late s2)

wc: 2350

warnings: mentions and depictions of suicide, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, y/n usage, natalie scatorccio cannot catch a break

a/n: i wont lie to yall and say this is an easy read. i was writing smut then started listening to the linked song, and, well.... here we are. here we are.

"Nat, you don't have to do this," Van says, breaking the quiet. "Maybe…" They glance around the room before gesturing to Travis, “Trav can take them down to the plane, keep them there 'til spring. You don’t have to be the one to do this—"

"I'm fine on my own." Nat snaps—too quickly. She regrets the bite the second it leaves her mouth. "I did it with Jackie, I'll do it with y/n." They wouldn't have wanted anyone else to do this, anyway, she leaves unsaid, tightening the seatbelt around her waist as she prepares to face the howling wind outside.

Unlike when she was carrying Jackie's bones to the plane, Nat doesn't stop to look back this time. God forbid she let the entire cabin see the way tears had started to spring to her eyes.

The wind batters against her exposed skin as the door to the cabin opens, but it does little to deter her as she steps out into the air, kicking the door shut behind her.

Your bones are already packed—neat, contained. A far cry from Jackie’s, scattered and scorched, cradled in a sheet like the aftermath of a storm. No, she takes you with far more care. She’d watched as Shauna carved your body open, face stone-still. She hadn’t looked away—not once. 

Because in the end, wasn’t it her fault?

I was calling For the last time

"Have you seen y/n?" Nat asks, voice casual, maybe too casual, as she kicks snow from her boots. Another empty-handed hunt. "Found a piece of scrap wood. Figured they’d want it—been carving a lot, lately." She glances at the fireplace, the mantle lined with various woodland creatures and other shapes. 

Mari makes a face and shakes her head, stirring the pot of… belt soup. Yum. "Nah, not since we crashed last night, I think." She pauses, considering. "Wait. Actually—yeah. I don’t think I’ve seen them since we fell asleep." She glances up at Nat, "Aren't you two like… besties? Shouldn't you know where they are?"

That makes Nat's jaw tense. Last night? 

So the last time anyone saw you—was before they all fell asleep?

"Lot?" Nat whips her head around, looking for the former center back. "You seen them? You're always awake before anyone else?" She tries to steady her voice, but it’s already starting to shake—just like her hands.

Lottie considers Nat's question for a moment before shaking her head. "Not that I can remember."

Nat makes a slight sound and immediately throws on her boots again, preparing to go back out into the snow. "I gotta… this isn't like them. They wouldn't just vanish like this without a trace. It isn't like them."

"Wait, you're going back out?" Travis glances up from where he had sat near the fire, "Nat, we just spent hours out there. Maybe they're just taking a walk, or something." He dismisses her like she dismissed his concerns about Javi, but Nat doesn't hear any of it.

"If I'm not back by sunset, come looking for me." It's all the response she gives before she's out the door for the second time that day, trying not to give in to the panic that threatens to overwhelm her.

The walk to the plane feels longer than usual, her steps burdened by the heavy weight she carries—metaphorical and physical. The wind shrieks through the trees, dragging icy fingers across her cheeks, and she doesn't bother to wipe the tears that freeze as soon as they fall.

It feels wrong to bring you here. You don't belong here.

Sure, she did it with Jackie. But that had been about closure. Ritual. This? This is different.

This is a goodbye she hasn't earned, a goodbye she doubts that she'll ever earn.

The crunch of snow under her boots becomes almost unbearable. Rhythmic. Final. She wonders if you would've said something poetic about it—some half-assed line you'd mutter just to make her roll her eyes and secretly smile.

She tightens her grip on the bundle in her arms.

No, not a bundle. Not firewood. Not a pack of furs, or a dead buck.

You.

She hates how light you are now, all the weight of the meat and flesh that you had once worn cut from the bone, resting inside the stomachs of anemic and tachycardic teenagers who didn't value your sacrifice nearly as much as they should have.

The hull of the plane creaks as Nat steps into it, kicking her snow-covered boots on the floor as she walks towards the seat you had sat in when the plane went down, placing your bones carefully onto the cushions. A deep sigh leaves her as she kneels, her hands reverently splaying over the bag that carries you. "Fuck. I should’ve found you sooner." Her voice cracks, "I should've—you wouldn't have… if I'd just—" She presses a hand to her mouth as her eyes squeeze shut, "God, I'm so sorry."

We'd been here before  They found pictures in the snow

"Y/N!" Nat calls out, boots crunching through the snow that had settled over the past few days. "C'MON! THIS ISN'T FUNNY!" She tries to coat it in anger, but you’d know better. You’d hear the crack—the fear under it.

It's been over an hour since she left the cabin. 

An hour of calling your name. 

An hour of holding her breath like that could keep the worst from happening.

The sun is starting to set over the horizon, and she knows that she doesn't have much time left before it becomes too dark even to find her way back to the cabin, so she heads to the last place she thinks you would be. Maybe it's the first place she should have gone, but this has always been a spot you two visited together. Why would you go there alone?

So, she makes her way to this small alcove that the pair of you had found over the summer, before you were worried about starving, before you were concerned about freezing to death in a cabin surrounded by malnourished and fatigued teenagers.

When she approaches the clearing, she almost sighs in relief when she sees your form, lying supine on the ground and staring at the treeline. But you're still. Too still.

"Oh, Jesus-Fucking-Christ, dude. You scared the shit outta—"

The snow underneath your arms is stained a dark crimson colour, the exact colour that Nat had seen game bleed after she had successfully landed a fatal shot between their eyes. 

"No—" Her voice breaks, all semblance of sanity gone out the window. "No. No. No—" 

She drops to her knees adjacent to your lifeless form, hands on your shoulders as she shakes you vigorously. "No, you aren't fucking doing this to me! You know I can't fucking do this with—without—" The first sob falls from her lips when it finally sets in just how pale and waxen you are. 

Nothing else matters now. Her ears begin to ring, drowning out the already muted sounds of the forest, and she presses her forehead into your shoulder as the tears begin to streak down her cheeks. Her words collapse into broken sobs, muffled by your jacket as she clings to you like she could anchor you in place. Like if she just held on tight enough, you wouldn’t leave her again.

The silence in the plane feels just like the clearing.

Still. Too still.

Her hands, still red-raw from the cold, twitch as she brushes a bit of frost off the bag holding your bones. The skin is tight and shiny, fluid-filled sacs blooming at her knuckles—painful reminders of how long she's been in the cold, of what she'd do just to carry you back here herself.

"You looked so peaceful," she murmurs. "I fucking hated that." A scoff leaves her throat, watery and laced with pain. "You never looked like that when you were…" alive. 

Nat's jaw tenses as she looks down at the ripped-up carpet that lines the plane floor, blood-stained and perfectly resembling the emotional turmoil that bubbles beneath the surface. 

"Even when you were sleeping, you… your eyebrows were always pressed together, y'know? Like you couldn't get peace even when you slept." A beat, "I… God, y/n. I hope you've found some fucking peace."

She wants to hate you. She really does. She wants to lash out and tell your bones how selfish you were—but she can't. No matter how hard she tries, how hard she tries to push anger to the surface, you were never someone she could hate, not even when you stole her laces before Regionals last year and made her faceplant in front of the entire goddamn school.

No, you were always the best of them.

I could tell your eyes  Looked beneath the blue

It's well past nightfall when Travis and Gen find her.

Nat sits next to your body, face devoid of all and any emotion, fingers plagued blue and curled in on themselves with superficial frostbite. Her body's stopped shivering—given up on the core instinct to keep warm.

Her thousand-yard stare cuts through Travis as he kneels before her, his voice falling on deaf ears. 

All she can see is you. 

All she can hear is you. 

All she can feel is you.

The world feels as though it's been submerged in water as she's helped to her feet and back to the cabin. 

It isn't until Gen mentions something about coming back to retrieve your body in the daylight that Nat flinches.

"No—" Nat immediately rasps out, her senses returning to her as she struggles out of Travis's grasp. "N-no. We won't… we aren't gonna… not like we did Jackie. We won't. I won't let us. I won't. I won't. I won't. I w—" She chokes on her own words, falling back down to her knees adjacent your corpse. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry—"

Travis says something. A reassurance. An empty string of syllables that don’t matter. 

She doesn't hear it. His words bleed into a static sound that floods her senses and threatens to consume her whole, almost like the darkness that had consumed you.

The walk back to the cabin is a blur. Someone boils snow for a bath. Nat doesn't speak. Doesn't look up. She lets them peel off her coat, strip her down, and lower her in like a doll.

The water stings. She doesn't flinch.

She doesn't even feel it.

Her knees ache against the floor, but she doesn't budge from her position.

The plane is cold. Not wilderness cold—ghost cold. The kind of chill that sinks deeper than skin and doesn't go away, no matter how many layers you wear or how many nights pass.

Nat stares at the bag holding your bones—at you. Her fingers twitch again. She wants to open it. Wants to unzip it, lay you out, see you—but she's afraid of what won't be there. The parts of you that were taken, that they took, that she took.

Her throat tightens. She exhales sharply through her nose.

"'member what you said that one night?" she murmurs. "The night the plane crashed? That if you died out here, you wanted to go out with a bang?"

A weak laugh huffs out of her. Her hand moves slowly, trembling against her will, as it comes to rest over the bag.

"Well. I'm sorry it wasn't as exciting as you had hoped." A pause. "Y'did get eaten though, which you'd argue is pretty cool, but…" The laugh she attempts doesn't make it past an attempt—the sound coming out far more broken and frail than intended. "It wasn't supposed to end like this. Not you."

I woke underneath the trees For the first time

"Here," Shauna says quietly, holding out a pale heart with areas of purplish mottling to Nat, "you should be the one to do it."Nat's lip trembles as she delicately takes the heart—your heart—from Shauna's hand, cradling it like it might still beat. It's still cold from being in the elements for so long, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from the fireplace. 

She debates speaking for a long moment, but decides that words wouldn't mean much right now, not in front of a crowd of people you had grown a strong distaste for in the previous months. 

Before she can talk herself out of it, she takes a bite out of your right ventricle, the taste of congealed blood and half-frozen viscera coats her tongue, metallic and wrong. 

She nearly gags. 

So, she swallows hard. Forces it down. As quickly as it entered her mouth, it leaves, sliding past the lump in her throat like it might claw its way back up.

Nat stares at the half-eaten heart in her hands, slick and heavy with blood that no longer belongs to anyone.

She can't do it.

Not all of it.

With a sudden, shaky breath, she stands and crosses to the fire.

"You don't deserve this," she mutters—not to you, but to them.

And before anyone can stop her, she tosses the heart into the flames.

It hisses as it hits the heat, blood bubbling on contact. The smell is awful, but Nat doesn't flinch. She watches it burn until it's blackened and cracked, until nothing that once loved or was loved remains.

Only then does she turn her back to the fire and let the rest of them have their feast.

"I'm sorry, y/n," are the last words she speaks to you as she takes off the necklace that dangles around her neck—a rifle bullet on a long silver chain—and places it into the bag where your bones rest, and will remain until the ground thaws.

Nat doesn't look back as she leaves the plane, but she never forgets how your inanimate body looked when she found you there—your once bright eyes dimmed and devoid of life, your once beautiful laugh snuffed beneath the oppressive weight of the winter snow.

No, Natalie never forgets you, just like she never forgives herself.

a/n: we take a break from our regularly scheduled angsty-smut for just angst. anyways, back to you, angsty-smut! (translation: 'light up floor' next)

[thepixelelf]

warnings: domestic animals. tags: established relationship. christmas stuff. wc: 869

this has been in my drafts since dec 2023 and I realized it was collecting dust so I wanted to just roll up my sleeves and finish it so... here you go!

[a little thing called bad timing] Everyone knows that Seungcheol is a dog person -- you most of all. There's not a day that goes by without him turning his phone to face you with Kkuma's adorableness on the screen, sent to him by his parents. Of course, you love those pictures. Kkuma is an angel, and if you were the jealous type, you'd probably be wary of just how much Seungcheol pampers her, but luckily, you're not. In fact, you absolutely understand his behaviour. Before your family's cat passed away when you were younger, you're pretty sure you took about a million pictures of her just... existing.

That said, when Seungcheol not-so-subtly hinted that he wanted a dog last Christmas, you had to let him down easy. Your apartment at the time wasn't pet friendly, and you honestly weren't in a place financially to support a puppy with the love and attention one would deserve. Seungcheol's pout back then almost broke your heart, but he knew you were right, especially when you said you couldn't afford a cat, either, even if you wanted one.

This year, though, you moved to a new building together -- where pet allowance wasn't a choosing factor, but an added bonus -- with much more space in your apartment. And earlier this fall, you got the promotion you've been gunning for since you got your new job.

Which leads you to now. Everyone knows Seungcheol is a dog person. Everyone also knows you're a cat person. But the adorable black and white puppy in your arms has completely won you over with its yips and jumps, the way it climbs straight into your lap when you sit down, and its adorably glimmering eyes. A friend of a friend's dog had puppies, and when they asked if you knew anyone interested, you thought of your own glimmery-eyed partner. It was about time.

There are still quite a few days until Christmas, but you're sure that if Seungcheol had a choice, he'd want to meet this precious pup sooner than later. You were lucky that Seungcheol told you he had to stay later at work today, meaning you could pick up the puppy from your friend and acclimatize her to your apartment before he comes home. You've been spending the time decorating, as well, and you consider the tinsel in your hand for a second.

"Hey girl," you say, crouching down and scratching your new puppy's head. "How do you feel about wearing a little gift-wrap bow?"

She doesn't answer, of course, because she's a dog, but you chuckle at the adorable tilt of her head anyway.

"Yeah, I agree. Too cheesy."

The familiar sound of the front door getting unlocked makes you lift your head. "Oh, he's here." You lift your finger to your lips in a shush even though the puppy obviously has no idea what that means, and you scoop her into your arms.

From where you're standing in the kitchen area, the front door is just around a corner and out of sight. One more time, you give the puppy a conspiratorial grin before peeking just your head around the corner.

"Welcome home--"

"Hey, I'm back--"

Your jaw drops as you take in your boyfriend, or rather, the crate he's poorly hiding behind his legs, and the giant, shiny red bow stuck to the top of it.

Seungcheol smiles the way he always does when he comes home and sees you. "What are you doing hiding back there? C'mere, I got something for you."

You don't budge. "Is that...?"

Understanding that you aren't coming closer, Seungcheol just chuckles and brings the crate out in front of him. The front grate reveals a fluffy, orange kitten behind it.

You gasp. "You didn't!"

He shrugs. "I thought, since you've been missing your childhood cat recently, and we got this new apartment..."

"Cheol, I..."

"Did I read it wrong?" Seungcheol's eyes shine with worry and doubt. When you can't find the words to explain yourself, he continues. "I'm sorry. I should've asked, I know. Minghao knew somebody looking for homes for kittens and I just thought about how much you like Wonwoo's cats and--"

The puppy in your arms has finally had enough of hiding, and she barks, hopping to the ground. She trots over to Seungcheol to thoroughly investigate the shoes he's yet to take off.

"Oh," he says simply, eyes wide at the surprise house guest. "Oh!" Carefully, he sets the crate on the bench you have next to the door, out of reach of the excited puppy. He crouches down and pets her with both hands. "Hello," he coos. "Aren't you precious?"

Your heart warms at the sight, especially when the kitten curiously paws at the door of the crate instead of cowering away at the sound of a dog.

Seungcheol looks up at you, delighted. "Who's this?"

Just like he did when you asked him about the kitten, you shrug. "Merry Christmas?"

He must've suspected as much. His smile widens as he stands, and he holds his arm out for you to come to his side. You wrap your arms around him and giggle when he presses a hundred kisses to your cheek, while the puppy bounces in excitement at your feet.

"Seungcheoool," you whine, though to say you don't like his attention would be a total lie.

His smile widens until his eyes become your favourite crescent moons, and he locks his hands together behind you. "You know," he teases with a playful tilt of his head. "I've always dreamed of having twins."

[sabersandsnipers]

Drabbles: First Kisses

Featuring Astarion, Halsin, Gale, Gortash, Raphael

Inspiration courtesy of @me-writes-prompts

Gortash

He’s quick to bind your hands. Something you knew was coming considering you were taken prisoner. Gortash wasn’t about to let a skilled warrior such as you be transported with your hands unbound.

His fingers work quickly to tie a knot in the rope holding your hands together. A fluttery feeling fills your stomach at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your hands.

He lowers your hands, tipping your chin up to look at him. “Try anything, and you won’t like the punishment.”

You can’t explain why, but your eyes travel to his lips. There’s something about him that draws you in, makes you wonder what he tastes like.

Before you can comprehend your movements, you step forward and kiss him.

His body tenses for a moment and you step away quickly to gauge his reaction. You can’t read him. He simply watches you.

Your breath leaves you. A part of you unbelieving you just did that. A burn blooms in your chest as you wait for him to react in a rage.

Then he stalks over to you, his long legs moving quickly. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you roughly.

You ache to touch him, but your bound hands stop you. So you simply roll your hips into his so you can feel him as much as possible. He growls into your lips at your movements.

His hands fall to your ass. He grips you roughly as you continue to move your hips against him. Your heart is pounding. Your mind is unable to comprehend that you’re making out with Enver Gortash.

Astarion

Astarion has offered to help you practice your kissing technique. At first you were slightly offended that he even thinks you need practice, but after some contemplation, you realize it’s been a while. And you were hoping to find some company at a tavern tonight as well.

Which is how you find yourself sitting across from him. You both sit cross legged, as if you’re a couple teenagers about to play a dirty game. Tension laces your body. This isn’t exactly a comforting situation.

“Just try to focus on what I’m doing,” he instructs.

You nod, watching his lips as he tilts his head to kiss you. You nearly gasp as his skin meets yours. His lips are deliciously cold, and you have to restrain yourself from leaning into him. He’s the one taking the lead here.

His tongue runs along your bottom lip. You part your lips to grant him access. The smallest of whimpers escapes you as his practiced tongue glides against yours.

Your hands move on their own as they try to snake through his hair. His hands are quick to restrain you.

“No touching,” he says before resuming his work.

You feel lightheaded by the time he pulls away. He looks at you with a smug look on his face, clearly knowing the effect he has on you.

“Your turn,” he tells you. By the twinkle in his eyes, you can tell he can’t wait to taste you again.

Gale

The necklace Gale hands to you is gorgeous. The gem sitting on the chain glitters in such a way that it almost takes your breath away. No doubt he added some magical effect to it to make it that much more special.

“Gale, this is too much,” you tell him. You’ve had a crush on him since he joined your adventure, and things like this aren’t helping the growing affection you feel for him.

“The necklace would be going to waste if it was on anyone else,” he replies. “I want you to have it.”

You press it against your chest and grin at him. “I love it.”

The way he looks at you makes your heart flutter. “Let me put it on for you.”

He takes the necklace and you sweep your hair up so he can secure the clasp at the back of your neck. His fingers brush against your skin, causing a slight shiver to rush through you.

When he’s finished, you turn to kiss him on the cheek. But then he turns his head, and your lips meet.

A small gasp leaves you, and you step away. “Sorry about that, I just wanted to thank you for such a beautiful gift.” Your face suddenly feels unbelievably hot.

He moves closer. He tilts your chin up. You meet his gaze, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“So thank me.”

He’s inviting you in. Your eyes fall to his lips. You admire the shape of them for a moment before leaning in to kiss him.

Lightning ignites in your belly when your lips meet his. Your body nearly jolts at the sensational feeling. His hands fall to your waist. His fingers press into you ever so slightly.

His tongue is certainly practiced. You nearly feel dizzy at the pleasure he’s able to ignite in you just from a kiss. But he holds you steady, and you’re grateful, because your knees feel like they could buckle at any moment.

Of course, Astarion is the one to ruin your moment.

“Please kill me now,” you hear his voice behind you. You both whip your head to the source, cheeks flushed.

“If I have to watch you two doing that from now on, I’m flinging myself off a cliff.”

Halsin

You never should’ve let Karlach pick for game night. But here you all are, sitting around the campfire playing truth or dare. Your mind is slightly fuzzy due to the wine you’ve been drinking, and the laughter that’s been bubbling in you for most of the night.

“Truth or dare?” Karlach asks when it’s your turn.

You're quick to pick dare. The alcohol in your system challenges you to do something dumb.

Karlach answers as if she’s been waiting all night for this. “I dare you to kiss Halsin.” She grins proudly.

A small twinge of anxiety pokes at you through your fuzzy haze. Your eyes flicker to Halsin, expecting him to look offended or hurt. But his expression is an open one, a light smile even graces his lips.

You shrug. “Alright.”

You make your way over to Halsin. Grateful for the drinks you’ve had, you sit on one of his thighs. You feel his hand slide up your back, earning tingles at the back of your neck.

You lean forward and carefully press your lips against his, as if testing if he’s okay with it. Then he leans into you, and you know you have permission to fall into him even more.

The gang hoots around the campfire, egging you on. You laugh against his lips. Part of you wishes you were in private so you could kiss other parts of him as well. Those large hands of his hold you so carefully. You want to feel them on your hips, your thighs, everywhere.

Karlach groans. “Okay enough. Before I get sick.”

Raphael

This was wrong. You knew that. Raphael is a devil. He just wants to manipulate you. Trick you into getting what he wants.

And now, as he corners you and presses himself against you, you know he’s playing your body. Using your reactions to weaken you and your state of mind. But his firm body continues to send waves of pleasure straight through you.

“What’s wrong, little mouse?” He asks, smirking. He leans down to whisper in your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

He angles his face close to yours, eyes intense and alight with desire. A small voice in your head tells you to push him away. But it’s hard to listen when he looks so sinful.

His lips are on yours. You instinctively grind against him, cheeks flushing at how quickly your body gives in. Flames lick at your skin. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every dip and curve.

When his claws trace your bare skin, you gasp. His body tightens at the noises you make. You should stop this. You should push him away.

But every roll of his hips, every caress of his fingers, and you can’t help yourself from falling deeper into his haze.