#forever meant nothing when we had nothing

[haifoct]

Happy two months anniversary to Zhuo Yichen & Li Lun sex scene choke episode!

I wish I could say I was exaggerating or joking when I describe episode 23 of Fangs of Fortune as a sex scene between Zhuo Yichen and Li Lun.

And yet. 

No other moment in the series comes close to the sheer intimacy and strange sexual tension of the brutal, unapologetic beating Li Lun puts Zhuo Yichen through.

You’re filled with worry, awe, and guilty excitement as you watch it all unfold; they ensure that hurricane of conflicting emotions sets in motion inside your tight chest because they build it up almost the same way cdramas build up their kissing scenes sex scenes.

To truly appreciate the beauty of episode 23, we need to revisit episodes 6, 16, and 19. Each of these episodes offers an attempt at a fight just the tip and a promise.

"But first, I need to kill you, an even more evil thing."

"I choose for you to die."

Our precious rabid puppy Zhuo Yichen never misses a chance to jump Li Lun like his life depends on it (perhaps it does). He has so much tempter, especially when it comes to Li Lun. Meanwhile, our precious Li Lun meets that aggression with… well? 

In episode 6, Li Lun never truly fights Zhuo Yichen. Instead, he uses Ran Yi as both his blade and his shield before happily escaping, leaving everyone in shambles.

In episode 16, Li Lun mostly dodges Zhuo Yichen’s attacks. First, he stops Zhuo Yichen’s sword with just his fingers, then he seems determined to kill Pei Sijing right on the spot until Zhuo Yichen joins the fight to protect her. Li Lun’s usual cold and calm rage shifts into a cheeky smile, and another flirtatious promise leaps from his tongue.

"Zhuo Yichen, don’t forget. At the final moment, your Cloud Light Sword can kill him."

In episode 19… I have so much to say about this episode, actually, but almost none of it involves Zhuo Yichen and Li Lun. That said, I really enjoy Zhuo Yichen’s decision to stay after casting a glance at Li Lun’s domineering presence.

I just think they’re very pretty, look at them.

Zhu Yan and Zhuo Yichen barely let Li Lun breathe. Attack after attack, and yet none of the blades directed at him hurt as much as the words that pierce his heart. Zhu Yan sets Li Lun on fire again—normal people things—and the last words Li Lun utters before forever losing the human form he developed are a desperate promise and a plea.

"You will kill him one day. Kill Zhao Yuanzhou."

(Quick off topic, I love how troubled Zhuo Yichen looks when he learns about Li Lun literally burning alive, lol) 

All those beautiful moments leading up to episode 23 shows us that Li Lun never wanted to kill or hurt Zhuo Yichen. He wanted Zhuo Yichen. As his companion in revenge against the one person who hurt them both.

Then episode 23 happens.

For happy shippers like myself, it literally starts with Wen Xiao losing her shit over Li Lun possessing Zhuo Yichen, with Li Lun's theme playing during Zhuo Yichen's entrance, and with Tian Jiarui speaking in the voice that Yan An is using for Li Lun. Truly a feast! But that’s not what we’re discussing here.

That damn fight, that damn sex scene.

The only way for me to describe it, it's so personal, and they don’t even know each other long enough to be personal. 

Li Lun promises to Zhuo Yichen while also taunting him, so annoyed by this loud human screaming for Bai Jiu. Makes sure Zhuo Yichen knows it’s him, Li Lun who is s pinning him down into the ground, towering over his body, topping him, with hand on his throat.  

"So noisy. Look closely. I'm not your Xiao Jiu. I'm Li Lun."

What the hell do I know about whether it was a spiteful remark, mirroring Zhuo Yichen’s promises, mocking him, provoking him, or if it was Li Lun’s cold and calm rage speaking, a grievance and pain within him, because this human he had been nothing but kind to dared to help Zhu Yan set him on fire again. Perhaps it was both; perhaps he meant it; perhaps he changed his mind later in the episode and refused to kill unconscious Zhuo Yichen, walking off and letting fate decide whether Zhuo Yichen lives. Perhaps he didn't, simply wanted Zhuo Yichen alive. (*turns him into a demon <3 bc fate can go and fuck itself i guess, Li Lun is fate.*)

The second Truth Eyes hit Zhuo Yichen’s, round, big, and determined eyes, he jumps Li Lun again like a rabid puppy, not a single fuck given about the simplest of truths that if he hurt’s Li Lun, he will hurt Xiao Jiu. 

I cannot lie here. Despite my heart ripping itself apart for Zhuo Yichen, when his dearest friend, his dearest light, his dearest Cloud Light Sword gets broken—over and over again on each rewatch—there’s something so satisfying about watching Li Lun take this fight more seriously than in any of their previous encounters.

It is a gesture of goodwill to keep Zhuo Yichen alive. All those times before. This time? He will show this human his place, and make his pants creamy.

Li Lun not only physically tortures Zhuo Yichen but also psychologically when he breaks Cloud Light Sword in half with needles Bai Jiu carries around (Wouldn’t it be fun if those needles remained from the time when Bai Jiu was supposed to seal Zhu Yan’s touch?)

They're so gorgeous, what the hell?

What a fun human to toy with.

My thoughts get way too explicit after this, and I genuinely can’t find any heterosexual explanation for this.

I see your vision, insane director.

Make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face.

I guess Li Lun likes to take Zhuo Yichen from behind.

and watch him struggle at the mercy of his hands as Zhuo Yichen desperately grabs onto them, while Li Lun is unable to resist looking at that unfairly pretty face, luxuriating in every change of emotion he chokes out of him. How beautiful Zhuo Yichen looks then, fighting for his and his dearest friend's life?

What sound does that divine statue make being knocked down, trampled, and trapped in dust? This desperate, fun human, will he get himself up? For his friend that believes in him, trusts him?

"Don't waste your effort. My inner core has been inside Bai Jiu's body for many days. My soul has already solidified, making it much stronger than Bai Jiu's. His soul is nothing but a weak ant compared to mine, which can be easily crushed by me."

I guess Li Lun, then, likes to turn all of Zhuo Yichen to look at his face, again; to have Zhuo Yichen look at him. So Zhuo Yichen comes knowing exactly who fucked him, or whatever Li Lun promised him earlier. 

Listen.

There's a BTS clip of that iconic shot: of Li Lun hiding from those big, round, unyielding, and unafraid eyes by covering Zhuo Yichen's face with his giant hand, eclipsing the light; of Zhuo Yichen biting him, we all know it. And all I can do is wildly gesture at it, at their hands, and rest my case here.

I love Zhuo Yichen and Bai Jiu both biting into the wood to free themselves too much to not mention it again. 

That hopeless wish to save Bai Jiu is the only thing that keeps encouraging Zhuo Yichen to fight against that demonic strength, that so very human body.

"Give Xiao Jiu back to me!"

"No. <3"

Humans and ants and divine statues are so amusing when they try to stand up as you crush them.

Letting Zhuo Yichen pierce his heart wasn’t even remotely part of Li Lun’s plans. What’s really fun to me here is disbelief and shock on both their faces. One offended, confused, and "How dare you kick Miette? Jail!"; the other confused, unwavering, hopeful. 

By episode 23, have surely learned two things that cannot be argued with:

If you bite Li Lun, he will bite harder.

Li Lun doesn't want Zhuo Yichen dead.

That punch in the throat made me audibly gasp the first time I watched this episode. Then I held my breath and released a relieved sigh. Li Lun was satisfied with simply toying with that awfully loyal and fascinating human. Perhaps all Li Lun ever wanted from that fight was a chance to touch that divine statue.

Obviously, I must remind you that the sex scene fight between Zhuo Yichen and Li Lun, unfolds as Wen Xiao and Zhao Yuanzhou share their own adorable almost-kiss scene, full of 300 years of yearning. Just saying, FoF is a perfect C-drama formula with a main couple and a second couple.

Cannot wait for insane director to make some bitter and hilarious references, much like how he ridiculed those supporting Gong Shangjue and Shangguan Qian by making a satire on them in Fangs of Fortune. But this time in Veil of Shadows.

GJM kicks his feet and giggles like Wang Xingyue as he makes Yan An and Tian Jiarui hold hands on the set of Veil of Shadows. His ship has sailed.

And so has mine.

Happy lunchen sex scene day, yay!

[ladykettlechips]

Buttons

I saw this on a twitter thread and, after bawling, thought it would make for a cute little Anthony / Hyacinth sibling drabble. So, here we go. ------------- Anthony had always been her beginning. He was the first person she would cry for when sick, the first person she wanted to hug in the morning and, when the day came to an end, the person she would seek to put her to bed.

When it came to buying clothes, however, it was her mother or Daphne she looked for. So, the day Anthony had taken her to town for a new dress, she had been excited and perhaps a little wary; after all, Anthony was not the sort of person to help his sisters play dress-up.

Even at the grand old age of five, Hyacinth had known this to be strange. That day was special, though, because on that day, Anthony had taken Hyacinth to a fitting at the seamstresses for a brand new dress that he had commissioned, specially for her.

It was blue, similar to the colours that their mother had used to decorate their living room. The buttons, however, were much darker, a piercing mid-blue against the softer hues.

"The colour of hyacinth's," Anthony said fondly, his smile faint. "Father's favourite flower."

Hyacinth hadn't really heard him, far too preoccupied with the buttons that had suddenly caught her attention. They were in the shape of the alphabet.

"A..." she started, tracing the shape of the first letter before her finger fell to the second one. "B..."

C, D, E, F, G...

"H," she finished, and blinked up at Anthony. "Where's the others?"

Smiling, Anthony crouched in front of his sister and looked at the eight letters on her new dress. His eyes had grown fond, his smile bright while he took Hyacinth's much smaller hands into his own.

"Because you're the littlest Bridgerton," he told her, squeezing her hands. "We start from A for 'Anthony' and end with H for 'Hyacinth', a little like the alphabet. Don't we?"

"It ends with H?" she asked, confused. Didn't the alphabet end with the letter 'Z'? Though Hyacinth had always considered her biggest brother quite smart, she couldn't help but think he was being quite silly in that moment.

She didn't question it further, however; Hyacinth was far too preoccupied with twirling in her beautiful new dress to care.

#####

When Hyacinth realised the 'A' button on her dress had fallen off her dress during playtime at school, she screamed.

She had ruined her dress. The perfect dress that Anthony had asked to be made for her especially. How could she hurt her big brother like that, like the dress meant nothing to her? Sniffling, Hyacinth looked down at the place where the 'A' button used to be, and wailed some more.

She was inconsolable. Her friends, frightened by her change in demeanour, scrambled to find a teacher to help. It didn't matter, though; nothing her teacher said or did would calm her down, not unless they found the button her brother had chosen to place on her beautiful dress.

Hyacinth had to be carried away from the playground screaming, the teacher whispering soothing things into her hair while rubbing her back. By the time her mum and Anthony had arrived at the school, Hyacinth was a hiccupping, red-faced mess, her words muddled as she tried to tell Anthony how sorry she was, that she was a bad sister for losing the precious button.

"I-I lost i-it," she wailed, stabbing a finger into her chest as Anthony scooped her up in his arms and hushed her.

"Shhhh, it's okay," he murmured, pressing kissed to her head an rocking her back and forth. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's only a button."

"I-It was y-your b-button," she sobbed, burying her face into his shoulder while he held her, doing his best to reassure Hyacinth it was okay, they would find it. But how? How would they find it? The button was lost forever.

#####

It took a few more minutes for Hyacinth to cry herself to sleep. In that time, Anthony soothed his youngest sister before gently placing her down on the sofa of the staff room. Lips twisting into a frown, he turned to his worried mother and Hyacinth's teacher, Miss Sharma.

"I'm going to look for the button," he announced all too seriously.

Violet's eyes grew wide, her mouth forming into a small 'o'. "Dear, are you really sure that is wise..."

"Hyacinth is beside herself, mother," Anthony snapped, careful not to raise his voice. "You know what she's like; she won't forgive herself unless we find it."

"Then why don't you buy a new button?" Miss Sharma piped up. Anthony groaned; he knew the woman was trying to be helpful but, in this situation, he'd rather she stayed quiet.

"An easy solution, indeed," he muttered, turning his attention to one of the school's more infuriating teaching assistants. "However, Hyacinth will know the difference; the button she lost has a small chip on the top. If I bought her a new one, she would notice right away that it isn't the right one."

Thankfully, Miss Sharma seemed to accept this answer. With a nod, she turned her attention back to Hyacinth who, even in her sleep, was hiccupping and sniffling over the loss of her 'A' button.

"Then you had better start looking," Miss Sharma finally said, her gaze returning to Anthony's. "Lunch starts in an hour; I suggest you find that button before the kids take over the playground."

She smiled then, her gaze soft as she sat beside Hyacinth, a gentle hand brushing through his little sister's hair. For a moment Anthony watched, aware of how attentive she was when it came to the students, before finally turning back to his mother.

"Call Benedict and Colin," he ordered, turning on his heel. "I'll need all the help I can get."

######

Moments before the school bell rang for lunch, Anthony found the blasted button.

"Benedict, Colin!" he cried, his smile brilliant as he held the miniscule button in his muddy, grass-stained palm. "I found it!"

His shout rang across the playground, loud and clear as Benedict - who had been scouring the netball are - and Colin, who had been searching around the jungle gym, looked up, relief flooding their faces.

"Oh, thank goodness," Colin groaned, making his way to Anthony. "Now we only have to deal with your moody a--"

"Language!" Anthony snapped, pushing himself off the ground until he was standing. Closing his fingers around the button, he turned to Benedict, who was slowly making his way towards them. "I appreciate your help, I really do, but please remember where we are. The children could be listening."

Colin rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh," he said, not at all seriously. "They're locked up in their classrooms, Ant; no need to have a cow."

It shouldn't have surprised Colin when Anthony thumped him in the chest. It still managed to knock the wind out of him, however.

"Come on," Anthony grumbled, stalking away from the field towards the cluster of buildings that made up Gregory and Hyacinth's school. "Let's get back this button back to Hyacinth."

#######

Hyacinth had been awake for fifteen minutes before Anthony arrived, her eyes rimmed red and her bottom lip trembling. Hiccupping, Hyacinth burrowed further into her mother's arms while she waited for the lunch bell to ring.

Miss Sharma had given her a chocolate biscuit, the kind that was kept in the teachers biscuit tin. Sniffling, the little girl nibbled around the edge of her biscuit when, finally, all three of her biggest brothers walked through the staff room door.

"Anthony!" Hyacinth half-shrieked, tumbling from her mum's arms. She barely acknowledged her mum's stern "Hyacinth," as the chocolate biscuit fell to the floor, all but forgotten while she clung to Anthony's leg. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

She started to sob again, her nose feeling dribbly and her eyes growing wet. But then she was being scooped up again, her small body filled with warmth as Anthony pulled her close and sighed, his large hand soothing as he stroked her hair and whispered in her ear.

"It's okay, Hyacinth," he murmured. "I found it. We found it."

And then he showed her his hand, dirty with mud and grass and there, in the middle of it, sat her letter 'A' button, chipped on top and now a little more scratched and definitely a little more mucky from the playground. But it was hers. Her 'A' button.

Eyes growing wide, Hyacinth looked at her button, then at her brothers before her lips formed into a grin, her squeal loud and delightful.

"You found it!" she shrieked, joyfully throwing her arms around Anthony's neck.

#####

Later that evening, Anthony sewed the button back onto the dress under Hyacinth's watchful eye. Once it was safely back in place, Hyacinth allowed him to tuck her into bed, her dress hanging on the back of her door proudly.

"You know, Hyacinth," Anthony whispered, his voice gentle while he ran a hand through her hair. "I can easily buy another button if one gets lost."

"But it's special," she mumbled, shuffling beneath the blanket. "You got it for me."

Chuckling, Anthony leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. "It's only a button," he said. "I'd never be mad at you for losing it, sweetheart. We lose things all the time."

Of course it mattered, Hyacinth thought; it was the button Anthony had specially chosen for her dress. How could it not matter?

"Not me," she replied defiantly. "I never lose anything."

Anthony laughed. "Of course not," he grinned, kissing her other cheek. "You're Hyacinth; everything will always find its way back to you."

Nodding, Hyacinth tilted her chin proudly and smiled. "Exactly!"

#######

20 years later

"What are you doing?"

Looking up from her dress, Hyacinth beamed over at her sister-in-law with bright eyes. Kate stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest as suspicion settled in her gaze. While Kate had no real need to be suspicious - at least on this occasion - she couldn't exactly blame her, either; Hyacinth wasn't exactly known for her desire to play by the rules.

"Nothing," she said, walking to the door. "I was just adding the final touch to my dress."

Arching a brow, Kate made her way into the room and studied the floor-length gown that now hung from Hyacinth's wardrobe door. It was beautiful, an elegant piece that would undoubtedly be ruined by mud stains and wine spillages by the end of day if Hyacinth wasn't careful.

And, knowing her, she wouldn't be; It didn't matter that tomorrow was her wedding day.

After a moment, Kate finally stepped back with a scrunch of her nose and her brows knitted together.

"You really didn't do anything to it?" Kate asked, still a little suspicious. Grinning, Hyacinth shook her head.

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. "Nothing at all."

Thankfully, this seemed to satisfy Kate who, after a final glance, gave Hyacinth a small smile and left the room, but not before warning her Anthony would be stopping by her room for a 'final chance to run away' chat. Chuckling to herself, Hyacinth closed the door behind her and turned back to the wedding dress, her eyes growing wet with tears.

She walked over to the dress and, turning it around, smiled down at her handiwork. There, lining the back of her dress, were eight alphabet buttons, now a faded hyacinth blue and a little chipped from years of wear and tear.

They began with 'A' for Anthony until they came to an end at 'H' for Hyacinth.

[treatbuckywkisses]

hello I am HERE :))

Still as alert as ever, the looming threat of danger is never something that will leave him; but he no longer needs to worry about being unsure of himself in this small bit of his routine. The cart appears right in front of him quicker than he expected, his walk seeming all too short when you’re not there to enjoy it with. - the subtle shift you've given him to be alert without being afraid is so so so so so personal to me

Everything seems to remind him of you. Lovely and nothing short of exquisite. It would be sinful if Bucky didn’t buy these– you’re deserving of something almost as telling of your effervescent glory. - I'm sick over this I'm going to think about this paragraph for DAYS

There was never a defining title placed on it, but hell if he’d let that stop him from claiming something so necessary for once in his damn life.  - this is so mushy :(( HIS GIRL im sick

Bucky could already die a happy man from the overwhelming thought of you, grabbing for the bouquet with the most precious of hands, smiling down at the soft peach petals then up at him with those eyes– like he just handed you the damn keys to every castle in the world. - this part is oh so soft to me and that is so very precious 

But you weren’t. And how was he meant to explain to a person he had no interest in revealing any part of himself to that his angel was the very strength powering the flow of the waters of the earth; the very life twinkling, lighting the night sky?– That reducing her to a “pretty special beauty”, while undeniably true for every commoner to see, was the closest thing Bucky could think to being an insult? -, paired with No. You don’t understand– she’s not… she isn’t a pretty special beauty. That’s lazy. Words can’t describe what it’s like lookin’ at her, bein’ near her. Bein’ looked at and loved by someone so divine. She’s not… there’s no preparin’ yourself for her. She is beauty. - is CRIMINAL YOU MAKE ME SICK HOW COULD YOU WRITE SOMETHING SO SOFT AND MAKE ME LIVE WITH THIS I am unwell and it's all your fault 

Maybe, his girl and all the violent thoughts he has surrounding her– how she’s the embodiment of radiance, the very definition of the most torrential depths of beauty– is just enough for Bucky. And he plans to worship the feeling of knowing your beauty for the rest of his days. - why are you doing this to me he is perfect :( 

His hand drifts up your side, caressing the figure he reveres as nothing less than shattering to capture your face. Bucky’s certain he’ll faint from the thrill of feeling you, from the need to keep tasting you– drifting, spinning, floating. It warms you both from the inside out, numbing the sound of the outside world and replacing it with the pulse of need rushing through your veins. It’s so good– forever needing more, more, more him.  - oh my God I need to be adored this way I'm so speechless this is literally just so perfect the ideal love :( mir 

Your writing is something so deeply personal and special to me I hope you always know that<3 you write so beautifully vivid and clear. The way you write bucky (especially in love) is so unmatched, nobody is doing it like you baby!!!!!! This is so mushy and soft absolutely the kind of love we deserve! Thank you so much for sharing this with me 🫶🏻❣️

I was just re-reading you deserve a soft epilogue, my love and this popped up on my pinterest home page:

https://pin.it/1gHYpch

and I thought if Bucky was roaming the farmers market by himself, these looked like the type of arrangement he’d get for you when he stumbled across them 🥰🌹🌸🌷🌻🌼💐 and if it’s in the beginning he’d be all shy giving them to you.

in layman's terms

beefy bucky x f!reader (you deserve a soft epilogue, my love AU)

warnings: slight angst, entirely too much fluff

wc: 2k!

a/n: this is the first thing i've written in months. i'm feeling a lot of emotions, i really thought i'd never share something on here again– but i'm thankful my brain let me think on the sweetest boy for a brief moment in time. and a special thank you to my Col for always encouraging me and being the best cheerleader ever <3

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯�� 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

The uneven cobblestone streets seem just a bit more solid under Bucky’s heavy boots.

Walking swiftly through the once frightening streets of Bucharest, his careful gait grounds him steady along the known trek, and the low bun laced with your hair tie bounces against his neck as an annoying reminder of the heat– just a couple more errands and he’ll be home with you. A few loose tendrils tickle his skin as his feet briskly carry him towards a cart he remembers you stealing glances at, several times, during your countless walks together.

The smell of honey and loaves of fresh bread swirl by him as he strides past more meaningless produce and knickknacks alike, pondering why you’ve never asked to grab a quick bite and stop to actually admire the flowers now directly in his line of sight.

The crowding of somewhat blurry and familiar faces doesn’t seem to bother him the way it used to– no reason to cause him to cower, to keep his head down with the threat of being seen.

Bucky has you to turn to, to encourage him when he needs reminding of who he is. He has you to go home to. He never imagined walking so weightlessly.

Still as alert as ever, the looming threat of danger is never something that will leave him; but he no longer needs to worry about being unsure of himself in this small bit of his routine. The cart appears right in front of him quicker than he expected, his walk seeming all too short when you’re not there to enjoy it with.

The sun beats down on him with a cool breeze, kinder than it’s been in a very long time– maybe, that’s why a faint smile has been stretched across his lips since he left his apartment. Maybe, that’s why he doesn’t pay any mind to the kids playing a rough game of tag or the loud arguing of the people just behind him. He feels a calm kindness meant for him; Bucky breathes along with it.

The breeze follows his content steps and at the prospect of one of your “secret” joys– one where he finds himself alone and able to indulge in his own selfish desire of loving you–, the flowers and stems you always gleam at, bustling with their vibrant hues of corals and luxurious creams, immediately caught his eye.

The blush of the petals reminds him of the sound of your honeyed laugh; the ghostly whites nestled between an almost neon green array of garnish indulge him with the fuzzy feeling of melting inside your sweet embrace.

Everything seems to remind him of you. Lovely and nothing short of exquisite. It would be sinful if Bucky didn’t buy these– you’re deserving of something almost as telling of your effervescent glory.

Even now, walking alone, the small walkways between seas of overbearing people and bruised fruit now sound of only delicate fingers held tightly in his; of soft whispers nestled just behind his ear only for him to hear; of those hidden kisses teasing at his neck, crashing against the life of his pulse.

Bucky reaches for the arrangement without a doubt in his mind.

“And who might these be for?” the smirk rests playfully in the florist’s brown eyes before Bucky even notices someone standing right there, watching him. It wasn’t meant to be patronizing, but embarrassment and something naggingly familiar floods his chest. The sudden swell is all too warm and somehow, anxieties of being questioned by an unknown person aside, it’s welcomed.

Almost as if he was a 14-year-old boy again. Almost as if he felt his ma’s voice taunting him while she stood over the stove, stirring his favorite afterschool soup in her dented pot and prodding him about the crush she heard him and Steve giggling about.

“My girl. Uh, well my gir– she…”

Girl? His girl?

Did he really say that out loud?

But that wasn’t what had Bucky’s brain diving headfirst 100 miles per minute into the depths of his chest trying to revive the unrelenting muscle.

No, it wasn’t girl. It was the two-letter guarantor of possession sitting right before it.

My.

What were you? Surely, he was yours– wholly and completely.

But what were you?

Looking at the delicate velvet petals brush against his glove– a lot of things, Bucky realizes.

Sunrise and sunset. Understanding. Fresh air. Relief. The bundle of pale petaled softness tucked safely within his black leather gloves. An angel. His angel– his girl.

There was never a defining title placed on it, but hell if he’d let that stop him from claiming something so necessary for once in his damn life.

“They remind me of my girl. And she’ll love ‘em.” His confidence hardly surprises him– these flowers reek of you. How you lay nestled against him at 3 in the morning under cream sheets with the pale white of the moon dusting the tops of your cheekbones, your hands tracing shapes along the scars of his back. How your eyes crinkle looking right at him and that calming, gentle sound that fills the air as you tell him all about your dreams, your fears, your joys.

Bucky could already die a happy man from the overwhelming thought of you, grabbing for the bouquet with the most precious of hands, smiling down at the soft peach petals then up at him with those eyes– like he just handed you the damn keys to every castle in the world.

“Must be a pretty special beauty then, huh?”

Bucky could feel the boyish pink flooding his stubbled cheeks, out of his control and entirely too revealing. And for once, his flustered state doesn’t deter him from looking an intrusive stranger in the eye.

Maybe if you were there with him, that blinding light and stunning glow that seemed to follow you and infiltrate every last molecule of the very air he breathed, he’d find his words.

You’d be there, looking up at him while he stumbled through the sludge of muddled thoughts and feelings, gracious fingers stroking soothingly at the nape of his neck as he laid his heart out for you and only you.

But you weren’t. And how was he meant to explain to a person he had no interest in revealing any part of himself to that his angel was the very strength powering the flow of the waters of the earth; the very life twinkling, lighting the night sky?– That reducing her to a “pretty special beauty”, while undeniably true for every commoner to see, was the closest thing Bucky could think to being an insult?

With a quiet sniffle and a shake of his head, Bucky’s tearful smile told the kind stranger all he couldn’t seem to articulate with words.

No. You don’t understand– she’s not… she isn’t a pretty special beauty. That’s lazy. Words can’t describe what it’s like lookin’ at her, bein’ near her. Bein’ looked at and loved by someone so divine. She’s not… there’s no preparin’ yourself for her. She is beauty.

His ma would be out of her mind with emotions– Bucky knows now, looking into the knowing eyes of this stranger. It’s all she ever wanted for him.

The florist only smiles, handing Bucky the perfectly paper-wrapped bundle with a quick “It’s on me, hope she enjoys them.”

His walk home has an extra incentive of speed in his step. The colors of garments people wear blend together in a frantic flurry with the elements of nature around him, everything a blur but the ingrained compass guiding him home– the promise of his girl waiting there for him.

Milling over every possible way he can present these flowers to you, the most pathetic attempt at showing you a fraction of the way you plague his every breath– there’s no right way to hand these to you.

No. Bucky wishes he could piece together his thoughts eloquently enough to offer his love in the way he so desperately wants to. If he could place his words as well as he’s learned to with his emotions…. Maybe, between the distant scribbles of things he quickly jots down as fleeting memories of a distant time, Bucky could find himself writing the words this beauty of his has gifted him.

Feeling.

Bucky’s no poet, not much of a talker, either. But you make him feel things with the clarity of crystal glass.

Delicate, fragile, sparkling things. Maybe, feeling is just enough.

Maybe, his girl and all the violent thoughts he has surrounding her– how she’s the embodiment of radiance, the very definition of the most torrential depths of beauty– is just enough for Bucky. And he plans to worship the feeling of knowing your beauty for the rest of his days.

The gods above only know the tenderness your soul has granted him. The understanding that there’s more to life than pain; finding that self-healing he’s been able to strive towards with your patient encouragement.

Bucky has no more time to think about how he’ll offer these to you. You open the door the second you hear his hurried and frantic stomps bypassing the elevator, rushing the many flights of stairs 4 steps at a time.

“Bucky what’s–”

“I love you,” never have words been so easy, so heavy and at home in his chest. He exhales them so certainly, hoarse and breathless forming so perfectly between the pink plump of his lips. “I’m so in love with you. And I saw these and needed you to have ‘em.”

He never gets the chance to bashfully feel the weight of actions, doesn’t get to admire the love swimming in your eyes, the tears threatening to spill with that gaze you know there’s no controlling when it comes to him– you rush forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that nearly launches his anxious heart straight into the sanctuary of your palms. Breath escapes him for more reasons than one, melting under your honest passion and the need to have him– to love him as he is. His metal arm latches around your waist, pulling you as close as you can get while standing in his small doorway trying to protect a bouquet of flowers from being crushed.

His hand drifts up your side, caressing the figure he reveres as nothing less than shattering to capture your face. Bucky’s certain he’ll faint from the thrill of feeling you, from the need to keep tasting you– drifting, spinning, floating. It warms you both from the inside out, numbing the sound of the outside world and replacing it with the pulse of need rushing through your veins. It’s so good– forever needing more, more, more him.

How is it never enough?

Cradling his world between his fist, Bucky tilts your head, his restless lips hungrily breathing in you despite the fact you’re both dizzy, on the verge of collapsing and only still standing because of the other. His gloved-metal thumb swipes away the few tears that have fallen, brushing tender strokes into the high point of your cheek.

Soft moans rumble low in his chest, rising and rising to plead for more– the need to always feel your soft lips move so desperately against his, warm tongues claiming the unbridled desire to never stop– he’ll tell you he loves you with every breath he breathes, or the ones only you could steal from him so sweetly.

When you reluctantly break away his lips move to chase yours, and the red flush staining his flustered love-dazed face is enough to make you cling tighter to the back of his neck, pulling him back down to press kiss after kiss over his shy, boyishly babbling face.

“Bucky… they’re absolutely beautiful, baby.” Oh, he knows. He knows all too well– and the breathless way your voice calls for him, those eyes rendering him the most helpless-in-love man of all time– well. He’s an earnest devotee of this fate.

“You’re the beauty in life, angel.”

💐

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

to be added: Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6 | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 4,6K

tag: #what was that

summary: A romance that explores two insecure people growing closer together through snippets of their time at work.

author’s note: Can I post three things a day? Yes. This is the first fic I've written and I love it dearly. It connected me with @rennethen who has been beta reading it patiently and helped me create significant parts of it, and for that connection alone it was worth to write it.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Renly, are you being serious right now?” John stormed into the lab’s kitchen visibly flushed with anger. Renly only blinked at him, a question in her eyes.

“I guess? Didn’t you get my note?” She definitely remembered sending the note asking John to take a raincheck. She even made a song about it to not forget, like the last time. Viktor had mocked the song at first but later grew annoyed with it.

”Please stop, this song is now rotting my brain. I get it, John is a nice guy,” Viktor rotated on his chair with a groan that has clearly been building up for at least one minute.

“Sorry, it’s the only way I don’t get distracted and forget!” to Viktor’s demise, Renly sang this line as well.

“Well, didn’t you get my note?” John said, already huffing, seemingly offended. He did get her note, he did see the little heart she drew on it and a coffee stain that suggested she wrote it hastily, while doing something else with her other hand. So, he sent a passive aggressive jokey note back stating that it’s tomorrow or he doesn’t know when, because he is also oh-so-busy.

“I can’t make it otherwise,” he laid his hands apart in apologetic gesture.

“Like… this week? Or ever?” light mockery in her voice, she said with her back to John, while pouring coffee into two cups. “It’s okay, we can have breakfast here. Do you want coffee?” Renly pulled out the third cup from the sink and waved it at John expectantly.

At which point, Viktor entered their tiny lab kitchen, scrunching his wet hair with a damp towel, his cheeks flushed and clothes slightly dishevelled, clinging to his hot-after-shower body. “Do I smell coffee? Hi John,” he said, waving at the doorway.

“Nothing will hide from you. Crisis averted?” Renly asked referring to fifteen minutes ago, when Viktor banged viciously on the bathroom door, demanding shower access immediately, as he spilled suspicious fluid from Renly’s workstation all over himself.

She said it was punishment for snooping. He said she’d taken his favourite pen, and her workstation was planned ridiculously, making moving around risky. Also, she took showers that lasted forever. She said her shower was only fifteen minutes, which is perfectly within bounds of morning toilet routine. He said she should shower at home and sleep at home; otherwise, she would end up a social pariah like him and Jayce. She said it’s a bit late for that as night is a perfect time for quiet work and she is one person away from the social pariah status. She meant John. So right now, it really did look like she was close to adding it to her work signature. She had to evacuate from the bathroom before she had the chance to dry off completely, which is why her hair was wet.

“Did you shower together?” John’s tone gained additional pitch to it as he asked his ridiculous question, visibly getting more and more distressed.

“Yes, John. We also have occasional orgies that I forgot to mention,” Renly couldn’t help about the snarky comment but when she turned around to take a look at her… boyfriend? They went out about ten times and slept together twice, so she guessed he was her boyfriend already. Well, he looked hurt, and she immediately wished she didn’t say it, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

“Please, don’t be like that. I pulled an all-nighter again, and it was too late to go home. We showered separately, obviously,” she said in a softer voice as the cups were placed on the tiny table in the middle of the kitchen, only three chairs.

“I will give the two of you some space,” Viktor swept his cup with Jayce’s face on it and gave both of them polite smile as he walked out faster, than Renly thought he was able to.

“So… are you very cross with me?” she waited for Viktor to leave the area and asked reaching out to place her palm on top of John’s forearm, but he winced away.

John had always been good at making himself seem indispensable. When they first started seeing each other, his charm felt effortless—little gestures like remembering her favourite tea or distracting her with a ridiculous joke when she was too stressed to focus. She had let her guard down with him in a way she rarely allowed herself to. It had felt safe, comforting even. But lately, the cracks in that façade were harder to ignore. He got offended easily and threw some stupid accusations at her when he was out of arguments. She did admit, she was quite oblivious to some of relationship savoir-vivre, but it was also discussed priorly! And he said he doesn’t mind, so the next part caught her off-guard.

“I… don’t think this will work out this way,” he said with a sigh and waved his hand around making her question if he meant them, or breakfast with Victor in near vicinity. “I didn’t know this is what I was signing up for frankly,” he finished and gave her a sad puppy glance. This made her… angry? Of course, he knew what he was signing up for. She told him from the very beginning how important her work was. And how bad she was at this, but he just called her cute. Surely, this was enough of a warning. Or maybe it wasn’t but John really didn’t seem like he heard anything of what she ever said in the long run.

He was a Piltie, and she was from Zaun. He liked posh places that were trying to pass as casual, she liked to hang out by the riverbank in the evenings and sneak into The Undercity to look at street art and eat street food. He always seemed to pay attention to what she was telling him about her lab work and how many lives it could potentially change but at the end of every test presentation and heated one-sided conversation (it was hot on her side only) when she looked at him expectantly, he praised her with a you are so smart or you look pretty when you get excited about science and it left her empty of all air like a sad balloon in the aftermath of a party. He probably had a politician’s career ahead of him, so in the future, he would be the person to decide whether she does or doesn’t get funding for her research and in her mind’s eye John was a person that would probably happily fund something else than the medicine for long term Grey exposure symptoms. But he was a good practice for that. And despite everything else, she did like him. He had his moments, as they say.

In a few seconds, that took very long in the pocket dimension of her brain, Renly tried to calculate how much fault in this situation was hers and if it was worth to back down and give him a peace offering in form of a dinner at her place, that she would cook, and they would be alone, and it would be romantic, and he would probably get to fuck her on the dinner table.

The plan started forming itself, when John said “I mean… you spend all your free time here, or you drag me around the lanes. Also, this Viktor guy? I got over Jayce, recently he is barely here. So…” he dragged his huge eyes across her face looking for a sign of understanding that wasn’t there “…you understand how I feel when you spend most of your time with another man.” It came out weak, but he decided to stand by it.

“Another man? It’s Viktor,” she scoffed. “Not even a day ago he stated how much I disgust him with Zaunian food in fridge. He works all the time. We sleep in separate rooms. He…” Renly inhaled, exasperated by this accusation. It’s ridiculous, how insecure John was to even suggest that.

“He is a friend. And that’s all. I assure you he is not interested in me.” She had a dead serious certainty about this. If something was fixed in this universe, it was the fact that Viktor wasn’t interested in her. And she didn’t think of him that way either. Except the one time she let her mind wander, and she did. Which was a lie, because she thought that at least twice.

Once, when they met for the first time. She already knew Jayce, who made her gasp the first time she saw him. The impression passed, but friendship remained. Jayce and Viktor, freshly acquainted, were passing her classroom when a quake shook The Uppercity. It caused one of her test tubes to fall into the vial she was working on, breaking and triggering a teeny-tiny exoenergic reaction (it exploded). The hero within Jayce’s body drove him straight in to help any casualties, of which the only one was Renly, face full of colourful goo. From the floor, she glanced at Viktor walking in shortly after his partner, and she gasped, even more than when she had met Jayce. She immediately knew it was wrong to look for so long. Her suspicion was confirmed when Viktor’s expression shifted from amusement to the realization that his brief chance to present himself as more than the guy with a cane had passed. From that point forward, he was very formal with her, though he occasionally joked about history repeating itself within the academy walls.

It was a lie though, as well. She first saw Viktor by the riverbank in Zaun, as a child. She had been maybe seven, and he could have been slightly older. Her eyes, round and curious, followed him trying to chase down his mechanical ship taken by the stream. She tried to shadow him that day, but he disappeared in the mouth of a cave she was afraid to walk into. He had a smaller cane then and she thought him a magician. So, she only lingered in disbelief that their paths crossed once more and that he was, indeed, real. And also, in awe of how beautifully he has grown up. But overall, Renly counted it as a one time.

Second time, after she decided to stay at university to continue her research and teach students, they were copying the notes together and Jayce was growing more and more bored, so he kept trying to start random topics.

"I wonder if all of them are as pretty as Mel,” he said, trying to trace down beautiful Mel Medarda’s heritage while fishing for reassurance from his friends about their imminent romance.

“But maybe it’s not a rule. I mean, looking at the both of you I would say the rule for Zaun is to be full of attractive people as well,” Jayce was waffling on, and Renly grew tired of it.

“And ugly people. And short people. And tall people. And fat people, and skinny people, Jayce. It’s all just people, like in Piltover, there is no rule to here or Zaun. Initially, it’s the same city, and we all come from different places,” she said harshly not lifting her sight from the notes she was copying.

“Oh relax, it was a compliment! And I am looking for reassurance from you guys, yes,” he traced his finger down the blackboard, wiping some of the old equations away.

“Not very progressive of you, the Man of Progress. I can give you reassurance – Mel seems fine. You will be fine. You are a big boy, Jayce. But I do not need compliments, not because I’m from The Undercity, nor because I’m a woman,” Renly’s dead stare made Jayce look for help from Viktor. She gave him a pass and went back to scribbling.

“Vik, any help?”

“I’m afraid with this one I have to place myself in Renly’s corner. Even though of the two of us, I probably am the one that needs compliments,” Viktor also didn’t glance up from above his paperwork.

“No, you don’t,” Renly didn’t notice she now got the attention of both of her friends.

“You are, yourself, quite…” her mind was absent at this moment, so it was probably the other part of her that spoke the rest “…dreamy.” A second past, in which her brain caught up with her mouth and a deep shade of red bled into her cheeks and chest. She cleared her throat, stood up quickly and threw barely audible excuse me leaving the boys to exchange their looks and make their fun of her. Jayce snorted when Renly was out of hearing range and Viktor only mouthed a what was that? That was the second time, infinitely more mortifying than the first one.

“You put a lot of effort into assuring me of this, but you never once said if you are not interested in him. From where I’m standing, you are definitely not interested in me,” John’s voice broke her out of reminiscing.

Renly’s face went into stupid mode, twisting her features with disbelief. How dare he.

“Are you really saying what I’m hearing? Are you accusing me of infidelity based on your own insecurity? Have I truly given you any reason to believe I’m involved with anyone else but you? When do you think I would have time for that? Or do you actually not listen to me when I tell you about what I’m doing here and how much of my time and energy it consumes?” John’s expression grew more and more panicked as he saw how far he has overstepped.

“This is not… I didn’t…”

“What you didn’t do is think. You are the one who is not interested in me, John. You listen to me, but you do not register, nor remember anything I tell you. What do you want from me? Should I drop everything I’m doing just to dangle from your shoulder at the parties? Should I change the way I speak? Should I cut all my friends and relatives loose because they are from The Undercity? Would that make you feel secure enough?” she spat at him, becoming more and more angry with every sentence, self-winding regret fuelling her.

“Gods, this is not what I want, and you know it,” John brought his hand to the back of his neck, his voice gentler this time. “I just don’t feel like you want me around, is all,” he whispered, his words making Renly’s shoulders drop and her chest sink.

His fingers tapped an idle rhythm on the table, his eyes darting toward the adjoining lab room. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him stealing glances at her colleagues’ workspaces, but she had always dismissed it as idle curiosity or stupid jealousy, first over Jayce, then over Viktor. Now, though, every stolen glance felt like a clue she should have picked up on sooner.

“I do,” she hesitated. “I did. I invited you to meet my people, come to my home, my work, my bed,” at which point, in the other room, Viktor—who was doing his absolute worst not to listen—squeezed a piece of chalk a little too hard, causing half of it to disintegrate into dust with a loud, whiny, bone-chilling sound that gave him goosebumps at the back of his neck. So, they slept together, great. Just great. It didn’t bother him at all, and yet… it bothered him greatly for some reason. Probably just because she will be a nightmare to be around for the next week or so.

Ridiculous, Viktor thought, though the word didn’t carry the weight he wanted it to. What did it matter who she invited into her bed? It certainly wasn’t his concern. The tightening in his chest wasn’t jealousy—it couldn’t be. No, it was irritation, that’s all. Irritation because she was so impulsive, so reckless, letting herself be distracted by someone so undeserving of her attention.

Why did it bother him? It wasn’t the first time she’d been entangled in some personal drama, and usually, he had the patience to tune it out. Yet here he was, bristling at every raised word, every pointed jab from John. It wasn’t his place to care. He had told himself years ago that people like Renly—bright, chaotic, and distractingly beautiful—were nothing but a complication. And yet, he found himself gripping his cane tighter every time John’s voice rose.

“Just realistically, I don’t think this is what you want. So, the obvious choice would be to put a pin in it until we both decide what we want,” her voice faltered. Breaking things off with John hadn’t been part of her plans for the day, and she could never have been emotionally prepared for this—especially not before breakfast. She wasn’t really breaking things off with him, either. Maybe a short, temporary break would do them good, cool things off. She fidgeted with her fingers under the table, becoming increasingly self-conscious about how much of the conversation Viktor had overheard.

“Really? So now it’s about me not respecting your Zaunian heritage, instead of you blowing me off at every opportunity?” at this point John knew that guilting her into giving it one more shot was probably his only chance. His father really wanted those hextech blueprints, and he would be very disappointed if John didn’t manage to get them. “Look, I don’t mind if we hang out here at all. But truth be told, you don’t really invite me here very often,” John said, his voice softer now, but there was an edge beneath it, like a scalpel disguised as a pen.

He had a way of twisting her words, making her feel like the selfish one for not prioritizing him more. It was a skill he wielded well, and for a moment, it almost worked. But the memory of all those little disappointments—the times he had brushed off her work as "just another experiment" or barely listened when she explained her progress—bubbled up like a pressure valve ready to burst. He did actually like her. She was his type – pretty, quirky, talented and driven. She could be a bit more elegant, but that would be polished with time. “We could make a schedule, meet here when nobody is around? Maybe you could even show me some hextech, hm?” with this, he knew he probably pushed a little bit too far, as her expression grew weary.

There it was again, that same calculated curiosity masked as casual conversation. At first, she had chalked it up to natural interest—what Piltover scholar wouldn’t want to know more about hextech? But now, with his eyes lingering too long on the blueprints and his questions steering the conversation in predictable directions, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was about more than idle fascination.

“I… you know I don’t work with hextech,” she shook her head while her brain was glueing the pieces together. “Why would you…,” and it hit her gently, prompted by the guilt painting her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend’s face. Unbelievable. When she thought about it longer, he did usually snoop around innocently while waiting for her to wrap up work. He would wander between the lab rooms, seemingly just killing time, but she saw him linger on the blueprints more than once. When she told him about her experiments, he always drove the discussion towards Viktor and Jayce’s work. How are they doing? So does this hextech actually work? And what do they want to use it for again? And he tried to pin it on her sleeping with Viktor. The audacity.

Renly wanted to believe the relationship had been real, that it hadn’t just been about her work or her connections. But as she stared at him now—his charming smile just a little too polished, his words just a little too well-placed—she realized how many times she had ignored her instincts. How often she had pushed aside the nagging thought that he didn’t see her, not really. Just the parts of her that were useful.

“So… you come here and make a scene about the note that you seemingly wrote for me and that I didn’t get. You accuse me of cheating on you with my colleague,” at which point Viktor scoffed to himself in the other room. The idea of Renly and him being a thing was laughable. She was too stubborn, too unpredictable, too... distracting. And yet, John’s misplaced jealousy had struck an uncomfortable chord. Absurd, Viktor reassured himself. If anything, she deserves better than someone like me. She deserves better than both of us.  

“You propose a solution – let’s hang out here,” Renly exhaled, and her eyes rested on her hands with the realization of being used all this time hitting her hard. She didn’t think she cared that much. Frankly, having a normal secure relationship also with someone normal and secure was a hope she didn’t dare to entertain very often. It was mostly work and friends for her. So, when John came along, she just let it happen, as maybe, she thought, it was a good thing happening to her. Realizing there was no love in it, left her feeling numb.

In the other room, Viktor stopped pretending to work and simply sat on a stool, his hands and chin resting on his cane. That was new territory, a kind of danger they hadn’t anticipated. Also, he did feel angry for Renly – annoying as she was, she really didn’t deserve this. He wondered if he should intervene and kick John out, but the act would have to be based on his authority, which as a fellow Zaunian in John’s eyes he had none. Any show of force would need to be purely verbal—calculated and precise enough to leave the boy speechless and make him back down without a fight. While he was negotiating the terms of this heroic act with himself, he heard Renly’s voice echoing across the corridors: “I think it’s best you go.”

“Can we talk this through?” one last desperate attempt on John’s side as he covered Renly’s palm with his. She slid her hand from underneath his, threw a quick no over her shoulder and stepped through a heavy metal door that separated living area form the laboratory. She locked it behind her with a loud crank and immediately sank to hug her knees. Well, shit. This wasn’t part of her plan for today. And she didn’t want to cry in front of Viktor. If Jayce was here, he’d make it better, but he was with the beautiful Mel Medarda having breakfast in her quarters, which was a secret. Viktor would make fun of her—or worse, he’d get cross for endangering their life’s work. On one side of the door, her mean ex-boyfriend, on the other her mean niggling friend. She could just stay here.

“Do you need help getting up?” Viktor’s voice made her gasp and release the tears that were gathering under her eyelids, now streaming down her cheeks. And just to be clear, they were angry tears, not sad pathetic tears.

“Maybe,” Renly said, wiping her face with a sleeve, unable to bring herself to look him in the eye. She accepted his offered hand, which was about to pull her up. Unfortunately, the sudden movement sent a cramp shooting down Viktor’s calf, leaving Renly standing while he folded in half.

“Oh shit, Viktor I’m sorry, let me grab a stool!”

“Ah, no need. It’s fine. Just a cramp, it’ll stretch,” he panted, sliding down the corridor wall. She crouched down by him, question in her eyes about what to do.

“Well, where is it? I can… rub it out?” she heard herself saying and a darker shade of pink flushed her already enflamed cheeks. Viktor noticed. Her hands were faster than her brain this time and she already had his calf in her grasp, looking for the knot.

The warmth of her hands startled him, a flicker of something unwanted creeping into his thoughts. He shut it down immediately. She’s just helping. Don’t make it into something it isn’t. But the gentleness of her touch lingered longer than it should have, and when she looked up at him, her face flushed with concentration, he had to look away. Focus, Viktor. This means nothing.

“How did you get this so bad, Viktor?” she gasped at the state of her friend’s muscle, contracted like a rusty hinge. Her eyes full of concern, and some guilt. She made him uncomfortable in his own lab, because of some stupid drama. Stupid, yet it tore a hole in her heart.

Viktor remembered this look. He remembered the way she had looked at him back when they first met—not the awestruck gaze she reserved for Jayce, but something deeper, sharper. It had unnerved him. People always noticed the cane first; it was a fact he had come to accept. But she had looked past it—no, she had lingered on it, and he wasn’t sure whether it was curiosity, pity, or something else entirely. It didn’t matter now. He had decided long ago to keep her at a polite distance.

“Too much sitting down, ah!” he gasped when more pressure was applied “I tried to work through your… quarrel,” Viktor’s voice grew breathier, his eyebrows pinching together. Absent-mindedly, he placed his right hand on Renly’s shoulder and closed his eyes, letting his body relax into her touch. She was very careful, almost… affectionate.

“I guess this would fuel John’s theory,” he chuckled slightly, forgetting himself. Did he just admit that something was possible? Renly was too focused on getting rid of the knot to notice the awkward grunt following this sentence, and without much thought to it she said, “don’t be ridiculous.”

Something sunk in Victor’s chest hearing that. Of course, it was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. All of it. He was about to figure out how to run away, take his leg with him and tell her this is good enough, when she continued.

“I mean, we are not responsible for someone’s insecurities. I refuse to be. Also, as I presume you heard all of it, you will know that it was all a play,” she put so much attention into rubbing Viktor’s calf that the words just went out of her mouth. “Just to get his hands on hextech. So, I’m guessing this accusation was also fabricated to guilt me. Or he was obsessed with you. Which I understand… gotcha!” she exclaimed as the muscle relaxed under her fingers, and Viktor gave an involuntary moan, making both of them flush slightly.

The tension in his calf eased, but his chest felt impossibly tight. He was about to thank her—briefly, formally—when the look on her face stopped him. She was glowing, not with the self-satisfaction he often associated with Jayce, but with genuine care. It was infuriating. No, not infuriating—irrelevant. Why do you even notice these things? he scolded himself, rising awkwardly to his feet and turning away before the warmth in her eyes could undo him further.

“Forgive me, I… thank you,” was all he was able to say.

“That’s… it’s nothing, no worries.”

“I believe you know this, but in case you don’t—he’s a donkey, and you’re brilliant, yes?” Viktor tossed over his shoulder. “Ah, I’m not… thank you,” she said, standing in the corridor, confused, her face burning. What was that?

[peterjakes]

ian x mickey - 'forever meant nothing when we had nothing'

Ian Gallagher has resided to the fact that he's going to spent the rest of his life a fuck up, in a shitty diner job, with no future and a bipolar diagnosis following him wherever he goes.

Mickey Milkovich is likely to spend the next ten years locked up, for something that wasn't even his fault, as far away as from Ian Gallagher as he could be.

But things don't always go the way we expect, and maybe, just maybe, the two can find their way back to each other again.

so, I’ve been rewatching shameless and thought it would be interesting to write about if mickey had stayed in s6 (still in prison) bc I was distraught when I first watched it. sort of follows the s6 timeline but with some changes. some angst but an eventually happy ending - enjoy :)

also posted on ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/48106180/chapters/121304722

Ian Gallagher was an eighteen-year-old, bipolar, high-school dropout who spent most of his days wiping down greasy tables, wishing for something else. Ian had also just broken up with his criminal boyfriend, the boyfriend who was now facing 15 years in prison. Maybe criminal wasn’t the best way to describe Mickey, but you attempt to murder someone, you get called a criminal. Or at least that’s what Ian thought. The ex-boyfriend in question didn’t feel the same way. But fuck, this wasn’t about him.

It was early morning. The sun had started to flicker through the 10-year-old, dusty curtains covering the window. Ian could hear the commotion of his siblings ongoing downstairs. Debbie was arguing about something, was it with Fiona? Maybe Liam. Ian couldn’t be sure what exactly, their voices weren’t clear enough for Ian to make out. The sound of quick footsteps started to come up the stairs and Ian knew what was coming. Fiona. Wishing he could be swallowed up whole, Ian’s body pulled him further and further under his bedsheets until the heat started to rise. This wasn’t going to stop Fiona pulling the bedsheets off and forcing Ian out of bed. Not that she would do this, but still.

“Hey, sweetface. Time to get up.” Fiona’s voice was almost a whisper, but she must have heard Ian’s alarm go off and then quickly be shut down. Ian was awake, he was just not getting up. This was a regular thing. Fiona must have grown tired of the routine, but she didn’t show it. She was delicate, kind. But Ian knew. She was tiptoeing around him, like they all were. Have you taken your meds, Ian? How much sleep did you get last night? Why aren’t you eating? Better not be late for work! Ian couldn’t escape it. He got it, he knew they cared about him, but, Jesus, it was just constant.

Though her voice was quiet, it was fucking grating too. Fiona’s voice meant getting up. Getting up meant going to work. Going to work meant the never-ending cycle starting again. Was this it? Was this Ian’s life now? “Hm.” Ian pulled his covers further over his head, trying to block out the noise. He knew he’d have to get up eventually but was trying to prolong that for as long as possible.

“Ian, now. Come on.” Fiona’s voice was firmer now, like she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. And she never did, not once in her entirety of looking after her siblings. She was fucking stubborn; Ian knew that much. Ian thought he was stubborn too once. Maybe he still was, but everything just felt so different now. It was always a losing battle for Ian, every single day. He just didn’t have the energy to fight, he didn’t have the energy for anything anymore. How sad was that.

“I’m-I’m coming.” Ian’s muffled voice escaped from the covers, he slowly pushed them away and stared at the ceiling. He knew he had to get up, try to move, but he just couldn’t do it. His body just wouldn’t let him, even if he wanted to. This happened almost every morning. He was much slower now; his meds had fucked him up. They seemed to fuck everything up. His brain. His body. Mickey. Shit, no. Ian wasn’t going to do that, wasn’t going to go down that road. Nope. The thought of those baby blue eyes gave Ian the kick up the ass he needed, and he managed to sit up, rubbing the excess from his eyes.

Fiona sighed, moving closer to Ian’s bed. He could smell her perfume, it was ripe this morning, like everything else. “Leave in 20, okay?” Fiona’s voice was softer again, she lingered for a moment, as if she wanted to say something else but decided against it. Ian knew what she was doing, she did it almost every time he walked into a room. Every time Ian was slacking at the diner, every time he spent too long in the bathroom, every time he was taking his meds. God, it was insufferable, he couldn’t fucking breathe. It was bad enough feeling like a zombie every minute of the day; Ian didn’t need Fiona’s worried eyes on him whenever she thought Ian wasn’t paying attention. Fiona cared, Ian knew that, but he didn’t need her to keep surveillance on him. He was an adult, he was taking his meds, he was going to work. He wasn’t running away, he wasn’t stealing babies, flushing his meds. Ian was being a fucking constructive member of society, just like she wanted.

Every day was the same. Ian would wake. He’d take his meds. Go to work. Come home. Shower. Bed. And repeat. It was endless, a never-ending cycle. Ian saw no way out. This was his life now, what he had to live with. It wouldn’t get better than this and he knew it. He’d come to accept it. The way the Gallaghers always accepted it. There was fuck all they could do about it. And there was fuck all Ian could do. After everything, there was a part of Ian that believed he deserved it. This was as good as it was gonna get for Ian. No point even trying, Ian knew that.

Ian didn’t hate his job, and as Fiona so kindly loved to remind him, he should be grateful. But working at Patsy’s wasn’t the dream. Ian wasn’t so sure what that dream was exactly, but it sure wasn’t busting tables at some diner. Ian didn’t have those feelings of aspiration anymore. That kid that was stupid enough to believe he’d get in West Point and have a great fucking life, that kid was long gone. It was tedious, but Ian didn’t think he could truly handle anymore excitement. His meds made him drowsy, made him weak, tired. This was just how he felt now. Like a robot. Ian was like a zombified robot. Shit.

Svetlana hadn’t been to see Ian at work, or bribe him, for a good few weeks. It wasn’t that Ian wanted her to, in truth, Ian couldn’t think of anything worse. It was a reminder, a constant one. Yev was one too. He looked so much like him, too much. The way he furrowed his dark eyebrows, the little quirk in his smile, the chubbiness in his face. At one point, no one knew exactly whether Yev was even his. But there was no doubt now. He was growing up so fast, and Mickey, he was missing it. He was missing so much, all because of Ian. Shit.

Ian didn’t want to think about it. It was done. It was better this way, much better. Ian had meant what he said. Ian could just about deal with Fiona’s constant worrying, his younger siblings watching his every move, but something he couldn’t bare was Mickey. He couldn’t bare how sad Mickey’s eyes turned when he found him that day waiting for him. Couldn’t bare how his voiced cracked when he realised what Ian was doing. Couldn’t bare seeing the back of Mickey’s dark head, turning away from Ian.

That didn’t stop Ian from thinking about him though. About that smile, the one where his teeth would shine through. About those stupid jokes he would make, knowing they’d make Ian howl. About how soft he was with Ian; about the way his finger would caress from Ian’s fingertips up until his collarbone. About how much he-No. Ian wasn’t thinking about Mickey, not at all.

Ian spent most of his day washing the dishes, which was fine by him. Not talking to anyone was bliss. The rest of his co-workers just seemed to ignore him, they only spoke to him if he needed to pick up some plates or if they asked about Fiona. The rest of the time, it was just him. Fiona was usually too busy for a long chat, not that she’d get anything out of Ian. This was how Ian liked it. He didn’t believe he actually had the capacity to do anything more. His head always felt so fried, frazzled. He moved slow, sometimes too slow.

It was later in the day. Ian had been on an early shift, but had spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping, or at least trying to sleep. He probably only got an hour or so in but couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. It wasn’t that his bed was super comfortable, or that he was too sleepy, he just couldn’t move. There was no point even trying once Debbie got home, making racket downstairs, Ian wondered how anyone ever got any sleep. Deciding he couldn’t stare at the ceiling for the rest of the evening, Ian climbed out of bed and grabbed his phone.

Ian started to aimlessly flick through his phone, something he often did to occupy himself in the late evenings after a shift. He was tired, he could feel the heaviness of his eyes but that didn’t stop him staring at the bright screen. Leaning against the bedframe, Ian had managed to get round to looking at some photos on the phone. And oh, there it was. Ian had forgotten it even exist, being buried far away in his phone memories.

It was a photo, an old one. Ian’s hair was much shorter, his freckles more visible, but he looked healthy, broader. Not the skinny lump that was currently occupying his bed. He was smiling too, a big, wide, bright smile. A smile he hadn’t seen in a long time. And there he was. Mickey. His shoulder was pushed against Ian’s, all slouched, as if he didn’t care they were skin to skin. He was frowning, his eyebrows furrowed, but his mouth wasn’t, there was a hint of a smile. Only a hint, though. The edge of his mouth quirked. It was one his things, the things Mickey did that drove Ian absolutely insane back then. The way his mouth formed, into not quite a smile, something he only saved for Ian. Or at least he had.

Ian remembered that day, it was…special, he guessed. It was after Mickey had decided to headbutt Jimmy’s dad. Ian just remembered them running, running, and running. And then laughing, like they couldn’t control themselves. Mickey had touched Ian, in public. He’d touched him the way teenage boys did, playfully, with no fear, no anguish. Ian felt like something changed between the two of them that day, he could feel it in his brain, in his bones, in his heart. God, Ian replayed those moments over and over in his head. He thought about the way Mickey’s laughter echoed the alleyway, the way their arms bumped into each other, the way Ian couldn’t help but grin at the dark-haired idiot running in front of him.

Fuck. Ian didn’t know why he still had the photo. It was old, it was an Ian and Mickey that didn’t exist anymore. Ian couldn’t remember the last time he felt that happy, that elated, that hopeful. Ian didn’t make a big thing of deleting any memories of Mickey, he just hadn’t thought about it. He didn’t like how it made him feel. Like an asshole. Like the pile of shit that he was. Shit. Why was he doing this to himself? Tormenting himself like this? It was pointless. It didn’t change anything.

Ian’s finger hovered over the little trash can at the bottom of the screen. It hovered for way too long. But no. Ian couldn’t do it. He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to think about it. Backing out of his photos, Ian tapped onto his messages app. There was one person who could make some of these unwanted feelings go away. One person who always knew how to make him feel better, boost him up, telling him to stop being a prick. Lip was at college, actually doing something with his life. The complete opposite to Ian. He’d actually made it out, he was going somewhere. Ian didn’t like to bother him, pull him back into the Gallagher madness but…shit, he needed him. He needed his big brother. What a baby he was.

*

Mickey Milkovich was exactly where everyone had always thought he would be. Where they all predicted he’d end up. He never was going to exceed any of their expectations. Mickey had done exactly what he was always going to do. Mickey Milkovich was in prison. He was going to be in prison for a good few years. All of because of Ian-fucking-Gallagher.

It was true that technically it wasn’t Ian’s fault. Ian hadn’t asked Mickey to drug Sammie and chuck her in that crate. But Ian hadn’t asked Mickey to punch that cop. He hadn’t asked Mickey to fuck with Kash. But Mickey had done it anyway. For Ian? Maybe. Yes, for Ian. That was why Mickey was sitting in the mould-ridden cell with the quiet roommate and realising how fucked he was. Mickey was always going to do it for Ian, even now, knowing Ian didn’t want anything to do with Mickey. Mickey was a fuck-up. A criminal. Worthless. Mickey always knew this was true. He was stupid enough to believe for a while that maybe it didn’t have to be that way. But now? Well, now even Ian believed it. So, what was the fucking point?

The bright orange jumpsuit didn’t fit his body right, there was just something that felt off. Mickey didn’t like it, the way it gapped over his legs. But whatever. It didn’t matter how it looked or how it felt. Time had slowed down for Mickey, more this time than ever. This wasn’t his first rodeo; he knew how it went. All those years spent in juvie taught Mickey there were certain ways of doing things. Ways to not get your ass beat every single day. Ways to make the time go quicker. Ways to stay under the radar. Ways to make life easier for yourself. Mickey knew

Ian was Mickey’s last visitor. Of course, it had to be, it just had to be him. Mickey was hopeful, at least for a while, that Ian hadn’t meant what he said. That one day, he’d go and see Ian sitting there, waiting for him. But that didn’t happen. There wasn’t a happy ending, not for Mickey. There never was going to be a happy ending, after everything, Mickey should have known that. Someone like Mickey, someone who had grown up beaten and bruised, who never thought he’d ever have anything good; he was always going to end up there.

But Ian was good. Ian was so good. Too good. Ian had loved Mickey before Mickey even knew what that meant. Ian had waited for Mickey. Ian had held Mickey in a way Mickey didn’t think even existed. Looked at him in a way you only saw in the movies. But Mickey had fucked that up. He’d ruined it. He’d ruined them.

The first time Ian had left, Mickey hadn’t gone after him. He hadn’t told him what he really felt, whatever the fuck that actually was. It was hard for Mickey, trying to put that into words. But he’d done, he’d actually done it. Mickey was never truly sure what love was, or how it was supposed to feel. Growing up around an asshole of a dad like Terry does that to you. But the way Ian made him feel, how could it be anything else? He made him feel free. Ian was the first person, the first time Mickey actually felt that he actually loved something that didn’t make him feel guilty, didn’t make him feel worthless or sad.

But that didn’t matter, not anymore. That love had been snatched away from him. He couldn’t love Ian now; he wasn’t allowed to. Ian didn’t want him. Ian didn’t love Mickey back. Ian didn’t wanna visit Mickey. Couldn’t stand the sight of him. Didn’t care about it. Had to be paid to even visit him. When Mickey asked if he’d wait for him, Ian had said yes. But that ‘yes’ had an entirely different meaning. Mickey knew he didn’t mean it, just as Ian knew. Mickey knew even asking that question was fucking desperate. The only time Ian had actually wanted to visit was the first, but that seemed so long ago. He must have been feeling guilty, that was the only real reason he would visit. It was awkward but lasted longer than his last visit. There was no Svet or Yev as a buffer. Just the two of them, as it should have been. Ian was far skinnier than Mickey remembered him being. His hair was a mess too. Bags under his eyes. And he seemed so dazed. At least this confirmed he was taking his meds, doing what he was supposed to do. But this didn’t make anything any easier.

The next time Ian visited; it was different. Like he’d remembered what happened between the two, remembered what he’d said. He couldn’t look Mickey in the eye, didn’t seem to listen to anything he said and just seemed to be generally somewhere else. Ian had been there at the sentencing too. Mickey had asked him to come, and he did. Mickey could spot that red hair a mile away. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t help sneaking glances to the boy sat at the back of the room. Ian didn’t look in Mickey’s direction. Not once. Too painful. Well, shit, it was painful for Mickey too. 15 years, that’s a long fucking time. The realisation finally hit Mickey afterwards, back in his cell, knowing that this was his fate. He’d be in his thirties by the time he’d get out, if that day ever came. Mandy was gone. His brothers, his cousins, they’d be gone too. And Ian? Asking him to wait was a dumb fucking idea. Ian was going to have a life of his own, without Mickey and there was nothing he could do about it.

Regardless of everything, Ian Gallagher was a fucking asshole. He was a giant prick. A dickhead.

It was him, who supposedly fucked with Mandy. Him, who came searching for the gun. Him, who ran to Mickey when he had nowhere else to go. Him, who visited him in juvie. Him, who waited with Mandy when he got out. Him, who didn’t want him to go back for Frank. Him, who spent all summer looking at Mickey in a way Mickey never could have imagined. Him, who waited for Mickey. Him, who left because of Mickey. Him, who had kissed Mickey like he’d never kissed him before in that club. Him, who had teased him in ways that made Mickey’s lip curl. Him, who gave him that ultimatum at Yev’s christening. Him, who had fought against his homophobic piece of trash of a father. Him, who had come back to Mickey, only to be taken away again. Him, who made their little family complete. Him, who thought Mickey wouldn’t come back to him. Him, who made Mickey fall in love with him. Him, who’d taken that all away.

Mickey hadn’t thought about it before, but it seemed almost every memory Mickey had growing up, Ian-fucking-Gallagher was there. It hadn’t started like that. Before Ian, those memories Mickey had existed, but they were filled with anger, hatred, red. They were filled with a woman, dark hair, a small smile and loving hands. Then Terry. Just Terry. But now? He couldn’t escape him. Little league. 5th grade. His older brother. The essays. Mandy. The Kash ‘n’ Grab. The gun. Pizza Bagels. The summer air. High school bleachers. The alleyway. The gunshot wound. The movie. Terry. That stupid fucking suit. The club. That tank top. The alibi. Fuck, the list went on. Mickey could spend all night thinking about it. Not that he was going to do that, definitely not going to do that. Not after that last visit. Ian had made it pretty fucking clear, and Mickey wasn’t going to embarrass himself anymore. He wasn’t gonna pine over Ian. He wasn’t pathetic. Wasn’t desperate. No matter how much it hurt.

It was late, and for where he was, Mickey thought it seemed pretty quiet. His cellmate kept himself to himself, which suited Mickey fine. He didn’t want any hassle, couldn’t handle it. Not today. He was tired, his brain was wired, all these thoughts kept circling around and around. He kept seeing him, he just wouldn’t go away. Mickey didn’t want him to. Watching him leave the last time, fuck, it hurt. Mickey knew it would, but he didn’t imagine he would ever feel this way. After the buzzer, after everyone had left, visitors, the rest of the fuckers locked up, he had just sat there. The fat fuck of a guard had wobbled over to him, howling abuse, forcing him out of his seat. But all Mickey saw was the back of Ian, walking away from him. Likely forever. Jesus, he was being dramatic. He had to snap out of it. It was just…stupid. It was done. Ian didn’t love him. Didn’t want him. And nothing Mickey could do would change that.

It still hurt, though. Thinking back to that day, the day when his name finally popped up on the screen. When he heard his voice for the first time in days. Hey, Mick. Mickey had fucking ran, sprinted over there. He had no clue what Ian was going to do, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to see him, he missed him so much. Felt like he fucked it. There wasn’t an expectation that he had actually fucked it. Those few days apart, they’d changed everything. Ian couldn’t look at Mickey the same, and he didn’t want to. Those bullshit excuses he came up with, they broke Mickey’s heart. And then the fucking realisation hit him. Ian didn’t want Mickey anymore. He didn’t want him there looking out for him, looking after him, loving him. The one thing Mickey thought he might actually be good at, the thing he tried so hard to do. And it was fucking pointless. It was over, he’d lost the one good thing in his life. And Ian wasn’t going to let him back in. That was it.

Mickey was lying flat on this piece of shit they called a bed. His head was tucked by the pillow, and he was staring up at the bottom of his cellmate’s mattress. Mickey knew Ian was bound to be at home. He was bound to be with the rest of the Gallaghers. Maybe he was tired, too. Hard day at work. Mickey knew he was still working at Patsy’s, and probably still hating it. Mickey could see why. He couldn’t think of anything worse than washing down tables and having to take orders from the oldest Gallagher sibling. Well, there were worse things. But those things only happened to people like Mickey, people who deserved it. Not Ian. Ian had to have something good. He may be a gigantic asshole, may have fucking destroyed Mickey, but Mickey couldn’t hate him. He just couldn’t. It was late, and the past few times he had actually visited, Ian had seemed so tired, sleepy. Maybe he was in bed too. Waiting for the world to turn dark so he could sleep. Waiting for the new day, just not waiting for Mickey.

Mickey’s fingers moved from the side of his until they found his chest. Pulling the jumpsuit away from his body, his index finger trailed across the writing tattooed on his chest. It fucking hurt. The tattoo did too. There was some dried blood that had stained the white tank Mickey wore under the jumpsuit. He dragged his finger across the words over and over again, until he had to close his eyes.

His mind kept falling into that trap, kept following where Mickey didn’t want it to go. Mickey couldn’t do it, couldn’t even attempt to sleep. He knew as soon as he closed his eyes, all he would see was that fucking redhead. More out of frustration than anything else, Mickey’s fist hit the wall. Nothing. He hit it again. And again. And again. The usual shouts from the cells down the block started up, but Mickey carried on. His cellmate didn’t make a peep, only rolled over, making the mattress creak. Mickey didn’t stop until the blood started to trickle down his arm. He watched it go, until a drip landed on his thigh. The ‘fuck’ on his fingers was barely visible, now covered in pure red. There was a slight crack in the wall, a tiny dent if anything. Mickey had hardly made a scratch. Fucking wall. Some of his blood had fallen into the small crack. Mickey moved his hand to try and grab it, but it just slipped away. Trying to wipe the colour off, he just smudge it. It was all red.

Red, it was all red. That’s all Mickey saw. It was all he was going to see. Red.

*

Somehow, Lip’s doom room seemed bigger than the room he had once shared with his younger brothers, the room Ian now alone shared with his two youngest siblings. Maybe it was the lack of bed’s squashed in, lack of overcrowding, the lack of any reminders of the South Side. But whatever, Ian didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about the size of his room, didn’t care about the fact that Ian would never be sitting where Lip sat, didn’t care that his brother felt so distance now, so different. Ian didn’t seem to care about anything now, couldn’t bring himself to do it. Nothing mattered that much, Ian didn’t matter.

Lip was sat by his desk, his eyes focused on the $150 laptop he’d managed to find. The screen’s brightness reflected on his face, but that didn’t seem to matter. Lip was tapping away, even with his brother sitting across from him on his bed. Ian was leaning back, his head against the wall and his eyes unfocused. He could see the blurry figure of his older brother, but everything else was dazed. Nothing seemed to occupy his mind, but for the first time in weeks, Ian didn’t mind that. He didn’t mind feeling exhausted. Didn’t mind that he struggled to move any quicker. He actually felt calm. Even if this moment of bliss was interrupted by Lip turning around, Ian didn’t care.

“So, you, uh, ended it? With Mickey, right?” Lip asked as he began to light a cigarette. Ian watched his older brother as he puffed out the smoke and moved across to offer it to him. Ian stared at it for a minute, before slowly nodding and taking the cigarette from his brother’s hand. He took a drag, inhaled the smoke and watched as the rest escaped from his mouth. Ian watched as the smoke glided up and up, until it had disappeared completely. He knew what he must have looked like in that moment. Knew Lip was closely watching him, eyebrows frowned.

“Yeah, I mean…it was before…” Ian tried to shrug it off. He didn’t want to talk about Mickey, not with Lip, not with anyone. Those moments when Mickey filled his brain, his mind, his head, those were for him and only for him.

“Yeah. But you, uh, visited him again?”

“Yeah…”

“Why?”

“Svetlana paid me.” Just saying it made Ian feel guilty, maybe not as guilty as he should be. But why else would he realistically visit Mickey? It just made things harder. He didn’t have anything to say to Mickey, nothing he could say would ever make things better. He knew that, and Mickey must know that too, at least now. Ian thought he’d made that clear. Drawn a line under it. But could he ever do that with Mickey?

“How much?”

Ian rolled his eyes, of course, Lip just cared about the fucking money, like that even mattered. It didn’t. Well, maybe, a little. Svetlana knew it was the only way she could get Mickey to see her. Wouldn’t without Ian. But Ian didn’t want to be involved in their shit, he had his own Mickey shit to deal with. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not. What happened?”

“Uh, he asked me to wait for him.” Ian scoffed; he couldn’t help himself. Ian didn’t think he’d actually ask him that, have the balls to. But of course, he did. It never crossed his mind, at least not that the time, that Mickey was desperate. He was desperate for any sign, even the smallest thing, from Ian that he hadn’t meant what he said before. That he was willing to try.

“What’d you say?”

“Yeah.” Ian shrugged, though not very convincingly. Ian knew he that, and Ian knew that Mickey did too. Ian saw how the shield had dropped and that vulnerable, softer side of Mickey came out when he asked if he’d wait. He saw the longing in Mickey’s eyes waiting for the answer. He saw how his eyes avoided Ian’s, became glossier, and distant when Ian answered. Ian saw how Mickey’s eyes took one last look at Ian before going back to his cell, and then disappeared forever. Ian saw what he had done to Mickey.

Lip saw it, knew it too. Lip knew what Ian was saying without having to speak the words. It was this thing they had; Lip wasn’t sure when it started. It just always seemed to be there. They had almost nine years just the three of them. Fiona, Lip and Ian. The three oldest Gallagher siblings grew closer, it was the only thing they could do. Fiona took charge, like she always did, which left Lip and Ian.

It was something unspoken, a little connection. Lip could always tell when something was up with Ian, when he was keeping something from him, when he was faltering. Which was why Lip hated himself so much after Ian’s diagnosis. Lip knew, deep down, he did, the moment he and Debbie found Ian in that club. He knew when Ian was staying up until crazy hours, going on runs for miles and miles, shouting all these ridiculous ideas. He knew when he stayed in Mickey’s bed for four days straight. He knew when Ian refused to go to the clinic. He knew all that time and didn’t make any real effort to help his baby brother. Ian, who Lip always looked out for. Ian, who Lip shared so much with. Ian, who Lip told everything.  

But there were some things Lip didn’t understand about Ian, even now. He was fucking confusing, particularly about Mickey. “Why’d you go see him, Ian? Even with Svetlana paying you…”

“We broke up. I didn’t…couldn’t deal with the way he looked at me. Like I was so…broken. I’m not, okay? Things changed. And I…all he wanted was to take care of me. Like I’m so sick I can’t do anything myself. Like I need to be fixed. That’s not…I didn’t want that..for me or him.” Hearing those words escape his lips, Ian wasn’t sure how that made him feel. It was more or less what Ian had told Mickey. I don’t want you sitting around, worrying, watching me, waiting for me… Too much is wrong with me, and you can’t do anything about that…You can’t fix me….I don’t need to be fixed… That self-loathing Ian felt, it was fucking with everything. But Ian had meant what he’d said. Him and Mickey…they didn’t work anymore. It had nothing to do with anyone else. Just Ian. Nothing Monica said. Nothing she did. Things had changed too much between them. And Ian, he didn’t need Mickey anymore. He had to let him go. He could survive without him. Ian had to think like this, otherwise what was the point?

“Serious? You dumped him ‘cos of that?” Lip frowned, putting out the cigarette and closing down the laptop.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lip tapped his finger on his desk before turning around to face his brother, like he was thinking about what he was about to say. Lip was always more of a talk shit, think later kinda guy. Ian thought he must actually want Ian to listen this time, follow his words and understand. “Own your shit, Ian.”  Oh, Ian didn’t expect that. God, he’d got so use to everyone being so quiet, so delicate with him, that he’d forgotten how cut-throat the Gallagher’s could be. How cut-throat his brother was. He’d actually missed this, being treated like a fucking normal person. Lip was watching all of these thoughts process through Ian’s mind, saw how he almost lit up, saw how his brother, Ian, was back, even for just a minute. “You think Mick wanted to end it?”

“No.” Ian answered, his voice so small, it almost didn’t exist.

“So, you did it for you.” Lip raised his eyebrow, and gave his younger brother a small smile, as if he knew. Of course he fucking did, fucking Lip.

“Asshole.”

Lip sighed, “You’re allowed to be selfish, okay?” Ian was misunderstanding. Lip wasn’t berating him, wasn’t giving him a telling off, wasn’t telling him what he did was wrong. That was Ian’s business, whether Lip agreed or not. Shit, Lip had made so majorly fucked up decisions in past week, let alone past few years. And Ian had been there for all of them. And didn’t give a fuck, mostly. The topic of Karen could still be a little bit touchy on a bad day. All Lip wanted was for Ian to admit why. He was allowed to be selfish. He was having a bitch of a time, but maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of it, eventually. And he’d realise.

“I was an asshole, but it was the right thing to do.”

“OK.”

“I don’t know why I went, to get it over with, I guess.” Ian said this, as if it was nothing. As if he was getting rid of something like an old pair of pants or an empty cartoon or juice. No emotion. Nonchalant. Lip knew Ian was being completely truthful, not his brother and certainly not to himself. It was like his thoughts and feelings were still there, but there was some kind of wall blocking them from coming out. Lip knew the meds Ian was taking would fuck with him for a bit, but it would have to get better eventually. His brother would have to come back to him eventually. Surely? But maybe not. Lip wasn’t stupid. Fuck, he hated seeing his brother like this. That cheesy grin, the glow he seemed to exude, it didn’t exist anymore. Ian was just grey. All the time.

“I..just…don’t get it.”

“What d’you mean?” Ian sighed, Lip wasn’t going to stop, that much was clear. Ian didn’t know what he was trying to say. Was Ian such an asshole that Lip Gallagher, who at one time, fucking despised Mickey, was on his side? They didn’t hate each other now, maybe. The Gallaghers, they’d all got use to have Mickey around. Like family. And then Ian took that away from them. Away from himself. Away from Mickey. Yeah, he was an asshole.

“Look, I never really got you two together…but, you know, he tried…when shit hit the fan.” Shit hit the fan. Yeah, it did a whole lot more than that, Lip. Fuck’s sake.

“Sometimes that’s not enough.” Ian said, his voice almost a whisper. Mickey tried. Yes, Ian knew that. But that didn’t change anything. It didn’t change the way Mickey looked at him, the shift between them, how everything seemed to feel so different. It wasn’t just Mickey who looked at him like that, it was everyone. Every single one of his siblings, even Liam. But it was Mickey who hurt the most. Mickey who Ian thought could look past that. But he couldn’t, no one could. Breaking up with Mickey, that was the only way Ian could gain back some control. But fuck, was it worth it?

“Guess not.”

“Yeah.”

“Gonna visit him again?”

“Should I?” Ian asked, almost laughing. Why would Lip want him to visit Mickey? Shit, he never liked him.

“Not up to me, little brother.”

Ian didn’t know what Lip was getting at. Did he want him to visit Mickey? Hammer the final nail in the coffin? It wasn’t as if Ian hadn’t thought about Mickey, like there was something unfinished. He wished he didn’t. Not much filled Ian’s brain these days, he couldn’t let anything even if he wanted to. But Mickey…sometimes he’d creep in when Ian would least expect it. Ian would be washing some dirty dishes and he’d just randomly pop into Ian’s mind. Or just before bed, something would remind Ian of him, and then he wouldn’t leave, not until Ian woke up in the morning. This wasn’t all the time; Ian didn’t think he’d be able to handle that. But when Mickey did appear in his thoughts, he lingered. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, the hole that Ian felt constantly, the tiredness, the nothingness, it would slip away. Sometimes it would be quick and appear almost immediately again. But it would go. Ian knew this wasn’t healthy and he knew this wasn’t going to fix anything. But he couldn’t help it. Damn that blue-eyed, dark-haired, short-ass fucker. And yet, he had no idea. No idea what the single thought of him was doing to Ian. Ian knew there was no point overthinking it, he knew this wouldn’t and couldn’t change anything. But…maybe Lip was right. He had to put an end to it.

Fuck. Ian was gonna have to visit Mickey again, wasn’t he?

[tiredgeekgirl]

fellas it has been three months since the beach episode and thinking about neil and eva in any capacity still makes me ILL

[forestgreenlesbian]

.

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

god help me i'm going insane about dickson xenoblade again

[ghost-bard]

I am sooo normal about Sapphria Rocks guys. So normal :)

[starsarebleeding]

i think like. the thing i wish i could convey to people about my relationship to fibs is:

i am profoundly worried about the state of the world. i'm very anxious about what my future is going to look like, financially, professionally, geographically, physical-safety-wise. i know things are going to get worse before they get better, and i don't know if i'll live long enough to see them get better.

and

i would not want any other life. i wouldn't want to be any other person. i wouldn't want to be born any other time. and it's because i cannot imagine anything being better than what i feel when i love them.

[fruitmouse]

was the only first shift part-timer at my job to not quit like 2 weeks in and my manager said he “knew i was a stayer from the moment [he] met [me]” which is like. just manager talk but i’ve been thinking abt it a lot for some reason

[mbat]

not looking forward to christmas anymore

[hypnagogics]

THE WAY YOU WRITE IS JUST SO YUMMM so yeah🧍🏻‍♀️can you write something about streamer ellie <33

☆: IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. definitelyyyy hasn't been...months...anyway. positive this is one of the worse things i've written, but didn't wanna leave you hanging forever! ngl it's pretty filthy..heh.

◇: 18+ pretend those twitch guideline things don't exist. remote control vibrator use, orgasm denial, sub-ish!ellie?? plot twist at the end bc i think im so funny. 1.6k wc. don't mind the layout of this idk what else to do...

You watch your girlfriend stream her game from your fluffy and comfortable spot on your shared bed—you observe how focused she was on her screen, how her skilled fingers were flying across the keyboard and mouse. It would certainly be a shame to disturb her in such a high tension moment but you think it over, running your finger over the small buttons of the sleek little remote in your hand.

"Yeah, yeah, got 'em! Look at that guys, I fuckin’ aced that!" Ellie rejoices in her victory, and gleefully boasts to her viewers, adjusting her microphone closer and leaning back in her chair.

You're glad you were far off camera, her fans didn't even know she was in a relationship—Ellie made it clear she wanted you to be separate from her hobbies, not because she wanted to keep you a secret, but because she wanted to keep you safe. And you enjoyed watching her stream from the sidelines like this, you saw how her personality captivated viewers and how much fun she really was. But you also enjoyed messing with her on the occasion. Like today.

"Can I watch tonight's stream again?" You asked her eagerly. "Yeah, why not? I'll be doing some tournaments and stuff though, so no distractions." Oops. You bit back a laugh. Ellie immediately sussed out the mischievous look on your face and she sighed, expecting the worst.

Then you showed her the box you've been hiding, "Please let's try, I won't click it too much, I promise." She stared at you for a whole minute, maybe more, before sighing and reluctantly agreeing, rubbing her hands all over her face. "God, fine. Just 'cause I love you. Damn you're evil."

Fast forward to now—the device was snugly inserted inside her pretty pussy, tested out to prove it does in fact work, and works well at that.

So off Ellie went to play her game, getting so caught up in everything she seemingly forgot about the device entirely. In between games she was talking to the viewers, reading the chat and joking back and forth. You decided it was a good enough time to click it so you pressed the button, only for a miniscule zap.

She jerked in her seat, gasping, but quickly recovered with a strategic cough. "Phew sorry guys, something got caught in my throat." You saw a bright berry blush spread across her face, and the way she fought to turn and throw a glare at you. This was going to be fun.

"Alright, the next round’s gonna start, we gotta lock in! Hopefully nothing pops up and this goes smoothly. I can taste the win already.” She put a certain warning tone to her voice in the last part of her sentence, you knew it was meant for you, but were you going to listen? Absolutely not. "Oh yeah chat fun fact, this old area of the map was inspired by ancient ruins just of—ah!" As if her body had a mind of its own, she squirmed in her seat and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a moan when you hit it again, but this time you didn't turn it off right away. You kept it going for a few more seconds, to prolong the terribly delicious sensation.

She screwed her eyes shut tightly and held her breath until you turned it off, mumbling to her viewers about "having hiccups". "The game is starting now, so we really gotta get serious." Her voice had an unsteadiness to it only you could hear, she was keeping her composure rather well so far. But likely wouldn't be able to keep up the act for much longer. Even she has her limits.

As her match went on, she got quiet when she was focused, mashing the keys with a speed fast as sound. Of course, you hit it again, just a short one, causing a choked "guh" to escape from her lips and she twitched when you did so, her facade starting to crack. The effort to keep her voice stable was showing, she was huffing and struggling to get her words out clearly, they were laced with obvious irritation.

"Fuck missed the shot, dammit. Yeah I don't know, somethings up today, sorry guys...off my game." You decided to be nice to her until the game ended, not pressing it further or adjusting the intensity. She played for a little while longer before losing the match, leaning forward on the desk with her face in her hands. This was the perfect moment, so you cranked it up, increased the intensity to maximum, and held the button for the longest time yet, making her whine—a low, drawn out sound she couldn't stifle this time.

You could hear lots of messages being sent, pings in rapid succession, they were probably clipping that moment. Perverts, you thought. 

Her chest was noticeably heaving up and down, her legs spread as she rocks her front against the chair, and she kept her head lowered until you decreased the intensity but didn't turn it all the way off. Her hands were shaking, and her face was a vibrant cherry red, the screen even reflected the sparkle of a couple tears in her eyes.

“What? Oh, I'm just so sad about the loss guys, we were so close—hnn- so…so closeahh—I mean, we should've gotten that…” She trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip and tapping her fingers on the desk’s wooden surface. “Y’know what, I'll be right back.” She paused the stream, made triple sure her camera and microphone were turned off, then whipped around in her chair to face you, glaring silver daggers your way.

You just giggled innocently and turned the device off again. “What the fuck is wrong with you, this shit is not- not light on you at all.” Her voice was breaking, her pretty features contorted in a beautifully needy expression, eyebrows furrowed and eyes all watery. Nearly as wet as the mess in her pants. You feigned innocence and shrugged at her, “Well I didn't know it was that strong.” “You knew damn well.” She's fed up with your antics, but you have fun playing with her. She covers her face and leans back in the chair, the embarrassment in her voice the only thing you could hear, “Fuck you...turn it up again, wanna cum.”

You couldn't contain the laugh that burst forth from your chest, then said, “Only if you stream it.” The shock that flickered across her face was priceless, you wish you could have snapped a photo.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, nah forget it.”

“Hey, you gotta finish your stream either way, they're waiting. Would you wanna be so awful and deprive those darlings of your presence?”

You flash her a sugary smile, and she shoots you a murderous look again, before wordlessly scooting back to her setup, fanning herself briefly and readjusting her coppery hair.

Then she turns the stream back on. “Sorry guys, I had to get up for a second. Anyway, let's play one more game. I'm getting kinda tired today. Let's make this one count, lock in like never before.” She takes a deep breath, cracks her knuckles, and begins smacking away at the keyboard buttons. You're able to see the way she looks tense, on edge, anticipating your devilish interruption.

You debate whether you should torture her, but the answer quickly becomes clear. Click.

“Ah—fuck!” She sputters, and roughly slams her fist on the desk. The pleasure was hitting her with full force, she was in her own, lewd, world now. Her head is thrown back, back arched and hips stuttering, the release was about to sneak up on her.

You watch the scenario unfold, licking your lips and pressing your thighs together to deal with the pressure between them. Her unapologetic moans get louder, but for a second she snaps out of the trance to sit back upright, turn the stream off, before the peak hits her like a truck.

“Holy, fu—hah!!” With a squeal she cums, not caring about how fucking loud she was being, wanting to be selfishly absorbed in ecstasy.

She started to jolt around in her seat, the throes of overstimulation making her whimper like an animal in heat, it truly was a sight to behold. You wish you were in between her legs, lapping up her sweetness straight from the source, but in a way, just watching from the sidelines was satisfying enough. You'll clean her up afterward.

Finally you turned it off once and for all, and gazed at her, she was panting heavily, the post-orgasm glow making her rosy skin shimmer in the low light.

“Hmmm, thanks babe, that was so good…” She tried to talk, her head was in the clouds, but she looked at peace.

“You're a whore.” You chortled, and you two shared a laugh.

Although, a flurry of shrill sounds brought you both out of the fantasy. Ping, ping, ping.

Unfortunately she wasn't able to enjoy the aftermath of a mind-numbing session, because her eyes shot open and she began scrambling to find the source of the sound. Your stomach dropped as you watched her panic, her neuroticism infectious.

She looked at you, her eyes wider than saucers, nothing but fear in her voice, “I wasn't able to turn my mic off…”

What was she going to do now?

if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, click here! thank you for reading. asks, reblogs, and comments are appreciated more than you know. ♡

tags: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @ashaynep @mascdom @xysbree @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @bunnitewsilly @mimasroom2 @deliriousrn @infiniteinquiries @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @elliesapple

[augustinewrites]

dress + nanami

“i bought you something.”

you frown slightly, eyeing the sleek box that nanami places on the bed.

“but i didn’t get you anything…”

he simply smiles, gently taking your hand and smoothing his thumb over the gold band adorning your ring finger. “allowing me to marry you this afternoon was the greatest gift you could ever give me.”

memories of your little ceremony still linger in the forefront of your mind. you’d married him atop a small rooftop garden filled with this season’s blooms, surrounded by your closest friends and family. you’d never been an extremely sentimental person, but the way he’d gazed at you and whispered vows meant for your ears and yours alone…you’d hold that close to your heart forever.

“no take backs, by the way,” you say when you feel tears prick at the back of your eyes once more. “you’re stuck with me, even though i snore.” 

“your snores are adorable. like a bunny holding a chainsaw.”

“hey!” you laugh, letting him wrap his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. 

“just let your husband spoil you, hm?”

nanami loves to spoil you. he’s always had such lovely taste, picking soft, pretty things that catch his eye in shop windows— a pair of leather gloves, a stylish sweater, a diamond bracelet. each gift is thoughtful, always complimenting you perfectly,

you lift the lid of the box, peeling back layers of tissue paper to reveal a delicate, silky white dress.

“kento…” you breathe, feeling his lips curl into a smile against your skin. gingerly, you lift the feather-light dress by dainty straps, taking in the cowl neck and tasteful high slit. 

simple, yet elegant, like him. 

“for you to wear to the reception,” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. “do you like it?”

“i love it,” you tell him truthfully, turning to look at him. “help me put it on?” 

your husband couldn’t look more pleased, especially when deft fingers undo the back of your bespoke wedding gown and he sees what you’d snuck on underneath.

but nanami is nothing if not efficient, clearing his throat before helping you step out of your current dress and into your new one, the material gliding against your skin like butter.

“you’re a vision,” he whispers, brushing another kiss to the back of your neck. with heat in your cheeks, you turn in his embrace, bringing your lips up to his. 

the rest of the world begins to melt away, as it often does when you’re with him. but it’s different now. it’s different because in the eyes of the law, you’ve chosen him and he’s chosen you. 

so you share eager kisses in the warm lamplight of the hotel room, his hands gentle as they slide over the smooth material of your dress. 

and eventually, up the slit resting atop your thigh. his warm hands rest on your bare skin, setting off sparks of pleasure up your spine.

“we shouldn’t,” you breathe as he plants open mouthed kisses on the hollow of your throat. “we need to check on our guests— you know satoru gets weepy when he’s had more than one drink.” 

nanami pulls back to look at you, pupils blown with desire as he takes in your smeared lipstick and wide-eyed stare.

he responds by pulling you close with his grip on your hips, a groan slipping past your lips as he does so. 

“they can wait,” he tells you, walking you backwards until your knees buckle against the edge of the bed. “i’ve waited long enough to be alone with my wife.”

he’s waited for this moment even when he hadn’t realized he’d wanted this, wanted you. he’s wanted it since the days you’d shared at jujutsu tech, when he’d been a besotted schoolboy, pining after his classmate. 

nanami’s always been a patient man—

he yanks the skirt of your new dress up around your hips and kisses a trail down your chest.

— except when he’s not.

[ameliathornromance]

The Orc who you had fallen for, was the King’s personal guard! Although stern and menacing, he had always been kind to you.

You, the daughter of a Lord who worked on keeping the Queen company, answering her letters and mostly stayed out of sight of the King and his guard!

Since your families fortune was dwindling, your brothers securing marriages to rich young ladies, that made you the only one who wasn’t looked to much. Being a young woman in a family on the brink of ruin, meant that there wasn’t much for you to do other than try and get into the Regents good graces, and hope that you’d find a rich man who could take care of you.

But you’d never had such interest in men. It was always the King’s personal guard who caught your eye. Something about his stoic demeanour always made you feel safe, protected.

At first, you tried to keep your feelings a secret, there was no way that your family would approve of you harbouring such feelings towards the Orc, let alone even think about letting you marry him.

On a fateful night, where the King and Queen held a party, you were delighted when he approached you. You’d never taken him for being the one to make the first move. Not that you weren’t grateful.

That night, the pair of you had danced in the gardens were no one would see you, shared stolen kisses and giggled and laughed like you had never done before.

The pair of you promised to keep this a secret – nothing good would come of people knowing you two were together.

Not even the other Ladies in waiting knew about your relationship.

It was like something out of a novel. A forbidden romance, only a fantasy that could become a reality for a few glorious hours each time the pair of you got together.

It felt good to finally have someone notice you, tell you that you were beautiful, worthy of love and attention. He would leave you gifts in your chambers, with sweet little notes. They were mostly pieces of jewellery, necklaces, bracelets and broaches.

There was a part of you that hoped that one day, you would walk into your bedroom and find a small velvet box, containing a precious ring with that signature singular diamond that signified an engagement.

In one of your secret meetings, you did ask, “why don’t we just run away? Get married and leave all this behind?”

He had let out a snort, “darling, you wouldn’t last a day out there without all this granduer.”

You protested, “I could! I’d do it if it meant we could be together forever!”

At that, your lover had shot a glower at you. It surprised you, you’d never seen him look at you with so much contempt. “Well that’s never going to happen.” He said, harshly. “So get that silly idea out of your head.”

Your heart had chipped upon hearing that. Would it really be so bad to be married to one another? In domestic bliss?

After that conversation, he was cold to you. Colder than normal. He dodged you at every opportunity, even if it was just seeing each other in the halls, he would turn and stalk off in the opposite direction.

While you hadn’t meant to offend him, his reaction to the idea of you two being promised to one another was certainly an unwarranted one. He didn’t need to be so mean about it… but you loved him, and thought that maybe a big gesture of showing him how much you adored him would bring him back around.

So, one evening, you decided to bring a gift to him and deliver it personally. He was always giving you nice things, why couldn’t you do the same?

It was hard, choosing what to get him. What do you gift an Orc who has nearly everything handed to him just for being the King’s personal guard?

After a while, you finally decided. Your family was known for housing a baking empire, and thus, cooking was one of your families forte’s. And so you made him a cake.

With swirls of pink icing and cursive lettering on the top of the cake, you boxed it up after a days hard work and waited until night fall.

Your Orc lived just on the edges of the Palace grounds, and you would be undoubtably spotted if you went during the day. Donning a cloak and pulling up it’s hood, you left your quarters and headed for the Palace grounds.

The guards changed their shifts, and using the unmanned Palace doors, you darted through and raced to the edge of the grounds.

Now that you were on your way there, you realised that you’d never even been to his house before. Your Orc had never invited you, nor had you been close to it while accompanying walks with your Mistress, the Queen.

A tiny little cottage sat just at the edge of the Palaces’ garden walls, warm, inviting orange light flickering in it’s windows, puffs of smoke wafting out of the chimney.

You sped up your already hurried walk. Great, he was home. As you got closer, you saw shadows moving about inside the cottage and the silhouette of a woman.

The smile that had been spread across your face faded, your walk slowing down as you approached the cottage door.

A female Orc appeared in the window, a huge grin spread across her face as she laughed to someone unseen. You recognised her from the kitchens, she was always happy to talk to you about baking if you were ever bored and went down to see what the cooks were doing.

It had been a little while since you’d seen her.

You kept your distance, not wanting to be spotted in the dim lighting. As you watched, you realised that this she was pregnant. She must be on maternity leave then, it would explain her sudden absence in the kitchens.

But… why is she here? In your lovers house?

She was still smiling, nodding to the other person in the cottage with her, before she laughed again and beckoned her company closer.

The box in your hands slipped and split open, all your hard work splatting across the grass as you watched the love of your life, the King’s Guard pull the pregnant Orc into a hug.

Your Orc, your lover gave her a tight squeeze and then kissed her on the lips.

You couldn’t help yourself, you stared in horror as they walked away from the window and vanished further into the cottage.

Vision blurring, you gripped your skirts and bent down to pick up the ruined cake in front of you. Scooping the remains of the sweet treat into what remained of the box, tears fell.

You couldn’t believe it. You, were the other woman? To a pregnant lady who clearly had your lover wrapped tightly around her finger?

All the words you had exchanged, all the compliments and reassurances of your Orc… were lies? How could he do that to you?

The tears became too heavy and you couldn’t even see the cake in front of you anymore. Fingers covered in icing, you put your head in your hands, stood and ran off further into the Palace grounds.

You didn’t care if they found the cake out there, it’s not like people in the Palace wouldn’t find it strange that you came back covered in sugary sweetness.

It’s not like you could tell anyone of your affair either, everyone would look down on you, gossip and then you would never have a good life after that.

And your family’s reputation would be in the gutter. Their daughter, an adulteress and homewrecker? It didn’t matter that you never knew, your standing would still be tarnished.

A quiet trickle of running water hit your ears, causing you to stop your run and fall to your knees, no longer able to contain your shrieks of heartbreak.

How could you have been so stupid? Of course there was no way that an Orc like him and a Lady like yourself could have gotten married… or that someone as amazing as him would have fallen for a woman like you.

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Taglist <3 (forgot to add when this post first came out, sorry guys!)

@sunndust @greenie-c