#holding on to dreams (lu fic)

[scoutofmymind]

hey loved your fics you are incredibly talented. i have a scene picture some angst reader is kinda like jo march if u watched little women and luigi is laurie in that one hill scene. basically reader prioritizes acads because of her upbringing - high achiever, academic validations, the whole package and luigi somehow is the same but he compels the reader in a magnetic way because luigi gets to be so carefree and awesome about it and turns out luigi and reader have a common thread and it's turning out rlly good but then reader is slightly scared of commitment in a relationship dare i say? because it was all acads for reader even though there were dreams of having a relationship, it all seemed abstract and unreal!! and the angst comes when luigi confesses to reader and reader reacts very defensive i suppose spitting out word vomit enumerating reasons why luigi shouldnt like her and how he's too good for her and luigi just shuts reader up by pinching their cheeks and holding them steady saying i want you all of you all that sweet stuff...this is just a thought i want to say i admire you heavily your writing is pivotal

Without Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, pining, best friends, purest love, summer, unrequited, lowkey gut-wrenching (sorry)

Wc: 6,843 (I could not stop writing)

Notes; Before we begin, I have to say, anon, I very much enjoyed writing this!! And thank you so much for sending me this request! ✨ there are only a couple bits of dialogue that match the hill scene, but I wanted to throw them in there!

This is lowkey a mini-fic, so enjoy!

Side note: If anything is badly edited, I will likely come back to do some cleaning up. But maybe not. Also I’ve started picking songs to include in requests wherever they may fit in. I want to mention too that backstory is something I just simply can’t leave out when it comes to angsty or emotional scenes, so I’m sorry I literally can’t shut up.

The cicadas weave their summer hymn through the gentle lap of water against stone, your body stretched across whisper-soft grass beside the reservoir.

This spot holds years of you both — echoes of skinned knees and bruised elbows soothed by cool spring water, of childhood dares and teenage secrets.

"You never swim with me anymore." Luigi's voice carries no accusation, just a quiet observation that somehow makes it worse. You can picture his expression without looking —that gentle, knowing thing that always sees too much. "All you do now is torch yourself in the sun."

Your back peels away from the grass, elbows bent to prop you up. Through his borrowed sunglasses — because of course you forgot yours back at the house, and of course he had a spare —you study him.

He's summer personified: water-darkened hair curling at his temples, shoulders golden in the early evening light, wearing a smile easy as breathing.

"I just don't want to get my hair wet, Lu." You say it with the comfortable certainty of someone who's had this exact argument a hundred times before.

"Well, don't then." His retort is quick, familiar. He moves through the water with an easy grace that somehow makes the old reservoir look more inviting than it ever has, though you'd never admit it.

Your shoulders are painted with freckles from all these summer days — chasing chickens in the fields, racing bikes into the city with him riding at your back, his presence as constant as the seasons.

"But then when I get out, I'll be cold." The words float between you like lazy dragonflies, and Luigi just shakes his head, spattering droplets that catch the light.

He pouts, but not like you do.

Where your pouts are theatrical productions, his is a quiet thing — eyebrows drawn together in thought, bottom lip pulled inward instead of jutted out dramatically. His gaze fixes downward at his feet beneath the crystal-clear water, methodically toeing one stone over, then another, like the placement of each pebble might solve some grand puzzle.

You watch him wage his silent war of reorganization, using nothing but his ten toes as construction equipment. It's such a Luigi thing to do — finding the smallest tasks to occupy himself instead of splashing around like he usually does, trying to tempt you in.

"Bet the water feels incredible," he murmurs, more to the stones than to you. His toes have created a perfect semicircle now, a tiny amphitheater beneath the surface. "Like that lemonade your mom makes — you know, the one with mint?"

You do know.

The kind she only makes when the temperature crawls past ninety, when the air feels thick enough to chew. Like today. You can almost taste it — tart and cool and perfect — which is exactly what Luigi intended with that particular comparison, the sneak.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," you inform him, but you're already sitting up straighter, your legs beginning to tingle from staying still too long in the sun.

The grass has left impressions on your skin, tiny crosshatched patterns that Luigi always says look like secret maps, his fingers drawing lines upon them.

He doesn't look up from his underwater construction project, but one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Never claimed to be subtle. That's your department, avoiding the water like it's personally offended you."

"The water hasn't offended me," you say, though you draw your knees up to your chest, putting another inch between you and the shoreline. "We have a mutual understanding. It stays there, and I stay here."

"Mhm." Luigi abandons his stone circle, wading a few steps deeper until the water laps at his knees, stood there in his trunks, the cobalt blue ones that hit just above his mid-thigh. "And how's that working out for you? Enjoying your dusty patch of grass while I'm out here living like a king?"

The problem is, he does look a bit regal out there, all long limbs and easy grace, like he was born for summer days and spring water.

You've known Lu since you were both gap-toothed and gangly, but sometimes — like now — he seems to have grown into himself while you weren't looking.

Yet, your own limbs still feel too long, too awkward, like you're wearing a costume that doesn't quite fit.

Meanwhile, Luigi wears summer like a second skin, all easy movements and natural grace, as if the universe decided to polish him up while leaving you in your perpetual state of stumbling through doorways.

"A king of minnows, maybe," you counter, but you're already uncurling, letting your feet stretch toward the water's edge. Not to join him, obviously. Just to... test the temperature.

"Ah," he says softly, watching your toes creep closer, his voice taking on a funny narrators tone, an accent thrown in that sounded similar to his fathers. "The snail emerges from her shell."

"Shell-less snails are just slugs," you inform him primly, but dip one toe in anyway. The water isn't as cold as you expected — it never is, but that doesn't stop you from putting on this show every single time. "And I'm neither."

"No," Luigi agrees, dropping the accent but keeping that amused lilt in his voice. "You're more like- like one of those hermit crabs. The ones that think really hard about switching shells but then just stick with the same one anyway."

You splash water at him with your foot, and he doesn't even try to dodge. "Fuck, Lu —That's the worst analogy I've ever heard."

"Is it?" He takes a few steps backward, deeper into the water, like he's laying out a trail for you to follow. "Because you're still sitting there, thinking about coming in, just like you do every time.“

Luigi could easily remember all the days spent here, in this very body of water together — the secret collection of precious gems that were really just polished river rocks, the fossil that turned out to be an old bottle cap, and that infamous river snake from an overturned stone that had you shrieking and refusing to dive under for weeks.

"Can't be thinking about doing it if I'm already doing it, Lu." You roll your eyes, your shins now lapping gently with clean, cool water. The trees droop overhead like nature's own parasol, their leaves casting dappled shadows that dance across your shoulders.

He's quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you can't quite read. And then. “Remember when we thought we found actual dinosaur bones here?"

"You mean the plastic fork?"

"A very convincing plastic fork."

The water feels like silk against your skin now, and you find yourself wading deeper without really meaning to. It's muscle memory, maybe — your body remembering what your mind keeps second-guessing.

"At least I wasn't the one who tried to sell it to the museum.” you remind him, the water now swirling around your waist. Each step stirs up tiny clouds of silt that disappear into the clear water.

He splashes in your direction, grinning. "We were tweleve! And Mrs. Henderson at the museum was very nice about it."

"She gave you a cookie and a lecture about scientific integrity."

"Exactly. A win-win."

You're deep enough now that you have to lift your arms to keep them dry, though you're not sure why you're bothering. Your bikini is already clinging to you, and that familiar weightless feeling is starting to take over — the one that always made you feel brave before.

"You know what your real problem is?" Luigi quips, but this time his voice is gentler. "You forgot how to play."

The words hit harder than you expect, maybe because there's no teasing in them now.

Just truth, floating there on the surface like a leaf.

"I didn't forget," you say quietly. "I just- I put it away somewhere."

The look in his eyes tells you exactly what's coming, but muscle memory kicks in before you can retreat, your arms already up in defense position as he sends a massive splash your way, the arc of water catching sunlight like scattered diamonds before it hits you full in the face.

"Luigi!" you shriek, but you're already laughing, already moving. Your soul remembers this dance even if your mind's been trying to forget it, and the water parts easily as you lunge toward him, years of practice making your movements swift and sure.

He tries to dodge, but you know all his tricks — the way he always feints left before going right, how he can't resist staying just within splashing range.

The water battle that ensues is immediate and fierce, both of you laughing and gasping, sending waves in every direction, limbs smacking into each other at times, your body trailing away from his while he charged closer.

"See?" he manages between splashes. "The Queen of minnows!”

You're about to respond when your foot slips on a smooth stone, and suddenly you're going under.

For a split second, panic flares — but then the tranquility and silence envelops you, and it feels like greeting an old friend, your eyes open underwater, seeing the filtered sunlight create shifting patterns all around you, and suddenly you remember why you used to love this so much.

When you surface, pushing wet hair from your face, Luigi is watching you with a grin, his sunglasses pushed away from his face and atop his head instead, nestled in his damp black curls. “You got your hair wet.” He gives you one last gentle splash, his grin so carved into his features it may as well be everlasting.

Luigi, the son of Marco Mangione, whose genius lay in transforming his grandfather's modest Milan carpentry shop into Mangione Artisan Living — now a name whispered in the same breath as Fendi Casa and Bottega Veneta's home collection.

When Marco married Sofia Bernardi in the 80’s, a celebrated interior designer, they moved to America, the local papers painting it as another wealthy foreigner's passing fancy — this modernist villa rising among cornfields and weathered barns.

But Marco had seen something in these hills that reminded him of Tuscany, in the calloused hands of local woodworkers that echoed his grandfather's.

The Mangione Mansion stands like a slice of northern Italy transplanted to American soil, with its stark geometries softened by groves of imported olive trees and terraced gardens.

It's a world away from your family's farmhouse, where the paint peels in honest patches and the screen door creaks a familiar welcome, yet Marco moves between these worlds with effortless grace, discussing the merits of different wood grains with your father across the fence line, or clearing out your mother's farmer's market stall of preserves, declaring each jar Perfetto, just like my Nonna's! with the same genuine warmth he uses to greet European royalty.

Luigi, who could have been pressed into private academies and dinner jackets, groomed for Ivy League legacies and country club memberships, had instead grown up alongside you in public school — though his future was cushioned by both financial security and natural brilliance.

You can't remember a time when academic excellence wasn't your north star — every assignment a stepping stone, every grade a battle in the war for your future.

Being a veterinarian wasn't just a dream, it was your escape route from the endless cycle of farm life that had worn your father's hands to calluses and bent your mother's back.

Perfect attendance since kindergarten, straight A's through AP Biology, even showing up on Senior Skip Day — just you and Lacey Williams, the would-be neurosurgeon, bent over your textbooks in an empty classroom.

Now here you both are in the water — you with your scholarship letters and student loan applications waiting at home, him with acceptance letters from Harvard and Yale gathering dust on his desk.

Two lives that should never have intersected, meeting in the middle of sun-warmed water, your shared freckles catching golden light, limbs tangling as Luigi feints another playful attack.

•

Summer buzzes by your eyeshot like a cicada in a hurry, the season winding down with cooler, longer nights and shorter, blazing hot days.

August comes barreling through like it always does, hot and sticky air clinging to your skin as you sit with Luigi upon the sloped side of the barn, a Birds Eye view of the farm, this very spot the first place the two of you had tried smoking weed, the very first time you ogled at a traumatizing porn everyone at school was talking about — this spot, worn from years of shared moments together is the very place you create some distance.

For the first time.

“I think I want my own party this year.”

The words land like a stone in still water, ripples of hurt crossing Luigi's face before he can master his expression.

For a moment, he looks eight years old again, standing in the tall grass with his first American birthday cake — the one your mom made because his parents were still learning that birthdays here meant homemade frosting, not elegant catered affairs and grand garden parties.

"Oh," he says, and it's the smallest you've ever heard his voice. "Yeah, of course. That makes sense. We’re turning twenty-two. Not eight anymore.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes, hands fidgeting with the bracelet you’d made him years and years ago — the same nervous tell he's had since childhood. "Actually, Ma’s been saying I should do something more — you know, formal this year anyway."

The lie sits between you like a third person.

Luigi, who once convinced his parents to move his elaborate garden party to your barn because you had the flu has never cared for formal anything.

You can see him rebuilding his walls, brick by careful brick, protecting himself the way he never had to with you before.

"Send me pictures though?" he adds lightly, but there's at least fifteen years of shared candles and off-key, bi-lingual singing wrapped in that request, fifteen years of your mom's chocolate cake and his ma’s tiramisu side by side on the same table.

"Luigi, it's not-" you start, then pause, because it is exactly what he thinks it is. A separation. A gentle fracture. "I just need to figure out who I am without- without being part of a matched set. Does that make sense?"

The words feel clumsy in your mouth, inadequate to explain this need that's been growing since your acceptance letter arrived.

You watch him nod too quickly, the way he does when he's processing something that hurts.

The same way he looked when Benny, one of the milking cows had passed three summers ago, or the way he looked when you told him you couldn’t go on the Mangione trip to Italy, desperately needing the vet clinic hours.

"My party's probably just going to be pizza with my study group anyway," you continue, trying to make it sound smaller than it is, even though you've already planned every detail — your first real birthday party that isn't shaped around accommodating both your worlds. "And you should do something spectacular. Twenty-two is a weird number, but you could make it your thing.“

He laughs, but it's his polite laugh, the one he uses at his father's business dinners. "Maybe I'll rent out that new rooftop place in the city," he says, playing along with this sudden pretense that the two of you haven't spent months quietly planning your joint party like every year before. "Very grown-up."

The space between you fills with unspoken memories — dual parties with increasingly ridiculous themes, the year you both got chicken pox and celebrated in quarantine together, or the year his mother hired a magician who pulled you both on stage as assistants.

Fifteen years of wishes and synchronized candle-blowing, and you’ve put an abrupt end to it, with not so much as a warning.

"You're not mad?" you ask, even though you can see he is — not angry-mad, but hurt-mad, the kind that makes his shoulders tight and his smile too careful.

He stands abruptly, brushing invisible dirt from his shorts. "Mad? Nah, come on. We're not kids anymore." The words come out just a touch too fast, too light. "Actually, I should head back. Papa wanted to discuss something about the company tonight."

It's barely seven, and Marco's in New York City until Thursday — you both know this. But Luigi's already stepping back, that practiced social smile firmly in place, the one he uses when he needs to retreat but is too polite to say so.

"Night," he calls over his shoulder once he scales the side of the barn down to the grass again, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You watch him walk away, his usual easy stride now stiff and measured, leaving you alone with just the sound of the bullfrogs near the pond, and the chickens settling in their coops for the night.

The sunset feels colder somehow, and you wrap your arms around your knees, trying to convince yourself this is what growing up looks like as you sit there until the mosquitoes start biting, watching the space where Luigi disappeared and wondering if this is what independence is supposed to feel like — this hollow victory that tastes nothing like freedom and everything like loss.

•

The late August evening slowly begins to melt into night, the air carrying whispers of autumn though summer still reigns.

You breathe in deep — catching hints of hay being baled in distant fields, leaves just beginning their subtle shift from green to gold, and lake water evaporating off sun-warmed skin. The pontoon boat hums steadily beneath you, loaded with friends sprawled across every available surface, their laughter echoing across the darkening water.

You'd done your best to prepare them all, carefully explaining the separate celebrations to avoid awkward questions.

But Luigi's absence feels like a shadow you can't shake — in the pause after every joke, in the empty space at the boat's stern where he always sat, in the way conversations drift and fade without his easy charm to bridge them.

You're learning that some people leave gaps too precisely shaped to fill, and you catch yourself waiting for sounds that aren't coming —the full-bodied laughter that usually ricochets across the lake, the constant stream of Luigi's commentary that made even silence feel alive.

No one's standing at the boat's edge, goading others into increasingly ridiculous diving contests. The absence of these things sits heavy in your chest, like missing the last step on a familiar staircase.

"Good for you for doing your own thing this year," Mia offers, wine sloshing in her solo cup as she gestures vaguely. "Must be nice not having to compromise on everything for once."

Not really, you think.

The evening settles into dinner in the back garden, strings of lights casting warm halos over familiar faces — relatives, neighbors, friends who'd trickled in as the day aged and as if on cue, the peaceful scene splinters at the sound of tires on gravel and a booming voice that makes your stomach drop.

"Where's Luigi?!"

Cousin Tony's borrowed truck sits askew on the path, driver's door still swinging open like an afterthought.

He bounds toward you, one arm clutching what's clearly a wine bottle wrapped in what looks like yesterday's newspaper, his face bright with the anticipation of seeing his favorite duo.

The sight makes something in your chest twist.

He’s always treated you both as his own blood, never drawing lines between family and chosen family.

You're crushed into a bear hug before you can dodge it, his familiar cologne mixing with engine grease as you try to breathe through compressed lungs, but he’s still calling for Luigi over your head, each shout making the other guests shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"He's somewhere in the city, Tone," you manage to wheeze out.

Your phone burns in your pocket, where Luigi's latest Instagram story sits unopened — some rooftop view you're deliberately not thinking about.

"What'da ya mean?" His grip loosens just enough for you to see his face fall, confusion creeping into his features like a slowly spreading stain.

"We're... trying something different this year," you say, words feeling clumsy as you glance over your shoulder at the laden table — a spread that still unconsciously includes all of Luigi's favorites alongside your own. The sight of his mother's recipe for stuffed shells sitting next to your grandmother's pierogies makes your throat tight.

"Well, is he at least comin' later?"

"No." The word falls between you like a stone. "He couldn't cancel his reservation without losing the booking fee, so I just told him it was fi-"

"No, no, mia cara," Tony drags his hands through his hair, face crumpling like you've just told him the world is ending. "Potrebbe essere l'ultimo!" The words tumble out in his rushed native tongue, his distress making him forget himself.

"You just said that in Italian." Your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears, like it's coming from the bottom of a well.

"Shit — It could be your last time, cuginetta." Tony's sigh seems to come from his bones as he pulls out his phone, cursing when he sees the no-service icon.

"My last time?"

Tony lifts his head slowly from his phone screen, eyes finding yours with a weight that makes your stomach drop. "What — oh, Dio — do you mean to say he has not told you?"

"Told me...?” You brace yourself, chest aching with a sudden, sharp regret for all those breakfast lessons with Luigi's nonna, her patient voice guiding you through pronunciations you'd carelessly let slip away between coffee and lunch.

"He got big'a job in the big city," Tony's hands sweep upward, as if trying to encompass the vastness of a metropolis that stretches far beyond any gesture could capture. "Saying bye-bye forever to smelly farm." His hands fall, and his expression softens into something dangerously close to pity. "Sorry.”

"Leaving? Like — he's moving there?" The words feel strange in your mouth.

You're standing in the same garden where you and Luigi once buried treasure maps at age eight, where you learned to cartwheel together at twelve, where you shared your first illegal beer at sixteen — and suddenly it all feels like archaeological evidence of something that's already gone.

"That's where zio Marco is now, making sure Princess Luigi has all the things he need there for — uh—" Tony lapses into rapid Italian, but you've already stopped listening, the rest of his words fading into white noise.

You're hung up on the present tense of it all — Luigi’s father is there now, apartment hunting, setting up a brand new life while you stand here in your shared history, surrounded by people who apparently knew more about Luigi's future than you did.

The realization hits very suddenly.

Luigi was moving away, and he spoke not a word of it to you.

Tony manages a plate of food before borrowing your landline, desperate to track down Luigi in the sprawling city and when his truck finally crunches back down the gravel path, you feel it like a physical wound — as if he's taking a piece of you with him, torn straight from your core, yet, you maintain your composure with award-winning precision, a smile fixed firmly in place as guests filter away into the darkness.

You go through the motions, accepting kisses on cheeks, graciously receiving gifts labeled with just your name - no more Dynamic Duo or Thing 1 and 2 scrawled in familiar handwriting.

You help clear the garden, stack chairs, wash dishes that held food Luigi would have fought you for the leftovers of. You kiss your father's cheek goodnight, and tell your still-bustling mother you're heading out for some stargazing.

It's not entirely a lie.

You do end up beneath the stars, though you hadn't exactly planned to collapse here by the waterfront, where the distant dock creaks its lonely song, the splash of jumping fish and the bold croaking of nearby bullfrogs barely register — sounds that would normally make you jump now feel as distant as satellite signals.

You're lost in the undertow of your thoughts, barely noticing the warm tears tracking down your neck until your t-shirt is damp with evidence of a grief you didn't know you needed to prepare for — the silence holds you, envelopes you, and you’re almost convinced you can disappear here until-

"Hey, stranger."

His voice cuts through the cricket symphony like a knife, and you freeze, tears still wet on your face.

You don't turn around — can't turn around — because you know exactly what he'll look like: silhouetted against the moons full and distant glow, wearing that stupid designer jacket he bought last month that suddenly makes too much sense.

Big City boy.

The grass whispers beneath his feet as he approaches, each step measured like he's greeting a spooked animal.

It's funny — he used to just crash down beside you, all elbows and laughter.

When did you become something he had to be careful with?

"Tone called me," he says softly, still standing. "Said he found you but couldn't find me." There's a pause, heavy with unspoken words. "Told me other things, too."

The lake laps at the shore, a steady rhythm that used to calm you both on countless nights like this.

Now it just sounds like a countdown.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice sounds small against the vastness of the lake, broken and confused, betrayed and disbelieving.

"Would it have changed anything?" His words come sharp, defensive. "Would you have suddenly decided to stay?"

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" The laugh that escapes him is bitter and unfamiliar. "You want to talk about fair? I watched you apply to every college more than fifty miles away. Watched you light up talking about leaving, about getting out. Never once asking—" He cuts himself off, his gaze turning up instead at the trees that sway and rustle in the midnight air, a chill taking your spine.

"Asking what, Lu?”

"If I wanted to come with you." The words hang in the darkness between you. "If maybe I had dreams too, ones that didn't involve watching you disappear."

"I never said you couldn't-“

"What do you think I was going to do, wait around forever?" His voice cracks at the end, brittle and broken. "God, I've spent my whole life orbiting you like a personal Pluto. I don't even remember my life before you." He paces now like an agitated zoo animal behind a sheath of thin glass, just out of reach. “And yet, you expect me to stay here without you? While you go to college, make your own dreams come true?"

The moonlight catches his face as he turns, and you see something break in his expression. "I would have waited. I would have always waited, but fuck—" His hands tremble as they rake through his hair. "You've pushed and pushed and pushed me away. Every college application, every excited story about your future somewhere else, the party -“ he watches as you stand, your posture ridged and nervous, but attentive.

"Lu, please -“

"So what do I do?" His voice drops lower, trembling. "I have to think of myself too. I have to accept that we won't always be this way." He watches as you scrub your hands over your face, your unsteady legs carrying you off the dock.

The cool, damp grass beneath your feet becomes an anchor, something real in a moment that feels anything but.

He follows, his body angled toward yours like a compass finding north. "But it didn't have to be like this." His voice softens to barely above a whisper, his dress shoes crushing the grass with each step.

"Well, what exactly did you expect?" You whirl around, wiping furiously beneath your eyes, moonlight catching the tears on your cheeks that refuse to be unseen. "We were going to play in the river forever? Did you think we'd just find our way without ever trying?" The words come out harder than you mean them, sharp with the kind of anger that's really just fear in disguise.

"I- you-" Luigi's voice breaks.

His eyes are bloodshot, the bridge of his nose red from earlier tears hastily wiped away in the party bathroom. In the half-light, he looks both younger and older than your shared twenty-two years — a boy trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers, a man facing his first real loss.

"You know, maybe it might have been that easy for you, Lu." Your eyes drift to the Mangione Mansion, its windows gleaming like jewels against the dark hills, an anomaly among the endless cornfields. "You never had to lift a finger — it always just..." You gesture vaguely, bitterly. "Fell into place."

The words taste like copper in your mouth, sharper for how unfair they feel.

Because he's always shared everything.

Those lavish family dinners where his mother insisted you sit next to her, those delicate necklaces from Rome that he'd drape around your neck with careful fingers, those shopping trips where his nonna would press dresses into your arms with a conspirator's wink.

He's never once made you feel like charity.

But there are some things that can't be shared, some advantages that run deeper than generosity.

While you pieced together credits between evening classes and online courses, fighting for every inch of progress, he'd come home rolling his eyes at another Harvard letter, another Yale recruiter calling.

You take a deep breath, feeling the summer air fill your lungs, and air that smells like it always has, like corn silk and cut grass and the all-consuming night. "Did you think we'd just stay here in our bubble, Lu?" Your voice softens despite yourself. "The only place we've ever known?"

All he can do is stand there, helpless, caught between a nod and denial.

His expression crumples into something raw and pleading — such a far cry from the boy who, just last week, had painted patterns across your skin with river mud, both of you laughing until your sides hurt.

The same boy whom you could communicate with without even speaking to, who knew exactly how you took your coffee, who was born the day before you, and who could read your silences like a book he'd memorized; yet now he's looking at you like you're written in a language he never learned to speak.

"No." The word propels you forward, feet moving before your brain catches up.

His face softens into something unbearable — like watching a star collapse in slow motion, finally understanding that this isn't just another one of your theoretical late-night talks about the future.

His carefully constructed composure crumbles, leaving behind something young and scared and achingly real.

"I love you." The words fall from his lips like muscle memory, like breathing, like the thousands of times before — whispered against your hair during movies, shouted across parking lots, mumbled sleepily during long car rides. But now they land heavy between you, a weight pressing against your chest until it hurts to breathe. "I always have, and I always will—"

"No. No, Lu." Your voice cracks on his name, and your pace quickens, bare feet crushing grass beneath desperate steps.

But he matches you stride for stride.

“My life has been so intertwined with yours, when you began to pull away - I- I panicked,” He was rambling now, quick and out of breath but keeping up with you nonetheless, the two of you navigating the vast property, moon and starlight the only thing guiding your path. “I settled on what I knew would be easiest,”

“That’s the problem.” You stop again to look at him, your chest heaving. “You don’t need to settle, Lu — you’re brilliant, you’re so fucking brilliant-“ he grabs your wrists gently, taking several steps to close the gap between you.

"I have never settled on you." Luigi's voice goes rigid, cracking in the middle like ice breaking over deep water. Each word carries the weight of years — shared secrets, dreams whispered under blanket forts, and promises made in tree houses. "You have always been my first option."

You catch your breath, the familiar warmth of his hands on your wrists suddenly feeling like shackles.

Your head shakes, slow and deliberate, as you try to pull back — but his grip steadfast remains. "How would you know of the other options?" The question comes out softer than you mean it to, weighted with everything you've both been too scared to say. "Do you know yourself without me?”

"I don't want to know myself without you."

"Luigi. Please stop-“ You wrench your wrists from his loosened grip, your feet carrying you forward through the night but he follows, like an echo you can't shake, like a shadow that refuses to fade with distance.

His words tumble out faster now, chasing the shrinking space between you and home, visible through the wavering corn stalks like a lighthouse warning of rough water ahead. "I know I'm not — I know I'm not Matthew Williams, or that guy that works the stables near the Bradshaws. And I know I’m not a perfect man, but—"

You stop once again, so abruptly this time he nearly collides with you, turning to face this strange new version of Luigi — one you've never seen before, one who wears his insecurities like an ill-fitting suit.

He's brave, you'll give him that, but he's also terrified in a way that makes your chest ache.

This boy who's never had to compete for anything in his life, suddenly listing off names like entries in a contest he thinks he's losing.

"You stop that." Your finger jabs at his chest, connecting with the expensive fabric of his jacket. "You are the most-the most magnificent person I have ever met, Luigi. And you're not perfect, no-“ You swallow against the rising bile, against the irony of having to defend him to himself when you're the one walking away. "But you're honest, and you're good — a goddamn great deal too good for me."

The last part comes out like a confession, like something you've carried so long it's carved itself into your bones — the real reason you're running, the fear that someday he'll wake up and realize it too.

The night holds its breath around you, your ragged exhales mixing with his in the space between heartbeats, and the trees shiver their leaves like witnesses to your undoing, crickets falling silent as if they too understand the gravity of this moment — this closing act.

"But-“ You step into his warmth, drawn forward like a moth to flame, even now, knowing it would burn. You’re close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with fresh-cut grass and summer sweat. Close enough to see the moonlight catching in his eyelashes. Close enough to break both your hearts properly. "I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The words tear themselves from your throat like barbed wire, each syllable drawing blood.

Your stomach twists inside out, acid creeping up your throat again, "I can't love you like that. I’m - I’m so, so sorry, Luigi — I just - I can’t,

His hands find your face with the reverence of a prayer, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the geography of your skin. "Listen to me," he whispers, his voice thick with desperation. "Listen."

The tenderness in his touch nearly breaks you — the way his fingers tremble against your jaw, the gentle circles he traces beneath your ears, the familiar callous on his right thumb from his tree-climbing habit.

His forehead drops to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath hitching, unsteady and warm against your lips.

"You've already loved me better than anyone else ever could," Luigi's voice cracks, splintering like ice in early spring. "You love me exactly as I am — not the heir, not the prodigy, not the Mangione name." His hands slide into your hair, “You have loved me even though I can’t remember to help feed the hens, but I can recite every constellation. And you’ve loved me even though I name every cull cow — even though you think it’s cruel.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the raw hope in his gaze is almost unbearable. "Please," he breathes, the word more air than sound. "Please don't decide for both of us what kind of love I deserve." His thumbs catch the tears you didn't realize were falling, smearing them across your cheeks like war paint. "Let me choose.”

“Then choose someone else!” You shake your hands at him, helpless and wishing to disappear. “I - I’m so unsure of myself - every goddamn thing I do, Luigi. I break everything, I’m useless at being a homemaker. I’m awkward, I’m a black sheep, even all the way out here.”

You aren’t made for the big city like he is.

The moonlight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid as they search yours. "I don't need perfect love. I don't need textbook romance or fairy tale." His voice breaks, raw with honesty. "I just need you. But - but I can’t live like this forever" He’s speaking faster than you’ve ever heard the smooth-talking, easy going Luigi say anything.

You try to turn away, to escape the weight of his words, but his touch holds you steady — gentle but unwavering. "Luigi — let me the fuck-“

"No," he breathes, the word ghosting across your lips. "No, don't push me away because you think you're protecting me. Don't make decisions about what I can handle." His fingers thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head. "I choose this. I choose the messy parts, the broken parts, the parts you think are unlovable. I choose all of it."

I am stopping this here. Love you 💕

[raekensluver]

So how do you feel about writing a fic in which reader is awoken to head from Luigi 😍🙏🏼 or vice versa what ever you want

oh honey, i have very strong feelings about this.....

contains: oral (f receiving), slight somnophilia

luigi mangione x fem!reader

the soft hum of the air conditioner blended with the distant sound of cars passing by, creating a comforting white noise that had lulled you into a deep sleep. the room was bathed in the gentle glow of the streetlights outside, casting long, lazy shadows across the floor and up the walls. the bed you lay in was a sanctuary of warmth and comfort, the sheets a soft embrace that seemed to mold around your body with every shift of your slumber.

you felt a warm, wet sensation that grew increasingly more intense, and it was only gradually that you realized it wasn't a dream. your eyes fluttered open, and there, between your legs, was luigi, his face buried in your cunt, his tongue moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. for a moment, you were too shocked to react, but your body responded on instinct, hips moving slightly to match the pace he had set.

his eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you could see the hunger in them, a desire that was almost animalistic in its intensity. he didn't stop, not even to acknowledge that you were now fully aware of what was happening. instead, he seemed to double down, his tongue becoming more insistent, his movements more confident as if he had been waiting for you to wake up and join him in this intimate act.

his breath was hot against your skin, and you felt your arousal building, a slow burn that started in the pit of your stomach and spread outward like wildfire. your breaths grew shallow, and your heart raced, the sound of it pounding in your ears, mingling with the wet, sucking noises he was making. your hands found their way to his head, threading through his hair, holding him in place as you began to rock your hips against his face, urging him on without uttering a single word.

"lu," you moaned, his nickname slipping from your lips as he continued to devour you, the sound of it a sweet release in the quiet room. he groaned in response, the vibration of it sending a thrill through your body, and you knew that you were close, so close to the edge that you could almost taste it. his tongue swirled around your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to send you spiraling into a crescendo of pleasure, your toes curling into the sheets and your back arching off the bed.

his eyes never left yours, watching your every reaction, reading your body like a map to his own satisfaction. he knew exactly what you liked, what made you squirm and moan, and he was using it all to his advantage, driving you higher and higher with each stroke of his tongue. your hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you could somehow merge with him, become one with the feeling of his mouth on you.

you felt your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. your breaths turned to gasps, and your moans grew louder, filling the room. your body was a live wire, electric with desire, and luigi was the master of the switch. his tongue danced around your clit, flicking and swirling, and then, just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he sucked it into his mouth, applying gentle pressure with his teeth. the world exploded into white-hot pleasure, and you screamed his name, your hips bucking against his face as you came in a rush of wetness that he eagerly lapped up.

he didn't stop immediately, instead continuing to lick and kiss you gently, riding the waves of your pleasure as they crashed over you. it was only when your body had stilled, your breathing had evened out, and your grip on his hair had loosened that he pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and giving you a wicked grin. "good morning," he murmured, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction. his eyes sparkled with mischief, and you couldn't help but laugh, the sound of it a little breathless.

[the-moon-files]

Man, I love the trope of aliens being terrified of humans, and I've seen some fics of human!reader reacting differently to stuff like posions/plants in hyrule, but this is in another level! We are indestructible! I mean, I could live on Death Mountain! With the Gorons! It's literally a dream come true!

Also, the urge this would give me to give them all the hugs and piggy back rides whenever it gets cold/windy/whatever extreme condition.

If Hylians would be surprisingly light, would they be light enough for me to pick up Time? Just get that big ass man with a bunch of armor on my back? Because new need unlocked.

NEW NEED UNLOCKED INDEEEEDDD. (touches my fingertips together like a villain up to no good)

CREDIT FOUND!! (Who did it first!):

IDK who it was but someone mentioned in a rlly old 2023-2022? LU x human reader post abt the hylians being lighter in comparison to humans!! If i find who it is, or if u recognize u wrote abt smth similar pls leave a comment so I can @ you!! /gen

@wayfayrr :D ive been in humans are space orcs fandom (is it a fandom? More like endless AU idea ppl wrote abt on tumblr) for Years, and ofc i never thought to put with Loz this past year or 2 getting into this fandom dammit - UR WORKS AMAZING THANK YOU SM FOR MERGING MY 2 FAVS AND LIKING/REBLOGGING THIS HOT MESS 😭😭

GOD i NEED to play TP bc u can hold cats like this?? and u get to see LINK do it??? 😭😭

Sun: technically Masc! Reader but not explicit (you/he/him), coule be Gender Neutral, Human Reader

Orbit: headcanons-ish

Stars: The Classic Chain of Links

Comets & Meteors: Content: in Four’s desc. mentioned “diving into chest”, & Triggers: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

A kinda 2nd part/expansion to this post!

no bc the “i can live wherever tf i want” was secretly part of why i wrote that post (so sue me, i wanna be able to follow wild around his hyrule w/o getting nuked)

OMFG SO GLAD SOMEONE WANTS TO TALK ABT HOW AFFECTIONATE YOU’D GET BC OF THIS TOWARDS THE LINKS (anduseitasanexcusehahai mean what? whatd i say??)

There’s only 2 types of Links in this hyrule(s):

Who’s already down with being cuddled at the slightest/not so slightest inconvenience??:

Wild

(unsurprisingly, also if anyone teases him he just teases right back that not only is it “for survival”, but also look he’s “getting Guide Cuddles™️ and You’re Not” lmao,

would sleep right up against ur bedroll every night if u let him, likes when you commit to the cuddle (even if he goes a little red), like wrapping arms + legs around him, adores fireside cuddles, has said on multiple occasions that nothing makes him feel safer than holding onto you, and how he can’t go back to doing things like this on his own anymore 😭😭😭

his favorite cuddle is whatever you give him LMAO u can always count on Wild if your ever feeling like u need to cuddle smth blonde and cute lol - he constantly offers or initiates it himself <33 )

Sky

another unsurprising one, his favorite time to cuddle is when it’s cold outside, or windy, and he can just get under a blanket and take a nap with you,

esp if it’s both and he can convince you to lay partially on him for heated + weighted human blanket purposes, he’s literally staring at you with sparkles in his eyes as soon as a breeze goes by lol

his Loftwing/Crimson wasn’t rlly able to fly u long distances u find out!! :( Hylians are just so light that ofc that explains why they can ride these pelican/ostrich creations for hours, whereas the bird can only rlly manage 20 minutes of low flying with you (+ Sky) on its back, but that’s fine, bc u figured out how to “shield surf” rlly fast down slopes to keep up with Sky flying low, and by “shield surfing” i mean, shocking Wild into jaw-dropped silence as he watches you fly by completely barefoot 👍

(after all, ur skin has to be pretty tough/thick to be able to handle the weather/environmental conditions, and finding out u can withstand lava? yeah this is nothing turns out)

secretly loves piggyback rides, but never asks, u just see him get this look in his eyes, and shuffling in place just behind you lol

Wind

touch starved, but what Link isnt lol

his favorite is piggyback rides, since he was raised by his grandma, and there weren’t a whole lot of close, young adults to pick him up as a kid

so now, he takes FULL advantage of u being able to easily pick him up lol

one time u guys were going uphill while a pleasant breeze was blowing-

actually it was gale force winds.

but ur you, so it took Wind flying backwards into you to realize. he also screeched at you for “ABANDONING ME- YOURE GONNA MAKE ME, A LITTLE GUY LIKE ME, CRAWL UP THIS?? HOW COULD YOU-” you give him piggy back rides whenever it’s windy.

will treat u like his own personal ship whenever ur both in the water, which consists of him yelling sailor terms like “turn starboard! raise the sails!” while sitting on ur shoulders while u get slammed (gently buffeted, really) by waves

Hyrule

shy, shy, shy, shy-

the quintessential:

“👉👈 🥺 is it okay, if we maybe hug rn?? I'm just rlly cold, and i know u said you didnt mind, and I saw Wild and Sky just laying on you, sorry if this is weird-”

Hyrule, sweets, you literally love him more than life itself, of course you’ll cuddle the fairy boy

the more excited he gets = the more likely to jump on ur back/wrap his arms around ur waist happily, esp since he’s an extra cutie patootie and will subconsciously seek u out if the environment gets a little rough

Sets an Amazing example for the other Links, not too clingy when ur busy, great at latching onto ur back when things get tough for him, asks politely and thanks you everytime he gets down <3

Hyrule is eternally fascinated by whatever u do, u just walk thru flood waters like it’s nothing and while the rest are used to it by now, he’s the only Link looking at you like your some kind of god 💗💘💖💕🙈

accidentally squeezed ur arm muscles one time when he saw u doing that thing where u curl ur arm and Wind/Wild were able to hang off of it,

you both just stared at each other for a solid minute before his ears turned down and he went completely red and apologized profusely for 5 minutes, before you just scooped him up too lmao (his face after tho)

Four

depending on the cuddle he gets shy sometimes, even worse if more than 1 Link is looking at you two, in which he will attempt to escape ur arms.

keyword being attempt.

you just wrap ur legs around him and trap him instead lol

likes to cuddle you somehow where he’s not in the way but you can keep doing whatever it is you were busy with

if he splits, then u can fucking bet Red is the first to dive into ur chest- unless there is literally, actively, a threat right in front of him, he’s going for it lol, Green loves to wrap his arms around one of yours and just hang off u all day, Blue will wait until ur sitting somewhere and flop on ur legs to purposely trap u there, the little shit, and Vio just likes hugs. he’s such a sweetheart, he just loves being wrapped up and wrapping you up 🥺

And who must be Convinced. (most to least)

Legend

fully expected,

silly man thinks he’s above love and cuddles, and all the good things in life LMAO came for ur throat again

it'll be below-freezing temperatures, in a cave with a barely there campfire, a blizzard outside, the other heroes complaining at him to just get under the blanket so you’ll get under the blanket,

bc you two are just doing that thing where 2 characters have like a table between them and are fake-out dodging left and right to try and catch the other lmao

is most susceptible to cuddles when he’s tired/injured/sick/sleepy.

it’s a cold morning and u just scootch the Links into a pile and use him as a pillow lol, and as long as no one, not even gods, perceives you two, he’ll let you stay

ok but you definitely caught him from falling into lava one time while on Death Mountain, and had to bridal carry him across half a lava lake back to shore, hehe,

Legend swore everyone there to secrecy on their own graves and favorite items

also refuses to let Ravio know of ur human advantages lol

he just wants the attention on himself as much as he can in between the other Links, no need for more competition

Time

silly man just doesn't think of his needs including affection/emotional comfort,

he only rlly initiates when the circumstances are dire, like gale force winds that he can barely walk thru/starting to slip, desert heat getting to him thru his armor and needs ur cooling touch, etc.

he keeps it as professional as he can, like wrapping an arm around ur shoulders, but you just snatch him by the waist and pick him up half the time, was surprised at first, chain giggled at him, then complained lightly, finally just accepted his fate anytime he touches you lol,

YES you have given him a piggyback ride, when a flood of water burst a dam during a battle/the other Links got out but Time didn't bc of his heavy armor,

so u yoink him up and just stood ur ground against the raging waves and climbed a rock until u weren't submerged anymore, poor guy was so worn out from the battle + the flood that he just let you carry him all the way until u camped for the night, and secretly took a nap 😭

like Legend he can be convinced to rely on u when he’s already vulnerable like sleepy/tired/injured/sick, but he does find himself secretly appreciative someone in the group can just lift his heavy ass in full armor/or someone else if it gets bad enough,

got converted and no longer has to be convinced usually, he just doesn't initiate much so u have to lol

Warriors

YET ANOTHER SILLY MAN!!

whats with all these idiots neglecting themselves, both physically and emotionally??

like boy u cant stand the heat of a desert or blizzard, just let in the cuddles 👹

similar to Time, just more vocal abt how appreciative/advantageous it is to have someone to be able to carry comrades out of harsh conditions or battles easily.

Did Not think abt this applying to himself until you literally swept him off his feet like a classic damsel in distress- mans let out a shriek after taking a second to process everything LMAO-

Loudly and Dramatically complains abt u coming to cuddle him, both just to love on him, and to heat him up in a rainstorm, but hugs you back and holds onto you anyway hehe.

Became the 2nd person to find out you’re immune to lightning.

See, everyone heard Legend talk abt u getting struck in a storm in Wild’s hyrule, but no one really came to full terms with it bc they didn't see it. Warrior is now a full believer. He actually got the closest to pissing his armor he ever has in all of his battles bc he forgot abt the metal in the storm = bad idea, until it was too late and u guys were trying to retreat to regroup, bc there were too many black-bloods, only to get full body tackled by you to avoid getting hit by lightning.

You had to bridal carry him for a minute after bc u just got back up after being hit, (it just felt like you rubbed ur body on the carpet and touched a metal wall, like a full body small static shock) bc he was in such a state of literal horror/shock,

Wars saw your life flash before his eyes 💀

Twilight

HA HA HA- HE NEEDS THE LEAST AMOUNT OF CONVINCING LMAOOO

goofy wolf man has wolf instincts that help ur case as to Why You Need to Pet Twilight’s Hair and Hold His Hand at All Times if Possible.

main reason Twi’s here is bc he thinks his height + weight = him not needing u to hold onto/cuddle as much, and he would be proven wrong HA

actually gets all blushy/shy anytime u pick him up, freezes like a puppy who’s gotten scruffed too lol

likes a lot more casual touch/cuddles, like arm around ur shoulder or his, sitting with legs touching, leaning against u when he’s cold, etc.

omfg funniest thing abt Wars/Time/Twi is that they’re the tallest out of the Links, so they make for extra fun when picking them up, cuddling etc.

but the best thing ever happened one time when Twi was still recovering from the Shadow’s wound, it got reopened/ached so bad he couldn’t run, but u all were trying to retreat at the moment bc Big Boss,

and u just snatched him up into a piggyback ride, his legs comically sticking out, but the best part was that Hylians are light.

so you were able to run full tilt adrenaline powered run, to the point you surpassed the other Links ahead, and had everyone laughing and simultaneously trying to conserve their breath to keep running LMAO

Twi grew up tall/bigger than kids his age, and is another victim of “no adult figures to pick him up when he was younger”, so he gets this little giddy smile when u pick him up lol <3

the first time u put him in a bridal carry for smth like river rushing waters, mans blushed, stuttered abt smth the whole time, and then didnt let go after you tried to put him down, u didnt have the heart to insist, so u just carried him around half of the day 😭

☆

sorry some have less than others, its nearly 2am I'm just riffing kicking my feet and shit, so I'm not being very thorough

i hope u liked my spiral into blonde twink insanity (well theyre kinda on a spectrum of twinkness)

anyway goodnight, and have a great weekend!!

to the 2 other ppl who sent asks, ill get to you soon and thank you sm for sending stuff :’)

Please feel free to send asks for requests or just to chat :)

Peace out,

🌙

[pit-and-the-pen]

Spring Meadow

I have not been able to get soft Lucien out of my head all morning so heres a super fluffy fic about our boy being absolutely in love with you.

Lucien X Spring court!reader

Lucien deserves the absolute world, boy has been through enough. 

Warnings: None

WC: 1.6k

Lucien never regretted his decision to come to the spring court. The cruelty of the Autumn court gave way to something sweeter. Autumn always reminded him of death. He saw it in the trees that constantly shed their leaves, in the terror of everyone in the court. Worst of all, he saw it in his brothers. Fear seemed to permeate the air wherever you went and his family wore it the most. Cloaked in gripping fear of their own father. When he arrived in spring, it was like he could breathe for the first time in his life. Flowers bloomed and birds sang cheerful songs. The lords and ladies of the court would smile at each other as they passed. Spring reminded him that he wanted to be alive. 

Of course, he also had you. He had never intended to fall in love. Heart still in tatters over Jesminda, love was the last thing on his mind. But there you were. One of the ladies of Tamlins court. He found you in the meadow he frequently hid away in. Weaving flowers into a makeshift crown, basking in the first few hours of sunlight as it crested the horizon. The willow wisps seemed to sing a special song just for you. 

He can still feel the shock run through him, blinking hard as if he might wake up from a dream. Lucien decided that if it was a dream, he would happily never wake up. You startled as he cleared his throat. Hands pausing your work as he introduced himself. He swore he felt his heart stop dead when you smiled at him, giving him your name. 

That’s when it all started. It wasn’t an all consuming fire but a slow ember that he nursed into something roaring. You were patient with him as he figured out how to let his guard down. A comforting shoulder when days got too heavy for him to get out of bed. Those were days you would curl up next to him, hands deftly braiding his hair or reading him one of your favorite books. Those were the days that Lucien knew he was falling in love with you. 

Today was one of those days. You managed to pull him out of bed and the two of you stood in the kitchen. Flour streaked across your face as you kneaded the dough ball in front of you. Giving it a small smack, you put it in the bowl next to you and draped a wet towel over it. 

“There, I have an hour before I can bake it.” You washed off your hands and walked over to where Lucien sat on a stool at the counter. You patted his thighs and he parted them enough for you to squeeze yourself between them. With care, you wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a peck on the cheek. “What would you like to do today, Lu?” He wanted nothing more than to just crawl back into bed. Hold you in his arms until his thoughts could do anything but swirl around angrily in his head. But you had told him you wanted to get out of the house today so he instead said. 

“What about a picnic in the meadow?” He suggested. He wished he could bottle that look in your eyes, pure wonder and excitement. 

“Absolutely. Once the bread is done I’ll make us sandwiches. Oh and I’ll cut up some of that fruit from last night.” You chirped. He gave you another tight squeeze as you started gathering all the things you needed to bring. Lucien sat and stared at you. His heart squeezing in the best way possible. He pushed himself off the stool and went to your side, helping you pull out the fruit sent from the summer court. You instructed him on how to peel and chop the chosen fruit. His rough chunks were almost laughable in comparison to the shapes you cut into the fruit. He never understood how you made the various patterns you were able to cut them into, deftly cutting hearts and flowers. He helped you string them onto wooden skewers and squeezed the lemon juice on them so they wouldn’t brown, a trick you had taught him the last time you went on a picnic. You wrapped them up in a small towel and he went to grab your wicker basket from your room. 

Even your room made him smile. Organized chaos as you called it. Flowers covered as many surfaces as they could. You had used your powers to make honeysuckle creep up the walls, covering the wall by the window and swirling up to the ceiling. The white blooms fill the room with their sweet scent. He used to complain about the pollen dropping over everything but he learned to appreciate it over time. He even went as far as cleaning it up on days you were too busy to do it yourself. You always thanked him by peppering his face with small kisses when he did. 

He quickly located the basket he had been sent to find. He also grabbed one of your favorite blankets and the book you had been slowly reading to him. Both of you could have easily finished it on your own by now but he loved listening to your voice as you read it out loud, your voice wrapping around the words brought the story to life. 

When he walked back into the kitchen, you were bent towards the oven, pushing in the bread pan. Standing back up, you adjusted the top to your flowy sundress and untied the now dirty apron from your waist. You smiled at him as he held up the basket like it was a trophy. He was rewarded by the peel of your laughter. He wanted to wrap himself in the sound so he did just that, practically sprinting across the kitchen to embrace you. Hugging you so tightly he lifted you off the ground. He was rewarded with another string of giggles and when he sat you back on your feet your cheeks had a glowing blush to them. You stretched up onto your tiptoes and kissed him passionately. 

He let out a surprised noise as your teeth found his lower lip. You smiled into the kiss as he swept you off your feet, placing you on the kitchen counter so he wouldn’t have to bend down. Your hands found their way to his hair and the two of you got lost in each other. Eventually, you both need to pull away for air. Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath and he tried to ignore the way your tongue swept over your lips before he was tempted to forgo the picnic and drag you to bed for other reasons. 

He joined you, pulling himself up onto the counter. So close to you his thighs were pressed against yours. You picked up his hand and started drawing random patterns and swirls. The conversation flowed easily out of the two of you while you were waiting for the bread to finish baking. Its smell filled the room and made his stomach grumble. Luckily, before he could even think of making a joke about his stomach eating itself, the timer you had set dinged loudly. You grabbed a dish towel and pulled the perfect loaf from the oven. After letting it cool for a few minutes, you started assembling the sandwiches, cutting them into perfect triangles. Wrapping them in their own towel and adding them to the basket. You looked up at him, “All ready to go!” 

You all but pulled him to the meadow, a childlike sort of excitement as you babbled on about the newest gossip in the court. He didn’t really follow your words too much, too many names he didn’t recognize, but he held to every word you uttered. Savoring the sound of your voice. 

When you finally decided on a spot, he laid out the blanket on the dew covered grass. You sat crossed legged in the middle and started unpacking the basket. 

After the food was eaten, you laid down, arms holding your top half off the ground. Lucien placed his head on your thighs using you as his personal pillow and handed you the book before you could even reach for it. That action earned him a kiss to his forehead, your hair draping around him as you leaned down. You flipped to the page you had left off on the night before. 

Sitting out in this field, your free hand playing absentmindedly with his hair. Lucien knew that this was true happiness. Happiness that he had never felt before meeting you. Happiness he was terrified of losing but allowed himself to feel anyways. He would go to the ends of the earth to protect you and he knows you would do the same for him. His emotions suddenly welled up inside of his chest and he lifted his head off your lap. Your reading stopped as you went to ask him what was wrong, reading the tears in his eyes as something other than pure joy. He spoke before you could. 

“Can we stay like this forever.” He said, leaning closer into you. You kissed him, soft and gentle. 

“Of course my love.” You cuddled tighter to his side and pulled him into a deep kiss. He rolled you on top of him, and you pulled away to say, “We can stay like this for as long as you want.”

[potterhead2207]

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@onsunnyside - Cruel

@sebsbrokentoe - Rendezvous

@worksby-d - Your Age Is Showing

Ransom Drysdale

@holylulusworld - Christmas Sweater

Lloyd Hansen

@onsunnyside - Untitled

Ari Levinson

@babyjakes - Flamingo Pink

Frank Castle

@thyme-in-a-bubble - Lilac

Jack Grealish

@heyhihellosworld - Make You Feel Good

@libraryofloveletters - Hallways Hold Our Secrets

@sweatygrealish - Just A Dream

Tony Stark

@holylulusworld - Her Secret Santa

Miscellaneous

@stargazingfangirl18 - Spoiled

[uluvjay]

Time to say goodbye- L.Hughes

Summary: you have to say goodbye to Luke as he has to leave for Jersey

Luke Hughes x established relationship reader

A/n: be ready for loads of sad fics once we find out who is all signing😊

Lightly proofread so I apologize for any errors I missed!

—

You woke up in his arms on Friday morning, everyone had flown right back to Michigan after the game. You had thousands of thoughts running through your mind as your boyfriends alarm started going off.

The alarm that was waking him up so he could go sign his NHL contract.

They tried getting him to sign it in Tampa and go straight to Jersey but he refused. He wanted to do it at Yost surrounded by people he loved, in a place he loved, not where he just lost the same championship for the second year in a row.

You stayed quiet as he started to wake up and check his phone, the notifications nonstop since he got off the ice Thursday night.

“Good morning” he said as he hugged you tighter and kissed your head

“Morning Lu” you mumble

“I’m sorry” he admitted making you look up at him with confusion

“For what?”

“Having to sign this contract in two hours, and having to leave you, leave Michigan, leave the boys. I want to but I don’t at the same time” he expressed to you.

“Oh Luke” you said as you seen how sad he looked

“I mean me and duke haven’t been apart since freshman year, we’ve been together since our junior year, and these guys are some of my best friends. Not to mention I love it here, I’ve had the best time playing for Michigan, I don’t want to leave but if I don’t sign this contract I’ll be letting so many people down” he was crying at this point.

“Baby listen to me, if you truly aren’t ready to be pro then don’t sign, I can promise you that your family will not be upset with you, I won’t be upset. It’s your choice Luke, it’s your life. But if you are ready to go out there and show the world that a 19 year old Luke Hughes has what it takes to be in the national league, then go get your ass dressed so you can go sign this mother fucker” you told him through your own tears because no matter how bad it hurt that your boyfriend was leaving, he was achieving his dreams.

“God I love you” he said as he pulled you into a kiss that tasted of the salt from your tears and morning breath.

“I love you more” you replied pulling away

—

Two hours later you stood holding hands with Ellen and Dylan as Luke signed with the Devils in a conference room at Yost.

All the boys were waiting outside the conference room, they weren’t upset when he picked Dylan to come in the room, everyone knew how hard it was for the two of them to split.

“Congratulations Mr.Hughes your officially a New Jersey Devil” the devils staff member told him shaking his hand.

“Thank you” Luke replied looking towards you and his mom who were both on the verge of tears.

They took their pictures, one of Luke signing a fake contract , one with him and his parents, him and Duker, and then one of you two.

From here he’d go back to the sophomore house to get his bags and then he’d be on a flight to Jersey.

Once all the boys came in to congratulate him and more pictures were taken, everyone gave you two the room.

You didn’t know what to do or say, you knew if your tried to speak you would break out in sobs but you didn’t want to spend your last few moments with your boyfriend in silence

“Y/n..” he started but began crying as well

You just pulled him into your arms and hugged him, you two stayed like that, just holding each other until Ellen knocked on the door letting you two know that you had to get going.

You pulled away and looked up at him, both your faces were red and covered in tears, you probably looked like a raccoon because of your mascara but you didn’t care.

“We gotta go baby” he whispered

“I know”

—

You two stayed stuck together the whole ride to the airport, the car was quiet besides the light music from the radio.

Ellen and Jim both knew how hard this was for the two of you, you had been dating for four years and hardly spent long amounts of time apart. However you also knew how hard this was for them to send their last boy off to the Nhl.

After you made it to the gate he shared an emotional goodbye with his parents before turning to you. You ran straight into his arms already crying for the hundredth time that day.

“Flight 729 To Newark New Jersey now boarding” you heard over the intercom and it made your heart pang with hurt.

“Guys it’s time to say your last goodbye” Ellen spoke up but you could hear how sad her voice sounded, she didn’t want her baby to go.

“I love you so much Y/n” he told you as you both pulled apart

“I love you Luke” you replied as you pulled him down into a small kiss before stepping back so his parents could get one more hug in.

You held hands with Ellen once again as you three watched him walk down the hall towards his plane.

—

Cried while writing this so I hope you cried to🥲

[hydrasra]

these are just some scenarios that came to mind while I was daydreaming. I might post something else in a few days related to my sagau interpretation turned mini fic lmaoo. you can view these as anecdotes of when things happened off screen or something, idk but it's up to you. enjoy!

LATEST SAGAU CHAPTER [HIATUS] : SAFE FOR NOW

SIDE STORY : STRANGE ENCOUNTER

•° M.LIST °• NEXT

lumine: do you always have to be so negative?

wanderer: that's my personality.

lumine: I know but can't you smile at least once?

[name]: if he does smile, it'll mean I'm gonna become rich tomorrow.

lumine:

[name]:

[name]: *looks at lumine*

lumine: *looks at [name]*

both: *nod then look at wanderer*

wanderer: what?

[name]: *tackles him down* GOT HIM!

wanderer: your grace, what are yo-

lumine: *using her hands to make him smile* COME ON, SMILE!!

wanderer: *struggling to get away* I DON'T WANT TO!!

paimon: *watching from the sideline*

nahida: *walks in* hel- what's going on?

paimon: [name] said that they'll become rich if wanderer smiles at least once.

nahida: oh. well, maybe they are right? why didn't you join in?

paimon: don't want wanderer to haunt paimon's dream tonight.

nahida: *giggles* fair.

[name]: *walks through the door, completely dishevelled and bleeding*

cyno: and that's wh- *looks up* [NAME]!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

[name]: *blinks, confused* yes?

tighnari: you're bleeding!

lumine: *walks in in the same state*

wanderer: what happened?

paimon: a rishboland tiger.

alhaitham: I'm sorry?

[name]: you're excused.

lumine: *grins and leans onto [name]* they thought that the tiger was friendly. the tiger was, until they stepped on its tail.

paimon: *snickering*

wanderer: wait until buer hears this...

[name]: what the fuck do you mean by 'he's not here'? where does he go and spend his time? he's a fucking bard with too much time on his hands!

jean: *sweatdrops* your gra-

lumine: [name], stop swearing.

[name]: oh, my bad. anyway, where to find that asshole?

lumine: [name].

[name]: sorry, sorry.

jean: *whispers to paimon* is this normal?

paimon: *nods* paimon has grown immune to it all now.

[name]: *sneezes*

albedo: bless you.

[name]: *groans* thank you but how the fuck do you live in this cold?

albedo: that's simply cause I'm not h–

[name]: *wraps their arms around themself* I knoooooow!

lumine: hold on, I'll go find a seelie. *dashes off*

[name]: THANK YOU, LU!!

albedo: *takes off his coat and puts it on [name]'s shoulders*

[name]: thank you, bedo.

klee: you're very beautiful!

[name]: *looking at klee then around* huh?

klee: *giggles* you're very beautiful, your grace!

[name]: *smiles* call me [name] instead, all right? and thank you, klee. *picks her up*

klee: *wraps her arms around [name]'s neck*

[name]: *hugs her tightly*

paimon: *wiping away her tears*

lumine: *sniffles*

kaeya: oh? emotional~?

lumine: shut up, kaeya.

[name]: okay, wild idea.

lumine: *sighs* here we go again.

[name]: what if we visit Inazuma and I wear some sort of disguise?

lumine: *perks up* wait, that's–

wanderer: a very bad idea.

lumine & [name]: bu–

wanderer: no 'but's. the farthest you're allowed to is mondstadt and liyue is out of question.

[name]: *puppy eyes*

wanderer: that's not going to work on me.

[name]: hmph. *pouts*

lumine: you sure it didn't work? 'cause you're red, wanderer.

wanderer: *looking away, blushing wildly* FUCK OFF!!

nahida: why are [name] sulking and alhaitham blushing?

lumine: *hands on her hips* alhaitham told them 'no' to their request.

nahida: he said 'no' to what exactly?

paimon: they asked to give him a kiss.

[name], sulking somewhere: I SAID A KISS ON THE CHEEK!!

alhaitham: t-that's not very a-appropriate, your g-gra–

[name]: THAT'S NOT MY NAME!

lumine: I'll gladly accept your kiss!

[name]: *perks up* BET!

alhaitham: *hiding his face behind his hand*

tighnari: and this is collei.

collei: *hesitating between bowing, kneeling or waving*

paimon: collei!

lumine: hey, collei... are you all right?

collei: I- y-yes! I just-

[name]: no need to bow or kneel before me, it makes me very uncomfortable. a simple wave is enough, and if you're comfortable, a hug is welcomed too.

tighnari: I don't th–

collei: *suddenly hugs [name]*

tighnari: *surprised gibberish*

[name]: *grins and hugs collei back*

lumine: what–

paimon: what the heck–

collei: *hastily pulls away while blushing* t-there! i-i heard that y-you mumbling about wanting to give m-me a hug–

[name]: *nods while smiling* thank you, collei. it must have been hard for you to go out of your comfort zone.

collei: *shaking her head, blushing still* n-not at all!

[name]: holy shit, we're high up! I can see mondstadt from here!

paimon: well, we are at the top of stormterror's lair after all.

jean: don't get too close to the edge, your grace!

[name]: *looks at jean, takes a decisive step towards the edge*

jean: *panicking and speed-walking towards [name]*

lumine: [name], step back. you'll give jean a heart attack.

[name]: *smiles and walks right into jean's embrace*

jean: *confused sigh of relief as she hugs [name] then looks at lumine*

lumine: they will purposely not reply to anyone when their name isn't used.

paimon: *nods rapidly*

[name]: *leaning on the table, staring at cyno*

cyno: what is it?

[name]: are you and tighnari dating?

cyno: *clears his throat*

[name]: *leans back, gasping* OH MY GOD! DOES THAT MEAN YOU WERE CHEATING ON HIM WITH ALBEDO AT THE WINDBLUME FESTIVAL?!

cyno: I did not–

kaveh: *slams the door open* WHO CHEATED ON WHO DURING WHAT?!

cyno: no one–

[name]: CYNO CHEATED ON TIGHNARI DURING THEIR TRIP IN MONDSTADT!!

kaveh: *offended gasps* WHAT IS THIS TREASONOUS ACT?! *looks at cyno, appalled*

[name]: *stands up* I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS!

kaveh: NEITHER WILL I! LET'S GO, [NAME]!

[name]: HMPH! *grabs onto kaveh's arm and leaves with him*

alhaitham: *hiding behind his book, trying hold in his laughter*

collei: *shaking her head while trying to act disappointed*

tighnari: ... I knew it.

cyno: NOT YOU TOO??

[radiaurapple]

Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 12

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Alastor finally learns the truth.

FIC SUMMARY: Lucifer has always kept his distance from sinners. It’s what keeps him (relatively) sane — if he gets too close, he is haunted by visions of the tragic mortal lives that landed them in Hell. But in his new life at the Hotel, it is more difficult than ever to stay away — and when it comes to light that his daughter’s insufferable facilities manager is gravely wounded, it falls to Lucifer to deliver his soul from Death. In so doing, he falls headfirst into the sins, past lives, and heartbreaks of the one human whose contradictions he is powerless to resist.

it's saturday so it's new chapter time!!! I went outside of my comfort zone for the art this time (with mixed results) but i really wanted to capture this moment this chapter!! ALSO we have a teeny lil discord server now for brain rot related to the fic so feel free to join in!

[AO3 LINK]

Chapter preview below!

Humanity has conceived of many delightful inventions over the eons. Lucifer could spend ages listing his favorites: the printing press, engines, soda, aqueducts, cereal with little prizes inside. But of all the surprises over the years, he’s pretty sure nothing tops electricity. 

The manipulation of electromagnetic fields has always been second-nature to Lucifer — he just never got the point. He was fine with living in a Hell lit by flames. Then humans discovered electricity, and Lucifer was blown away by all the potential they saw in it. Their little contraptions won Lucifer over immediately; over the years, he’s created hundreds of generators to support Hell’s burgeoning electrical grid. 

Which is to say that making a generator for the hotel is second-nature to him, even though he’s exhausted and the work involves a bunch of fiddly little parts. He’s only been at it for an hour and he’s already made good progress, working half in the hotel and half in the palace workshop, thanks to the portal he’s opened in the center of both rooms. He leaves it open so he’ll be able to hear if Alastor or Charlie come by while he’s in the palace, or if something implodes while he’s in the hotel — a very real possibility as he’s currently got the vacuum pump depressurizing the generator’s antimatter chamber. 

He gets up from his workbench in the hotel, trips on an empty wire roll, and stumbles through the portal into his workshop in search of motor oil. All of Lucifer’s creation stuff is piled at random on the floor-to-ceiling shelves that line the far wall of his workshop; he unfolds his wings and flits up to rifle through the bottles on the top shelf. 

“Lucifer?” 

It’s Alastor. 

“In here,” Lucifer says.

Alastor pokes his head through the portal just as Lucifer sticks his hand in something slippery and mysterious — he jerks his hand back and an assortment of solvents topple off the shelf and splatter on the floor. Alastor laughs; Lucifer scowls over his shoulder. “Not a word.” 

“What an utter mess,” Alastor says pleasantly. 

“Right,” Lucifer says dryly. He flaps his wings and alights on a table in front of Alastor. “Do you need something?” 

Alastor steps through the portal with a mug in his hands. He isn’t smiling — is this how it’s going to be from now on? Has Alastor decided he no longer needs to smile when they’re alone?

“I’ve brought more coffee,” Alastor says. “Though I’m not sure you should accept it in your present state.” He glances pointedly at Lucifer’s hand. 

Lucifer glances down — his fingers are dripping something thick and blue onto the tile floor. He groans and magicks the stuff away.

Alastor holds out the mug. “It’s a wonder you’re able to accomplish anything amidst such chaos.”

Lucifer takes the coffee and glances around at his workshop — at the overflowing shelves, the pile of random lithium-ion batteries in the corner, the charred remains of an exploded rollercoaster car for Lu Lu World which he’d never bothered to clean up. How long has it been since anyone visited the palace? Has it really been a couple … hundred years? 

“Hah — I get by somehow,” Lucifer says. 

Alastor steps around the table, studying the machinery around the edges of the room. He pauses at the narrow unmade bed tucked in the corner. Lucifer’s face heats — he’d forgotten about the ducky quilt. 

“Do you spend most of your time here?” 

“Um,” Lucifer says. “I sleep down here, yeah. I’m usually making stuff when I’m at home. This is where I work on the big stuff. Engines and … whatever. I have a smaller workshop upstairs where I make the, uh — the ducks.”

“May I see it?” 

“You want the tour?” 

“If you please,” Alastor says.

“Uh, okay — sure. I can do that. Yep.” He crosses the room and opens the door to the hall. “Right this way.” 

Lucifer heads for the entry hall. Alastor follows; their footsteps echo on the tile. The main hallway is lined with red doors, most of which have been shut for years. The palace is larger than the hotel, but for as long as Lucifer has lived alone, he’s used only a small fraction of its rooms. 

“Where do these doors lead?” Alastor says. 

“Oh — nowhere,” Lucifer says. “Just rooms that haven’t been used in a long time.” He points at the closed doors. “That one used to be Charlie’s playroom — on the right here was the music room. This was Lilith’s office. And this was Charlie’s classroom, back when she had a tutor.”

They step out into the entry hall. On their right, a wide marble staircase leads to the second and third floors; Lucifer leads Alastor past it, through the wide archway beside the stairs. 

“This is the kitchen,” he says. “I’ve got a bunch of snacks from Earth in the pantry, if there’s anything you want to try — I put a spell on the whole room to keep food from going bad.” 

Lucifer sits on one of the barstools at the kitchen island and watches Alastor peruse his collection of sugar cereals as though it were a shelf in a library. 

“Which cereal is your favorite?” 

“Hoo boy — that’s a tricky question. Um — I’ve definitely got a soft spot for — see that blue box on your right there? That’s Cotton Candy Crunch.” 

Alastor pulls the box off the shelf and regards it with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes! That one. It’s so good — but they discontinued it a couple of years back.” 

Alastor opens the box, pours a couple of pieces into his hand, and pops one into his mouth.

“Hm,” he says. 

“Yeah, they’re, uh — they’re pretty sweet.” Lucifer hops down off the barstool and slides the cereal from Alastor’s hand into his own — their hands brush together, and Lucifer’s kitchen becomes Alastor’s, in the yellow house. There’s a pile of dishes in the sink, a layer of dust over Alastor’s mother’s cast-iron pan. This memory is near the end of Alastor’s life, when he lived alone. 

Lucifer glances up and meets Alastor’s hazel eyes. Alastor is older than usual; orange evening light filters through the kitchen window and catches in the strands of gray in Alastor’s curls, glints off the copper frames of his round eyeglasses. Lucifer struggles to place this memory among the hundreds of evenings at the end of Alastor’s life in which he came home to an empty house, made a sandwich, smoked on the porch, and then went to sleep. 

Lucifer studies the faint lines that were just beginning to appear at the corners of Alastor’s eyes in his early thirties. What might Alastor have looked like, if he’d had the chance to grow old? Lucifer’s body might as well be carved from stone; it has never aged, never changed, apart from the switch flipped when he fell — but he knows enough of human souls to envy the terms of their existence, where time is precious and the world is always in motion. Alastor’s thirty-one year human life had passed, for Lucifer, in the blink of an eye; the time had meant nothing to him, and so he had slept it away in complete isolation, wandering the palace halls and watching rubber ducks fill up its empty corners.

Alastor is still studying Lucifer with that intensity that always makes Lucifer feel utterly transparent. Some corner of Lucifer’s mind prickles with the urge to turn away, to crack a joke, to make a passable attempt at hiding the jumble of emotions playing out across his face — but Lucifer can’t move — he is transfixed by the way the sunlight catches in Alastor’s eyelashes, like paint in a paintbrush.

“Um,” Lucifer says.

The memory dissolves; they are back in the palace kitchen. Lucifer remembers the cereal in his hand and pours it into his mouth — no point in letting perfectly good Cotton Candy Crunch go to waste. 

[guzhufuren]

Favourite VegasPete Fics pt.3  (in alphabetical order) full rec list

1. baby got bounce by @lu-sn https://archiveofourown.org/series/3540850

As a present for Vegas, Pete learns how to twerk. & Pete's adventures as an amateur pole dancer.

2. clouded with dirt by @sapphicblight https://archiveofourown.org/works/46274284

Prompt: "No, I'm not dating your brother." As they wait for Vegas to wake from his coma, Macau tries to figure out what Pete means to Vegas. Pete would like to know, as well.

3. discothéque rouge by @lu-sn https://archiveofourown.org/works/44019583

Vegas is here at this night club on a job, and he really, really doesn't want to be. Then everything goes sideways — in a good way.

4. Five-Star Southpaw https://archiveofourown.org/works/46009846

When Vegas is handed the keys to a failing major family hotel and told to bring it back to life, he knows it’s not a gift, or a test, or even an opportunity to prove himself. It’s a taunt. It’s a way to set him up for failure so everyone can rub his nose in the shitshow he’s left with, defeated and inferior to his cousins like always. It’s the death sentence of his pride in a gilded cage. But misery loves company and all that, and he finds a surprisingly fitting cellmate in an unassuming looking employee named Pete. Now if only he could get Pete to stop playing hard to get, this cage could become a lot more comfortable.

5. he wanted it comfortable i wanted that pain by @hawkshadowwrites https://archiveofourown.org/works/45435295

Vegas pulls the cloth off his head and Pete’s suspicions are confirmed when the look on Vegas’s face is pure alarm and confusion, not pride and satisfaction. “What—” Vegas says as the same time Pete all but moans. “Fuck me,” Pete whines, high and desperately needy. His hips buck up against Vegas’s thigh and he whines again. “Khun Vegas.” — Or; an ep 4 auction au where Pete drinks the drugged water meant for Porsche and gets grabbed by Vegas instead.

6. it’s so sweet (knowing you love me) https://archiveofourown.org/works/46458253

“You’re smaller than me,” Pete suddenly announces- simpering like a fox in the henhouse right in Vegas’ face. aka the 5 times Pete makes Vegas feel tiny + the 1 time he feels tinier

7. Mansions and Mafiosi by @blackwatervial https://archiveofourown.org/works/46604890

Vegas overhears that someone called Pete is looking for a Dungeon Master. Vegas is convinced that he’s the man for the job – he both has a dungeon and is a master. But when he turns up at Pete’s place expecting hot stuff (sex), he instead gets hot stuff (8d6 fire damage). OR The Vegaspete DnD AU no one knew they needed

8. no rest for the wicked by @itsbinghebitch https://archiveofourown.org/works/45520291

Pete has long left Thailand. He is now living the American dream, working long hours to make his rich clients richer and himself more miserable than ever. But when his best friend Porsche invites him to his destination wedding to the mysterious Kinn, Pete finds himself suddenly thrown into the world of the Theerapanyakul family, the silent machinations underpinning their wealth, and Kinn’s cousin Vegas—who, for reasons unknown, has made it his mission to tear down every assumption Pete holds about his life. — resort romance AU where Kinn & co are still mafia (except Pete doesn't know)

9. sub(stitute) by @blackwatervial https://archiveofourown.org/works/46102267

Pete needs a fake-boyfriend for a casino party. Vegas needs to secure a deal with a casino owner. Everyone knows where this is going.

[inamagicalhallucination]

i love those fics where the straw hats r in modern times but have vague memories of the previous life - i'd really like one (and there might be one already lmao idk) where luffy is the one who doesn't remember out of the straw hats

the first straw hat to see luffy in modern times is jinbe, who sees him when he's a kid - he double takes but luffy is there with ace and that chokes jinbe up too and before he can approach the two leave - jinbe reminds himself that he hasn't had his memories for that long and luffy is still a kid - if the straw hats get their memories, it'll be as they get older, jinbe just has to be patient

/

sanji is in junior high; he's in a cooking lab, it's after school. he's been having these strange dreams and at first he dismissed them as just that but he has them over and over; he's there in the cooking lab, after school and a flash of green catches his eye and he hesitates for a few minutes before rushing after it and there's one of the people from his dream - zoro

zoro seems equally surprised to see him and they just stand there, not knowing what to say, and how to react - both recognizing each other but not really

/

nami knows here strange dreams are more than dreams; she knows it but no matter where she looks she can't find any of the people in them

its a coincidence that her mother took her sister and her a little out of town to shop - it's a coincidence that an art shop catches her eyes and she wanders in, hoping to find some new inking pens - it's a coincidence that another teenager with a peculiar nose is there too and the name spills from her almost instinctively and usopp turns in confusion but only momentarily as recognition fills in

/

nami and usopp and sanji and zoro

the next people to run into each other are sanji and usopp - and quite literally at that; they bump into each other on the street one day and when they both look up to apologize they gasp and thats how all four of them become together

"do you know where the one with the strawhat is"

"...luffy?"

/

robin is at the library and theres a small child there trying to reach for a book too high and too advanced; she gets up ultimately and grabs it for him and he's so familiar (she feels herself holding on to something that isn't there again) but she cannot explain why and he looks at her with a strange expression but they do not speak further

not until its been weeks and they come to the same library and chopper asks if she would mind a study buddy

/

brook is strumming his guitar at the side of the street - he's been playing a lot of concerts in recent years and wanted to just relax now - relaxation is still music though, so he found a nice place to sit and started to play - in his mind he can hear a voice singing , out of tune as it may be, and he already knows who it is - he already knows about his memories

he should search for them - he supposes - but he never knows if they'll remember

he strums more, beat switching to something more familiar and then someone tells him he used to play this all the time and that is how brooks meets jinbe

/

franky's strange dreams in the midst of his stranger dreams are of no concern to him

sure they leave him empty and wishing sometimes but they mean nothing

not until he's fixing up some car at his workshop and a group of four come in specifically asking for him

thats how franky meets usopp nami zoro and sanji

/

vivi tells all her strange dreams to her pet; she writes them down, dreams of adventure and friends and one day she decides she'll write them into a book - something as grand as all the people who live in her head

she heads to a local library to start

she meets someone who she feels she should resent but cannot truly

/

luffy has no such dreams

/

the second person to meet luffy is brook who's open guitar case luffy puts a few dollars in and then pauses when the music stops and the man stares at him

"lu-"

"luffy!" whatever he's going to say is forgotten as luffy's brother calls for him and luffy heads to him instead

luffy doesn't remember brook realizes; it's okay though, he'll just wait longer

/

luffy has two older brothers; they don't have strange dreams either; all three of them are content in their life - in their shared apartment, close enough to both ms. makino's and dadan's places

they are content and happy to live as brothers - they do whatever they want; sometimes it feels like people are watching them

ace opens a flower shop in honor of his mother

luffy likes the colors so he sits there in his free time

/

usopp is only at the flower shop to pick up something for his mother

"those are the flowers my brother gives his mom!" an achingly familiar voice says

usopp turns around, words and breath caught in his throat - he doesn't know what to say but he must have said something becuz next thing he knows he's making his way to his mother, that very bouquet in his hand

luffy doesn't remember

/

one by one they all meet luffy; luffy with his same smile; luffy with his happy content life with his brothers; luffy with no recognition in his eyes

suddenly they are too big, too strange, too different to fit into luffy's life where he seems to have everything

/

they forget that luffy is easy to love and loves just as easy and always has room for more people

even these strange ones with memories in their eyes luffy will never know

/

anyway the idea is that all the strawhats but luffy recall their past life and feel some sort of emptiness they all try to find luffy and meet him in various times and he never recognizes them

they meet each other too, gradually, and become friends but theyre still searching for luffy - but luffy is content in his life unlike them, he's with his brothers and he's happy and at that realization they suddenly feel as if they are trying to impose onto his life - but of course luffy is luffy and he may not remember but he has plenty of room to welcome people into his life and yeah

[scoutofmymind]

The mini fic with the one hill prompt? Omg it’s too good i am literally sobbing you’re incredible!! Will we see more of them? 👀

Thank you soooo much pook!! I’m not sure! Never say never of course. I’m more focused on exploring new prompts and ideas surrounding Lu x Reader content because I’m obsessed with starting new (small) projects lol. Will totally consider doing a part two of them; I did leave the ending kind of open for the reader to interpret, and I did that on purpose, because this is the original ending I never posted.

Years later, you'll remember the weight of his hands on your face, the silver in his eyes that night, the way the cornfields seemed to hold their breath.

You'll catch the scent of his cologne on strangers in crowded streets, and for a moment, you'll be there again — standing at that crossroads beneath a summer moon.

Sometimes, on quiet Sunday mornings, you'll find yourself staring at daisies in shop windows, remembering a boy who loved so completely, so honestly, that even the memory of it aches like a phantom limb.

The seasons will turn, life will move forward as it always does, but there will always be a small part of you that lives in that moment — in the space between his heartbeat and yours, in the whispered pleas that still echo in your dreams, in all the ways love can be both a beginning and an end.

(Please don’t hate me)

[kikker-oma]

me: *writes LU/loz fanfic*

me: *realizes that maybe one day I wanna publish this after like 10028283 years of editing*

me: *removes all explicit refrencds to LU and LOZ*

Wip:

CHAPTER 1

The Broken

The light of dawn is the light that breaks the sky in two. As the era of twilight slowly dissipates and the golden sun begins to rise, its holy light touches the soft green needles poking out of the ground. The lone village never felt like home to the boy, a life on the road was the life for him, it always has been. It gave him a feeling of security, courage, but most importantly, structure. 

Structure was the word of survival for the adventurer. Structure prevented weakness, prevented feeling, prevented dreams from ever arising. Dreams as in red hair, dreams as in song, dreams as in the soft ocean breeze, dreams as in fifty-one people, missing from the clutches of life. 

The adventurer bit back his tongue, feeling the metallic taste of blood swirl in his mouth. He just kept walking, his steps filled with the toll of years spent, yet they will always hold that new feeling, like the ghost of deja vu that follows you, but never truly pulls you six feet under. 

BLARE THIS SOUNDS SO PRETTYYY❤️❤��

Holy light touching soft green pine needles does something to my heart and I just let out a mental sigh😌

Between this poetic beauty and your crack fics, you are a very well rounded writer my friend 😂

[rose-tinted-vision]

Fic: 浮生若梦 | life is like a dream

Fandom: The Double (墨雨云间)

Relationship(s): Xiao Heng & Wen Ji & Lu Ji, Xiao Heng/Xue Fangfei

Summary:

Wen Ji peers at the couple, humming in thought, “have you prepared any baby names, then? How about Yue’er? or Xin’er?”

loosely based off this edited ending! | read on ao3

The sound of metal against whetstone was the only thing that occupied their camp, the harsh sounds mingling with the buzzing of mosquitoes that pierced the night air. The area was otherwise silent, with the three of them too exhausted to speak, much less do anything beyond the bare essentials.

“How long have we been out here?” Wen Ji caves first, hunched over his knees as he sharpens his sword. 

“Three weeks. You should know,” Lu Ji says, stoically cleaning the blood off his blades– they would just get stained again the next day, as it had been the last few days, but the repetition helped. 

It helped him to focus his mind, focus on something other than the exhaustion in his bones that was starting to hinder his movements, focus on something that was not the amount of times Wen Ji and their zhujun had nearly died earlier today.

It was a given that the war was tiring, more draining than what they were accustomed to. Their opponents this time weren’t some two-bit criminal who hardly knew how to fight– these soldiers were trained, well versed in their own martial arts, and they were heavily outnumbered, with their numbers declining with each passing day. 

Their zhujun had sent word for reinforcements, but who knew whether they would survive until then?

“Three weeks…” Wen Ji repeats slowly, “is that considered lucky? The army of Dai doesn't seem to be slowing down.”

“Idiot, are you scared of dying?”

“Of course not! Who's scared of death?” Wen Ji declares with his chin raised defiantly, which Lu Ji meets with an impassive stare. 

Wen Ji wasn't fooling anyone– not them, at least– they could see the fear written all over his posture, plain as day. But who wasn’t afraid of death? And if they died here, there would be no one to collect their bodies, no one to bring them back home. It was an understandable fear, and a commonly shared one. 

The silence between them stretches, with neither Wen Ji or Lu Ji backing down from what had evolved into a staring contest, until their zhujun shifts, clapping both of them on the back as he declares, “I promised my furen that I'll survive. So naturally, we'll survive.” 

…who were they to disobey their zhujun?

“Understood.”

—

So they hack, they slash, and they raze their enemies to the ground, never once straying too far from each other's sight.

There had been one too many near misses, some that Lu Ji was nearly too late to save them from– his hair might be greying from all the stress, if it wasn't already– he sees the exhaustion mirrored on his companions faces, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on, with his arms only growing heavier with each shichen that passed.

(Lu Ji knows that he might not survive this war.

That was something he has made his peace with, oddly enough. The only regret he had would be that he wouldn't be able to protect zhujun and Wen Ji anymore).

He cuts down another two, dodges another three, and considers the merits of giving in to the fatigue beckoning him to death’s arms. He very nearly does give in to the temptation of sleep, when– 

“That's the army of Zhao’s flag!” Wenji shouts over the clamour, nodding towards the southeastern direction.

Sure enough, like rays of light piercing through the blanket of dreary clouds obscuring the clear blue sky, steadily approaching them were troops carrying the flag of the Zhao army, with Situ Jiuyue fearlessly leading the charge. 

The new addition rightfully scares the Dai army, who scramble to regroup, retreating by one li before the pressure of their reinforcements. It isn’t an overwhelming swoop, or an end to the battle, but it was a reprieve nonetheless. 

“My brother says we can’t spare any more men,” Jiuyue says regretfully, before looking their zhujun over, “Xiao Heng, are you injured anywhere?”

“No.”

“Good, don't let yourself get injured. I don't have much poisons with me.”

“Fine, you’re only asking him, are you?” Wen Ji says with a snort, “he is–” 

Lu Ji elbows him, fully aware of what he was about to say next. Trust the idiot to be so tactless– who didn’t know how Jiuyue felt towards their zhujun? To flaunt their zhujun’s marriage in the face of their saviour was just thoughtless, too thoughtless. 

“This one thanks the Princess for her help. Our Emperor should be reaching in a day,” their zhujun tells Jiuyue, before turning to address them at large, “just hang on until then.”

“Understood,” Lu Ji answers with a bow. The reinforcements would boost their troop’s morale temporarily, which gives them a chance to turn the tides. 

They would survive.

—

“You have no idea, niangzi,” Wen Ji cackles, expertly dodging his zhuren’s lethal fan that had immediately come flying at him, “zhujun looked so cool, picking up your jade pendant and holding it between his teeth! Just like a real general!”

“Eleven lashes,” zhujun says, catching his fan with a flourish as he perches on the side of his furen’s chair. 

(Lu Ji winces– that might cause Wen Ji’s injuries to reopen– they hadn't completely healed yet, it being a mere week since their return from the borders).

“I’m complimenting you!” Wen Ji protests, “and niangzi likes hearing of how dashing you were out there anyway.”

“Make that twenty-two,” zhujun drawls, raising a brow in warning, “or do you want thirty?”

Lu Ji shares a look with Fangfei niangzi, who gives him a knowing smile– he doesn’t know whether he should be scared or not, considering how scary she could be– he had bore witness to the entire play that she put on, after all.

(He briefly wonders how much she had seen, how much she knew.

She’s like a mind reader! Wen Ji had once exclaimed, after witnessing another of her brilliantly executed plans).

“Aiya, fujun, I was the one who asked Wen Ji to share more stories,” Fangfei says, slipping an arm around his waist, “and it was nice to hear about how you fearlessly took down so many soldiers of Dai.”

“You’re going back to acting again?” their zhujun smirks, seeing through her at once. 

But the fondness in his gaze is palpable as he looks at his wife, who had rest her head against his chest, smiling coquettishly at him– and that was Lu Ji’s cue to get out of the yard, dragging Wen Ji along with him– he did not want to play audience to whatever they liked to get up to together.

—

This time, it was their turn to watch as their zhujun and his furen put on a show, taking on the role of enamoured lovebirds exploring the night markets hand in hand.

“What do you say, how long until we become uncles?” Wen Ji lands silently beside him, failing to properly stifle his wince– he’d likely landed on his bad ankle which hadn’t properly healed yet– one of their spoils of war. 

Lu Ji himself had a shattered wrist bone, but that had healed faster than Wen Ji’s broken ankle, because unlike the fool, he knew how to properly rest instead of overworking his injured arm. 

“A year,” Lu Ji replies, continuing to silently shadow their zhujun. Word was that bandits had entered the city disguised as vendors, looking for an opportunity to cause chaos and set up their racketeering business. He’d spotted a few suspicious individuals earlier and taken note of their stall location– but their priority tonight was the furen’s protection– those thugs they could deal with later. 

“A year? You think they’ll move that quickly?” Wen Ji asks, scandalized, “I was going to give it at least two years, and that is the very least!”

“Are you blind, or just dumb?” Lu Ji deadpans, gesturing to the besotted couple below, who were clearly struggling to maintain their propriety in public. 

Their zhujun had offered his furen a spun sugar candy in the shape of a cat, leaning in to whisper something (no doubt improper) into her ear, which had her flushing a bright red. Lu Ji can only let out a long-suffering sigh as Wen Ji giggles at the scene. He had thought them more proper than that, but he’d underestimated the rush of being newlyweds, he supposed. 

Wen Ji peers at the couple, humming in thought, “have you prepared any baby names, then? How about Yue’er? or Xin’er?”

Of course he had prepared one. But he wasn’t going to tell the blabbermouth that.

(It proves to be not useful, when their niangzi announces her pregnancy a few months later, which catches the both of them off guard. They had clearly underestimated how far gone their zhujun was.

Turns out, they had already agreed to name their kid Tong’er).

[adrift-in-thyme]

Woke up this morning and thought “you know what? This is an angsty Malink kinda day.”

This takes place shortly after the events of the latest lu update

Fic beneath the cut

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

The other side of the bed is empty.

Blinking open eyes blurred with sleep, Malon runs a hand over the cold sheets. She sighs.

“Oh, fairy boy.”

She should have known tonight would be one of those nights. After all, one doesn’t have to read minds to know something had happened between Link’s last letter and this visit. It’s written in the exhaustion glazing Hyrule’s eyes, the bags surrounding Twilight’s, in the way the captain seems much more tense than usual, in the near total absence of the vet’s teasing.

But most of all it’s written in the careful mask her husband has constructed, all steely determination and unwavering calm. That is the mask he has had to use for years to survive in a world too harsh, too cruel. And while it may work on acquaintances soon gone and demons lurking in shadows, it’s useless on her. She can see through it in a second.

Beneath that facade, her fairy boy is breaking. And she intends to find out why.

Carefully, Malon slips from bed. Fetching a shawl from the closet, she steps out of the bedroom.

On silent feet, she walks down the hallway, past the room where the boys are fast asleep. Their silent snores emanate from beneath the cracked door. A smile tugs at her lips as she pauses to peek inside.

They are gathered in the center of the room, a mass of blankets and pillows and limbs sticking out at odd angles from beneath them. And in the eye of this slumbering hurricane lies Twilight. His face is drawn with exhaustion, and much paler than it was the last time she saw him. Yet, in the embrace of his brothers, he looks peaceful.

Here he is safe.

Malon takes a moment to cement the sight in her mind, the sight of their boys at rest. Who knows how many times they have dreamt the same dreams as her husband has, visions of death and destruction, of friends leaving too soon, and enemies persisting. But for tonight they appear to be free from the tortures of nightmares. And for that she is glad.

Now, to find the one who was not so lucky.

Carefully, she shuts the door and heads into the kitchen. She passes through it, her shadow stretching long over cupboards and countertops, and keeps going. Out onto the front porch where mosquitoes and moths flit and the moon glistens above, out into the field beyond, her boots squishing in the soft, dewy earth.

He’s there when she arrives, right where she thought he would be. Link sits with his back to the bushes and fence, knees pulled up to his chest, eye staring dully ahead. Fairies flit about him, playing in his hair and zipping about his head, but he pays them no mind. And as soon as Malon comes into view, they scatter.

“Hey, fairy boy,” she murmurs, and he jolts from his thoughts to look up at her.

“Malon. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She settles down beside him and holds out a hand. He takes it, grasps it like she’s the only thing keeping him afloat.

“You know I can’t sleep when you’re gone,” she says, gently. “The bed gets all cold without you in it.”

She waits for the characteristic chuckle, the teasing reply. Neither comes. Instead, he shudders, curling in on himself further. Her heart breaks.

Malon scoots closer, pulling her shawl up over both of their shoulders. The night is cool and damp. Already she can feel the chill settling in her bones. But she pays it no mind.

“Tell me, Link. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He looks at her, and the markings on his face gleam in the darkness.

“I failed them.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, as though speaking it causes him immeasurable pain. “I failed them, Malon.”

She reaches out and runs a hand over his cheek.

“Who?”

“The boys.” His face crumples, his defenses fall. “Our boys.”

There’s a long pause and Malon lets his words hang in the space it leaves. She won’t have to ask what he means, she won’t have to pry. The answers her mind begs for are coming, bubbling up like lava from beneath rock, desperate to be let loose.

They’ve done this dance so many times before. He will tell her everything if she lets him.

So, she draws him to her and she waits.

It doesn’t take long for him to speak once more.

“They trusted me,” he says, calloused hands clasped together as though in prayer.

(Perhaps he is praying, she thinks. Praying that the gods have mercy on him, just this once. Praying that they will allow him to rest. Hylia knows she begs for the same.)

“They trusted me to lead them, to protect them. But I couldn’t.” His voice breaks. “Malon, I nearly lost him. Twilight nearly died.”

And just like that everything clicks. The drawn faces and stumbling gates, the tension, the way Wild stuck so close to Twilight at dinner, the way the heroes are formed in a protective circle around him now – it all makes terrible sense now.

“Oh, Link.”

Malon swallows down the fear rising rapidly, forcing herself to ignore the way her heart skips a beat.

(She knew it. She knew this mission was too dangerous. Heroes are not indestructible, no matter their skill level.)

She can’t resist casting a glance over her shoulder at the house. It’s dark and quiet just as she left it.

“The Shadow is gone for now,” Link says, following her gaze. “And if he returns, we’ll know it. Twilight is safe.”

Malon looks back at him. She has half a mind to question how on earth he’s so certain the Shadow hasn’t already returned. But she trusts him and his intuition, even when he doesn’t trust himself.

So, instead, she asks, “When did this happen?”

“Last week.” Link reaches for her hand again, almost on reflex. “I wanted to write to you, but then I decided…I decided to wait.”

A tear trickles down his cheek, glimmering in the moonlight. Gently, Malon brushes it away.

“If he…if I lost him, I didn’t want to tell you that way. And if he lived, well…”

He trails off and Malon nods, understandingly. “You wanted to bring him here.”

“I couldn’t bring him back to his time,” he says, quietly. “But we got lucky. A portal brought us here and I thought, this is his home too.”

The last part comes out a bit uncertain, almost a question. Malon nods again.

“Of course, it is. We’re his family. Nothin’s gonna change that.”

Link is quiet for a long moment, gazing out over the darkened fields. When he speaks again, his voice is so hushed she can hardly hear it.

“He’s going to have to fight again, Malon. It’s in his blood. It’s his fate.” He turns to her, something like a plea in his eye. “I can’t hold him back from that.”

She shakes her head. Her own words from months ago flash in her mind, concerns and admonishments. What good had they done in the end?

Her knights in shining armor—stubbornly noble and terribly daring, every single one.

“No, you can’t.”

His expression shatters at the words he doubtless doesn't want to hear. And she doesn't want to speak them either, but she must. So when he tries to look away she brings a hand up, angling his face back toward hers.

“No matter how badly you want to stop him, he’ll walk his own path. Just look at who he comes from. I couldn’t get you to stop being you even if I tried.”

Link shakes his head. “But I'm one person, Malon. I can take care of myself. Those boys, though—I can’t protect them all. I can’t protect him.”

And I can’t protect you either, fairy boy. Though I wish I could.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks, like a whisper in the wind. “Then, you’re gonna have to let him go.”

He drags in a shaky breath, chokes on it. “I can’t lose him, Mal. I can’t lose any of them.”

She leans forward, pressing her forehead to his, and he leans into her touch. Their tears mingle as they fall, plunking onto his tunic and her dress, soaking into the blades of grass.

“I know,” she murmurs because there is nothing more she can say now. “I know.”

[ijustwantcoffee]

So this is one of the first times writing for any fandom really. But I just love LU stuff and I thought I’d try it out. This is a little beginning of chapter 1 for a fic I wanna write! If you have any suggestions or comments I would love to hear them, I’m always open for constructive feedback! :)

——————————————————

It was dark, terrifyingly so. This darkness compares to the kind he faced in his early days in depths; dark, cold, and haunting. He wanted to rationalize, wonder about what was happening, where he was; but it seems he’s lost the ability to think. He could only exist. This darkness resembled the depths in another way too, it held a sort of tenseness or anticipation. He held his breath, like he has before the release of an arrow, or as he’s going in for a sneak attack. Only this time, he's waiting. Waiting for something to happen, and it did. Pain, surging hot, crawls up his right arm in a fast succession, draining him from what seems like anything. Taking whatever it can in a matter of seconds. It's hot, boiling, like the heat on Death Mountain. Up his arm it crawls, burning, making him twist and turn in agony. It's all his hazy mind can think about, the pain that shot through his system.

Link suddenly lurches forward, eyes wide and breathing hard. He realizes he’s gripping fabric, more specifically the blankets he's currently under. ‘Ah.’ he thinks, ‘just a dream, of course’. Rubbing his eyes he notes how that's been a recurring dream for a while now, he should have guessed at this point. Although it was just a dream, his right arm is slightly sore and achy, from what? Link hasn’t a clue. He’s still trying to get used to having his real arm back, yes with some alterations like Rarus’ markings, but still it wasn’t too much to handle.

It seems to be early morning, Link deduced, not just because of the clock; but also because the sun is still rising over the hills and from the looks of it not many people are up in TarryTown. Despite it still being early, it seems Zelda has left the room. To that, Link begrudgingly gets up.

Walking out of his bedroom, he walks down the upstairs hallway. The relocation was nice, Link always adored TarryTown, he helped build it after all. Plus two houses? That’s two places he could stay for free! Win win in his book. Walking down the hall he passed by several doors. Another thing he liked about TerryTown was that he could customize his house. Having his own kitchen, study, and bedroom, he loved it. Getting to design something was his main joy in the project, before he just put weapons on the walls. Now he still did that, 100%, but he decorated too, Zelda was rather thrilled her decorating lectures didn’t go to too much waste. Something he made sure to add to this house was guest rooms. Four to be exact, each situated with two beds. Perfect to hold, altogether eight people. Link saddened a bit at the reminder. It was true, he did add those rooms in the thought of them, on the off chance that they’d ever be able to come back to his own era. Thinking he could do something for his team, even while he wasn’t with them, put some ease into his mind and heart about the whole situation, which made it easier to move on.

Walking down the stairs, Link's thoughts still went on. He hated how much he thought about them, how much he was affected by the departure. Link would often catch himself thinking ‘Twi would hate this plan’, ‘Legend would want that’, ‘That’s something Time would say’, and so on. It got tiring, everything reminded Link of them. He hated it. He hated how even after the countless months, a little over half a year, he was still haunted by the thought of them. Like Hylia herself wanted to keep rubbing in the fact that he didn’t succeed, and that he had to leave them. It had only gotten worse after the battle with Ganondorf. Up until a few days ago, he could keep the thoughts and memories out, focus on the mission. Leave those moments in the back of his mind, continue forward because he had more important things to worry about, he wanted to have more important things to worry about. But now? After the journey? After catching Zelda in his arms a week or so ago? The chain was all he could think about.

Getting down the stairs to the first floor was a struggle, he was still sore from his second adventure and his muscles and bones ached like all hell. Old scars that covered his left side pulling and itching. ‘This sucks’ He decided. Making his way to the kitchen he starts pulling out ingredients. Just because he was sore didn’t mean he still couldn’t cook, no way! After the battle Zelda, and everyone else, put him on strict bedrest; something he said he didn’t need. However he couldn’t have argued that much if he tried, Teba was already giving him a stern dad glare from the first rebuttal. As boring as it was, he was able to get around to doing some things he needed to. One of those being cooking, specifically trying new recipes. Link gained many new recipes over this journey and he’s set on perfecting and personalizing each and every one. What else is he to do with his time? However he unfortunately didn’t get a chance to even gather everything, before he felt something. A sensation flowed through the house, with it carried a familiar and eerie feeling. A strong magic went from room to room, and seemed to be stemming from outside, so ever the brave, Link went towards the front door with nothing but a wooden spoon and a small dose of ‘not wanting to deal with this kind of bs’. Opening the door Link was greeted by-

Nothing.

‘Well that was extremely anti-climatic’ he thought. It was the same old grassy hill and just below it was a view of TarryTown, just how he liked it. Sighing Link turned back around, acknowledging the whole ordeal as wishful thinking, and started back into the house. Well, he almost did, if it wasn’t for a familiar sound. Link knew this sound all too well, it was what led him to meet his family, and what led him to leave them too. He could remember the sound of space splitting and time warping anywhere. After turning so fast that he was surprised his head didn’t twist off, Link was met with an equally welcoming and overwhelming sight. A portal. Right on his lovely front lawn.

[elibean]

listen these boys have me in a vice grip ok, ive spat out like 5 fic for them in a week. this has literally never happened to me before lmao

anyway i signed up for an ao3 account and i should be done with that soon so i’ll stop spamming the tag with my fics. BUT UNTIL THEN, you’re stuck with me >:D

this runs with the “LG is from an alternate timeline” theory! 

when cxs first meets back up with LG and doesn’t think he’s alive, he ugly cries. When he is reminiscing abt lg when he thinks he’s dead, he ugly cries. I thought hey, lg isn’t very emotional. We really only see him get riled up as it pertains to cxs. What would it take for him to cry? And this is the product of that train of thought xD I’m sorry. Also whatever route s2 ends up taking, this will inevitably no longer jive with canon but hey for now it works!

           Every timeline, no matter how hard he tried, always resulted in this. Always, always, always. He should have stayed dead when possessed Qiao Ling stabbed him. It would have been better than reliving this over and over and over again. The blood on his hands; the way Cheng Xiaoshi looked at him; the touch of his hand to Lu Guang’s cheek; the way the lie “it’s going to be okay” was coughed out of his mouth; everything; all of it.

           He awakes with a start. Having nightmares; having THAT nightmare, isn’t unusual. But awaking to Cheng Xiaoshi’s voice calling out to him concernedly is.

           “Lu Guang?” he whispers. “You were murmuring in your sleep,” he continues. Lu Guang takes a minute to regain his composure. He’s sweating and his heart is racing a mile a minute.

           “Did I wake you? Sorry,” he stammers out, his voice unsteady, and that’s when he notices his eyes are wet. Shit, was I crying too?

           “It’s cool.” Back to silence. Lu Guang thinks Cheng Xiaoshi must’ve fallen back asleep. He should try to do the same, but he knows better. Knows he won’t be falling asleep anytime soon, if at all.

           “Lu Guang?” he murmurs.

           “Yes?”

           “You were…” he begins, but then pauses, like he doesn’t want to say it. A breath in. Then: “You were calling out for me in your sleep.” Lu Guang feels heat rise to his face. Embarrassing. But also, he’s mad at himself that Cheng Xiaoshi must have heard him being so pathetic, so vulnerable.

           Normally he’d deny it. Laugh it off. Call Cheng Xiaoshi an egotistical idiot for thinking Lu Guang would be calling out his name in his sleep, of all people. But. But the memory of blood is so fresh in his mind, of Cheng Xiaoshi’s lifeless body, everything, it’s all…Shit, he’s crying again.

           It must not be as quiet as he thinks, either, because Cheng Xiaoshi exclaims, “Lu Guang!” Hold it in, Lu Guang commands himself. He hears the mattress below him shift as Cheng Xiaoshi gets out of bed.

           “Lu Guang, get down here,” he commands, and who is Lu Guang to say no? He gets up and climbs down the ladder. Upon seeing Cheng Xiaoshi standing there, Cheng Xiaoshi who had been dead in his dreams moments before, who had been dead in another reality before, he breaks down, crumbling to the floor. Ugly, loud sobs. He thinks Cheng Xiaoshi looks surprised, but it’s hard to tell through the tears. He feels, rather than sees, the warm embrace of his companion, and oh, that makes it worse.

           “Hey, hey! I’m right here, it’s okay, everything’s okay,” he soothes, stroking Lu Guang’s back. There’s something ironic about being held and comforted like this by Cheng Xiaoshi, but he’s in no state to make a snarky comment on it. Instead, he hugs back tighter, digging his fingers into the fabric of Cheng Xiaoshi’s shirt. It’s too tight, it must hurt, he should apologize, but the only sounds that can come out of his mouth are sobs; sobs that make him shake and struggle for air.

           “Shh, shh. It’s okay,” Cheng Xiaoshi repeats, and how wrong he is. Sure, it’s okay now, but it won’t be okay, at some point, not if he can’t change things, not if…more tears.

           Eventually he quiets down, and reluctantly pulls away. He sniffles and wipes his nose with his sleeve.

           “Better?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks, his eyes full of concern, and something else Lu Guang can’t put a finger to. No, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. He weakly nods.

           “Do you wanna talk about it?” No, he thinks again, but he’s tired, and sad, and devastated, and exhausted, and…

           “You died,” he splutters out. Tears threaten to spill out again. “You died, and died again,” and now he’s lying— the dream was only one loop, not the reality he’s lived over and over, but he’s already talking, “and again, and I couldn’t save you. I tried, I tried, I tried, and I failed every time, and—”

           “Oh, Lu Guang,” Cheng Xiaoshi breathes out, worry and concern lacing every syllable.

           “I just wanted to save you, that’s all I was trying to do,” he manages to get out. He looks up to Cheng Xiaoshi who is looking back at him, feeling helpless that he can’t make things better. Lu Guang breathes in. “Why can’t I save you?” he whispers, and shit, he’d screwed up, he should have said “Why couldn’t I save you?” This was supposed to be describing a dream, not the reality he’d lived over and over again, but it just slipped out. If Cheng Xiaoshi noticed, he doesn’t show it. He says nothing, but he grabs his hand.

           “Feel this?” he asks, and he does. He feels the warmth of Cheng Xiaoshi’s hand, of the hand he’s clapped and high-fived so many times before. The hand that’s punched him in anger, that’s gripped onto his shoulder as he cried. He feels the crevices in the skin, the nooks and crannies, the roughness that he’s offered skin cream to help with in the past. He feels his pulse thrumming through his wrist. Cheng Xiaoshi interlaces their fingers. “It’s me. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” He’s wrong. Lu Guang can’t bring himself to look at him. “Hey. I mean it,” Cheng Xiaoshi says firmly, and releases his hand, which makes Lu Guang immediately miss the warmth. He brings his hand up to Lu Guang’s face slowly, and gently wipes away his tears. This makes Lu Guang look at him, and oh, oh, he loves him, he loves him and he’s going to die and there’s nothing he can do—

           “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats. He’s a liar. He will go somewhere, but Lu Guang can’t tell him that. So he only nods, feebly. Cheng Xiaoshi moves to hug him once more, and Lu Guang melts into it. This will have to be enough, for now.

           Later, Lu Guang will have to go back to work. Back to work to figure out how to save Cheng Xiaoshi, how to protect moments like these, protect him.

           But for now he hugs Cheng Xiaoshi back, maybe a little too tightly, and lets himself calm down. The boy is alive, and safe, and here, with him. For now, in this moment, everything is okay.

           For now.