#live laugh love river song
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it’s been awhile since i’ve been active in the doctor who fandom but i’ve introduced my youngest coworker to it (we’re in DoctorDonna) and i always forget how agonizing Silence in the Library is once you’ve gone through the rest of the seasons.
River saying “Look at you, you’re young”
Ten responding “I’m really not, you know.”
“No, but you are. Your eyes… you’re younger than i’ve ever seen you.”
He was her entire world, he spanned her entire life and then some but Ten was the last Doctor she’d ever meet.
Ten was the last Doctor who couldn’t even fathom being married to anyone else but Rose Tyler.
#live laugh love river song#might cry about them again later like i did when i was a teenager#ten my beloved#river song#doctor who#tenth doctor#they hurt me so bad#river song u deserved so much#eleven was my first doctor#it’s always been those two#):#rewatching SITL and having to not spoil for my coworker is so hard
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Never trust therapists to help you but always trust 2015 Christmas special “The Husbands Of River Song” to help you solve all your problems
#yes river song will come out of the screen and give u a forehead kiss#I wrote this after having a horrible therapy session sorry#not sorry tho im saying the truth#im speaking facts#THORS saved my life#live love laugh twelve and river#my wife and my husband and my husband and my wife#if u hate THORS I’m coming to haunt u#doctor who#dr who#dw#the doctor#river song#twelveriver#twelfth doctor#12th doctor#the husbands of river song#THORS#doctorriver
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Mountain Mama - LH
Lewis Hamilton x unnamed ofc summary: You can take the girl out of the country, but can you ever really take the country out of the girl? songs: Take Me Home, Country Roads by John Denver and Is This Love by Bob Marley & The Wailers a.n.: am currently soft for Lewis and had to write to get him out of my system spoiler alert it didn't work warnings: discussions of prejudice and racism, pure disgusting fluff, author unabashedly shows her love for country music, author also is fully in love with one sir lewis Hamilton now
She wasn't worried about her family liking Lewis. Her sister had already met him and was doing her part to talk him up as the greatest man that ever lived to the rest of the family. She knew there was a wary level of respect between her parents and Lewis after their unofficial meeting over FaceTime. He'd been a little shy but very sweet, telling them a little about himself, and later her mother had said well he seems like a nice young man.
High praise from mama, who'd called her last boyfriend dried up dog shit.
Her father hadn't said anything about him. He didn't follow formula one, only knew about it because of her photography, so he didn't know who Lewis was. But when he'd texted her to tell her he'd watched a bit of the race after she'd confirmed Lewis was coming home with her during summer break she knew he was at least trying.
So here she was, behind the wheel of the rental car, driving to her parents' home with Lewis in the passenger seat and Roscoe in the back. Music was on, the windows were down, and with each mile she traveled closer to home she felt both more relaxed and more anxious.
She needed them to like him. They didn't have to love him, call him the son they'd always wanted, or even add his name to the Christmas card list. They didn't need to learn everything about him. She just needed them to like him enough to want him around when she came home for a visit. She needed them to like him and understand how very much she loved him.
They would bristle a little bit. Especially Grandma. Because he was older. Almost 40 and never married? Hm… And all those tattoos… She could hear Grandma clicking her tongue in disapproval over the tapestry of artwork that covered most of his body. And her father's eyebrows would hit his receding hairline when Lewis inevitably dressed as though he'd just stepped out of Vogue to go down to the diner in town for lunch on Friday.
"Babe." Lewis spoke just loud enough to be heard over the music. She glanced over at him, saw his playful little smile as he lifted his phone.
"No," she laughed when the song playing ended and another began. Immediately recognizable because it was one of her lifelong favorites. The one her grandpa had sang on summer nights around the bonfire when he was a few slugs of moonshine deep.
Lewis held up his hands and swayed in time to the music. "Almost heaven, West Virginia… Blue Ridge mountains, Shenandoah river…"
And she had to sing along, because she always did. Because it was her favorite, yes, but also because he always sang it. The man who shook his head in disappointment over all the other so-called embarrassing songs on her Spotify never failed to belt out John Denver with his entire soul.
She slowed, turning onto the path that wound through the trees, anticipation growing as the trees grew further apart, spreading into the dusty lawn she'd learned to ride a bike on. A turn and she saw it. Home. The front porch where she'd sat on her grandma's lap sipping lemonade. The ever present barn cat sitting on the top step, black tail twitching. Her dad's truck was parked crookedly near the back of the house and she could just see the sheets rippling in the breeze on the clothesline in the back yard.
Stopped, song still playing, she stared at the place she'd grown up, trying to view it as a newcomer. The grass needed mowing, the barn needed a new coat of paint. The roof on the old smokehouse was sagging a little. The porch railing looked crooked. But for every imperfection she saw a beautiful memory. How many millions of dandelions had she picked when the grass got a little tall? Up in the hay loft of the barn her name was carved into the top plank. The smokehouse, which had always held the lingering aroma of curing meat, had been the best spot during hide and seek. And she'd been leaning against that porch railing when she'd had her first kiss.
Her throat tightened with emotion.
Home.
"C'mon, mountain mama," Lewis said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt.
She wanted to apologize for not growing up rich, for not having a stately home to show him. She knew she didn't have to. Lewis didn't care about that, and he hadn't grown up much better than she had. He only cared about seeing where she'd been raised and meeting the people who'd raised her. What had he said when she'd asked him to come home with her?
I already love that little town because it made you.
She climbed out while he got Roscoe out of the backseat, and was opening her mouth to tell him they could get their bags later when the screen door banged.
"Is that my baby finally come to see me?"
It wouldn't matter if it had been two weeks or two months or two years, she would get that greeting. Not even bothering to close the car door she broke into a run, jumping the top step and laughing through tears as she was wrapped in her grandma's arms.
"Oh I miss these hugs." Grandma kissed her cheek, gripping her shoulders and holding her at arm's length. "Look at you. That boy of yours is treating you right, huh?"
"He is, Grandma," she promised, looking back to see Lewis closing the car door.
"Oh." Grandma squinted her eyes a bit. "He is handsome."
She giggled. "Heart of gold, Grandma."
"What's his name again? Louis?"
"Lewis."
As if he knew they were talking about him he glanced to the porch, smiling. Roscoe was already making his way to the steps, looking warily at the cat.
"Go on, get," Grandma said, shooing the cat away.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Grandma's shoulders were a little more stooped, her hands a little more shaky. Why oh why did time have to go by so quickly? Pushing away the invasive thoughts of her beloved grandmother not being around forever, she slid her hand into Lewis's once he was on the porch. "Grandma, this is Lewis. Lewis, this is Grandma."
"It's so nice to finally meet you, ma'am." He extended his hand and as soon as he smiled she knew her grandma was smitten.
"Oh honey aren't you sweet." She shook his hand. "Well, c'mon in – is that dog house trained?"
"Better than some humans," he promised with a grin.
They'd barely gotten into the house when her father came to greet them. He wasn't nearly as smitten as grandma, and she recognized the old macho act he'd played on all her old boyfriends. Then her mother came hurrying out of the kitchen, bringing with her the aroma of lemon meringue and peach cobbler.
There was overlapping chatter. Greetings and questions and the beginnings of an interrogation. Roscoe was cooed over by Grandma, given a begrudging welcome by her dad.
"I straightened up your old room," mama said when Lewis excused himself to go get their bags. "And got new sheets for your sister's old room."
"Is she staying too?" she asked in confusion, squatting to give Roscoe ear scratches.
"Of course not – you know her and Dale are almost finished the new addition on the back of their place? The twins will have a nice big playroom."
"Are the twins staying?" Why would mama need to do anything to her sister's room?
"No… It's for your boyfriend."
She froze. Oh god. Of course her mother would think… "Mama…"
"It's not fancy or anything but I don't think he'll mind do you? It's got plenty of room for him and Roscoe."
At that, Roscoe nudged her hand, silently begging for more scratches. "Mama, I thought he'd sleep in my room."
"Oh. Well you two can switch." Her mother shrugged.
"Jesus, Kathy, she wants to sleep with the boy," her father said loudly.
Surprise, Mama, I'm not a virgin!
"I don't think your dad likes me."
She looked up from unpacking her suitcase. Usually she didn't, usually she just rummaged to get what she needed, but she'd wanted a break before the rest of the family arrived for the cookout. The time change was affecting her a little and she wanted to get a nap in.
"What makes you say that?" she asked, setting her toiletry bag on the dresser.
"He calls me boy." Lewis was standing at the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the back yard. Where her father and brother in-law were firing up the grill.
"He doesn't mean… He calls anyone younger than him boy," she promised.
"I get it. Really, babe," he said, looking over at her. "It just rubs me wrong."
"Do you want me to talk to him?" she asked, crossing the room.
"Will it change anything?"
"He's not like that, Lewis. He's southern, yes, he's a good ol' country boy, pickup truck, cold beer, guns and 'Murica, Toby Keith and Hank Jr, but he's not racist. If he's told that the way he says something is offensive, he stops saying it." She slipped her arms around him from behind, pressing her face to his back.
"It'll just make him like me even less," he sighed.
"No, babe… If he didn't like you, you wouldn't be in my bedroom."
He chuckled, covering her hands with his and interlocking their fingers. "Not only am I boy, I'm the asshole that deflowered his little girl."
She snorted at that. "Please, like I was an untouched virgin."
"How you were able to have sex way out here is a mystery to me."
"There are so many spots where you can go to be unseen," she told him.
Lewis hummed, unwrapping her arms and turning to face her. "Were you shagging farmer boys in the woods, babe?"
Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to his lips. "Once, yes. Most of the time it was in the cutoff down the old service road. Or out at the powerline."
"You weren't seduced in a bed?" He shook his head in disappointment. "I'm so sorry."
"And where was your first time, hm?"
He rolled his eyes. "Coat closet."
"That's even worse than a pickup truck."
"Didn't count, I wasn't in love."
"Oh see you didn't tell me that." Pulling on his hands, she walked backwards towards the bed. "That changes everything."
"Hotel room? Back seat of a car?" he guessed, letting her pull him along.
"A penthouse, actually," she murmured as she fell onto the bed.
He hesitated briefly then joined her, holding himself above her. "Penthouse? In Bumfuck Virginia?"
"You said it only counted if I was in love, right?"
"Mhmm."
"Penthouse. Monte-Carlo. Afterwards he took a bubble bath with me and we danced to Bob Marley." She watched his eyes soften and leaned up to meet his lips in a kiss. "He was the first one that made me feel loved."
"Does he still make you feel it?" he whispered between kisses.
"Every day."
"If he ever doesn't make you feel that way, will you tell him?"
"Yes." She kissed him again.
"Promise?" he whispered.
"Promise."
The food was delicious, and she was so happy her parents had made vegan alternatives for Lewis she could have cried. He seemed happy too, and during the meal she watched him talk with her dad and Dale, heart swelling each time he turned to praise her mama's cooking. Roscoe was parked between them, his gentle snoring just barely noticeable above the music playing.
It was a balmy evening, lightning bugs flashing as the sun sank low, and she watched Lewis's head drop back with a groan after he finished a third helping of Grandma's peach cobbler. "I think I hurt myself eating, ma'am."
Grandma glowed, patting his hand. "It's how I won her Papa," she said with a twinkle in her eye.
Lewis chuckled, rubbing his abdomen with his free hand. "If I was twenty years older…"
She beamed as Grandma giggled, so obviously charmed she looked twenty years younger in the golden glow of the sinking sun. "Oh bless your heart, honey, I don't think you could handle me."
"I can barely handle her," Lewis told her in a stage whisper.
And she knew her family liked him. Their laughter was natural, the conversation flowed. Her twin nephews kept coming over to him, asking him questions about his tattoos, his jewelry, and she fell in love all over again at how patient and gentle he was with them.
When he insisted on helping with cleanup she saw the warmth of approval in her dad's eyes. The twins said they would help, too, and she could only look on as they followed him back into the house, Roscoe taking up the rear.
"He's a good one," Grandma said.
"He's alright." This from her dad, and it was the best she knew she could get for now.
"I like him a lot, honey. You ain't looked this happy in a long time." Mama squeezed her shoulder on her way past, and right behind her was her sister, flashing a grin as she helped gather the platters.
"You wanna take a walk?" her father asked.
It was a callback to her childhood. Dad always said it was to work off what he'd just had to eat, but she had figured out in her early teenage years it was his way of checking in on her. Their walks after dinner had been when they'd bonded, and as she fell into step next to him and they strolled beyond the barn she realized how much she missed these walks.
"I didn't want to like him."
She pressed her lips together to keep from asking why. Always best to just stay silent and let him get all his thoughts out in his own way.
"He's a little older than you. But I think that's what you need. Someone to keep your head from floating with the clouds." He sighed, snapping a leaf off the old oak tree as they walked under the branches. "And… You know how people are around here, honey."
She nodded. "But not you, dad," she whispered.
"I don't give a shit, you know that. But even Dale said something, and… I know you always worry about what people think."
"I used to," she said.
"You always hid away from the world. And I let you. Thought I was protecting you from how bad it can be sometimes." He twirled the leaf between his fingers, sending it swirling. "You're out in it, now. Can't protect you anymore."
"I don't need protecting, daddy," she promised.
"You telling me your knight back there doesn't protect you?" he asked, stopping at the fence to the back pasture. "That bo – sorry. That man loves you, honey."
"I know. And I love him."
"People around here will talk." He propped his arm on the fencepost and looked out. "Ain't got nothing better to do."
"I don't care what they say." And she didn't. She used to, yes, used to care too much, pretending to be someone else so she'd be accepted. The only people whose opinions mattered were inside the house and standing beside her.
"Good. Because I want him to come around more often."
"You like him?" she asked. She knew he did, but she needed to hear him say it.
"Yeah, he's alright," he chuckled. Throwing his arm around her shoulders when she groaned, he pulled her in close.
"Dad…"
"Rest easy, honey. I like him. Long as he treats you right I'll never say a word against him."
They stayed at the fence and she let herself be her dad's little girl for a few more minutes, watching the sunlight fade. Walking back to the house she could hear music still playing, but now instead of her dad and Dale's country it was the smooth beats of reggae and she was smiling as she entered the kitchen to see Lewis dancing with the twins to Is This Love.
He spun to face her, face lighting, and ducked to speak to her nephews then held a hand out to her, drawing her to him. His lips met her forehead. "I wanna love ya, I wanna love and treat, love and treat you right…" he crooned softly as they danced in her mama's kitchen.
"You better," she whispered. "Because I think they like you more than me."
His laugh was warmer than any sunlight, and she didn't mind at all when he kissed her then broke away to ask her grandma to dance.
She missed all of this, the love and the comfort and all the memories.
But she couldn't wait for the love and memories to come.
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The Younger Kind Part 44 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Bradley swallows his pride and seeks out a conversation with Admiral Simpson, but he's surprised by the response he gets. You keep everyone on their toes, and you do it so effortlessly, Bradley knows it's time to go shopping. And he uses Skittles as the perfect cover.
Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, smut, and age gap (18+)
Length: 4000 words
Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader
Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.
When Bradley parked at work a little early on Monday, he sat in the Bronco for a few extra minutes. He had just witnessed you and Noah making breakfast together, and it was making it really hard to be away from you right now. When he walked into the kitchen, you were brewing coffee and singing the dinosaur song with his son while the two of you spread that weird avocado stuff that you liked so much on some toast. He had started to love it, too, and Noah would eat anything you made.
He removed his aviators and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was so much he wanted to get done this week, including looking at a few engagement rings, but he knew better than to make any sort of excuses to get some time alone. That had nearly backfired on him when he went to get Skittles. He was going to have to get creative somehow.
When he pulled out his phone to call the animal shelter about getting Skittles' cast removed, he froze. Across the parking lot, Nat and Javy were both getting out of his car. "Interesting," he muttered to himself as he watched his best friend groping their coworker, and he grimaced. He'd already seen too much.
"Hello, this is the San Diego shelter. How can I help you?"
Bradley nearly dropped his phone; he'd forgotten he was making the call. "Yeah, hi. I need to schedule an appointment to have my dog's cast removed?"
"Oh! Are you talking about the Yorkie?"
He smiled as he climbed out onto the already hot pavement. "Yeah. Skittles. I'm hoping she has sufficiently healed."
"Why don't you stop in on Wednesday and we can check her out."
"Sounds good, thanks," he replied, following Nat and Javy at a very conservative distance. But apparently he wasn't cautious enough.
"So," Nat sighed once Bradley joined her in the hangar, "you saw Javy and I in the parking lot." It wasn't a question, so he decided to just nod and roll his eyes in response. "Oh, come on, Rooster. I'm just having some fun."
"Look at him," Bradley muttered, glancing to where the man in question was smiling at Nat. "Are you serious right now? You want to make him cry or something?"
Now she was the one rolling her eyes. "I'm not taking advice from you. You're historically terrible at dating."
"I'm doing a pretty good job now," he said, smiling as he thought about you.
"You can't even get Cyclone off your girl."
Bradley covered his face with one big palm. "You noticed that?"
Nat laughed. "Everyone at the botanic gardens on Saturday night noticed that."
"Fuck," he groaned. "If she wasn't so young and so fucking hot, I wouldn't be about to embarrass myself by trying to get him to let me fly in the air show."
She just shook her head as she reached for her helmet and muttered, "Oh, cry me a river."
"Hey." Bradley turned just in time to see Javy greeting the two of them like a puppy looking for Nat's attention. He was honestly worse than Skittles at the moment. "The guys are talking about a beach day this weekend. You know, since the summer is ending."
"We don't need to do another beach day. We live in San Diego," Nat replied as she sipped the coffee she wasn't supposed to have inside the hangar. "It's the same season all year round."
Javy laughed like she was a comedian, and Bradley looked back and forth between the two of them, completely baffled by this dynamic. There's no way you and he made a couple this wild.
"Yeah, but it's still the end of August," Javy said, now smiling at Nat as if she was the most adorable thing in the world. "Rooster, you can bring your girl and your kid. It'll be fun."
"You know what," he replied, "I think I'll go if Nat goes."
Then Bradley strolled away as they started arguing, because he saw Admiral Simpson on his way to the tower. He just needed to get Cyclone alone for a few minutes, swallow his pride, and try to head Jake off for the air show. The opportunity arose after lunch when Bradley caught him checking his phone outside the rec room door.
"Admiral Simpson, sir," he greeted before grinding his back teeth while he thought about you. "May I have a word?"
Cyclone glanced up before pocketing his phone, a look of vague amusement on his face. "Lieutenant. What can I do for you?"
"It's about the upcoming air show. Sir. I was hoping you could tell me if you'd made selections regarding who would be flying in it."
His look of amusement grew. "I have not. I believe that was on my agenda for today or tomorrow." He paused before adding, "I've been meaning to thank you for that glass of bourbon on Saturday night. Woodford Reserve is one of my favorites."
Bradley remained unflinching. Although he had no idea what Admiral Simpson was talking about, he thought it better to simply agree with him. "Yes. The Woodford Reserve."
He nearly took a step backwards when the other man started laughing. "You'll have to thank your girlfriend for me, too. And I'm assuming the reason you're here is because you want to fly in the air show?"
"Yes...sir," Bradley replied slowly, feeling very off balance now that Cyclone was being so agreeable.
Still chuckling, he said, "I'll see what I can do," before turning and walking away.
Once he was out of earshot, Bradley pushed through the door to the rec room as he muttered, "What the fuck was that?"
-----------------------------
It was almost fun for you to pick Noah up from daycare now. Not that you would ever admit that out loud. But the enjoyment you found in the way Casey pouted at you was a bit of a guilty pleasure, and besides, you got to have Noah greet you like you were the most exciting and interesting person in the world.
"Mommy!" he called out as he ran across the lobby and into your arms. "Guess what my craft is!"
"A dinosaur?" you asked as you shot an extremely fake smile at Casey before heading outside.
"Nope."
"A... dog? Did you make Skittles?" you asked as you put him in your car.
"Nope."
"The solar system?"
"Nope."
"Hmm. Will you give me a hint?" you asked, brushing his soft curls away from his forehead and giving him a kiss. But he was already unzipping his bag and pulling out his newest painting. There was a big, light blue shape that looked like it could have been Bradley's Bronco along with a man who appeared to be sporting a mustache. "Is that Daddy?"
"Yes!"
Then you noticed a little brown blob. "Is that Skittles?"
"Yes! She's his best friend!"
You laughed, because Noah wasn't wrong. Skittles seemed to love Bradley the most, and as much as he tried to fight it, the dog won him over. "She is," you agreed before buckling him in. "She's his best friend besides Aunt Natasha."
Noah shook his head. "She doesn't count, because she's an Aunt."
"Right, right," you said, not wanting to fight his childhood logic when Skittles wasn't even a human. "You're completely right. Should we go home?"
You started singing the dinosaur song as you drove, and because of a detour, you had to drive past the park where Meredith had chased you down. A shiver rippled through your body as you remembered falling and scraping up your arm in your haste to get Noah safely in your car. You hated coming home this way. There was a reason you never did it.
"Mommy, why did you stop singing?"
You glanced in the mirror at Noah's face. "Sorry! Where were we? The part about how the dinosaur stomp, stomp, stomps?"
Bradley was already home when you pulled into the driveway, and you found him dozed off on the couch with Skittles curled up on his chest. Two seconds later, he was jolting awake with the dog in his hand as Noah ran for him. "Daddy! I made you! Out of paint!"
"Cool," Bradley told him, pulling Noah onto his broad chest as well. "And how's Mommy?" he asked, his voice a little raspier just for you. "How was your day, Princess?"
You shook off the last remaining thoughts of Casey and Meredith as you leaned down to kiss him. "Pretty good." He chased your lips for more, but his arms were too full of Noah and Skittles for him to be able to reach for you. "Looks like you're still tired from the weekend," you said with a wink.
"I had a nice conversation with Cyclone today."
"Oh? About what?" you asked as you started to head to the kitchen to make dinner.
His expression remained completely neutral as he told you, "Bourbon. Woodford Reserve, to be specific." When you said nothing, he added, "We can chat about it later."
So you made spaghetti, knowing you'd been found out. You had been tipsy on Saturday night at the retirement party, but you were pretty sure you remembered what you did. Probably. You hoped Bradley wasn't mad at you over it, but he seemed to be in a good mood as he ate dinner and offered to give Noah a bath while you walked Skittles.
She was stubborn for you at first, plopping down on the front porch and whimpering for Bradley while you tugged gently on her leash. "Come on. You're making me look bad! You were my idea. Mine and Noah's." When she remained in her spot, you had to reach into your pocket and say, "Treat?" That did the trick, and you got her to take a slow lap around the block with you while you broke a milkbone into little bites and gave it to her.
When you returned home, Skittles bounded into the house to get to Bradley where he was sitting on the bathroom floor, looking comically enormous with Noah's rubber duck in his hand. You stood in the doorway and watched him automatically reach down to pet the little pup, taking caution with her casted leg while he rinsed the shampoo out of Noah's hair.
"You want to go to the beach this weekend, Bub?" he asked softly. "With Aunt Natasha?"
"Can Skittles come?" Noah asked, and you watched Bradley place a soft kiss on his wet forehead that left you reeling. Suddenly you couldn't wait for Noah to be in bed so you could have him all to yourself.
"Maybe. If she gets her cast off on Wednesday," he replied softly as the dog fully plopped down with her head on his thigh.
"Daddy?" you asked from your spot in the doorway. It was almost a whine, and when he looked up at you, you were certain he knew what you were thinking about by the little smirk on his lips.
He reached into the tub to drain the water as he asked, "Do you need some attention?"
You just nodded, still in your scrubs from work, but you felt too warm now as you pressed your thighs together. "Yes."
"Fifteen minutes, and then you can have it," he replied with an edge to his voice. "Can you wait that long?"
"I can try," you murmured before you turned to go into Noah's room and get his dinosaur pajamas ready. Anything to expedite bedtime. You listened while Bradley took his time reading three stories, and then you kissed Noah's forehead before you tried to pull Bradley toward the hallway.
He chuckled and whispered, "I'll meet you on the couch."
"Oooh, the couch," you said before running from the room. Before you could even decide what you wanted to do, Bradley was behind you wrapping his arms around your waist and tickling your neck with his mustache.
"I kind of miss those nights when I would help you study."
You moaned softly. "Anatomy really is your specialty."
You felt him pull his right hand away from your body, but before you could complain, it reappeared in front of you with a bag of Skittles on his palm. When you spun in his arms and kissed him, you whispered, "You're so sweet."
Bradley lifted you up and took you the few steps to the couch where you settled in straddling his lap while you opened your candy. "If you're this excited about something I picked up at the gas station, I wonder what you'll do if I buy you something a little more expensive."
You met his soft eyes and leaned in to kiss him. "How much more expensive are we talking?" you asked, treating him to the orange Skittle you pulled out of the bag. He parted his lips and you slipped it between them, watching his jaw work as he chewed it up.
"A lot more expensive," he replied as you ate three candies. "Hey, this is a 50/50 relationship here, Princess."
You shoved a small handful into his mouth and kissed his cheeks as he sputtered and chewed. "I'll share everything I have with you. Too bad I don't have much."
Bradley swallowed down the treat and reached for your free hand. "You give me everything I need. Everything I want, too."
You basked in the warmth of his words as your eyes closed, and a welcome heat crept into your cheeks. "I love you."
"Then I think you'll love what I'm planning on buying for you," he whispered as his mustache grazed your chin and jaw.
You grinned, hoping you already knew what he was talking about, but too afraid to say it out loud. So you pushed the thought from your mind and scooted a little closer toward him on his lap. "What's this I'm hearing about a beach day? And Skittles getting her cast off? This is all news to me."
He didn't miss a beat as he wrapped his big hands around your hips and said, "What's this I'm hearing about some bourbon at the retirement party? It's all news to me."
"Oh," you whispered softly before eating more Skittles, buying yourself a little time to think. "Well, you see... I wasn't exactly sober."
"You're joking," he deadpanned.
You rolled your eyes and shoved more candy into his mouth. "I may have had a glass of bourbon sent over to Admiral Simpson, courtesy of Lieutenant Bradshaw and his girlfriend..."
After a few quiet blinks, Bradley's head tipped back in laughter so loud that Skittles the pup came running into the room. "You didn't!" Bradley said. "I have to work with that man!"
"Somebody had to make the big move, Daddy! It cleared the tension!"
He met your eyes, still shaking his head and smirking. "It also made you look like Daddy's good little girl."
Your heart skipped around in your chest at his words, and you set your candy aside in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck. "Am I not? Daddy's good little girl?"
"Oh, you absolutely are," he replied as he lifted your top inch by inch. "I just never thought my boss's boss would see it that way."
You raised your hands up in the air, eager to lose your shirt, but he took his sweet time about it. "Daddy."
"You can be patient," he whispered, smiling when he saw your purple bra. "Pretty." Your top dropped to the floor as he cupped you through the lace, finding your nipples right away. "You feel like going to the beach on Saturday?"
Bradley's lips found the tops of your breasts, and you could no longer formulate real words. You just hummed in response already knowing he was going to take expert care of you right now and on Saturday as well.
"You could wear your purple bikini and tell all the other guys to fuck off," he said as he ran his nose softly along your skin while he unhooked your bra and let it fall next to your top.
"Would you like that?" you asked as your fingers tangled up in his hair. He answered you by nodding as he took your nipple between his lips. Bradley was all big hands on your bare skin and just the perfect amount of roughness. "Oh god," you whined.
And then he had you on your back in the middle of the area rug with his body over yours. His thigh was rubbing you through your thin pants, and you bucked up gently against him as his heavy weight pressed deliciously against your body. "I love you," he grunted as you tugged at his hair.
"I love you so much, Daddy," you gasped as he yanked your pants and underwear down and off, leaving you in only your socks. He fumbled with the front of his pants for just a few seconds before pulling his length free, and you spread your legs wide for him.
His lips and tongue were wet on your neck as you held him close, lost in the domesticity of having sex here now. Just like your first time with him. Right next to the snag in the rug. But this time you could hear Skittles' claws tapping across the kitchen floor, and you could see some of Noah's crayons that had rolled under the couch while Bradley fucked you. You could smell the lingering scent of the pasta sauce from the dinner you made. You could taste Bradley's now familiar tongue as it met yours. And you could feel his rough hands on your hips and belly where he'd now touched you hundreds of times.
You fell in love with the flood of familiarity he brought to your senses, and it left you smiling up at him when he broke the kiss. "Jesus," he grunted, cupping one cheek in his hand. You kissed the side of his thumb as he stroked your skin, and you watched him slowly come undone for you. "I'll get you there," he promised, changing his angle so he rubbed your clit with each movement.
Just like the first time, he filled you up as soon as you came, and your name was all over his lips as you smiled at the lost crayons before closing your eyes. Bradley collected you against his body as he eased himself down onto his side, and you sighed contentedly. You held onto his wrist as he ran his hand along your hair and kissed you. In that moment you would have agreed to anything he said.
"Baby, I'll be a little late on Wednesday night. I have to take Skittles to get her cast off, and then I need to stop at the store."
You hummed softly in response, pressing your lips to his. "Sounds good."
------------------------------
The only time Bradley heard from you on Wednesday was when you told him that one of your patients came in with an emergency, and you wanted to let him know you'd be helping Dr. Kelly with a minor surgical procedure. He was excited for you, but he didn't want to bother you. Even though he had good news.
"Congrats," Jake drawled in the locker room after a very long day of flying. "Don't know how you managed to pull this one off, but I heard you're flying in the air show."
Bradley ran his towel over his chest before tossing it into his locker. "Thanks," he grunted, trying not to smile. He'd be able to take you on the tour of the hospital with him, and then you and Noah could watch him fly. His son had never seen him in the air before, and it gave Bradley goosebumps knowing that the two of you would be able to do that together.
Jake gave him one last appraising look before he got dressed. Honestly, it was probably the fact that you upped the ante with Cyclone that Bradley was chosen over the others. Perhaps now things could be called even. You managed to keep everyone on their toes in the best way, and it made him smile even now.
You were in rare form this week, luring him in for living room floor sex when there was a perfectly new bed in the bedroom. And then last night, you got him to watch a Disney princess movie with you, even after Noah was in bed, and Bradley had begrudgingly enjoyed it. You were laying across his lap on your back when the end credits rolled, and you said, "If you're a good boy, I'll make you beignets just like Princess Tiana."
Bradley had smirked. "Do those have cream filling?"
"No," you whispered as he eased your shirt up so his palm was flat on your belly.
"Do you want some?"
He had been thinking about getting you pregnant as he made you bury your face in the couch pillows to keep you quiet.
And that was just one of the many reasons he was about to leave work and head home to grab Skittles before stopping at the jewelry store across town. If Casey managed to bump into there and ruin this surprise as well, he would probably lose his mind. But the jeweler near the animal shelter was one of the best in the city, so that was where he would go.
Bradley awkwardly held Skittles while he drove, and eventually she curled up with her head on his thigh while he sat in traffic. She seemed to be doing great, so he hoped that was a good sign that the cast could come off. You and Noah were delighted with her, and she somehow made Bradley fall in love, too.
"Yeah, you're sweet," he told her, scratching her behind the ears while he drove. He parallel parked the Bronco with one hand while he continued to pet her, and when he took her inside the shelter, he held onto her a little tighter. It was hard to believe she'd been here just a few weeks ago, completely unwanted.
Bradley pressed kisses to the top of her head as he waited for the receptionist to finish her phone call. When she hung up, she asked, "And who do we have here?"
"Skittles Bradshaw," he replied, nuzzling his nose against her fur and wondering how on earth he had gotten so attached to this little pup. "Hopefully she can get her cast off today."
He only had to wait a few minutes, and then he watched as they examined her before cutting into the cast plaster. Once she was free, Skittles took a few tentative steps across the exam table, and then she jumped right back into Bradley's arms.
After he paid the monstrous bill for such a small creature, he carried her down the sidewalk, enjoying the cooling temperature as the sun set. When he checked his phone, he saw that you'd finally texted him again.
My Princess: Noah and I are going to play at the park near the beach. Leftovers when you get home?
He typed out a quick message letting you know that sounded perfect. Thoughts of you and Noah together filled his mind as he entered the jewelry store, and two women looked up at him and Skittles. "Is it okay if I have her in here?" he asked, but they both immediately rushed over, practically screeching about how cute his dog was. Honestly, the pet would have probably worked out better than the dating app had for him.
"What are you looking for?" the first woman asked as she petted Skittles on her head.
A soft smile made its way to his lips as he said, "An engagement ring."
"Oh! Of course, let's just head over here to see what you like best. Do you have anything specific in mind?"
Bradley followed behind her as he nodded and said, "A princess cut diamond."
------------------------
A princess for a Princess. Also, there is no way Skittles wouldn't be a magnet for all the ladies. A big man with a small dog... just fuck. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
PART 45
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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster x reader#rooster x you#rooster imagine#rooster fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#top gun imagine#top gun maverick imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#roosterforme#the younger kind#rooster bradshaw x reader
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high school sweetheart bokuto! who has only ever had crushes on celebrities before he met you. the day you got assigned to be partners for the semester in gym class (which he took even though he was exempt due to volleyball) was the day he went home and tore his bikini-clad posters off the wall and threw away his magazine stash under his bed. he doesn’t need to live in a boyish fantasy anymore, because you are real.
high school sweetheart bokuto! who loves to show off his athleticism. whether it’s tennis, frisbee golf, badminton, swimming, or baseball, he always comes out on top and drags you right there with him. you aren’t the most coordinated of the bunch, but you are competitive and he loves it. seeing you get fired up over a successful play mostly led by him had him reeling. on the train ride home, he finds himself replaying your small “woo”s and “yes bokuto!”s in his head with a stupid grin on his face.
high school sweetheart bokuto! who carries you to the nurse's office bridal-style after you fall and twist your ankle while running laps, cursing himself for not keeping a closer eye on you. while waiting for the nurse to come back with an ice pack, he notices the scrapes on your knees and takes it upon himself to take a warm, wet washcloth to clean off any dirt and debris that settles in the wounds. as you begin to sniffle as he kneels before you, he lifts your chin with a delicate finger, tilting his head in questioning. “i was on track to set a new personal record,” you manage to squeak out with a shy smile. after a pause in disbelief, bokuto’s howling laughter rings throughout the school halls.
high school sweetheart bokuto! who, for the week you are sitting out due to your injury, makes it his mission to make you laugh every single day. during dodgeball, he purposely lets himself get nailed in the face. during tennis, which he plays solo as he refuses to play with anyone else, he gives the loudest, most obnoxious grunts he can muster. during baseball, he hits an impressive triple but runs the bases in the opposite direction. every time he looks over to catch the way your shoulders shake and your eyes crinkle, he feels like a man without water finding a river in the desert.
high school sweetheart bokuto! who is absolutely awestruck to find you up in the stands at his latest volleyball match. going up to serve, right as he is about to start his routine, he hears your beautiful voice as you call out, “bokuto, nice serve!” from above. without skipping a beat, he tosses the ball up in the air, turns his head slightly to give you a wink, and slams the ball to the other side of the court. after hitting a serve that was more like a backcourt spike, he points to you on the sidelines, dedicating his service ace to you. little did he know then that every successful receive, set, spike, and serve from then on out would belong to you.
high school sweetheart bokuto! who finds you after the match and insists on walking you home, draping his jacket over your shoulders to shield you from the cool spring night. without saying anything, you pull out your old mp3 player from your bag and offer him an earbud which he takes eagerly. shoulder to shoulder, you walk the empty streets, bokuto humming along with the music. overtaken by the buzzing atmosphere, your proximity, and an old r&b song he thought he had forgotten about, he snakes his arm around your waist and intertwines his other hand with yours, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. as you shriek in laughter while gripping onto him for dear life, bokuto vows to dedicate the rest of his days to chasing this feeling of pure joy with you.
a/n: i just had to write something for our sweet bokuto. i think i am going to continue this as a series because it's just soooo cute! this is dedicated to my high school sweetheart who i met in gym class sophomore year. we're celebrating 10 years this weekend! <3
#bokuto koutarou#bokuto x reader#bokuto koutaro x reader#haikyuu bokuto#bokuto x you#bokuto x y/n#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x you#haikyu x reader#haikyuu fluff#bokuto
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The Choices the Stars Make - 14th Doctor x reader
Summary: The Doctor promised you the stars when all you ever wanted was him. What happens when he’s finally ready to settle down? Will he reach out and try again?
Word count: 818
~~~~~~~~
You pull your blanket up higher as you turn to watch the stars shinning through the living room window. It does little to soothe the aching of your heart as your mind keeps spinning in “What ifs?”. What if you hadn’t left the doctor? What if you hadn’t asked him to stay?
You shake your head at the unfairness of the situation, turning your back on the cold stars, facing your laptop screen.
You squint at the brightness. The universe has never been fair. It wasn’t when you watched people crying out for your help die, and neither was it when you were forced to confess your true feelings to the Doctor. His discomfort and shift in body language did not surprise you, nor did his lack of touch in the weeks that followed. You just wish he hadn’t taken all of the joy of the night sky with him when you left.
Focus. You told yourself, but your heart sunk further, your fingertips getting cold on the plastic mousepad.
Observational Astronomy. A dry laugh forces its way out of your chest, making you feel hollow. You used to dance around the surfaces of planets, experience the sights never seen, the Tardis translating the x-ray and ultraviolet light spectrum for your eyes to witness true beauty of nebulas … now you’re finishing up a paper on observational astronomy and the photographs were in black and white. Life is funny like that. It feels like life lost some of the colour too. You wish it wasn’t 2am, life is easier to handle when you don’t have to stay up at night to work on something. Especially something that reminds you of him. Days are easier, warmth is easier. Warmth reminds you of joy of adventure, his hands, the kindness. Not his eyes when he left you.
~~~~~~~~
The Doctor did not seek you out. He did not wander the streets close to your house for too long. He did, however, made sure that no threats lingered close to your apartment at all times.
At least until his old face returned.
Oh so many regrets felt thrown back at his face. What he wasn’t able to give. The loved ones he lost… He grieved Rose for a long, long time, even after you met him. That same grief drove Martha away. Donna… River Song… He should have been able to save them all. How could he protect you if he couldn’t even keep his life as John Smith? And you knew. You saw him fall in love, you saw him live a normal life. He knows he hurt you beyond forgiveness when he grieved his human life and yet, despite all of that grief, did not choose to build one with you.
Seeing Donna again had him longing for the old days. The days of the three of you jumping through the universe, watching the joy on your faces! That was until the Earth got taken over by the Master he forced your feelings out in the open. Doctor could not deal with reliving his past through you. He couldn’t stomach losing you. He couldn’t make Donna go through the same darkness that Martha did when he was still grieving. Not to even mention Time Lord Victorious. His biggest regret. At least you were saved from watching it happen.
But now… now that he did not need to save the universe… now that he had someone else to entrust it to and now that the biggest decision of his day was how to protect the moles from Wilf… maybe he could give you the life you wanted after all.
~~~~~~
Your phone buzzed one day after the lectures and you instinctively answered it, expecting it to be one of your parents checking in. It was a rash decision you made to switch universities, but with all the stress of studying medicine and the flashbacks of lives you couldn’t save, switching to something familiar was an easier choice.
“Hello, yes, I’m still studying astronomy. No, I will not end up starving in the streets when I’m done.”
“…So you decided to study the stars?”
That… was not a voice you expected. Not that you would ever in a million years expect the Doctor to call you. He was someone who buried down feelings. He did not call ex-companions, only companions in trouble called him.
“… Doctor?” You chocked up. Funny. You planned to say so many things during all those sleepless nights and now all you could manage is “Is something wrong?”
On the other end of the line, the Doctor smiled a lopsided smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, but the words warmed his hearts. He still had time to turn back. He could run away and never look back.
But that soft kindness in your voice, even after all these years…
“Would you have some time to meet an old friend?”
#doctor who x reader#10th doctor x reader#14th doctor x reader#fanfiction#doctor who angst#doctor who hurt/comfort
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Hii, I really love your writings like sm and i saw you do a request from someone that was based from “the alchemy” by Taylor swift so I was wondering if you could do a percy jackson x reader or fem!reader but now like base on “you are in love” by Taylor swift?
Like at the start the reader and percy are js bsf at first, then percy confessed his feelings, but the reader is scared of commitment bc of like (perhaps seeing reader’s own father cheat and like seeing people dear to her get heartbroken and she’s scared she will experience the same) and stuff
but still gives percy a chance (so it’s the “for once you let go of your fears and ghosts, one step not much but it said enough” part of the song) and our boy proves that he will never do anything that will hurt reader and loves her like so so much (“you kiss on side walks you fight, then you talk. One night he wakes, a strange look on his face. Pause, then says ‘you’re my bestfriend’ and u knew what it was he is in love” part LIKE YK JS ANY CUTE STUFF and like maybe at that part percy says how much he loves the reader and everything🤭) Just percy being the perfect best boyfriend ever honestly and change stuff if you can or want to make this better!!:)
If this is too much I totally understand and you can ignore this but I really hope you do this request 😭💗
⋆·˚ ༘ * you are in love, true love
warnings: none
pairing: percy jackson x fem reader
you were scared to say the least. it may be because your best friend percy jackson is giving you a strange look, or perhaps because he is standing insanely close to you, you’re unsure, all you know it that you’re horrified
“y/n” he states
“that’s my name” you joke, trying to ease the tension
he laughs lightly, “you’re my best friend”
oh gods you know what this is- but it can’t be, this can’t happen.
you avert your eyes to the ground, then take a glance at your dirty converse. you know what he’s trying to say but you choose to act like you don’t
“I am” is the only thing you can think to say
“that’s not what I mean” he takes your hands in his, and you’re eyes now move to your intertwined hands
you don’t say anything, instead just let him elaborate so you can see if your suspicions are correct
the next three words he says shock you- they’re something you never thought about hearing, something you’ve sworn off after you spent countless nights comforting a heartbroken friend, sobs being the only thing heard in the room
‘I love you’ is what he says
you force yourself to pretend that’s not what he said, but your pounding heart gives it away. you wanted to hear this, you did, but you knew it was for the better if you pushed it away, trying to save yourself from a broken heart
but you love him, you really do, and it hurts you to see him with such a sad look on his face when you don’t reply
“I love you percy” you whisper “but I don’t know if I can do this”
now he’s the one who goes quiet. you know that he knows about your commitment issues, he had even prepared himself for you to turn him down once he confessed his feelings, but he still can’t help but feel disappointed in himself for thinking even a little bit that you would accept his confession of love
“oh” is all he says
you frown at his saddened demeanor “I’m just scared”
“y/n/n, I don’t want to seem desperate, but I really love you, and I promise, I swear it on the river styx I will never do anything to hurt you. I don’t know if that’s enough for you to fully believe me, but I do mean it. Nothing on this earth could make me ever even think of doing anything to harm you in any way, and if some day I was ever to do any harm to you I will allow you to brutally murder me” he says the last part with a laugh before continuing, “but I just don’t think I could ever live without seeing you ever day, you mean a lot to me”
oh how could you say no to him? was a boy really worth a broken heart though? maybe not a boy, no, but percy jackson- your percy jackson, the one that always protected you, the one that never did hurt you in all of the years you knew him, the one that had quite literally killed for you. you knew that he held your heart since the day you met, and you also knew that he would never drop it, but instead intertwine it with his own, two souls bound together for eternity
you look up and take a last glance into his sea green eyes before pulling him in for a kiss, and it was one you wouldn’t trade for the world
#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo series#percy jackson#pjo fandom#pjo#percy series#xoxochb#pjo hoo toa#percy jackson x y/n#percy jackson x you#percy jackson x reader
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A Thousand Feelings | Rhysand's Sister
Azriel x Carina (Rhysand's Sister OC) | Years have passed since Carina’s death, and Starfall hasn’t been the same. Everyone has mourned her absence alone, the once joyful night now marked by grief. But this year is different. Carina’s memory reaches out to them, drawing them together once more and shining bright, even reaching the distant borders of Spring.
warnings: angst, mentions of death, grief, inner circle mourning a loss, Tamlin also grieving and going through it a bit
a/n: Dia de los muertos (day of the dead) is one of my favorite holidays & I've been wanting to write something to share my feelings about it. And of course, I was also inspired by a song, Humbe's Fantasmas.
The streets of Velaris are quiet, the stillness thick and solemn, and the streets lie empty in reverence. Businesses and shops have closed early, their fae lights dimmed in anticipation of the yearly migration of spirits. Starfall, a silently beautiful holiday.
But when you’re missing someone, Starfall is deafening. The sky is different, the air is different. Everything is different.
The stars still shine the same, bright as ever against the dark. But every time Azriel looks up, he feels a scream tearing through his heart. A raw, endless cry of longing and grief.
Because the one he loved with all his being, the one he’d gaze up at the stars with has left. And with her, she’s taken all the light that used to fill Velaris, the laughter that used to echo down the halls of Rhysand’s townhouse, the joy that warmed his heart.
Now, every Starfall is a cruel echo of past years when she stood by his side, her hand wrapped in his and eyes wide in awe as she gazed up at the glimmering blue night sky. Now, he stands alone, feeling only the faintest warmth from memories that are fading too quickly. Now, he is forced to watch every day as the world goes on without her.
Azriel thought it was cruel how the city seemed so unchanged. As though nothing had ever happened, as though she’d simply vanished and the world had barely blinked in response. The small crepe stand, where he’d spent countless mornings waiting for her to choose a flavor only for her to always pick the strawberries and cream, still set up each morning, the nice older fae vendor smiling just as brightly as before.
As he walked further down the cobblestone streets, he came across another favorite place of hers–the craft shop. He had so often found her, her hands stained with paint or glitter. How many times had he pulled her away from there, laughing as she made excuses, promising just a few more minutes. Now, he walked past it, with faltering resolve because he’d never step through those doors again. He no longer had reason to. And despite the heavy ache in his chest, the shop stayed open, as lively as ever.
Then, there was the bookstore. The mural she had spent days painting still glowing in shades of purples, blues and greens. She had painted her favorite view, the Sidra River on Starfall. The mural shone just as brightly as it always had, its colors unfaded by time. It seemed to mock him now.
Carina was a part of this city, and yet somehow it went on without her, indifferent to the hole she’d left in its fabric. His heart twisted painfully. How could everything feel so normal?
But what Azriel couldn’t see was the way the crepe vendor now served her favorite flavor every morning with a wistful gleam in his eyes. The craft shop owner left a set of her favorite brushes by the door, never selling them. And the bookstore staff polished the mural every week, making sure the colors stayed as vibrant as the soul who painted them.
Azriel continued down the familiar path he walked through every night he stayed in Velaris, unaware that the city mourned with him. His wings were tucked in tight and shadows hidden amongst them, silent yet attentive to their master’s tensed muscles. It was only when he finally reached the gates of his destination that they had slithered out to open them for him.
His breath became shaky as the house came into view. It was the house he had bought for Carina. A place of sanctuary they had chosen together after marrying. Now, it is a sanctuary for animals. It’s what she would’ve wanted. When she lived, stray kittens and pups and smaller critters would find their way to the house, as if they knew of her gentle and loving heart.
And though Azriel had been indifferent to animals at first, who was he to say no to her? He’d do anything for her. He still would and it’s why he came often to check up on them. He couldn’t bear living in the house without her so he hired someone to help.
Azriel always made sure the house was warm and safe and full of food. His devotion to this place was his devotion to her.
There was a flicker of light coming from the window and then the door was being thrown open, small but mighty footsteps making their way toward him.
“Mr. Azriel!”
A young fae girl threw her tiny arms around his leg. A soft smile curved his lips as he patted her head, his shadows curling affectionately around her small frame in response. From the doorway, another figure appeared—Bess. She stepped out with a sheepish smile. Bess was the fae Azriel had entrusted to help him run the sanctuary. She had been a long time friend of Azriel and Carina and shared the same love for animals as they did.
"Good evening, Azriel," Bess greeted, nodding to him as she coaxed her little girl back to her side. Her daughter grinned up at Azriel, giggling as one of his shadows playfully brushed over her arm.
“We were just heading to my parents’ to watch the stars. All the animals have been checked on and fed."
“Thank you,” he murmured.
"Shadow ate—" The girl paused, concentrating as she held up her tiny hand, counting her fingers slowly. His heart gave a pang he could not suppress as he looked down at the little girl by her side. "One… two… three! Shadow ate three banana slices. He almost ate Peach’s slices, but I stopped him. It wouldn’t be fair for Shadow to eat four and Peach only two.”
“Oh, of course,” Azriel replied. He mustered a small smile as Bess smoothed her daughter’s hair, her eyes full of fondness. How many times had he imagined coming to this house to see an image like this before him. But instead of Bess and her daughter, he’d dreamed of it being Carina and his daughter. Their daughter.
When he looked up, Bess’s gaze met his, soft and knowing.
“And then the butterflies hatched from their little chrysanthemums—” The girl babbled on.
“Chrysalis, Rina,” Bess corrected, chuckling. But at the sound of the name, her name, Azriel’s chest tightened.
Bess had named her daughter after Carina. She had still been pregnant when Carina passed, carrying the child that now stands before him. Yet he felt certain that Carina still saw her, still got to meet her in her own way.
“She’s going to be the loveliest of girls with the loveliest of names,” Carina had whispered to Bess the moment she learned her friend was expecting.
“She? How do you–”
“Just trust me.”
“Chrysalis,” Rina corrected herself, continuing on her story of how the butterflies had emerged and fluttered about, captivating not just her but the kittens.
“Sounds like you had quite an eventful day.”
“Oh, yes!” Rina beamed looking up at him with bright eyes. “And now we’re going to wait for the stars! Would you like to come with us, Mr. Azriel?”
“Thank you but I think I’ll keep Shadow company tonight.” Azriel politely declined.
Bess’s smile faded slightly, her brows knitting in concern. “Are you sure? We’d be happy to have you over…”
Azriel held her gaze for a moment, seeing the quiet worry in her eyes. No one should be alone on Starfall, he read. But Azriel had spent every Starfall since her death alone.
So he managed a nod. “I’m sure.”
**
Azriel’s shadows stirred as he stared at the house. It stood quietly under the dark night sky. Ivy draped along the porch railings and up the walls. Night-blooming jasmines blossomed in the garden, their petals glowing softly. Moths and butterflies fluttered around, drawn to the pale flowers. Every now and then, a firefly would blink, casting a tiny spark of light before disappearing back into the dark. Some of his shadows couldn’t help themselves, fluttering about just as the moths and butterflies did, to chase after the fireflies.
Crickets chirped nearby and occasionally, there was the sound of a faint splash of a frog in one of the ponds he had made. He could also hear barking coming from the shed he had built in the backyard. A purring sound followed by something rubbing up against his leg pulled his attention downwards.
Azriel crouched down to pet the gray cat at his feet. Carina had named her Smoke, inspired by her smoky gray fur. Though she cared and loved animals deeply, she was not creative when it came to names. Smoke closed her eyes briefly, content with the loving pets from Azriel.
The cat was selective with her affections. Only Carina and Azriel ever earned her trust, Bess still slowly earning it. Moments later, Smoke’s kittens, barely a few weeks old, bounded out from the shadows, eager for his attention as well. His heart warmed at the sight. If only Carina could see them…
After a couple of moments, Azriel stepped inside, where he knew a little bundle of black fur awaited him. Shadow. Further proof of Carina’s lack of creativity with names as the small bunny with dark fur blinked back up at him. Carina had a long history of rescuing animals and finding homes for them. She drove her parents and Rhysand mad and though Azriel feigned annoyance, he honestly didn't mind it.
Shadow had been the first animal Carina brought to this house. She had found him by the Sidra, scared and injured. Despite his small size, Shadow had made his distaste for Azriel’s shadows clear, hissing at them and even biting Azriel a couple of times when he got too close.
But there was a time where Carina had fallen sick, leaving Azriel to care for him. The two came to a mutual understanding and eventually grew close. By the time Carina had recovered, the bunny was following after Azriel as if it were one of his shadows, living up to his name.
Cradling Shadow close, Azriel let his gaze drift down the dim hallway toward the grand staircase. He hadn’t ventured upstairs in months, maybe even a year. That part of the house had been theirs alone. A private corner of the world where they could escape, untouched by anyone else’s presence. But tonight, he felt drawn to it, tugged towards it in the wake of a dream of Carina. In it, he had been content to just hold her while she embroidered. He held her tighter in his dream, dreading the moment he’d wake up.
Setting Shadow gently back in his cage, Azriel made his way toward the stairs. One of his shadows rushed to him and curled around his ear. The message it gave had his muscles tensing in alarm.
Someone was in the house.
His shadows coaxed his gaze to one of the rooms. Carina’s studio. The door was always closed and locked but tonight, it was wide open. His hand instinctively gripped the dagger strapped to his thigh as he approached, moving soundlessly until he reached the doorway.
Standing in the studio, holding a paper bag, was Rhysand. A scent drifted from the paper bag that Azriel knew well. Strawberries and creme. Carina’s favorite.
Rhysand seemed lost in the room, surrounded by countless paintings, sketches, and memories brought to life by Carina’s hand. She had painted Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian atop Ramiel, the three stars of Night Court glittering above them. Nearby, a sketch captured Mor mid-laughter, a glass of wine in hand, while Carina’s mother beamed beside her. Her desk overflowed with paintbrushes, pencils, and scattered paper. Above her desk, two portraits hung proudly. One of Carina’s mother and one of her father.
But Rhysand’s gaze was fixed on a larger portrait leaning against the wall between the former High Lord and Lady of Night.
Carina loved painting everything and everyone but herself. She especially loved drawing Azriel, her greatest muse. One night, he had asked her to draw herself. She had paused and looked at him, a strange but profound look in her eyes. One he didn’t understand then but he understood now. She knew she wouldn’t be here for long.
His throat tightened as he stared at the painting, grateful she had left him something so precious to hold onto. Her beauty, even in paint, commanded attention. She shared her brother’s sun-kissed skin, raven-black hair, and striking violet eyes. But Carina’s hair tumbled over her shoulders in silken waves, a single, captivating streak of white framing her face, her brow on the same side also streaked with white.
A mark her mother always said was a blessing, kissed by the moon herself.
“I thought I’d bring these,” Rhysand said quietly, holding up the bag. “She’d never let me come here without something for her.”
Azriel’s heart clenched. He hadn’t expected to see Rhysand here, but of all people, he understood the pull of this place. Azriel had lost his partner, his wife. But Rhysand had lost a sister, his twin. The studio held the weight of memories, settling heavily on his chest.
Since becoming High Lord, Rhysand had refused to celebrate Starfall publicly. Everyone who had made the holiday joyful was gone. His father. His mother. His sister. Carina had always looked forward to Starfall, making grand arrangements at the House of Wind so they could all watch the stars migrate together.
Starfall was a celebration for those that had passed, to honor those migrating souls. But to celebrate it for Carina rather than celebrate it with her…
It was a truth Rhysand did not want to accept, even though it’s been years. Nor Azriel.
They stood side by side, silent as they gazed at her portrait, almost expecting her to step out from the canvas, to fill the room once more with her warmth and laughter. Rhysand set the bag of crepes on the table below the painting, and Azriel noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.
“I thought... I thought it would get easier if I came here,” Rhysand admitted, his voice cracking. “But it’s as if I’m still waiting for her to walk through that door and tell me it’s all been a bad dream.”
Azriel nodded, his gaze not leaving the portrait. “I feel the same,” he murmured. “It’s hard being here but keeping this place and taking care of it...it’s the closest I can get to her now.”
A sudden, loud barking came from outside, disrupting the silence that had followed. Rhysand straightened, sharing a brief, wary glance with Azriel as the sound of a door splintering rang through the house. In an instant, they were on high alert, Azriel’s shadows coiling around him, ready to strike.
Their muscles relaxed only slightly as familiar footsteps echoed through the hall, quiet but unmistakable. Cassian appeared in the doorway, breathless from breaking in through the back. His eyes widened in surprise, taking in Rhysand and Azriel.
“I–I didn’t think anyone would be here,” he admitted, a sheepish tone slipping into his voice. a slight sheepish tone to his voice. “If I had known you were here, I would’ve knocked.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” Azriel deadpanned.
Cassian’s mouth quirked up in acknowledgment. Azriel was right. Barging in unannounced and loud had always been his style. Carina never minded it, though. Somehow, she’d always seemed to know he was coming, greeting him with a bemused smile rather than annoyance while Azriel would glare from behind her.
“I dreamt of her and I thought she would like to see a dear friend again,” Cassian said, pulling a small rag doll from his coat.
The faded fabric was frayed at the edges, and a patch covered where one arm had once torn. It was Carina’s doll—the one Cassian had accidentally ripped one night. He’d felt so terrible afterward that he’d begged her mother to teach him to sew, spending hours pricking his fingers to stitch it back together. The doll had never quite looked the same, but Carina had cherished it even more, carrying it with her everywhere. After her passing, she’d left it for him on his bed with a letter. She had written letters for all of them.
He set the doll next to the crepes Rhysand had brought, a silent offering.
Before any of them could speak, a sharp, indignant meow cut through the air. Azriel’s shadows tensed again, hovering near the door as more sounds drifted up from downstairs. Rustling, footsteps…sniffling?
“Stupid cat,” came a familiar voice, thick with tears, louder with each step. “I brought you, your stupid salmon…only the best, for Carina’s spoiled little brat…” The voice trailed off as Mor appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening in surprise the same way Cassian’s had just a couple of moments ago. “What are you all doing here?”
Mor glanced between the three males, eyes lined with silver.
“It wasn’t planned.” Azriel said.
“So we all dreamt of her last night, didn’t we?” Rhysand asked quietly.
They all looked at each other, eye glistening with tears and a shared understanding that needed no words. For years, Starfall had come and gone, each of them grieving Carina alone in the darkness. Too shattered to reach out, yet silently yearning for each other’s company. They had mourned in solitude, drowning in their quiet sorrows. A grief Carina would never have wanted for them and she most certainly would not have wanted them to spend Starfall, her favorite holiday, apart.
Mor’s gaze drifted to the desk where a small portrait of Carina rested, capturing her cousin’s warm, spirited smile. Her features softened, and her hand rose to her chest, fingers grazing the silver mood ring that hung on a simple chain. It clashed with the golden mood ring she wore on one of her fingers but she hadn’t cared. Carina and Mor had bought the matching rings together at one of the night markets. On nights when Mor wished to be closer to her beloved cousin, she wore the ring around her neck.
Her gaze then landed on the crepes and doll carefully placed in front of her portrait. She then decided to unclasp the necklace from her neck and placed it gently in front of Carina’s portrait. An altar had formed–a small collection of memories now laid before Carina’s portrait.
“Do you remember,” Mor began, her gaze still fixed on her cousin. “How she’d make us toast Starfall with raspberry wine? She’d insist it had to be raspberry, even though none of us liked it.”
Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. “Not a single one of us had the heart to tell her.”
Azriel’s lips curled into a fond smile, a rare warmth softening his features. “Oh, she knew,” he revealed, sharing a secret they’d kept for years. His gaze grew distant as he remembered Carina’s delighted grin, the gleam in her eyes as she’d pour each glass herself, ignoring the grimaces as they took their first sips. “But she said it was ‘tradition.’”
Rhysand let out a soft exhale, violet eyes glittering with both amusement and sadness. “Her own tradition, mind you, not one she inherited.”
“Well, we should keep up the tradition, right?” Mor turned around to face Azriel. “Do you have any?”
Azriel nodded, his throat tightening. “Yeah,” he managed, knowing there was still a stock in the cellar—bottles he’d left untouched and unopened since the last Starfall they’d shared with Carina. “I can get us some.”
A few moments later, he returned with a bottle, his shadows carrying five glasses. The dark tendrils handed a glass to each of them, setting the fifth in front of Carina’s portrait. Azriel filled her glass first.
“It’s clear to me Carina didn’t want us alone tonight,” Mor said, cradling her glass to her chest.
“She would’ve never wanted us alone,” Cassian murmured in agreement.
“She would’ve absolutely hated it.” Azriel chimed in, his voice barely a whisper. He looked down, feeling a pang of regret and guilt. “I’m sorry. I thought it would’ve been easier alone…”
Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulders, a look of pure empathy on his face. “I thought the same. But I’m grateful to be here now. With all of you.” He raised his glass. “Carina has brought us together this Starfall and we’ll spend it together as she would’ve wanted.”
“To Carina, the sweetest and most loving soul.” Cassian raised his glass toward her portrait.
The others followed after him, each lost in their own memories. As they toasted, Carina’s violet eyes seemed to shine with a spark of life. Just then, the doors to the balcony swung open, and a cool breeze swept through the room, rustling papers and lifting brushes. They felt it—a presence. Something familiar and bittersweet.
Starlight trickled through the window, casting a faint glow around the room.
Rhysand’s breath caught as the faint hum of a melody drifted through the air, one his mother used to sing on Starfall nights. He could almost hear the distinctive footsteps of his father, the crinkling of his old leather boots. And then—the clear, bright sound of Carina’s laughter, echoing as if from a dream.
Cassian’s eyes shone with unshed tears, his hand reaching out to clasp Azriel’s other shoulder. Mor reached for Rhysand’s hand, squeezing it tightly, and he returned the gesture, pulling her close. In that moment, they were united by the memory of the female they’d all loved.
As Rhysand looked at Carina's portrait, a tear traced down his cheek. Happy Starfall, sister.
Azriel looked up at the sky, already shimmering. They all stepped out onto the balcony. The world seemed to fall silent, even the animals still as the first star streaked across the sky. It’s as if they also knew that Carina would be amongst those migrating spirits. Along with her mother and father. Along with Cassian’s mother.
A thousand emotions surged through them. A mix of sorrow, gratitude, and love that blurred the line between the past and present.
They say that when someone you love dies, a part of your soul dies with them. They had each felt it—that aching void, the heavy absence. But as they stood together, they came to understand something else. When someone you love passes, a part of them remains with you. They remain in every cherished memory, in love and in moments like these.
Carina may have passed, but her memory lived, woven into the very stardust that fell around them. She had come to them tonight, reminding them that her light would remain in their hearts, glowing a little brighter with every Starfall.
"En esta casa no existen fantasmas. Son puros recuerdos. Son mil sentimientos, de lo que vivimos cuando tu estabas aqui." which translates to "In this house, ghost don't exist. Only memories. A thousand feelings of what we lived when you were here."
Meanwhile in Spring Court…
Tamlin sat slumped against the rough bark of a tree, his gaze fixed on the night sky. A sense of immense guilt gnawed at him. It was Starfall tonight. He knew this because the holiday had meant so much to Rhysand and Carina. His friends. Or at least, they used to be. The twins had always spoken of the streaking spirits that lit up the sky in the Night Court.
But here, in Spring, the migrating stars were hidden beyond the distant horizon. Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the stars that dotted his own skies, searching for something he couldn’t quite name.
Would Carina be among them tonight? he wondered, his heart heavy with regret.
Tamlin couldn’t shake the feeling that her death and her mother’s was his fault. His choices had led to this moment, to this hollow loneliness that sat like a stone in his chest. He lost everything that night. His family, his friends.
But he deserved to feel this way, to feel this pain.
Rhysand hated him, he couldn’t even look him in the eyes at the first High Lord meeting after the tragedies. And Rhysand had every right to. It was all Tamlin’s fault...
Tears pricked at his eyes and then he felt it. Something cold yet comforting like the softest of touches. Startled, he raised his hand to his cheek, feeling the dampness against his skin. He looked up to the sky but there was no rain, no storm clouds in sight. When he brought his hand up to his face, he saw pure stardust glowing back at him.
And then he saw it– a second star. It soared across the sky, coming closer and closer. It disappeared into a pool of water just in front of him, lighting the still surface. The pool shimmered, turning to liquid starlight.
A starpool, bright and ethereal.
Tamlin wiped hastily at his eyes before leaning forward to get a closer look. He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing along the water’s edge. The water lapped gently against his hand, coating it in the same stardust residue that coated his cheek.
The sight made his heart ache. It can’t be, he thought, looking back up at the sky for answers. There were no more shooting stars. Just the steady gleam of the ordinary ones blinking back at him. A breeze stirred through the clearing, cold yet oddly soothing. It whispered through the branches, through the leaves, a murmur he couldn’t quite decipher, but in his heart, he understood.
“I forgive you,” it seemed to say and he just knew it was her.
Tamlin’s composure shattered completely. He buried his face in his hands, not caring over the stardust that smeared his face. His tears spilled freely now as he leaned over the water, his shoulders shaking.
The weight of his grief, his guilt, his longing for forgiveness—it all poured out into the stillness of the Spring Court, witnessed only by the stars, the quiet voice of the night and the starpool that had been gifted to him by her.
[masterlist]
a/n: There's not much details about Starfall other than it being migrating spirits so I tweaked it a bit to resemble Day of the Dead more. I love this holiday so much and look forward to hearing memories of loved ones that have passed away. For the inner circle, I imagined the death of Rhysand's sister hit them all hard and in this particular au, I could see them suffering alone. But Carina definitely would not have wanted that so she visited them in their dreams and brought them together. Hope you enjoyed getting a glimpse of her. I can't wait to write more about her!
I debated a lot on whether I should've included Tamlin's bit or not but decided, why not? I think about him a lot and how alone he must've felt after becoming High Lord.
General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho
@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe
@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette
@alwayshave-faith
#acotar fanfiction#acotar fanfic#acotar x oc#azriel x oc#rhysand's sister#rhysand's sister x azriel#rhysand angst#azriel angst#tamlin angst
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LIVE LAUGH LOVE IS LOVE
Live más, I tell myself while 69ing a man, outed eventually as a zionist, a LOVE IS LOVE type who, mid-climax, says look at us! Co-existing! as he drinks of me, bloodless, worships the Christ-In-A-Cracker my body had become in his hold. I leave before he could enter me, resist the colonial metaphor at the tip of my tongue, but he throbs in every kegel of regret for the whole day, and although the sun's out and the leaves are small songs in the wind of a New England fall, all I want is to be a clot in a shitty someone's day, the way Joan Rivers dropped dead after saying, on national TV, Palestinians deserve everything that happened to them—israel's bombings, she meant. After I die, I want to be a difficult ancestor: the kind of ghost summoned for depressive episodes inside a Taco Bell, or when you, my future great-grand-something, want your racist professor to stub their toe. But also the one who'll haunt until you say everything I couldn't in my life: I'm sorry or I'm in love with you or let me be lonely tonight, I'll be okay come morning, I promise. I'll haunt you until you call your Mom for no reason in particular, forgive her even on the saddest, most sun-filled days. You'll mourn your homeland with your whole self, too. Won't succumb to their GOOD VIBES ONLYs while americans end another world. Again. It's how you'll learn return: this grief and your most impossible mothers. If you find poetry, ignore the bones they've written into good, the temptation for French anything, all the LIVE LAUGH LOVE signs disguised as poems— read our greats, al-Maari and further back, and learn you come from a lineage of poets who mourned the world because they chose to live, seeing it on its own terms: the laughter in slaughter, the horsemeat disguised as seasoned beef. When you give them your least coherent griefs, they'll tell you write joy instead. Shoot them a bird— their world is full of illiterates disguised as writers, who'll leave you banging at their gates, begging: I want to live, I just want to live, I want to live, I want—
— George Abraham, published on twitter (source)
#جورج إبراهيم#George Abraham#Palestine#Gaza#Palestinian poetry#Gazan poetry#genocide#Gaza genocide#poetry#writing#literature#poets on tumblr#poets on twitter#Live Laugh Love is Love#Live Laugh Love#Love is Love#queer poetry#gay poetry#lgbt poetry
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gotta urgent need for some not-quite-yet punkflower where hobie is chillin in some rubble post-(successful) battle all knackered out n miles is visiting (idk bc he just told his parents abt spiderman n it went well so he's bursting at the seems with love at being accepted n all yea? he's gotta tell someone, and why not him? why not hobie? it's no one else but hobie he's gotta tell, if he's being honest with himself [denile is not a river in his egypt, ok pav?] so yeah, he finds himself on 138) n catches the tail end of the battle, tracks down where hobie decided to make a couch outta concrete and lands in front of him, buzzing with cheezy lovey dovey feelins of elation, top o' the fucken world, and asks on abt hobie, rambling until hobie just lifts a hand, a silent ask for help up, (always asking for connection always makin sure they're actually there) n miles, have i mentioned he's happy? he's straight up a sap, so he takes that hand.
he takes that hand gently, bending at the waist a bit, dramatically sweeping back his other arm, bowing, for hell's sake, n plants a kiss on the back of hobie's hand, nice n proper, with a cheeky wink to boot (he'd finally fixed the eye mechanisms last week, thanks to penny), before pulling up new london's own spiderman chest to chest with a bright laugh that puts a different kind of stars in hobie's eyes, half dancing half belting out a song in spanish he doesn't quite understand but knows all the words to (it's some continental dialect, nothing his mami speaks, but would filter out the headphones of that kid in his building he walked w in middle school everyday)
before the sirens start getting closer n hobie can feel the warmth of miles-- the warmth of his smile, his hair that's still sparking from transdimensional travel, his arms, chest, laughter, everything, n all at once it pulls every affectionate n pining bit of hobie to the surface, if he weren't wearing his mask his blush would be so impossibly visible it's straight mad how much hobie loves n adores miles, how much seeing miles be happy lights hobie's whole fucking world
and oh, hobie's never seen a god he didn't punch, never believed in any one he couldn't, but right now, with his fingers entwined with miles', aches leaving his bones like he's never felt his left shoulder twinge the second it drops below 21 just because miles just yelled fuck off to the approaching pigs, he could fall to his knees n swear pious fealty to milesmilesmiles.
but hobie is cool (never has a label stuck to him like the one miles has given him), and his real, livin n breathing god is starting to ramble, so hobie webs them upupup, heat along his back as god wraps arms around him, breath on his neck as home weaves tales into the leather wrapping it.
then miles hears hobie's stomach growl, so he starts pulling them away from the path of what he knows is towards hobie's flat, and towards what he swears is the only good puerto rican food in the whole of hobie's haunt, his excitement steamrolling over his usual stuttering spanish, exchanging shouts n jeers with everyone behind the counter
bc everyone knows him, like miles has lived here, earth-138, new london, his whole life, like hobie brown being dragged into the shop every other week by miles morales to get the same two plates (n an extra something for miles to gush over n hobie to taste) is how the rest of this life will go, like hobie n miles are together, in a way that the unsubtle looks the owner's kid at the register is aiming at miles' left hand are correct, but don't involve stuffy socially religious systems like marriage
but they're not, as much as hobie would love to kiss miles, gaze into his eyes for ages, hear his laughter, his off-key singing, his scritch-scritch of something on paper everyday-- bc he can't go abt this like he does everyone else, can't do it with half a foot out the door n a shrug as agreed; it's gotta be both feet on the floor, n it's gotta be for the rest of this life, so he'll take what he can get, and he'll take the distance n devotion, take the faith n the heartache. take what he can get from his god, glad to be touched by his god, glad to be loved by his god, across universes n the fall from his bed to the futon on the floor where miles decides to lay his head for choice holy nights
(hobie doesn't know miles is putting himself at the base of his god's shrine, hoping for his deity to fall into his arms, spikes n all, (ready, so ready to tear apart dimensions again for hobie, to bleed and cry n go to war for hobie) fingers splaying on the side of the mattress warmwarmwarm after hobie starts snoring, before they slip down softly, a prayer imparting from the pads, memorizing the patterns of his god's breath, the smell of the room, the borrowed shirt he wears, the sounds of a second city he calls home, thrumming full with a bass note plucked from an electric guitar, usually shaky hands sure n still picking out a different shape to hobie's eyebrow piercing, deftly screwing a star onto the bar. miles brings offerings to his god in pins n patches on clothing, stickers n torn out sketches decorating a shrine)
so they'll song n dance in new york, in new london; learning each other's cities, earths, haunts, people, arts, each other, like new scars for the collection- permanent and signs of living, odes to loving and protecting.
chest to chest, fingers entwined, warmth in the skies above cities, right on the edge of it all until they fall together, eyes wide open, gods broken down into blood and teeth and lovelovelove
not-quite-yet 2 - 3
. my ko-fi 💛
ao3 link
#flowerpunk#punkflower#i'm havging some major fucking brainrot apparently#look i've been listening to lets fall in love for tonight all day while reading flowerpunk fics#spiderverse#fishy write the fucking fic already challenge#hobie x miles#miles x hobie#yeah no yeah i'm goin fuckin bonkers over them apparently#the fic mutualism altered my brain chemistry for fucking real#fishy's bubbles#this got so fucking long my brother watched two episodes of the bear while i lost my shit over them#all i was gonna come on tumblr for was to say that i will probably get a lip ring bc i've always wanted to but instead i wrote this#not-quite-yet#nqy 1
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𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥
The sandy stone patio outside The Hard Deck is quiet.
Well, it’s quieter than it was inside. Rowdy Navymen and their rowdy friends a few too many draft beers deep jamming out with the jukebox on high, Penny overwhelmed by the amount of men in Uncle Sam beards and patriotic paper top-hats, peanut shells on the floor, ice clinking in whiskey glasses, fireworks going off every few minutes.
It’s all a bit overwhelming for you, which is why you slid out and quietly settled in one of the metal bistro chairs, breathing in the sweet ocean and sulfuric air. It’s foggy outside from the fireworks, which are bursting into the night sky in fantastic sparks of yellow and pink and red and blue.
Finally--you can take a deep breath, inflate your lungs, tune in with your daughter just beneath the taut skin of your swollen belly. She’s fluttering around like she always is when you’re finally still. Sometimes, you like to imagine that she’s mimicking you: taking a deep breath, tilting her head towards the sky, lashes fluttering as she watches the fireworks.
Bradley is still sitting at the piano, playing a jaunty version of Born in the USA on the piano, a little tipsy and the kind of happy that makes his cheeks bright pink. The usual crowd is around him, much drunker and much blearier, sloshing their drinks and mussing each other’s faux beards.
“Where’s that wife of mine?” Bradley asks suddenly--he scans the crowd around the piano and doesn’t find you in the sea of red, white, and blue. “Jake, did you scare her off?”
“She wakes up to you every morning, Bradshaw,” Jake retorts, grinning. “How could I scare her off?”
Bradley stills--everyone groans when the live music stops.
“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river!” Bradley says as everyone boo’s him. He stands up, stretches, glances around the bar again. He doesn't see you still. “Respect your countryman!”
And then he’s fielding pats on the backs as he navigates the bar, heading for the patio doors. He’s sure you’re out there--you like to sneak away when you can get away with it to dip your toes in the water or sit in the patio chairs.
He’s right--you’re right where he knew you would be: sitting in the patio chair, head tilted back as you watch the smoke drift across the star-dotted sky, shoes thrown aside and feet buried in the sand, eyes shining as you stroke your belly with both hands.
“Hey, mama,” he greets softly.
You turn, a soft smile on your face. All the noise of the bar fades whenever Rooster closes the door behind him, grinning at you something fierce.
“Hey, daddy,” you respond, face warm with love.
He stalls right where he is, hands on the hips of his true-blue Levi’s. Pink sprouts across the exposed part of his chest, his Hawaiian shirt long unbuttoned after his fourth drink and second song on the piano. He just beholds you, a lip tucked between his teeth, his smile growing wider when you wrinkle your nose at him.
“What?” You ask, but you have a feeling that you already know.
“You’re a fucking vision,” he sighs, earnest and yearning. “How’d I land a bombshell like you?”
“Trapped me,” you tease, gesturing to your bump. “Remember?”
He grins, laughing. He starts to toe his Chuck Taylors off, peeling his socks off while you rest your cheek on your shoulder to gaze at him.
“It’s quiet out here,” he says softly, sauntering over to you and wrapping his arms around your neck. He peppers your sweet-smelling hair with a few kisses before tucking his nose into your neck. “Didn’t realize my ears were ringing in there.”
You smile.
“Poor baby,” you mutter mockingly, curling your fingers in his sandy locks. “You alright?”
“Respect your countryman,” Bradley insists softly, muffled from the silky skin of your neck. “And the father of your daughter.”
He moves his hand to your belly and your daughter kicks softly, stretching and turning. You can feel his grin when it spreads across his face. He’s so delighted in the thought of becoming a father that his joy is genuinely palpable. You can feel it at all times like the sun on your cheeks or the wind in your hair.
His hand is warm, covering the front of your rounded belly. Bradley sighs softly, eyes fluttering shut as he feels your daughter move inside of you, imagining what she’ll be like.
But then a firework goes off--pops right beside the both of you. And you both feel it: your daughter jolting in your belly, startled.
Before Bradley can respond, you’re laughing. Laughing a big and loud laugh with your mouth wide open and your eyes teary.
“Oh,” you giggle, grinning at Bradley. “Our poor baby!”
Bradley, frowning good-naturedly, tuts and moves so he’s kneeling before you. You’re still fighting your laughter, biting your lip and stroking your belly. But Bradley’s tucking himself between your legs, moving your shirt up until the curve of your belly is exposed to the cool night air.
“Poor thing,” Bradley said, pressing a few kisses to your skin. “S’okay, bird. Just some fireworks, huh? You’re gonna have to get used to ‘em, aren’t you? Fourth of July is…big in this family, to say the least.”
You nod as if she can see you, combing your fingers through his hair as he peppers your belly in affection. You can almost see it now: Bradley holding your tiny daughter, pressing his nose into her little shoulder, making her shudder when his mustache tickles her delicate skin.
“We’ll get her some headphones,” you tell him, biting a grin. “That oughta do the trick, huh?” Another firework pops and she jolts again, more than before. Your belly flutters, tenses. “She really doesn’t like those,” you tell Bradley, gasping softly.
With his brows furrowed, Bradley peers over his shoulder at the small group of mens setting them off on the beach.
“I’m gonna go give ‘em a piece of my mind,” he mutters.
“Bradley,” you laugh. “What’re you gonna say? You’re scaring my unborn daughter?”
He pauses--glares at you.
“And if that is what I’m gonna say?”
Grinning, feeling like you’re about to burst with all this love for this goofy man on his knees before you, you shake your head.
“Oh, boy, do I love you,” you say softly. “And so does our daughter.”
He grins.
“Our American girl,” he laughs. “Who doesn’t like fireworks.”
You hope, with everything in your heart, that she has his laugh. Big, loud, hearty. You want people to hear her laugh and know who her father is. Oh, that’s gotta be a Bradshaw.
“She’ll learn,” you tell him, stroking your belly. “Her daddy’s a Navyman.”
𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 <𝟑
#rooster bradshaw fic#rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw angst#bradley rooster x reader#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradsaw x reader#bradley bradshaw series#bradley bradshaw one shot#bradley bradshaw blurb#top gun fanfiction#rooster x reader#rooster top gun#rooster x you#rooster fanfic#top gun maverick#bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader#rooster bradshaw one shot#rooster bradshaw x you#rooster bradshaw fanfiction#dad!rooster bradshaw#dad!bradley bradshaw
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Unchained Melody
Summary: Slow dancing in the living room.
Characters: Jake x Fem!Reader
Warnings: 18+. Pure fluff. Implied sex, if you squint super well.
Author's Note: This fluffy blurb wouldn't be what it is without @losfacedevil ❤️
Valentine's Masterlist
As you wash the dishes from dinner, even though Jake insisted that it can all wait to be cleaned tomorrow, you begin to hear soft music playing from the living room.
He’s enticing you. Luring you to him to finish off the night. Smirking to yourself, you continue washing the dishes, grabbing one of the small salad bowls to start scrubbing.
You feel a warm sensation on your hips as his hands glide along the fabric of your dress. His lips gently press to your shoulder as he kisses you.
“Jake..” You warn.
“Come dance with me..” He says as he sways the two of you side to side.
“I need to wash these.”
“I told you that you can wait until tomorrow..”
He slides his hands to your waist before moving down your arms. He dips his hands into the warm, soapy water and grabs your hands. He pulls them out of the water and takes you away from the sink. He dries them off with a towel, being meticulous at drying off every drop of water.
Feeling satisfied he takes your hands again and pulls you out to the living room where he changes the song to a different one. It isn’t often that you find yourself swaying to the rhythm of slow and intimate music. Nor is it often that you find yourself dancing with Jake. He isn’t much of a dancer and he makes it known.
Though as the familiar tune begins to play, you tilt your head back to look at Jake. He flashes you a smile before tugging you into his body.
“This is Josh’s song.” You giggle as he presses your head against his chest.
“Shh..” He hushes. “Tonight it is not.”
You giggle and give in anyways and step in time with Jake as he moves the two of you side to side. He starts to hum along to the music before the words begin to slip from his lips.
Lonely rivers flow
To the sea, to the sea
To the open arms of the sea, yeah
Lonely rivers sigh
"Wait for me, wait for me"
I'll be coming home, wait for me
You smile against his chest which vibrates as he sings. Jake singing is just about as rare as his dancing. You almost never hear him singing unless you catch him in the act whether he’s singing in the shower or singing along to music as it plays while he cooks dinner. So hearing him sing brings a warmth to your chest.
He continues on singing until it drifts it off to mumbles, unsure of what the next words are. It’s a wonder that he doesn’t know them, considering Josh has sung it on stage every night for the last four months.
“And here I thought you knew the words..” You tease.
His hand comes down on your ass in a rough swat as he continues humming. “Words tend to escape me when I’m in your presence.”
You huff a laugh, feeling the vibration of his chest as he laughs himself. “Smooth..” You say lifting your head.
“But I’ll have this song memorized soon enough if Josh keeps singing it..” He grumbles. “You just wait. Eventually you’ll get tired of hearing me sing it.”
You shake your head and tilt your head back again to look at him. “I don’t think I will ever tire of you singing. You have a beautiful voice.”
He playfully rolls his eyes and pushes your head back down onto his chest. “You say that now.. Just wait..”
As the song continues, it increases in volume and he starts singing until it gets to the high notes. His voice cracks and you can’t stifle the giggle in time. He squeezes you tightly in his arms as he powers through it and finishes on a strong note.
“See?”
“Can’t see you when you keep my head pressed to your chest.”
He scoffs and pulls your head up. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He wraps his arms around you again and continues swaying again even though the song has already ended.
“Jake..”
“Shh.. Stay here..”
“But the music..”
“Don’t need music..”
The giggling infects you again and you lay your head back onto his chest. He continues the swaying movement and he starts humming a different song.
When you realize that he’s humming the beginning verses BedRock, you immediately swat at his chest and pull away earning his laughter as reciprocation. “Jacob!”
His head falls back as he laughs. “It came to my head!”
tag list:
@watchingover-hypegirl @losfacedevil @ignite-my-fire @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @writingcold @jaketlove @mackalah @lexii-nv-c @em-gvf01 @katiegvf @joshkiszkaenthusiast @takenbythemadness @jakekiszkasmommy @objectsinspvce @gvfmarge @heckingfrick @bluemeadows77 @laneygvf @sacredmachine @gvfpal @killerqueengvf @jaketlover @jordinlkiszka @alwaysonthemend @hellowgoodbye @anythingforjtk @hi-hi-hello11 @anthemofgvf @gretasfallingsky @songbirds-sweet @wildbluesorbit @klarxtr @stardustsecret @sunandthemoontwinflames @everyglowinthetwilightknows @sinsofstardust @sparrowofthedawnsworld @josh-iamyour-mama @dannys-dream
Want to be added? Just let me know! 😊
#jake kiszka#greta van fleet#greta van fleet fic#greta van fleet fanfic#jake kiszka fanfic#jake kiszka fic#gvf#jake kiszka fluff#jake kiszka gvf#jake kiszka blurb#jake kiszka fanfiction#jake kiszka x reader#valentines
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Brother’s Flatmate
Request: anything that starts angsty but ends fluffy PLS
Pairing: Arthur Hill x George’sSister!Reader
Category: Angst to Fluff
Word Count: 4.3k
*****
"Real love doesn't meet you at your best. It meets you in your mess." – J.S. Park
In the bustling heart of London, where the Thames River curved its ancient path, there was a man named Arthur Hill. He was known to many as a charismatic YouTuber with a velvety singing voice, yet to his closest friend George, he was simply Arthur, the bloke who was always there for a pint and a laugh. Arthur's flat, a cozy sanctuary tucked above a quaint bookstore, reflected his unassuming nature—a blend of vintage furniture and the faint scent of dusty pages that spoke of quiet nights spent reading and recording his latest vlogs.
The flat was often filled with the sound of George's raucous laughter as the two friends bantered over cups of tea. However, the dynamic changed whenever George's sister, Y/N, was around. She was a sharp contrast to Arthur's laid-back demeanor—ambitious, driven, and often blunt to the point of discomfort. Her visits were met with a tension so palpable it could be sliced with a knife.
Today was no exception. The moment she barged in, Arthur felt the atmosphere shift. He set aside his camera, knowing that the evening's vlog would have to wait. Y/N's eyes narrowed as she assessed the cluttered room, a clear judgment of his lifestyle.
"It's not just a bit of mess," she retorted, her voice laced with frustration. "It's a health hazard. And it's not like you don't know how to clean up after yourself, Arthur."
The unspoken hostility between them was a constant thorn in George's side. He had no idea what had caused the rift, only that it had grown wider with each passing year. Arthur and Y/N had never seen eye to eye, and it was clear that their dislike for each other was deeply rooted.
"Look, I've had a long day," Arthur said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Could we not do this now?"
Y/N scoffed. "I'm just saying, if you want to be taken seriously as an influencer, you should start by taking your living conditions seriously."
The comment hit a nerve. Arthur's success had always been a sore spot for her, a constant reminder of her own unfulfilled aspirations. Her words stung, and he felt his temper begin to flare.
"And what would you know about that?" he shot back. "You've never had to chase your dreams because you've always had everything handed to you on a silver platter."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.
Arthur took a deep breath, knowing he had crossed a line. "I didn't mean it like that," he said, trying to backpedal. But the damage was done.
"You don't get it," Arthur said, his voice tight. "You never have. You think because I make videos and sing songs, I don't have a clue about hard work?"
"I didn't say that," Y/N replied, her voice equally as tense. "I said you should take better care of yourself. This place is a mess, and it's a reflection of your priorities."
The accusation stung, and Arthur felt his cheeks heat up. He had always prided himself on his authenticity, his willingness to show his true self to his followers. Yet here she was, suggesting he was a fraud.
"You think I don't know what real work is?" he spat out, his eyes flashing. "You sit in your fancy office all day, sipping lattes and bossing people around, while I'm out here, trying to make a difference in the lives of my fans."
Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're not curing cancer with your videos, Arthur."
The words hung in the air, a challenge that Arthur couldn't ignore. "At least I'm not living a lie," he retorted. "Pretending to be someone I'm not just to climb the corporate ladder."
Y/N's job was a sore subject for her, a constant battle against the expectations of their family's legacy. He opened his mouth to intervene, but she was already responding, her voice icy.
"You wouldn't know the first thing about hard work, Arthur," she said, her eyes glinting. "You play dress-up and make jokes for a living. It's easy to be liked when you're not actually doing anything of substance."
The words hit Arthur like a punch to the gut. He had always felt a little guilty about his chosen career path, especially compared to Y/N's high-flying corporate job. But he also knew that his content brought joy and comfort to millions. He clenched his fists, trying to keep his cool.
"You don't know anything about what I do," he said, his voice measured. "You think it's all fun and games, but there's a lot more to it than you see."
Y/N folded her arms, unmoved by his defense. "Oh, I know all about it," she said. "You sit here, making videos that people watch to forget their own lives, and you think that's meaningful?"
"It is to them," Arthur said, his voice rising. "It's more than you do, stuck in your ivory tower."
Y/N's eyes flashed. "At least I'm not living in a fantasy world," she snapped. "At least I'm not chasing after something that's never going to be more than a hobby."
"It's not a hobby," Arthur said, his voice strained. "It's my life."
Y/N rolled her eyes. "Your life? More like your escape," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're afraid to face the real world, so you hide behind a screen and pretend you're important."
*****
Arthur's eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at her, the words cutting deep. He hated her—no, he didn't. He didn't hate her. It was something else, something more complicated. He hated the way she made him feel, the way she brought out his insecurities, the way she questioned his very existence. He hated that she could do that to him.
But he didn't hate her. She was George's sister, and George was his best mate. He couldn't hate her. Could he? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that what he felt was closer to fear. Fear that she might be right. Fear that he was just a glorified clown, dancing for the amusement of the masses.
He took a step towards her, his hands balled into fists. "You don't know anything about me," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "You think you're so much better, but you're just as lost as I am."
Y/N's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes flickered. For a moment, Arthur thought he saw a glimpse of vulnerability, a hint of doubt. But she quickly masked it with a sneer. "You're pathetic," she said. "You're wasting your life on this nonsense."
Arthur felt his heart racing, the blood pounding in his ears. He didn't hate her, not really. But her words stung because they echoed his own fears. He had always wondered if his career was just a facade, a way to avoid the responsibilities of adulthood. Yet here he was, standing up for what he believed in, for the community he had built, the fans who looked up to him.
"You're just jealous," he spat out, the anger giving him courage. "You're jealous that I found something I love, something that makes people happy."
Y/N's eyes narrowed. "You think you're so special," she said. "You're not. You're just a pretty face with a decent singing voice."
Arthur felt his anger boil over. "And you're just a cold-hearted bitch," he said, his voice shaking. "You don't know the first thing about love or passion."
Y/N's eyes went wide with shock at the venom in his words. For a moment, she looked as though she had been slapped. Then, she laughed—a bitter, harsh sound that rang through the flat. "Love and passion? Is that what you call it? A bunch of teenagers worshipping you?"
The room was a battleground, the air thick with animosity. The line between love and hate was paper-thin, and it was clear that they had both danced upon it for too long. Arthur's heart felt as though it was being squeezed in a vice, the weight of her accusations crushing him. Yet, amidst the anger, there was something else—a strange warmth that he couldn't quite explain. It was as if their shared disdain had kindled a spark of something more.
Y/N's eyes searched Arthur's, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a flicker of doubt in her gaze. The mask of superiority slipped, revealing a hint of the insecurity that lay beneath. She had always been the successful one, the one who had everything figured out, while he had stumbled into fame almost by accident. Yet here they were, both lost in their own ways.
"Shut up," Arthur murmured, the words barely audible. He didn't know if he was speaking to her or to the voice in his own head, the one that whispered doubt and fear.
Y/N took a step closer, her eyes flashing. "Make me," she challenged, her voice low and dangerous. The air between them crackled with tension.
Arthur's hand shot out, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. It was a gentle touch, a stark contrast to the harshness of their words. Y/N's eyes widened, and she took a sharp intake of breath, as though she hadn't expected the softness. For a second, they just stared at each other, the electricity between them palpable.
Then, before he could think better of it, Arthur leaned in and kissed her—harshly, desperately. He kissed her as if he was trying to prove a point, to show her that he was more than the sum of his YouTube views and singing talents. He kissed her as if he could erase the years of contempt with one fiery gesture.
Y/N's body stiffened, her eyes widening in shock, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into the kiss, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. It was a strange, intoxicating dance of anger and attraction that neither of them had seen coming. The heat between them grew, the air in the room thickening until it was almost suffocating.
*****
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Y/N's cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark with a mix of anger and something else—desire? Arthur couldn't tell. He felt as though he was drowning in confusion, his chest tight with emotion.
"I hate you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. But the way she said it, the way her breath hitched, told him she didn't mean it. Not entirely.
Arthur's chest tightened. "No, you don't," he said, his voice low and intense. "You're just scared."
Y/N's eyes searched his, a storm of emotions raging within them. "Scared of what?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Scared of admitting that maybe, just maybe, we're not so different after all," Arthur said, his voice low and earnest. "Scared of what this could be."
Y/N stared at him, her eyes searched his, looking for a sign that he was joking, that this was all some twisted ploy. But Arthur's gaze was unwavering, his expression raw and vulnerable. The truth of his words hit her like a tidal wave, and she felt the walls she had built around her heart begin to crumble.
"We're nothing alike," she whispered, her voice shaking. But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. They were both chasing their own versions of success, their own ways of making an impact on the world.
Arthur stepped closer, his hand still resting on her cheek. "We're more alike than you think," he said softly. "We both want to be seen, to be heard, to matter."
Y/N's breath hitched. She didn't hate him, not really. But she had spent so long pushing him away, hiding behind her sarcasm and scorn, because the alternative was too terrifying to consider. If she let him in, if she allowed herself to care, she might just get her heart broken. And she had been down that road before—she wasn't sure she could handle it again.
"I don't do feelings," she said, her voice a feeble attempt at the armor she had worn for so long. But Arthur's hand remained on her cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles that seemed to be unraveling her very soul.
"Well, you're doing a bloody good job of hiding them," Arthur said with a sad smile. "But I can see right through you, Y/N. And I think it's about time we both faced them."
Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of a bluff. But all she found was honesty, a stark contrast to the barbed words they had exchanged just moments ago. Slowly, she reached up and placed her hand over his, her touch tentative yet filled with a spark of hope. "What are you saying, Arthur?"
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words before speaking them. "I'm saying that maybe, just maybe, we should stop fighting and start understanding each other." His thumb continued to caress her cheek, his gaze never leaving hers. "We're both just trying to find our place in this world, and maybe we could help each other do that."
Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the walls she had built around herself feeling more fragile than ever. The idea of letting Arthur in, of admitting that she might need someone, was as terrifying as it was tempting. Yet, she couldn't deny the undeniable pull she felt towards him, the way his touch made her feel seen, understood.
"I don't know if I can do that," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've spent so long pushing people away."
Arthur's eyes searched hers, filled with a gentle understanding that seemed to see right through her tough exterior. "I know," he said, his voice equally soft. "But maybe it's time to try something new."
The silence that fell between them was heavier than any of their previous barbs. Y/N felt the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand, and the sincerity of his words. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that usually surrounded their interactions, a gentle reminder that love could emerge from the most unlikely of places.
Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of a lie or a hidden motive. But all she found was a mirror to her own confusion and yearning. Arthur was right—they were both lost in their own ways, but perhaps together they could navigate the tumultuous waters of life.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice shaky with uncertainty. "Okay, let's try."
Their kiss was not gentle this time, but it was not fueled by anger either. It was a kiss of understanding, of two souls colliding in the messiness of their shared existence. Arthur's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and she melted into him, her own arms snaking around his waist. It was as though they had been holding onto this moment for years, waiting for the perfect storm of words and emotions to bring it to the surface.
As they broke away, both panting, they stared at each other with a newfound appreciation. The hostility that had once dominated their interactions was now replaced with a strange, thrilling anticipation. They had both been hiding behind their own fears and insecurities, throwing jabs and insults to keep the other at bay. But in that one moment, they had found a common ground—the mess of their lives.
Arthur knew that real love didn't emerge from a perfect, pristine environment. It grew in the cracks of doubt and the weeds of imperfection. It was in the chaos of their shouting match that he had seen the real Y/N, the one who was just as lost and scared as he was. And in that chaos, he had found something beautiful—a spark of connection that was more real than any of the scripted moments in his videos.
They stood there, in the silence that followed the storm of their words, their hearts racing in unison. The tension between them had shifted, no longer a barrier but a bridge, a delicate yet solid connection that neither wanted to break. Y/N's eyes searched Arthur's, looking for confirmation that this was real, that she wasn't just imagining the tenderness in his gaze.
*****
"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, his thumb still tracing circles on her cheek. "For everything."
Y/N nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Me too," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I've been a bitch."
Arthur's hand slid down to her neck, his thumb brushing against the rapid pulse in her throat. "You've had your reasons," he said, his voice gentle. "But let's leave them behind now."
Y/N nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's start again."
Arthur wiped the tear away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers. "We don't have to start over," he said softly. "We just have to start… differently."
Y/N took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against his chest. "Differently," she echoed, the word feeling strange and yet incredibly right on her tongue.
Arthur's gaze searched hers, his eyes filled with a warmth she hadn't seen before. It was as though he had just discovered a hidden treasure, something precious that had been buried beneath layers of anger and misunderstanding.
"I didn't know," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "I didn't know it could feel like this."
Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searched his, and she could see the realization dawning in his gaze—the raw, unfiltered understanding of what love truly meant. It was as if he had just stepped into the sunlight after years of darkness.
Arthur's eyes searched hers, the weight of his realization heavy in his gaze. It was a look that spoke of a thousand unsaid words, of moments of doubt and fear that had led them to this precipice. In that instant, she knew that he saw her—the real her, not the armored version she presented to the world. He saw the vulnerability she had worked so hard to hide, the softness that lay beneath the sharp edges of her sarcasm.
"Neither did I," she murmured, her voice shaky. She felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, the steady beat of his heart under her palm. The tension between them had transformed into something new, something that made her heart flutter in a way she had long ago convinced herself she was immune to.
They stood there, in the quiet aftermath of their confrontation, the air charged with the electricity of their newfound connection. It was strange, terrifying, and yet, somehow, it felt more real than anything she had ever experienced. For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, she had found someone who truly understood her.
"We'll take it slow," Arthur said, his voice low and soothing. "We'll get to know each other without the baggage of what we've always thought we knew."
Y/N nodded, the tightness in her chest slowly easing. The idea of taking it slow was both comforting and exhilarating. She had always rushed into things, eager to prove herself, to conquer and claim. But with Arthur, she felt the need to be gentle, to tiptoe around the fragility of this newfound bond.
"Okay," she said, her voice a whisper. "We'll start tonight."
*****
They decided to order takeout, a simple meal of fish and chips from the chippy down the street. As they waited, Arthur suggested they watch one of his videos together, one that had a special meaning to him. Y/N agreed, her curiosity piqued.
The video was of Arthur singing a cover of an obscure indie song, the melody haunting and beautiful. As he watched her reaction, he explained how the lyrics had resonated with him during a particularly tough time in his life, how the words had given him the courage to keep going. Y/N listened, her eyes never leaving the screen, and for the first time, she saw the depth of his passion, the raw emotion that fueled his art.
When the video ended, she turned to him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I had no idea," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I never knew you felt like that."
Arthur took her hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles on her skin. "There's a lot you don't know about me," he said, his voice gentle. "And I want to show you."
The night stretched out before them, a canvas of unexplored possibilities. They talked, shared stories, and laughed—the kind of laughter that washed away the years of tension and left them feeling lighter, freer. It was a tentative start, a delicate dance of opening up to each other.
As they sat there, on the couch in Arthur's cluttered flat, surrounded by the detritus of his life, Y/N felt something within her shift. It was as though she had been holding her breath for years, and now, finally, she could exhale.
The kiss that followed was not driven by anger or spite. It was born of a newfound respect, a tentative curiosity that grew into a blaze of passion. Their lips met, and it was as though all the words they had left unsaid were finally finding their voice.
When they parted, Y/N's heart was racing, her cheeks flushed. She looked into Arthur's eyes and saw the same wonder reflected in his gaze. They had crossed a line, stepped into a place neither had dared to tread before.
"I don't know what this is," she murmured, her voice husky.
Arthur leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "Neither do I," he said. "But I know I don't want to let it go."
And so, with the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the window, they embraced the uncertainty, the thrill of the unknown. They had found something in each other that was more than just friendship or rivalry. It was a connection that defied logic, a bond forged in the fires of their shared pain and doubt.
As they sat there, holding each other tightly, Y/N felt the first stirrings of a love that had been buried beneath layers of contempt. It was a love that had been waiting for the right moment to emerge, a love that was as real and as raw as the music that filled Arthur's soul.
The future was uncertain, fraught with the potential for either heartbreak or a love that could surpass their wildest dreams. Yet, in that moment, all that mattered was the here and now. They decided to take it one day at a time, to build their relationship on a foundation of honesty and mutual respect.
The weeks that followed were filled with tentative smiles and gentle touches, as they both learned to navigate the new waters of their blossoming relationship. Y/N began to see Arthur not just as George's friend, but as a complex individual with his own fears and aspirations. She admired his dedication to his craft and the way he connected with his fans, bringing joy to the lives of so many.
Arthur, in turn, discovered the strength and resilience behind Y/N's sharp exterior. He saw the passion she brought to her work, the way she fought for what she believed in, even when the odds were stacked against her. Her ambition was no longer a source of irritation but a quality he found himself drawn to, a reminder that there was more to life than just his own small corner of the internet.
*****
Their first date was a simple walk along the South Bank, the Thames reflecting the soft glow of the setting sun. They talked about their hopes, their fears, and the moments that had shaped them into the people they were today. The conversation flowed as easily as the river beside them, and with each step, they grew closer.
Holding hands, they stumbled upon a small jazz club, the music spilling out onto the cobbled streets. Arthur looked at Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Dance with me?" he asked, leading her inside.
The intimate venue was crowded, but they found a spot near the stage. As the music swelled around them, they swayed together, lost in the rhythm and the warmth of their bodies. Y/N felt a sense of belonging she hadn't experienced in a long time, as though she had finally found a place where she truly fit.
Their relationship grew steadily, each moment revealing a new facet of the other. They discovered shared interests, like a love for obscure British sitcoms and a passion for long, meandering conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. The flat that had once been a battleground of snark and sarcasm now echoed with laughter and whispered secrets.
Yet, as much as they enjoyed their time together, the specter of their past remained. George, caught in the middle, watched with a mix of bewilderment and happiness as his sister and best friend grew closer. He knew the history of their animosity, the depth of the scars that still lingered beneath the surface.
One evening, as the three of them sat around Arthur's kitchen table, the tension grew thick. Y/N reached for Arthur's hand under the table, a silent plea for support. He squeezed it gently, a reminder that they were in this together.
"Look," Arthur said, breaking the silence. "We've all said things we regret. But we're trying to move forward. Can't we just… be happy for each other?"
George studied them, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. "I just want you two to be happy," he said. "But don't expect me to understand it."
Y/N and Arthur shared a look, a silent promise to navigate this new chapter with care. It was a step forward, a small but significant one. They knew they had a long way to go, but for now, they were content to simply enjoy the dance they had found themselves in.
*****
Taglist~
@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @pookietv
#fluff#angst#british youtubers#imagines#george clarkey#arthur hill#arthur hill x reader#arthur x reader
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100 little things I stayed alive for
Reflecting on the little things that kept me around when I didn’t want to be. It’s not wrong if the only thing you’re living for is trivial. Try to remember your own✨
Warm bed, cold room
The animals outside
My favorite artists releasing new content
My favorite creators releasing new content
Eating the dough when I bake
Seeing animals at the zoo
Growing plants
Laughter
Wearing my favorite outfit
Deep diving on a topic I’m into
Laying in the sunlight through the window
New funny memes
Dogs
Stuffed animals
Oversized sweatshirts
A really good meal
A really good sweet treat
Music that gives me chills
Colorful flowers
Spite
Curiosity
New books
Cool rocks
Low lighting
Vanilla candles
When the weather starts to cool
Waking up and realizing I have hours longer to sleep
Funny videos online
Leaning a new skill
Realizing I’m passionate about something
Rivers
Mountains
Pretty landscapes
Listening to a song/album on repeat
Sitting down after standing for a while
Bird nests
Crocheted clothes
Rain
Thunder
Clouds
Road trips
Winning bingo
Crunchy piles of leaves
Accidental jokes
Discovering new music
Petty revenge
Love (of anyone or thing)
A dog running to you
Finding a really good restaurant
Ice cream with a hot dessert
Cold water
Wholesome videos online
Finding something really cute on sale
Coloring
Writing
Late nights
Deep conversations
Discovering a new aspect to my personality
Sleeping
Odd compliments
Freaking out with a fandom
Slime
Dogs again
Blowing dandelions
Someone getting my reference
Dancing to music alone
Learning useless facts
Learning funny facts
Telling an anecdote someone is interested in
Learning to cook
Dogs again
Taking a photo of myself that I like
Gift giving
Getting gifts
Winning carnival games
Feeling free
The sound of streams
Baths
Doing my hair
Doing my makeup
Taking a pretty picture
Windy days
Seeing the stars
A child laughing or smiling to me
Decorating my water bottle
Wind chimes
Binging a good tv show
Homemade gifts
Ice cream trucks
Making someone laugh
Overcoming a fear
Making progress internally
Inside jokes
Finding something after searching for a while
When the world feels paused / not real
Finding a nice-feeling texture
Smooth drawing pens
Colorful sunsets
Waterfalls
A really good story
If none of these resonate enough to help, I implore you to come up with your own :)
#mental health#positivity#self care#mental illness#self help#recovery#ed recovery#actuallytraumatized#body positivity#mentally ill#actually mentally ill#work in progress#be kind to yourself#mentally unstable#bpd#self h@rm#thinspø#mentally tired#mentally fucked#tw self destructive behavior#tw ana bløg#ed relapse#traumacore#childhood trauma#trauma#depressing shit#baby cvts#tw s3lf harm#tw selfhate#cvtaddict
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Birds of a feather. [Sunset Trio x Human!Reader]
Implied Noa x Human!Reader
Song fic.
Fandom: (Kingdom Of The) Planet Of The Apes
Rating: No Warning.
A/N: I just had to write this song fic. Birds of a feather just screamed out the Sunset Trio.
I want you to stay
'Til I'm in the grave
'Til I rot away, dead and buried
'Til I'm in the casket you carry
You had never thought that you would up in this kind of situation before, you knew of hardship and bitterness in the unforgiving world outside of the Eagle Clan but you were unfamiliar with the soft look in Noa's eyes as he extended his hand out to help you out of the darkness that shrouded you, you could feel a tingle in your fingertips as you yearned to reach out in return for him, you were wanted by him and you badly wanted him too. It was like him and his clan were the missing pieces that you were looking for. You knew you just may be with them till the day you died.
If you go, I'm going too, uh
'Cause it was always you, alright
And if I'm turning blue, please don't save me
Nothing left to lose without my baby
You're willing to follow Noa anywhere. He was the light source that led you exactly where you are today. He was more than deserving of your loyalty, and you promised yourself that wherever he went, you would go too. You were aware of the risks he was taking when he took you in and tended to you as you lost all the will to live, it was like you were a baby bird that fell from it's nest and Noa revived you just so you could live to see the skies.
Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know
I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone
Can't change the weather, might not be forever
But if it's forever, it's even better
Seeing the relationship the trio had was something that you found yourself admiring, but it set an almost hollow aching in your chest. You've never bonded to others the way they have bonded with each other. A reserved expression settled on your face as you watched the teasing and happiness radiating of them, your thoughts engulfing you entirely. As your thoughts lured you away, an embrace pulls you back as you snap back to reality, Soona is gently leading you between them all with all the intention of you being one with them. Birds of a feather.
And I don't know what I'm crying for
I don't think I could love you more
It might not be long, but baby, I
In moments of seclusion you couldn't help the tears that refused to be held hostage in the depths of your eyes, your life wasn't an easy one and you've lost more than you've ever received. Being accepted into the Clan, into a tight-knit community of sorts, wasn't an expectation you could've had before, but now you're living in it. You obviously try not to get this emotional in front of the others. You don't want to throw them into a panicked frenzy.
I'll love you 'til the day that I die
'Til the day that I die
'Til the light leaves my eyes
'Til the day that I die
You ran in the opposite direction of the burly ape escaping his grasp, a breathless laugh escaping your lungs as you tried to keep away from the doom of being drenched into the river behind him. Noa was on all fours as he followed after you in another attempt to grab at you. Even though you weren't really fast, you were still very agile in your movements. You bobbed and weaved to your best abilities before he finally caught up to you, you playfully screaming in response to being scooped up by him. Anaya and Soona on the sidelines hooting and hollering at the scene before them, also running to the shallow river to join in on the splash out.
I want you to see, hm
How you look to me, hm
You wouldn't believe if I told ya
You would keep the compliments I throw ya
You watched as Soona easily weaved the twine between her dexterous yet thick fingers. You admired the way she eased the intricacies into the adornment she was invested in. She looked to you in between the process, she was amused by the wondrous look in your eyes as you watched her hands, your expression reminding her of a young chimp that was intrigued by something so mundane. "Soona, it looks so pretty!" You grinned seeing her obvious expertise in the craftsmanship, she preened at your compliment, happily indulging in your commendation.
But you're so full of shit, uh
Tell me it's a bit, oh
Say you don't see it, your mind's polluted
Say you wanna quit, don't be stupid
Noa would sometimes have to talk you down from your self-deprecating headspace. You felt less than deserving of the all good that's come into your life. He doesn't understand why you think that way, and he tells you that it's stupid and it makes you choke on your spit at the dubious tone he takes on in response to your conflicts. "Stupid. Echo belongs..with us." He says gruffly, a pout like expression overtaking his usually kind features. You can't help but shyly chuckle in response as you bump your shoulder with his fur covered one "Yeah, you're right. You're always right. "
And I don't know what I'm crying for
I don't think I could love you more
Might not be long, but baby, I
Don't wanna say goodbye
The tears slipped from your eyes as you looked into the communal fire that lay in front of you, Noa gaze was soft as he hesitantly wiped the stray tear with his calloused finger. You looked to him as he stared back at you wordlessly, you were uncertain if he completely understood the pain you carried but you knew for certain that he was willing to try as he searched your expression with his green irises. Your lips pulled back in a watery smile as you intertwined your smaller finger around his. He was recipient of that.
Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know ('til the day that I die)
I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone ('til the light leaves my eyes)
Can't change the weather, might not be forever ('til the day that I die)
But if it's forever, it's even better
You laughed as you watched Anaya hang upside down with his feet gripping the branch of the tree, he was handing you a ripe apple and you gratefully accepted his kind gift of the fruit, he always happily shared with you since you ate in smaller portions compared to him. As he looked at you, he tilted his head as a thought crossed his mind. You curiously gazed up at him. "Echo up?" He asked. You smiled as you outstretched your arm for him to take. He hoisted you up with his upper body strength plopping you down on the nearest sturdy branch. "Now Echo can reach apples too!".
I knew you in another life
You had that same look in your eyes
I love you, don't act so surprised
You knew that you loved them. They've become the highlight of your life. You loved Anaya like he was your brother, you loved Soona like she was your sister, and you love Noa with something more and you were unsure what it could mean but you knew that they were all meant to be apart of you in one way or another. You were accepted by them, and you accepted them too.
Birds of a feather.
#Spotify#planet of apes x reader#planet of the apes#noa x human reader#noa x reader#pota#reader insert#fanfic#fanfiction#owen teague#soona x reader#anaya x reader
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Elrond x Reader- Always Been Yours
Summary: You and Elrond have been close for many years because of your positions on the council. When an army of orcs unexpectedly attacks Lindon while Elrond is away in the dwarven kingdom, you become near-fatally wounded in battle. Elrond rushes home to find you barely alive, calling the name of your lover in your sleep. Little does he know you are dreaming of him.
Word count: 4.9k words
Warnings: Battle violence, fluff <3
#1- Always Been Yours
Spring had finally arrived in Lindon, and the air was thrumming with the promise of life. A fresh, warm breeze gently swayed the trees of the forest like a rebellious eddy on the open sea, lifting your long sleeves and carrying your voice to the sky. It wasn’t often that you sang on the palace grounds; while you had a beautiful voice, you never prided yourself in it, but the day was far too beautiful not to let it fill your heart with joy through song. You could almost sense the flowers readying to break the surface of the soil and taste the dew that would settle on their leaves.
You knelt next to a tree by the river, caressing the dirt with your fingers. Your mother had always said that the forest should be greeted as your dearest friend, for it was your greatest protector. As you ran your hand through the crystalline water, you could imagine her voice intertwining with yours, just like how you two would sing together all those years ago. Being here amongst the trees and the earth made you feel closer to her, as if her spirit lived on in the forest.
“I didn’t know you sang,” a familiar voice from behind lurched you from your thoughts. You turned around, already feeling the tips of your ears heat in embarrassment, to face your longtime friend.
“Anyone with a voice to speak can just as well sing, can they not?” You brushed loose dirt from your dress as you stood up.
Elrond smiled, glancing politely toward the ground. “Many can speak, but not many can sing like you. Please- don't stop on my account.”
“I’m afraid that is a song for the wind and water, not for the ears of well-meaning friends,” you teased.
“Then it would be best I said nothing at all,” said Elrond.
“And leave me to go on with silent listeners nearby? I think not.”
You stepped out onto the main path, Elrond falling in step beside you. Even though you were reluctant to let him hear your voice, you felt comfortable in every other way around him. You couldn’t help the little spark of gladness that flickered in your chest whenever he was near.
“What are you doing out here in the forest?” you asked, glancing sidelong at him. The sun was casting amber hues through his hair, making him look like a crowned prince.
“Looking for you,” he folded his hands behind him. “The High King Gil-galad is sending me to Forodwaith to establish terms of trade with Durin and the dwarves of Khazad-Dum. He expects me to leave in the morning.”
“So soon? It feels as if you just returned from your last journey,” you said, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of your voice. Seeming to hear it, he nodded regretfully.
“Apparently I was specifically requested by Durin. The High King fears he won’t negotiate terms with any elf other than I.”
“Ah, I see. The dwarf wants another excuse to see you.”
Elrond laughed good-naturedly. “I doubt that. I think I’m simply the one he wants to hit with his hammer the least.”
“You give yourself too little credit, Elrond. You have a spirit more kind and gentle than anyone I know. Even a dwarf can see that.”
He pinked in the cheeks. “And I think you give me too much credit, (Y/N). Besides, the kindest heart in Eriador certainly doesn’t belong to me. I’m afraid that title is taken by a particular elf-maiden with a lovely voice.”
A fluttering sensation enveloped your stomach, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling. “When do you think you’ll return?” you asked evenly.
“In a fortnight, perhaps. Though these trips always seem to take longer than initially planned. You know Disa’s hospitality.”
That you did. You considered the female dwarrow a dear friend. Your position as the general of the Sindarin army sometimes took you to distant lands across Middle-earth, and you had become acquainted with Disa in your travels long ago, before she had married Durin. Though you suspected you were in for a thorough scolding the next time you saw her, if Elrond’s account of Durin’s anger amounted to anything. Your kind were wont to lose track of the days, unlike the mortal races. It made you wonder how long it really had been since you’d seen Disa last.
“Give her the warmest tidings from me,” you said sincerely. “I miss her dearly. How I wish I could accompany you.”
“I wish much the same,” said Elrond bashfully, not meeting your eyes. “The road travel can be quite lonely and tedious at times.”
“Here.” You bent and plucked a white-plumed daylily from a bush that was rooted in the stream, handing it to him. “Keep it with you. When you feel alone, you can pull it out and think of me.”
He handled the flower reverently, as if you had bestowed upon him a precious jewel. He looked up at you, the sweetest, humblest smile gracing his features. “I most certainly shall.”
The two of you talked far into midday, wandering the forest and ignoring the existence of your duties. Your heart began to ache the more time you spent with him, however, knowing that he was bound to disappear once more, and all too soon you bid him goodbye. There were several things concerning the Sindarin warriors to discuss with the king, and Gil-galad was not one to be kept waiting.
You slept fitfully that night, Elrond’s face flashing in your mind every time you closed your eyes. You rose before the sun the next morning and raced as elegantly as possible to the road past the waterfall where Elrond was set to depart. Only the guards were awake, nodding respectfully to you as you passed. All of Lindon dutifully recognized your position as a war general even when you weren’t in your armor.
As periwinkle streaks of dawn bled across the sky, you nearly began to worry that you had missed him, but your worries ameliorated when you caught sight of his robes by the front gates. Elrond was loading his supplies onto his horse, his face turned away from you. Silently, you approached him from behind, hoping you didn’t appear as if you’d rushed out to meet him in a frenzy.
“Attempting to leave without saying goodbye, are we?” you said into the still morning air. Elrond looked up, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he tied one last knot around his knapsack. “I only wished for you to have as much rest as possible. It is early to be awake even for I.”
“So you may say.” One side of your mouth quirked up. “Is everything prepared?”
“Yes. All I need is to collect my will to mount this horse and leave Lindon behind.” His voice caught as he said Lindon, as if he were about to say you.
Your heart was buzzing inside your chest as if you were a restless bumblebee being separated from your flower. “Do not forget,” you reminded him softly, spotting the daylily tucked into his robe. You reached over and tenderly pressed the petals against his chest. “This flower means I am with you. You will be in my thoughts, Elrond.”
He held your gaze, his eyes filled with some deep emotion you couldn’t express. Gently, he grasped your hand and grazed your fingers with the barest of kisses. Physical affection was rare among your kind, particularly in public, though you sensed the only bystanders observing your interaction were the dandelions beneath your feet and the forest critters slipping between the trees.
“And you will be in my heart, (Y/N),” promised Elrond. He was the embodiment of a dulcet predawn dream, the kind you wanted to get lost in forever, to never wake up from. Yet you knew both his duties and yours were to the kingdom before they answered your own desires.
You gave his fingers a slight squeeze. “You will give Durin and Disa my best, will you not?”
He smiled. “I shall.”
“Do be safe. You have duties and friends to come back to, you know.”
“I will do my best,” he bowed. “I am sure my heart will ache with every step I take away from you.”
You parted, feeling as if you were forcing yourself awake from a pleasant dream, and watched as he mounted his horse and trotted away from the front gates. At the end of the path, he halted and turned to face you one last time.
“Goodbye, (Y/N),” he called.
“Goodbye, Elrond,” you returned, and didn’t allow yourself to blink until he had passed over the hill into the far reaches of the forest, where the trees seemed to lean down and caress him with their branches as if he were not simply an elf, but a king venturing into a distant land, riding away with your stolen heart.
*****
A harsh, screeching noise tore you from your sleep. With a jolt of panic, you bolted upright in bed, trying to collect your bearings. Liquid moonlight spilled through your leaf-paned window and leaked over the floor. You judged that it was a little over two hours past midnight. The horrible, dissonant noise seemed to come from all around you. You picked out the sound of Lindon’s warning bell from among the chaos, coupled with pained screams and the sound of something shattering.
In a heartbeat, you leaped out of bed and grabbed your silver-plated longsword by the door. You burst out of your room and flew down the stairs towards the commotion. The clanging noises intensified as you ran to the royal courtyard. You deduced the source before you saw them- orcs.
Dozens of the grisly fiends were pouring over the gates, brandishing crude, makeshift weapons and baring their black teeth. Several other elves had already arrived on the scene, defending against the attackers with deadly grace. Swords flashed and arrows flew under the silvery light of the moon, and blood the color of the night sky painted the ground before your eyes.
You seamlessly entered the battle, lopping the heads off one orc after the other, not stopping to ponder how or why the orcs were leading this raid. Your senses clicked into the mode of war, as familiar to you as breathing. Within seconds, you had effortlessly picked out the opening points of the battleground that were most concentrated by the enemy, and called out regiment orders as more of your brethren rushed into the courtyard. The few elves donning soldier’s gear hastened to obey your command.
You drove your sword into the gut of a nearby orc and sliced another in half at the waist. The rest of your thoughts fell away with every kill as you allowed your sword to become a part of you, as dexterous and fluid as an extension of your arm. Any sleepiness you might have felt was replaced by an acute focus of your surroundings.
You worked your way towards the gates to quell the flush of orcs streaming into your territory. With a spin, you dropped three of the beasts at once, moving with all the poise and accuracy of an elven warrior. As you did, you spotted Galadriel at the far side of the courtyard.
You had to step over the bodies of your victims to make berth towards her in the rushing sea, as if you were caught in a dangerous dance between life and death. “Galadriel!” you yelled. “How did this happen?”
“Someone has left the anterior parapets unfortified,” she called back, ducking to avoid a swinging club. “These gates were open when I arrived!”
“How can that be? There are guards stationed here day and night!”
“I do not know. The Dark Lord must have found out about our affairs in Númenor. We are at half our strength. He senses weakness.”
“He won’t find any,” you gritted your teeth. You stabbed a nearby orc in the neck and spun to avoid the spray of black blood. If the Dark Lord thought catching you off your guard would give him the advantage, you were prepared to prove him wrong.
“There is something adrift about this attack. Something...foul. Within the kingdom.”
You raised an eyebrow, though it was doubtful Galadriel could see it in the dark. “You think there is a traitor?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Or an intruder yet to be detected.”
This troubled you. You were the head of the Sindarin army. It was your job to keep the kingdom safe. If there was a spy under your nose, you would be the first to know about it. Yet with half the army stationed in the Southlands aiding the Númenorians, an attack could come from any side.
Irrationally, you found yourself becoming steeped in worry for Elrond. It had been days since his departure, and if this orc army had advanced in from the south, it was likely Elrond may have crossed paths with them. While he was more than a capable warrior, standing alone against an entire army wouldn’t be easy even for you. You hoped he had already made it to Khazad-Dum...
Suddenly you cried out in alarm. While you were worrying about Elrond, an orc had approached on your left flank and slashed you across the shoulder.
Focus, you reprimanded yourself. Do not forget the battle in front of you.
You dispatched the orc quickly and kicked the dismembered helmet away. Then Galadriel screamed. You whirled around to come face-to-face with the largest orc you had ever seen.
It was almost twice your size, and armed with a cruel-looking blade. Its armor was detached in places, as if it had outgrown its battle garments too fast for them to be replaced. Galadriel had taken a swipe at the exposed part of its hide, but her sword had lodged in its armor on an angle. In a blink, the orc slammed both its fists into her arm, emitting a sickening crack.
Her sword dropped to the dirt. You rushed to her side, ferociously stabbing your sword through its calf. The orc roared in pain and slashed at you with its blade. You deflected and thrust upward at its chest, but its height momentarily gave it leverage. It swung again and you narrowly dodged what could have been a fatal slice to the throat.
“Archers, to me!” you yelled over the din of battle. Two elves equipped with bows and arrows raced toward you, taking aim. “On my count!”
You pressed forward, trying to prompt the orc to step into the open. Galadriel took position on your right, one of her arms hanging limply at her side. Together you attacked as fiercely as you could. You needed to wound it somehow and step out of range for your archers to have a clear shot. Any head shots would be futile against its obsidian helmet.
You moved to the left, trying to keep it distracted, but the orc was swiping at you with its sword in one hand and swatting at Galadriel with the other. You ordered the archers to fire, but most of the arrows struck harmlessly over the thick armor. The ones that buried in its skin didn’t seem to slow it down at all.
With a growl, the orc hobbled forward and shoved Galadriel to the ground. She cried out as she landed on her broken arm. Without hesitation, you lunged to put yourself between her and your attacker. It raised its blade above its head.
“Fire!” you screamed at the archers, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow down. Arrows flew. Your sword glinted in the light of the moon, sending the world up in a flash of white, and you swung.
There was a thump and you looked to see the orc’s meaty arm lying in the grass, separated from its body. Its crooked fingers were no longer clasped around its blade. You blinked and gasped, suddenly hit with a wave of pain, and looked down to see that the blade was buried in your stomach.
One of the archer’s arrows struck clean through the orc’s bare neck, and it was dead before it hit the ground. The sound of it rattled your brain. You felt blood gushing from your torso and trickling down the front of your white nightgown. Your hands grasped the hilt of the orcish blade, but you didn’t have the strength to dislodge it. Your knees gave out and you crumpled.
Galadriel was frantically calling out your name, but her voice soon melded into the sounds of swords clashing and orcs roaring in the battlefield around you. Your vision went blurry, your lungs desperately searching for air; you were drowning, and all you could see was red before the night itself bled over the trees, overtaking your body completely.
*****
Elrond rode on a steed of wind and rain. The sky over the next range of hills was darkening so quickly it was as if clouds of ink had been spilled from the heavens, leaking down to the earth in the form of icy droplets that stung his eyes and soaked through his cloak. His heart was pounding in tune with the beat of his horse’s hooves on the soil. Desperately, he pressed one hand against his heart, where (Y/N) had tucked the daylily. He had taken it out each morning of his journey and run his fingers over its soft petals, knowing that with every step he was farther away from her, but feeling her presence in his mind at the very thought of her face.
He pictured her now and fervently prayed that she was unharmed. Elrond had only been in the dwarven kingdom two days when Durin informed him of the attack on Lindon. The report hadn’t come with many details, only word of casualties among the elves. Elrond was trying to ignore the fact that (Y/N) would have been on the front lines, leading the defense.
He urged his horse faster. Lindon’s sunset-orange elm trees came into view. He sped into the kingdom, past the gates, and into the royal courtyard. The midnight battle occurred over a day ago, but Elrond could still see the bloodstains painting the ground, a canvas saturated with too much color. He averted his eyes as he dismounted his horse and rushed into the palace.
Lindon’s exquisite halls, which usually shimmered with magic and light, were opaque and desolate, echoing the sound of thunder and rain pattering against marble. No one was about roaming the palace grounds. It almost seemed that the kingdom was deserted.
He spotted Gil-galad as he turned the corner, standing in the hall outside the infirmary. The High King, usually so serious and serene, was gazing in concern at the inside of the room.
“My King,” Elrond said as he approached. “I came as soon as I heard of the attack.”
Gil-galad nodded solemnly. “The Dark Lord sees too much. I’m afraid if he were to advance again, with double the forces, we may not be able to hold our position for long.”
“Our army. Is it...?”
“Intact? Yes. Yet not entirely stable. All we can do is wait and recover.”
“And the wounded?”
The King looked at Elrond and in his eyes was utter sorrow. “Perhaps you should go in.”
Elrond bowed, feeling as though his thoughts were laid bare. With his heart in his throat, he steeled his emotions and stepped into the infirmary.
It was a wide, circular room, the far side bordered by an arched veranda that opened out onto a terrace with a view of the waterfalls. Curtains of leaves were draped over the arches to keep out the rain, cloaking the room in dim light. Cots layered with forest-green silk were placed evenly about the space. Nearly every one was occupied by a wounded elf. A handful of healers moved about the room, pressing cold cloths to foreheads and spoon-feeding herbal concoctions. A scatter of lit candles cast the place in a sleepy red hue like blood washing away in a river.
Elrond walked among the wounded. Most of them were familiar faces. Some had sheets pulled over their heads. Others were so scarred and bloodied or covered in salve that he couldn’t recognize them. But there was one elf he was searching for in particular.
He found her on a cot by the far wall. Her face was so gray that she looked on the verge of melting into a puddle of raindrops. Heavy gauze was wrapped around her navel up to her sternum. Her hands rested peacefully at her sides.
Elrond’s heart broke at the very sight of her. (Y/N) looked so drained, so lifeless- the stark opposite of the lively elf maiden he knew.
He lowered into the chair at her side and took her hand in his. Her fingers were like ice. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, he whispered, “I’m here, hiril vuin. It’s me.”
She didn’t stir. Elrond could almost imagine that she was a statue made of marble, carved by a delicate hand, framed in stormy light. Her breathing was so shallow it was hard to believe she was alive at all.
Elrond didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her unmoving form. He murmured sweet nothings under his breath as he stroked her palm, as if his whispers would coax her from her sleep.
A healer came by at some point to check up on (Y/N), but there wasn’t much to do besides dab her forehead with a cloth and make her as comfortable as possible. The healer hummed an old elven healing song over her before moving on.
“Come back to me,” Elrond whispered as soon as the healer was out of earshot. “You are the light in my life, (Y/N). I cannot walk the darkness alone.”
He reached into his cloak and brought out the daylily. The tips of its petals were wilting, as if responding to the condition of its giver. He leaned over and tucked the flower into (Y/N)’s hair. “There was never a moment you escaped my thoughts,” he said. “You, nin lilui, my daylily, are my dearest friend. Yet you are also so much more.” A tear traced its way down his cheek and dripped onto her fingers. Elrond caressed her cheek, his voice breaking. “You are so much more to me.”
He stayed by her side as the night passed. Soon enough rogue streaks of dawn shone through the curtains. Weariness and heartache weighed him down, but he couldn’t sleep while she was like this. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her eyelids like she was trapped in a dream and couldn’t find the way out.
Elrond pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Dawn is here, nin lilui. Do not let the darkness claim you.”
(Y/N) made a sound in the back of her throat. Her brow furrowed in pain. “Nin onlui mel...”
Elrond sat up straight. He searched her face for signs of life. “(Y/N)?”
She mumbled unintelligibly in Elvish. Elrond’s heart raced. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s Elrond. I’m here.”
“Nin onlui mel,” she muttered. “Mi van me, nin mel...”
Where are you, my love?
Emotions clouded Elrond’s mind in a swift blur. She was on the verge of consciousness. She was going to be okay. His daylily hadn’t left him. And yet a bitter taste filled his mouth.
She was calling out for her true love. And it wasn’t him.
*****
You ran through an endless forest. Black trees like twisting claws kept bursting from the dirt, redirecting your path. The hungry screams of your enemies echoed from all sides, and you spun in confusion and fear, unsure where to run. You had no weapon. Your nightgown was drenched in blood. Your heart beat frantically in your chest like you were a wild, hunted animal.
You followed the line of trees, but shadows formed illusions in the darkness. The trees seemed to grasp at you, pulling your hair, tearing your clothes. Everything looked the same. There was no way out.
The screams sounded closer now. You turned and ran, but the ground was wet and you slipped. When you got to your knees, you realized you had fallen in a pool of your own blood.
Your vision was hazy, but you could see vicious shapes snarling and snapping out of the corner of your eye. You felt so weak, so tired. Looking up at the gray sky, you were ready to give up hope.
“Elrond,” you sobbed. You yearned for him with an aching you couldn’t express. The thought of him was like sunlight in this dark place. Your Elrond- kind as summer, gentle as a breeze. “Where are you?”
Your enemies howled, and the world was then no more.
*****
You didn’t remember opening your eyes.
At first, you weren’t sure what was a dream and what was reality. The shadows seemed to linger around your body, their wispy hands trailing against your skin. Your head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. The gray sky had disappeared, and the light of day was pouring into the room from somewhere.
You blinked, feeling like your eyelids were made of iron. Your entire body ached. An incisive pain ripped through your stomach as you woke, bringing your surroundings into focus. You laid on a cot in the infirmary. Sitting to your left was an elf with tousled brown hair.
“Elrond?” you groaned. It was as if your throat had been charred with firewood.
"(Y/N),” he sat forward, holding your hand. In his eyes were a million emotions. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
The sight of him was going to make you cry. “Oh, Elrond.”
He quickly poured you a glass of water and held it to your lips. “Drink this.”
You obliged, though just the movement of your neck set your torso on fire. You had been wounded in battle countless times, though never as bad as this.
“You came back for me,” you said. Your voice sounded scratchy to your own ears.
Elrond looked on the verge of tears. He smiled at you, and despite your pain, giddiness fizzed in your veins. “No sooner had I been in Khazad-Dum two days when Durin gave me word of the attack. I set off again that same hour. I came as fast as I could.” He looked down. “(Y/N), I am so sorry.”
“Elrond,” you reached out and cupped his face. “I am a soldier. Battles happen. Warriors fall. Nothing is your fault.”
He closed his fingers around yours. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were drawn and his hair was a tangled mess. You had the urge to run your fingers through it.
“(Y/N),” he said carefully, “What were you dreaming of?”
You closed your eyes again, remembering the figures in the darkness, the gnarled trees moving you about the forest like a ghost, the way you were drenched in blood.
“I thought I was dead,” you responded weakly. “There was darkness, and I was lost- there was so much blood...”
“You were calling out for someone in your sleep,” he said softly.
“I was? W-who?”
You saw the answer in his eyes before he spoke. “’Nin onlui mel.’”
Silence like an ocean stretched between you two. You turned to face the terrace, where the curtains had been pulled back to provide you with a view of the waterfall. “My true love,” you translated, unable to look at him.
He let go of your hand, placing it at your side. He didn’t speak for a long time. The silence was devastating.
Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore. “Elrond-”
“(Y/N)-”
You turned to face him again. He didn’t meet your eyes.
“It would be a lie to say some part of my heart does not ache,” he said. “Yet the desire of my heart is for you to be happy. I will not get in the way of your devotion to another.”
You tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced you back down. “Elrond, I don’t understand.”
“I am sorry if I have been a bother. It was foolish of me to think...to think with such selfishness.”
“What are you saying?”
He glanced at you. “Whoever he is, as much as I wish not to be, I am, shamefully, envious. I only hope that you can forgive me.”
“No.” You shook your head. “No, Elrond, you don’t understand. There isn’t someone else.” You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Nin onlui mel. It’s you. It’s always been you.”
His expression matched himself on the day you’d given him the daylily- as if your small kindness was as valuable to him as sparkling treasure. “Me?”
You nodded. “I cannot help it. You are the water to my soil; you have made spring bloom once more in my heart where I thought it not possible. You give me hope. My soul longs for you, nin mel. I love you as I love life.”
Tears fell from his eyes. He was beautiful. He brushed a stray curl from your face and murmured, “And to truly live is to love. Will you allow me to love you with all of myself?”
“My love,” you whispered, “I cannot live any other way.”
His lips were soft as he kissed your temple. He leaned his forehead against yours, and in that moment, you had the world.
Masterlist
#elrond x reader#rings of power x reader#lotr x reader#trop elrond x reader#lotr#the hobbit#elrond fanfiction#elrond imagine
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