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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year ago

Text

Honey Girl.

Synopsis - The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5.1k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content towards the end. mild alcohol consumption. age gap. smut in next chapter(s).

Author's Note - part one is finally here!! thank you so much to everyone who asked to be tagged, and who liked and reblogged the masterlist. i am SO excited to share this with you. i've built this world in my head and trust me it is gorgeous - salty ocean breezes, sunsoaked sailboats and billowing white linen shirts. i hope you can lose yourself in my little seaside town with bucky for the time it takes you to read this, just as i did while writing it. i can't wait to write more of this series for you x

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Requests. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

next chapter (two).

Tethering /tɛð(ə)rɪŋ/

An event in which two soulmates are bound together forever. Only occurs when the Universe decides it is time. No sooner, no later.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The gentle ocean breeze gives you a moment of respite from the scorching sun that's beating down. You're half asleep, laying on the cool tile of your balcony when your phone rings.

"Babe! Babe! Babe!"

"Lacie? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I am freaking out right now, oh my god. I didn't know who to call. You'll never guess what just happened to me!"

You can guess. In fact, you already have.

Lacie's Tethering. It's finally happened.

You're taught, growing up, that your Tethering is the biggest moment of your life. It shapes who you are forever. Sets you on your eternal path. You're presented with your soulmate in a big display of love and affection and metaphorical fireworks. It's supposed to be magical.

You wish people would shut up about it.

The World seems to be split into two categories - the people that have been Tethered, and the people that haven't.

You fall into the latter.

You're repeatedly told it'll happen one day. It'll happen when the time is right. It'll happen when you least expect it.

You're not sure you ever want it to happen.

The idea that the Universe determines the person you're with forever has never sat right with you. What happened to free will? What happened to personal preference? You believe you should at least have a choice in the matter. It's your future, after all.

Not everyone shares the same sentiment.

"Babe, you still there?"

Lacie's excitement filled voice pulls you back to reality.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you busy? Can you meet me for coffee, like, now?"

You take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on your face.

"Sure. I'll see you in ten."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Oh my god babe, it was just incredible! You won't even believe it. There's nothing like it, truly."

You remind yourself quickly that Lacie is your best friend, and that you owe it to her to be happy for her. Personal feelings about soulmates aside.

"Tell me all about it, Lace!" you encourage, grabbing a hold of her hand excitedly.

The blonde girl squeals before shuffling closer to you, pressing her knees against yours.

"Okay, so. Picture this. I'm at my gym, doing my usual routine. I'm wearing my super cute pink Lulu Lemon set, you know the one with the flowers?"

She waits for you to nod in affirmation before she continues.

"So, I accidentally drop a weight on the ground, and it makes the biggest noise. I'm super embarrassed, and I'm trying to pick it up, but it's so heavy. And then, the hottest guy I have ever seen appears. Like, seriously gorgeous."

As much as you despise the whole soulmate thing, you can't deny how happy Lacie seems. She's almost vibrating with it, bouncing up and down in her seat.

"He comes over and picks it up for me, sets in back on the rack. And then he introduces himself, and shakes my hand, and it happened."

"What was it like?" you smile, eager for her to carry on.

"Like fucking magic."

You've heard that before. A million times. From literally everyone. Surely it can't be that magical if billions of people have experienced it.

"Magic?" you prompt.

"It is indescribable, babe. It's like... it's like everything just falls into place. Like everything finally makes sense!"

She jumps out of her chair, hugging you tightly. She's practically sat on your lap in the coffee shop, but neither of you really care.

"So, what's his name? What's he like?"

"His name is Cameron. He's new in town, he just moved here for work. He's a personal trainer, so he's like, super fit. And gorgeous. Did I mention gorgeous?"

"Maybe once or twice," you laugh.

"I'm so happy," Lacie whispers, emotion choking her voice. "I can't believe it finally happened. This is the day I've been waiting for since I was a little girl."

You hug her tighter, and ignore the look you get from the barista.

"I love you," she declares, suddenly serious. "You know that me being Tethered now doesn't change that, right?"

"I know," you confirm. "I love you too, Lace. I'm really happy for you."

You genuinely mean it. Lacie has talked about meeting her soulmate every day since you met her in the 3rd grade. You may have never quite shared her enthusiasm, but you admire her passion. And you adore her, more than anyone.

"So, what now? Are you gonna get married tomorrow and run off into the sunset?"

"I'm choosing to ignore your sarcasm because I know you're using it as a coping mechanism," she tells you pointedly. "And I know that there's a tiny part of you that wishes you'd been Tethered already, so you don't have to deal with everyone talking to you about it."

Jackpot. She's read you like a book.

"No, we're not getting married tomorrow," she rolls her eyes before continuing, "but we are going on a real date tonight. We're gonna get dinner and get to know each other. Isn't this crazy? I'm going on a date with the guy I'm gonna be spending the rest of my life with!"

"That is kinda crazy, actually," you laugh. "What are you gonna wear?"

"It doesn't matter - we're going to be together forever anyway!"

You make Lacie promise to send you a picture of her outfit as you're leaving the coffee shop, which she agrees to with glee. On your way home, you pick up some of your Mom's favourite wine, and prepare yourself for another soulmate based conversation that will inevitably happen when you tell your parents the events of the day at dinner tonight.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Hi, sweetheart!" your Dad beams as you step through the front door of your childhood home.

"Hey, Dad," you greet, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. "Where's Mom? I brought wine."

"Kitchen," he gestures with a nod of his head. "She's making that mango dessert you like."

Walking into your Mother's kitchen is like dipping your feet into a pool on a scorching hot day. The windows are propped open, curtains billowing softly in the wind. The ocean breeze drifts through the room, ruffling your Mom's dress and floating the hair away from her face. The evening sun beams in, illuminating the space with a golden glow. It smells like fresh fruit, mint, and salt water. It's a haven.

"Hi, Mama."

"Oh, my love! Just in time. I was about to call you to see if you were alright."

She makes her way over to you and kisses you on the head swiftly, before walking to the cabinet to grab wine glasses.

"Sorry I'm a little later than I said. I changed my outfit three times - it's warmer than I thought it was going to be."

"I know! Summer, finally. We've been waiting long enough."

She takes the bottle of wine from your hand and pours it into the glasses.

"You've poured four, Mama."

"Didn't your Dad tell you? Bucky's joining us for dinner."

"Oh. No, he didn't mention anything."

"He's back from his vacation. He promised he'd show us all of the pictures he took!"

She grabs the glasses and floats out of the room, leaving you alone in the kitchen, thoughts of Bucky Barnes swirling around like dust in the sunlight.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.

Your Dad's best friend.

They met a few years ago, when Bucky moved to town. He said he was looking for something quieter, sick of city living. He wanted to slow down a bit, finally take a breath.

He was out for a run around town, getting his bearings, when he stopped your Dad on the driveway to ask about his car. They bonded over their love for motorcycles and vintage vehicles, and the rest is history.

Bucky's been a regular fixture in your life for so long, you can't remember a time before. All you know, is that it was probably a little more peaceful. His boyish charm is infectious, bringing out the youth in your Dad. They're like teenagers, when they're together. Long lost frat brothers, your Mom jokes.

She's got a soft spot for him. Most people do. It might have something to do with the fact he's devastatingly handsome.

It's no secret that Bucky Barnes is a ladies man. He is without even trying. He's charming, gorgeous, funny in all the right ways. He's mysterious, but not disarming. Tough, but not scary. Rebellious, but not a liability. He's a catch.

A catch, with a taste for beautiful women.

Your Dad always jokes that he's the towns most eligible bachelor. You can't count on two hands the amount of women you know that have dated him - but nothing seems to stick. He isn't Tethered, after all.

Some people choose not to date, if they haven't met their soulmate. They wait and wait, and when the time comes, they're complete. Others take pleasure in dating before it happens. Might as well make the most of the freedom, Bucky said once. You can't help but agree.

Might as well make the most of the freedom.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Hey, buddy!" you hear from the hallway. You make your way out of the kitchen to be met with the sight of Bucky, sun-kissed and practically glowing. His hair has a few light streaks from the sun, and the faint freckles on his cheeks are more prominent now. His steel blue eyes meet yours, mischief rife in them.

"Hi, honey," he greets, draping an arm around your shoulders. He kisses you on the cheek, light stubble scratching your skin. You throw an arm around his back and look up at him.

"There's no way this tan is natural," you tease, nudging him slightly.

"It makes me even more gorgeous, doesn't it?" he jokes, winking at you. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go, grabbing a bottle of wine from his bag.

"I brought your favourite, Lori."

"So did I," you echo, laughing.

"Great minds, honey. Great minds!"

"You can never have too much wine," your Mom yells out from the kitchen doorway. "Bring it in here, Buck. I'll put it in the refrigerator."

"Yes ma'am," he obliges, making his way to her with a smile on his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Guess what happened today," you begin, in between bites of your strawberry salad.

The three of them look at you intently, urging you to continue.

"Lacie got Tethered."

"How exciting!" your Mom squeals.

"That's a long time coming," Bucky chimes in. You look at him and smirk.

"Tell me about it."

"Here we go," your Dad smiles. "Our two anti soulmate protestors."

"Don't make it sound so political," Bucky laughs. "She's the only one that gets it."

"I've said it a thousand times, and I'll say it again. Just. You. Wait," your Mom lectures. "The two of you don't get it."

"Magic, fireworks, eternal love, blah blah blah. Trust me, I get it."

"She gets it," Bucky echoes. "And so do I. The Universe decides our fate, and we get no choice whatsoever. I don't believe in it, is all. I have no faith in the system. I should get to choose."

"But you feel like you are choosing," your Dad defends. "It didn't feel like it was being determined for me. It's hard to explain."

"It's just so... backwards," you justify. "I can't believe we live in a Universe where we have all the choices in the world, but don't get to choose the person we spend the rest of our lives with."

"It's worked out pretty well for us," your Mom smiles.

And it has. The first thing anyone notices when they meet your parents is that they are undeniably in love. You've never met two people more perfect for each other - which should solidify your belief in the Universe, really. But it doesn't. You can't explain where your lack of faith in it came from. It just appeared one day, and you haven't been able to shake it since. You're grateful every day to have two Tethered, happy, smitten parents. You've seen how hard it is for people with Untethered Mothers and Fathers. The judgment, the uncertainty, the hushed whispers. It sounds unbearable.

"Yes it did," your Dad confirms, shaking you from your thoughts. He reaches for your Mom's hand and kisses the back of it tenderly, eyes never once leaving hers. You look to Bucky next to you, who smiles at you gently. Feelings about soulmates aside, the both of you love these two people sat across the table with all your heart.

"Trust me, sweetheart," your Mom begins. "I know you're against the idea now - God knows I was the same at your age. But when it happens, you'll forget about all of your rebellion. You'll just be happy."

You nod in agreement, praying for the conversation to be over. As if he can read your mind, Bucky pipes up.

"Let me show you some pictures from Italy. I did promise I would."

You shoot him a grateful look before picking up your empty wine glass and making your way to the kitchen for a refill.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The dining room is now lit solely by candlelight, wax dripping onto the white lace tablecloth like condensation on a cold glass. The sun fell asleep hours ago, the four of you enjoying each others company with no regard for time.

"Oh, shit. It's late," your Dad says suddenly.

"You got big late night plans?" you tease.

"We have Clara and Mike's wedding at the weekend, so we're flying out tomorrow. We should probably get some sleep, so we're not exhausted."

Your Mom rises from her chair and kisses you on the head, before grabbing the dessert bowls from the table. Your Dad helps, smiling every time his hand brushes hers accidentally.

"Thanks for coming, kiddo. Your place next week?"

"Of course. I think I'll try that salmon recipe you sent me."

"Can't wait," your Dad assures you, giving you a one sided hug. He squeezes you once before letting you go to grab your shoes.

You can hear your parents saying their goodbyes to Bucky as you tie your laces, smoothing out the skirt of your dress as you stand. They all join you in the hallway, Bucky leaning over to grab his jacket from behind you. Fuck, he smells good.

"Have a great time at the wedding, you guys. Send me pictures, please!" you say as you hug your Mom goodbye.

"We will! Drive home safe, the both of you!"

They shut the door softly, leaving you and Bucky stood on the porch. The evening air chills your bare legs, salt in the breeze sticking to your lips.

"Where's your car?" he asks, looking around.

"Oh, I walked. It was a nice day, and I'm trying to be a little greener. Save the planet, and all," you chuckle.

"You want a ride, then?" he offers, leaning against the side of his truck.

"Uh - maybe," you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You feel antsy, for some reason. There's a buzz flowing through your veins, making you a little restless.

"Maybe?" he smirks.

"I just, I'm not sure if I wanna go home yet. It might be that I've had three glasses of wine, but I'm kinda... jittery? Think I need to burn off some energy. Maybe I'll walk home."

"Like hell you will," he grumbles.

You quirk a brow in confusion.

"It's dark, and all those college kids are in town on their break. I don't trust 'em."

You fight to keep the grin off your face. You weirdly like it when Bucky gets protective. He's always so calm, so relaxed - it takes a lot to rile him up. He looks hot with a clenched jaw.

"Why don't we go somewhere?"

"Where?" you ask tentatively.

"I don't know," he thinks for a second. "How about the beach?"

You smile, gazing at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"I fucking love the beach."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The ocean waves break the shore steadily, the repetitive pattern calming you both. You're sat on the sand, grains slipping through your hands where you're pouring it out through your fingers. The light of the moon reflects off the surface of the sea, illuminating the abandoned cove. It's just you, Bucky, and the night sky.

The alcohol in your system has evened you out, warm buzz keeping you sheltered from the chill. Bucky's stretched out next to you, strong arms folded underneath his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a slither of sun kissed skin. You pretend not to notice his Adonis belt, or the little trail of hair that leads down into his waistband.

The silence is easy, comfortable. You don't get to hang out like this often, just the two of you. It's nice.

A notification on your phone breaks through the tranquility. You both flinch.

"Sorry," you mutter, checking the screen. "It's Lacie, telling me about her perfect date."

He chuckles lowly at your tone, sitting up to look at you.

"This is hard for you, isn't it?" he asks. "You hate the whole soulmate thing, but you like seeing her happy."

Bingo. It's like he's read your mind.

"I don't know why I hate it so much" you confess quietly. "It's a part of life. I can't avoid it. I just think - what if... what if I'm like, the exception, or something? What if I never meet my soulmate - or - what if I meet them when I'm like, seventy? That happens, you know! And then I'll be fucking cursed to spend my entire life feeling like this."

"And what is this?"

"Hopeless. That's what this is. I just feel pretty fucking hopeless."

You're not sure why you're baring your soul to Bucky tonight. You could blame the wine, but you know that's not what it is. Maybe it's because he seems to be the only one that understands.

"Me too," he whispers.

You whip your head around to stare at him in shock. He laughs at the look on your face, and continues.

"You're young - you have time. I'm forty in a couple of years. Every single one of my friends is married to their soulmate - except for me."

You bite at your lip nervously, but refuse to tear your eyes away from his steel blue ones. His face is lit by the glow from the moon, and it takes your breath away for a second. He looks almost ethereal.

"You always act so... unbothered. I didn't realise... I guess I just, I didn't -" you try to gather your thoughts before continuing. "This fucking sucks, huh?"

He laughs with his whole chest, and you're convinced the sound is so special, so rare, that you should bottle it. Sell it as medicine. It'd cure anything, you're sure of it.

"Yeah, it does," he agrees with a chuckle. "It's the waiting around that's the worst part. The unknown. It could be minutes, it could be decades. I just don't know."

"At least for now, we have each other," you joke.

"Every cloud has a silver lining, huh?" he teases, nudging you with his shoulder.

You allow your weight to press into his side a little, leaning in. He's warm, and he's familiar, and in this moment, he understands you better than anyone else in the world.

"We'll be okay, honey," he murmurs. "It'll all work out the way it's supposed to."

You close your eyes, and allow his words and the breaking waves to calm your nerves. Bucky wraps an arm around you, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're not sure if it's the honest conversation, or the brisk ocean breeze, but you've sobered up in record time. Your body registers this, and sends a shiver down your spine.

"You cold?" Bucky asks you. "You wanna go home?"

"Not yet," you whisper. "Not yet."

He shrugs off his worn brown leather jacket and slips it over your shoulders. It smells so strongly of him that it makes you dizzy. Bucky settles back down in his original place, returning his arm to where it was draped over you. His rough fingertips rub patterns into the material that now covers your arms, and you wish, for a fleeting moment, that it was your bare skin instead.

"You been working on anything new recently?" he enquires in a hushed tone, careful not to ruin the atmosphere.

"I made a damn good batch of macarons yesterday," you reply, beaming smile etched across your face. "Raspberry and lemon. I'll bring you some, next time I pass the Garage. You're gonna love them."

"You know, I think the only reason I ever get Mechanic of the Month is because you bring by all of your sweet treats."

You laugh melodiously, and the sound makes Bucky's heart stutter in his chest without warning.

"Happy to be of service," you tease. "I take requests, too, if you ever want something specific. Just let me know."

"You're the best, sugar."

You sink into Bucky's hold a little, daring to rest your head on his shoulder. When he doesn't stop you, you exhale, and relax even more.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asks.

"Nope. You?"

"Nah. I'm going sailing, finally. It's been way too fuckin' long," he grumbles. "Your Dad's usually my right hand man, but he'll be in Ohio. You wanna come?"

The idea of laying on the deck of a boat in the blazing sunshine with a shirtless Bucky Barnes sounds like heaven. Who could say no to an offer like that?

"Yeah, of course. I'll bring a picnic, if you like. It's the least I can do."

"Sounds perfect," he replies, squeezing your shoulder.

Suddenly, he rises to his feet, extending a hand out to you. You grab it, and he pulls you up, the both of you shaking sand off yourselves.

"It's late, and dark, and a little cold. You ready to go?"

You nod your head, and make your way over to his truck, ignoring the heat that blooms over your chest when he opens the passenger door for you before his own.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Thank you, for tonight," you say as he pulls up in front of your apartment building.

"Thank you," he replies, killing the engine. "It's nice to have you back, you know. Wondered if you were gonna finish college and stay out there in California. Thought we might not see you again."

He almost sounds... relieved. The idea that he might have missed you if you didn't return effects you more than it should.

"I liked it there, but... I don't know. My family's here. I'm only twenty three. I've got time to move around the country. I missed this place too much when I was away."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," he chuckles.

"I know, trust me. They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Yeah, they say a lot of fuckin' things," he jokes.

Bucky swings his door open, hopping down from the drivers seat. He makes his way over to your side, holding out a hand so you can jump out.

"Careful," he warns. "It's higher than it looks."

You grab his hand, and step onto the metal sill. Your foot slips slightly, sending you tumbling down and forward, out of the truck. Luckily, Bucky catches you, one hand in yours, other on your hip.

"Woah, easy. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you breathe.

He places his hands on your cheeks and cradles your face, searching for any signs of distress. You place your palms over his, silently reassuring him.

And then, it happens.

Warm, golden, molten electricity surges through your veins, lighting up each and every one of your nerve endings. Your surroundings explode into glorious technicolour, everything suddenly brighter and more vibrant. It feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest, only to be replaced by one that beats in a slightly different rhythm. There's flowers blooming in your ribcage, new life happening inside of you. You catch eyes with Bucky, expecting to see his stormy blue ones looking back at you. Instead, all you see is your future.

Vivid, flashing images of Bucky Barnes fill your mind, each one of them tinted with a warm, rosy hue. You feel like you're being reinvented. Your skin is alive, hyperaware of the way Bucky's palms are still gently cupping your cheeks. Your fingertips tingle with anticipation where they rest on his, itching to touch every inch of him. You feel as if the oxygen has been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with love.

Your knees are the first to buckle, the weight of the moment taking you down. You hit the ground, and so does Bucky, his palms not once leaving your face. You're both kneeling on the warm concrete, ocean waves providing a distant soundtrack. Blood is rushing in your ears, and you wonder for a second if you're about to pass out. You squeeze Bucky's hands so hard, it's a miracle you don't break his fingers. He squeezes back, eyes locked on one another.

After what feels like an eternity, you both break out of your reverie. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Bucky's, both of you panting.

You're trying to catch your breath unsuccessfully. You move one of your hands to rest on Bucky's chest, right on his heart. You swear the steady beat of it spells out your name.

He mirrors you, and moves his own hand to rest above your frantic heart, the other still glued to your cheek. You both breathe, in and out, trying to match each other. When you finally do, it's as if time stops. It's just you and Bucky. One heartbeat. One soul.

You break away from him to look into his eyes again. They look different, you think. He looks different.

He gazes back at you, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The moonlight dances off your faces, illuminating the moment both your lives changed forever.

"It's you," he breathes in disbelief.

A laugh escapes your chest, surprising you both. He chuckles with you, and before you know it, the both of you are in hysterics, sitting on the sidewalk at three in the morning.

"Of course it's me," you giggle. "The two people that hate soulmates, Tethered together. You couldn't write it."

Bucky grins at you, clutching at his stomach.

You both take a breath, and realise your surroundings. Bucky gets up first, heaving you up by your arms. He towers over you, suddenly close. Not close enough, you decide. Never close enough.

You lunge forward and crash your lips to his. Bucky instinctively wraps one arm around your back, moving his other hand to hold you by the back of your neck. He tastes like salt and spearmint and every kiss for the rest of your life.

Bucky presses himself into you, attempting to tangle your bodies together. He wants to feel every inch of you against his skin, willing you to come closer. He aches to climb into you, sew himself into your ribcage. He'd be content to live there, beating your heart, forever.

You whine, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You tilt your head back, and fist your hands into his shirt, plastering yourself to his front. He shoves his thigh in between your legs, the rough denim a welcome contrast to your soft skin. You buck your hips forward, and the friction is so delicious it makes you dizzy. You've never been kissed like this. It's almost feral. You're both surrendering to your fates, giving in to the animalistic urges coursing through you.

A seagull caws on a nearby street lamp, and the sound makes you both jump. You suddenly realise your scenario. Your Dad's best friend, who also happens to be your soulmate, has you pressed against his truck in the street, kissing you like he's running out of air and you're his only oxygen source. If it goes any further, you'll both get arrested for public indecency.

"Fuck, sugar," he murmurs against your mouth. "My pretty girl. My honey."

"My soulmate," you whisper.

The reality of it comes crashing down like a tsunami, drenching the both of you.

Bucky kisses you again, gentler this time. The tenderness makes you want to cry.

"What do we do now?" you mumble, fear coating your voice.

He senses your trepidation instantly. He feels it, actually, right in the front of his chest. It's like you suddenly share one body. There's no guessing, anymore. He knows exactly how you feel.

He takes a deep breath, trying to settle his building anxiety. He knows that if he stays calm, you'll stay calm. That's how Tethering works, right? He has to keep it together for the both of you, despite the panic that's rising in him, vibrating in his bones.

"How about... how about we both go to bed, get some sleep - and then we go sailing, later on today, just like we planned? And no matter what, we take everything one step at a time."

"One step at a time," you repeat, attempting to pacify you both.

"We'll figure it out," he reassures. "I know we will."

You find the will to step apart, which proves harder than you thought. It's like Bucky's an anchor - fastening you to peace, to happiness, to serenity. The more distance you put between your bodies, the more unsettled you feel. When you're not touching him, it's as if everything becomes unsteady, more difficult. You feel like you're on a rogue sailboat, battling the waves, threatened to be thrown overboard. Bucky is your lifevest, your lighthouse in the dark night. You're not sure how you're supposed to live your life any more than two feet away from him at all times.

You breathe, and smooth down your dress, running your fingers through your hair. You reach out and adjust Bucky's shirt where it's been wrinkled due to your tight grip.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmurs, fingers tangling around your own.

"Goodnight, Buck," you echo.

He leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips, savouring the taste of your cherry lip balm. He wraps his arms around you, unable to resist. Bucky breathes you in deeply, smiling uncontrollably. Nudging your nose with his, he murmurs gently against your mouth.

"My honey girl."

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sebscore · 2 years ago

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gen z!reader is this sweet, bubbly, bright ray of sunshine who could honestly do no wrong, so I'd love to see a fic where in a driver's meeting gen z!reader loses their shit and calls out the FIA for their blatant sexism and misogyny in front of everyone and everyone is shocked cause they've never seen them gets this mad before.

NO ONE LIKES A MAD WOMAN

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (+ cameos from brundle, susie and buxton)

warnings: sexism. fia is fia'ing. swearing. my own unaccurate ruling of penalties (it's for the sake of the story, just go along with it). susie mothering. it wasn't sure to me who conducted the driver's briefing during this time so I just picked a random name from the many that I came across.

author's note: less comedic one this time, hope you enjoy it anyway!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Alright, thanks for clarifying, Checo.'' Derek concluded, glancing down at his journal to see what the next topic of discussion was.

The director scratched his voice before addressing the drivers again. ''Uhm, we also wanted to remind everyone to be wary of what they say in the media regarding our organization,'' he stated, ''the FIA has the feeling that there have been deliberate attacks on them the last few weeks and they are willing to give out penalties if it happens again.''

The drivers looked at each other, confused by the sudden declaration that the FIA has been receiving ''attacks'' from the drivers. ''Can you give an example, because I think I speak for everyone when I say that I'm confused.'' George spoke up, the others nodding along to his question.

Derek flipped through his papers, trying to find the notes his colleagues had given him regarding the ''offensive'' comments that had been made against them.

''Oh, here,'' he put on his reading glasses, holding the piece of paper farther from his face, ''the comment they're referring to was one made by… Y/N at the previous race.''

The young woman's head sprung up at the mention of her name, clueless as to how she could have upset the FIA. ''What? W-what did I say?'' She managed to stutter out, all the eyes on her making her feel uneasy.

''Uh, you were asked about the diversity in the sport and you said, and I quote: 'The FIA should do more regarding women in motorsport, there are still many things that need to be changed.' End quote.'' Derek answered her, putting his paper back in place.

Y/N frowned at the man. ''I don't see what's wrong with that, to be honest.'' She told him, failing to see how the FIA would feel this was a ''deliberate attack''.

The director sighed, already getting the suspicion the woman would not be happy with what he was about to say. ''Certain members of the board were offended by your words, because they saw it as you accusing them of being sexist.''

The silence in the room was deafening, every single person awaiting Y/N's reaction to Derek's clarification. The drivers took a glimpse at her, trying to read the indifferent expression on her face that didn't give much away about how she was feeling.

''They think I'm accusing them of being sexist? What I meant was that they should take more actions in encouraging young girls to get into racing- I don't understand how that would correlate to me calling them sexist.'' Her usual cheerful tone was replaced by a monotone voice that almost scared some of her colleagues.

Derek took a deep breath again. ''Well, they felt like you were insinuating it and they are offended by the alleged insinuation.''

''Just because they are offended doesn't mean they're right.'' She bit back, not missing a beat.

''I'm simply delivering their message, Y/N,'' the director told her politely, wanting to remind her that he's not the person she should be upset with, ''anyway- if you go up there and apologize for your comment, they're considering leaving it as a warning for you and also the others.'' He finished the list of notes they had given him.

The reaction from the room wasn't one he was expecting; absolute outrage.

''She shouldn't apologize for that neither should she be penalized for it.'' Sebastian was the first one to speak up, directly looking Derek in the eye.

The drivers agreed. ''Yeah, it's called freedom of speech.'' Max added, also not seeing why Y/N should go down there and say sorry to the members of the board.

''Like I said earlier, I'm simply delivering their message.'' Derek repeated himself, feeling the tension and frustration growing in the small space.

''But don't you see how ridiculous this is?'' Sebastian rebutted, hoping the man at the front could at least agree with them and say that it was indeed a weird request.

Derek shook his head. ''I'm just the middle man, Seb,'' he sighed, turning his head towards the quiet female driver, ''Y/N, make it easier for yourself and go up there after the meeting, you don't want to receive a penalty for something like this.''

''I'm not apologizing.'' Her voice comes out strong, not in an aggressive way, but in a manner that lets everyone know she's not backing down. ''Give me as many penalties as you want, I'm not accepting them.'' She crossed her arms, indicating she was sticking to her words, almost stubbornly.

The other drivers looked on proudly, glad she was standing by her belief and didn't give in simply because it would make everything ''easier''. Lewis gave her a nod, subtly letting her know he supported her and had her back.

''Alright, then that will result in a fine of a number that is yet to be determined.'' Derek picked up his pen and wrote down that she would not come by their office, already knowing his colleagues wouldn't be happy with it.

''Just so you know- I'm not paying that.'' Y/N said, matter-of-factly.

Derek looked up from his journal. ''If you refuse to pay the fine, we can either add a grid-place penalty or a time penalty.'' He recited the rule as if he had done it a million times before.

''Derek, this is stupid,'' Kimi decided to voice his opinion, ''the race shouldn't be affected, because of a comment she made that had nothing to do with racing in the first place.'' He defended her, allying behind her stance to not accept any of the penalties they give her.

''I'm just doing my job, Kimi.''

''I also want to just do my job, Derek, which is racing, but these ridiculous rules to silence me prevent me from doing that.'' Y/N argued his response, just wanting him to see her point of view.

The director's hand went over his face, seemingly wiping his agitation away. ''No one is trying to silence you, Y/N.'' He quickly answered.

''That's why all the other drivers receive penalties whenever they question the FIA, right?'' Her comment must have shut him up as he solely put his pen down without saying another word about the matter. ''Yeah, that's what I thought.''

Y/N felt her presence wasn't longer necessary as she stood up from her chair, ready to leave the room and join her engineering team in preparation for the upcoming race. However, Derek felt different about that. ''The briefing isn't over yet, Y/L. Sit back down, please.''

''I'll see you at the next meeting, Derek.'' She ignored his plea and walked towards the door.

The director stood up from his desk at the front. ''Y/N, if you leave before it's done, the board will-''

''The board can kiss my ass.''

''Y/N Y/L RECEIVES A 20-PLACE GRID PENALTY AHEAD OF THE 2021 SPANISH GRAND PRIX DUE TO DAMAGING REMARKS AGAINST THE FIA''

''FIA RE-EVALUATING Y/N Y/N's PENALTY AFTER BACKLASH''

''FIA SUSPENDS GRID PENALTY OF Y/N Y/L DUE TO AN ERROR''

The day after the driver's briefing had been quite eventful to say the least. As soon as the FIA announced that she had been given a penalty, the backlash from drivers, fans and reporters started.

Lewis had condemned their decision claiming it was based on nothing and that nothing about her comment was an attack on the organization. His teammate, Valtteri, followed him in his opinion stating: ''Drivers should be able to say what they want to say, she doesn't deserve a penalty for that.''

Sky Sports F1 reporter, Martin Brundle, also came to the driver's defense. ''If we're going to punish drivers for stating their opinions, we might as well get rid of the entire sport, especially if what they're saying isn't far from the truth.''

After finishing P5 in the race, Y/N spoke to Will Buxton in her post-race interview. ''You must be very happy with your result today, considering you almost had to start from the very back of the grid.''

''I'm content with today's race, obviously would have loved a podium but Mercedes was better today,'' she chuckled, ''yeah, it wasn't fun waking up to that news, but I'm happy that it was reversed and the support I received was just- wow, I'm very grateful for everyone.''

''According to some sources, it got pretty heated in the driver's briefing on friday- would you like to clarify?'' Will asked her.

A sarcastic laugh left her mouth. ''I would just like to forget about it, moving on is the best thing to do right now.'' She smoothly avoided the question, figuring she shouldn't make the FIA more mad by airing out all their business.

''Alright, thank you so much for talking to us, Y/N and congratulations on your race today.'' He nodded, bidding her goodbye.

On her way back to her team's hospitality, she was stopped by none other than Susie Wolff. ''Lewis told us what happened during the briefing- I'm very proud of you for standing up for yourself, not everyone could have done that.''

''It was so awful, Susie,'' Y/N hugged the older woman, ''it's like they just wanted to give me some sort of punishment- I don't even want to know what would have happened if I went down there by myself.'' Susie rubs her back at her words, also not wanting to think about what could have gone down.

''It's okay now, honey,'' they pulled apart, Susie's hand staying on her shoulder, ''by the way- did you really say that the board could kiss your ass?''

Y/N laughed at her question, excitedly nodding her head. ''At first I wanted to say something like 'the board can stick that penalty right up their ass’ but I needed a cool getaway so I opted for something shorter.''

''Atta girl''

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#f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 x reader #formula 1 fic #f1 x oc #f1!drivers x fem!driver #f1 female driver #female f1 driver #formula one fics #formula 1 oc

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deliciousangelfestival · 2 months ago

Text

The Imperfect Couple - 7

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky’s gut had been gnawing at him for weeks, a familiar, nagging feeling whenever Ian was around. Something about the man didn’t sit right, and Bucky couldn’t shake the sense that he’d seen this behavior before. His instincts kicked in, and he ordered someone to dig deeper into Ian’s past.

The brown envelope arrived the next day. Bucky sat at his desk, his eyes narrowing as he tore it open. Inside were the results of the investigation—pages that painted a much darker picture than he’d anticipated. As he skimmed the documents, his jaw clenched, and a low curse escaped his lips, “Shit.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next day, you and Bucky arrived at a shelter for single mothers, a stop on the campaign trail. The women inside had experienced hardships most people couldn’t imagine, fleeing from abusive partners and trying to rebuild their lives. Their stories of survival hung in the air, unspoken but palpable in their tired eyes and wary smiles.

You moved through the room, serving food and making small talk with the women, trying your best to offer some comfort. As you handed a plate to one woman, you said softly, “I understand what kind of psychological torment you’ve been through. I hope you stay strong.”

The moment the words left your mouth, what you’d meant as a word of encouragement didn’t land the way you’d hoped.

Later that night, a video of the conversation went viral. It was clear someone had recorded the interaction and released it online. Bucky knew this had to be the work of his opponents, seizing the opportunity to discredit you—and by extension, him.

You watched the video, feeling a pit form in your stomach as the comments poured in:

"Stay strong? She doesn’t seem like someone who’s ever been through what we have."

"She wouldn’t understand. She lives in a happy home. How could she possibly know what it’s like to run from someone who’s supposed to love you?"

Their words cut deep, slicing through your carefully constructed image. They didn’t know the truth—that your marriage to Bucky was its own kind of prison. Pretending to be the perfect wife had taken a toll on you, but no one saw behind the curtain.

You froze, feeling exposed, as if they’d somehow sensed the cracks in your façade. You had become so good at lying, at convincing the world that you and Bucky were happy, that now, faced with these women who had lived through real pain, you felt like a fraud.

Furthermore, you wanted to tell them that you understood, that you too had felt trapped and powerless. But the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you smiled for the cameras, playing your part, knowing that your life was being documented as an example of “happiness.”

Then your eyes landed on a comment that sent you reeling:

"If they’re so happy, wouldn’t they have a kid by now?"

The question hung in the air, mocking you. They didn’t know the truth—how could they? And yet, their words seemed to pierce through the mask you’d been wearing for so long.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The silence between you and Bucky was heavy, almost suffocating. You hadn’t said much since the shelter incident, and Bucky could sense your stress in the way you barely touched your food or drank any water. You sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the untouched plate in front of you.

Bucky watched you for a moment before stepping closer, his brow furrowing with concern. He gently touched your forehead, his fingers warm against your skin.

“You have a fever,” he said, his voice low with worry.

You immediately pulled away from his hand, your body instinctively recoiling. Your stress had a way of manifesting physically, and whenever you were overwhelmed, your body shut down. This was no different.

“Don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice hollow.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew this would happen, knew how your body responded when you were pushed too far. Without a word, he slipped his arm around you, supporting you as he guided you toward your room. You didn’t resist, too tired to fight.

“Just leave,” you said once you reached your room, your voice barely above a whisper.

But Bucky ignored your words. He sat you down on the edge of the bed, gently lifting your feet into his lap. You stiffened in surprise as his hands began to massage your aching feet. The familiarity of the gesture caught you off guard—he used to do this all the time when you were together, especially on nights when you came home exhausted, too tired to even think.

Your face grew warmer, though not just because of the fever. The tension between the two of you was palpable, a mix of unresolved emotions and unspoken words hanging in the air. Bucky’s touch, once comforting, now felt like it held the weight of all the things left unsaid.

“I’ll bring the medicine,” he said after a few moments, his voice softer now.

You didn’t respond, too lost in the swirl of emotions flooding your mind. The way his hands moved, the care in his touch—it was all too familiar. It made your chest tighten with memories of when things weren’t this complicated.

As Bucky stood to leave, you finally spoke, your voice quiet and raw. “Why are you doing this?”

He paused, turning back to face you. “Because I care. I always do” His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it was as if the walls you’d built between you both cracked, if only just a little.

You didn’t respond, not knowing what to say. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy as the exhaustion of the day and the fever pulled at you. Bucky noticed, his eyes softening. Without another word, he pulled the blanket over you and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You lay there, your mind racing despite your body’s exhaustion. His touch, his words, they lingered long after he’d gone. You hated that he still had this effect on you. And yet, deep down, there was a part of you that wanted to believe him, wanted to let your guard down. But after everything, how could you?

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You woke up, feeling the weight of exhaustion still clinging to your limbs, but something was different. The fever that had clouded your mind the night before was gone, leaving you with a sense of relief. Slowly, you sat up, glancing around the room. Bucky wasn’t here. It was the first time you’d been alone in the apartment since arriving.

The quietness felt strange, almost eerie. For a moment, you simply sat there, trying to shake the grogginess from your mind. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to explore the space. The apartment was large, meticulously designed, but there was a personal touch to it that reflected both of you. You wandered through the rooms until you stopped at his office.

The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open. His office was a mess—papers and law books were scattered across the desk and shelves, as if he’d been too busy to organize anything. But something caught your eye, an area that was surprisingly tidy amidst the chaos: his vinyl collection. It was neatly arranged, displayed with care, each record in perfect order.

Bucky loved collecting vinyls. You remembered that about him. As you approached the collection, your eyes scanned the spines of the records. Most of them were from artists both of you used to listen to. Your fingers grazed over the albums, a nostalgic pang in your chest.

Then, something unusual caught your attention. Tucked between the vinyl sleeves was a piece of paper, slightly worn. Frowning, you pulled it out and realized it wasn’t just any paper—it was a letter.

You stared at the handwriting, your heart skipping a beat. It was Bucky’s handwriting. Slowly, your eyes widened as recognition dawned on you. It was a letter he never sent. A letter to you.

Your pulse quickened as a rush of emotions hit you. Should you open it? Guilt twisted in your stomach, but then that familiar voice—the devil on your shoulder—spoke louder. He wrote this for you. He never sent it, but it’s yours.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you quickly hid the letter under your shirt, glancing around the office as if someone might walk in at any moment. Your heart raced as you hurried back to your room, the letter burning against your skin like a secret you weren’t supposed to know.

Once in the safety of your room, you sat on the bed, staring at the letter in your hands. The room felt smaller, your breaths shallow. Was this right? Should you be reading this? But you couldn’t stop yourself.

With trembling fingers, you opened the first letter.

It was short, written in Bucky’s familiar scrawl.

"I’m sorry. I know everything we went through must have been painful for you, more than I ever realized at the time. We were close, but we never truly communicated. I knew you were hurting, and I did nothing to stop it. That’s my fault. I’m the one to blame.

One day, if we ever meet again, I hope you’ll give me another chance. You deserve happiness, and I wish you the best of luck in finding it, even if it’s not with me."

You blinked, feeling a lump form in your throat. You hadn’t expected this. An apology. Words you thought you’d never hear—or read—from him. Your hands shook as you carefully unfolded another letter.

"I read your article. It’s really good. I always knew you’d make a great writer. You’ve always had a way with words. I’m proud of you. I hope you have a safe journey."

The words blurred for a moment as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You never knew he was following your work, that he cared enough to read what you wrote. It felt like a secret window into a part of him you thought had closed off to you long ago.

With a deep breath, you opened the final letter, bracing yourself.

"I’m worried about you. Going to a war zone as a journalist—it’s dangerous, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Please be careful. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. I pray every day that you’re safe."

Your chest tightened as you finished reading, the rawness of his words washing over you. Bucky had been worried about you all this time. His concern, his pride—it was all there, hidden in these letters you were never supposed to find. And yet, here you were, holding the pieces of his heart in your hands.

It was overwhelming. You didn’t know how to feel—angry, confused, touched. All you knew was that the walls you had built to protect yourself were starting to crack, and you weren’t sure if you could put them back together.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You and Bucky met Greg again to prepare before heading to the TV station for the debate. Greg, always thinking ahead, was pacing as he went over the final details. His sharp gaze darted between you and Bucky, trying to ensure everything would go smoothly.

As the minutes ticked by, Greg suddenly paused, his face lighting up with an idea. "Perhaps," he suggested, "before Bucky heads out for the debate, you could give him a peck on the cheek. You know, for the cameras. A little show of affection can go a long way."

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, your expression neutral. "Okay," you agreed simply. The decision seemed easy enough—just a small gesture for the public eye. However, from the corner of your eye, you noticed Bucky’s brow arch slightly, a glint of surprise crossing his features.

Bucky glanced at you, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "How about a kiss on the lips instead?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your exasperation. "Shut up," you muttered, though the warmth of the moment lingered between you. Bucky chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the brief banter as Greg scribbled down notes, already planning how to work this into the media strategy.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The day of the debate finally arrived. The room buzzed with tension as cameras were positioned, reporters whispered amongst themselves, and the stage was set. You stood backstage with Bucky, watching as the other candidates made their entrances. Edgar, running for president, was calm and composed, the very image of a seasoned politician.

Then there was Brock, another candidate for vice president—and Bucky’s long-time rival. The two had been at odds for years, their competition fierce and personal. The air between them crackled with animosity as they took their places.

As the debate began, the moderators threw sharp, pointed questions at the candidates, each probing their policies and character. Bucky was in his element, answering each question with practiced ease. His words were clear, his tone confident, and his delivery flawless. Every question thrown at him was met with a precise, well-thought-out response.

Moderator: "Mr. Barnes, what would be your first priority in office?"

Bucky: "My first priority is to address healthcare. Ensuring affordable and accessible healthcare is the cornerstone of a strong nation. We must invest in preventive care and make it easier for families to access the support they need."

The audience nodded in agreement, and even the other candidates seemed to respect his answer. Brock, however, was struggling. Every time he tried to match Bucky’s eloquence, he stumbled, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to make a point.

Moderator: "Mr. Rumlow, what is your stance on education reform?"

Brock: "Well, uh, we need to… to invest in schools, yes, but we can’t just throw money at the problem. We need accountability, and we need… um, better results."

His answer lacked the conviction and clarity that Bucky’s did, and you could see the frustration in Brock’s face as the debate went on.

The tension between the two men simmered, especially as Bucky continued to outshine him with every answer. But just when it seemed like Bucky had the upper hand, Brock saw an opening—and took it.

At the height of the debate, Brock's voice cut through the air, sharp and malicious. "You talk a lot about honesty and integrity, Barnes. But what about your brother? Didn’t he hit someone and never face any punishment?"

The room fell silent, a heavy, uncomfortable stillness filling the space. From your spot backstage, you could feel the tension roll off Bucky in waves. His muscles tensed beside you, his jaw clenched tight. This was his darkest family secret, one he’d hoped to keep buried. But now, here it was, dragged into the spotlight in front of a national audience.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his eyes narrowing as he shot Brock a cold, hard glare. For a moment, it looked like Bucky might lose his composure. The silence stretched on, the entire room holding its breath, waiting for his response.

But then, with a deep breath, Bucky straightened, his voice steady but laced with restrained anger. "My brother's actions were reprehensible, and there is no excuse for them. But unlike my opponent, I believe in accountability—and my family has taken steps to address that privately. This debate is about the future of this country, not digging up personal attacks to avoid talking about real issues."

The room shifted as Bucky’s calm yet pointed response cut through the tension. Brock, visibly thrown by how easily Bucky had deflected his attack, fumbled for his next words, but the damage had been done. Bucky had taken control once again, leaving Brock at a loss.

Backstage, you watched the scene unfold, a mixture of relief and pride swelling within you. Bucky had handled the moment with grace.

But you knew you couldn’t rest. With Shawn’s dark secret now exposed, it meant that your marriage to Bucky could be the next scandal to surface.

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welovelouisandbucky · 10 months ago

Text

My two favorite Slytherin boys headcanons bc why not?

T/w: few swear words, my writing, and some out of character stuff because im delusional, little suggestive if you can call it that, and yes aside from that if you find any pls let me know:) also my writing

A/n: hi y'all, I just want to say pls be kind as this is my first time writing for these characters so if there's any mistakes pls overlook them thank you! Also I tried my best to keep this GN so everyone can read and enjoy this and yeah that's it, have great day!!!

S/n: requests are open so feel free to send in ideas, I'll love to write what you guys suggest. Also feel free to ask for more Slytherin or any Harry Potter characters you want headcanons/blurbs about, I'll love to write and add more🤗

Masterlist

Mattheo Riddle

(gifs credits to the rightful owner)

Also this one's long as you can see I got carried away😁

Mattheo who always looks forward to see your face after the end of the day

Mattheo who will fight any one who looks at you funny or talks shits about you

Mattheo who glares at every single person but the seconds he spots you his eyes softens up in millisecond in adoration

Mattheo who holds your books or bag everywhere you guys go, because God forbid if his princess/prince ever has to worry about those things when he's there to do them for you

Mattheo who waits after you when the class is over so he can walk you to other class while he pulls you as closer to him as possible

Mattheo who searches for you before every Quidditch game so he can have his good luck charm kiss from you

Mattheo who pretends to hate and act tough when you baby him while secretly melting into a puddle inside every time you call him sweet names. ( He absolutely loses his shit when you call him baby but shush it's a secret 😌)

Mattheo who has probably drawn you only few hundreds of times in his super, super duper, very classified sketchbook that no one knows of.

Mattheo who always encourages you to do things you want to do but are too scared to actually do it.

Mattheo who always supports your decisions, even if they are stupid

Mattheo who appropriates your little hobbies and interests even if they are weird, he just wants to you to feel safe and heard around him

Mattheo who's always there for you whenever you need him, always there to hold you close on bad days because he knows how it feels when you are at your worst and there's no one to comfort you (thankfully he doesn't have to worry about being alone now that you are here as well as his friends)

Mattheo who struggles with expressing his emotions and feelings but still tries his hardest to show them to you because he wants you to know how much you mean to him.

Mattheo who's not that good at comforting but still pulls you to him because he can't stand seeing you cry and not do anything about it.

Mattheo who willingly listens to you rant about everything and anything because he loves hearing your voice (even if half of the things you said are going above his head but hey at least he's trying! ☺️)

Mattheo who hates not knowing what's happening around him because it makes him feel helpless and he hates feeling weak. That's why he always, and I mean always knows what's going on everywhere

Mattheo who's touch starved (bc yk all that being dark Lord's son and growing up with death eaters and all) and craves your touch. He's always in any way touching you, whether holding hands, or a hand on your thigh or waist just any kind of physical touch because he wants to be as close to you as possible.

Mattheo who loves loves cuddles, doesn't matter who's spooning who as long as you guys are in each other's arms.

Mattheo who loves you so much that it physically hurts him, and there's nothing he wouldn't do you

Mattheo who will always protect you no matter what

~~~

Theodore Nott

Theo who loves to tease you throughout the whole day just so he can see you all worked up for him

Theo who looks forward to your quick comebacks every time he comments on something he knows he will get reaction out of you and absolutely loses his shit when you roast the shit out of him for it

Theo who calls you sweet endearments in Italian because he loves to see your confused smile, contemplating whether he roasted you or called you something sweet in foreign language

Theo who keeps you company while you finish your homework in library

Theo who loves spending time with you on Astronomy tower (he just in general loves spending time with you but astronomy tower is more special to him) while you are snuggled up against his side as you guys look at stars.

Theo who will read with you, doesn't matter what kind of books you guys are reading as long as both of you are together.

Theo who prefers reading classic novels but will happily read cheesy rom-com books with you because you said so (secretly he enjoys them too but hush🙈)

Theo who actually enjoys reading poetry, and sometimes when you guys are alone he'll read few to you

Theo who's always there to comfort you whenever you have problems with your family because he knows how it feels.

Theo who's always there to stand up for you in any situation

Theo who starts to smoke less around you if it bothers you, but if you smoke too then both of you guys will smoke together at the Astronomy tower

Theo who loves silence and doesn't enjoy talking much but is always ready to listen to you talk for hours, you are the only person he can talk and listen to for eternity without ever getting sick of it.

Theo who loves when you wear his clothes

Theo who said I love you first time when he saw you curse someone out because they said some shit about him, he doesn't really care whatever shit they were saying but seeing you stand up for him made him feel emotions he never felt before.

Theo who just absolutely loves you and wants to spend entirety of his life with you

Thank you so much for reading, likes and comments are very much appreciated. As well as positive criticism, pls don't hate this is a safe place for everyone!! Bye bye have great day!!!

~~~~

Enzo's headcanon!

1K notes · View notes

da-rulah · 1 year ago

Text

Confessional - Cardinal Copia x F!Reader [Part 3]

Summary: At the request of Papa Emeritus III, you return to your duties around the Ministry, but when he reminds you of your absence from confessional in the past month, he asks you to return to where it all started...

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 12k (lol wtf sorry guys this one ran away from me...)

Warnings: Pillow Humping, cunnilingus, panty-sniffing kink (once again, the glove returns...), honestly Copia just gets more pathetic in this part, vaginal fingering, premature ejaculation, cum eating, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, dirty talk (a lot of it...), lots of feelings, idiots to lovers

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

A/N: Guys... thank you all SO MUCH. The love for this fic has been bigger than I ever thought, and genuinely my heart is so full whenever I get a comment, a reblog, a message about it. I hope this is worth the wait, I know it's literally double the length of the other chapters but I really wanted you to enjoy and immerse yourself - there needed to be a decent enough pay-off after all the pining and angst 😂 Special thanks to @her-satanic-wiles for the beta reading and encouragement, and to @adinferix for their help with the Italian translation!

Copia had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t think of you today. Last night had been the last time. No, really.... He swore it. The moment he decided? When he’d woken up, face down in his pillows – after a night of self-indulgence that included another long-since dirtied and discarded pillow... - and realised that there was something stuck to his face.

Your glove. It had taken at least 25 minutes for the red imprint of that floral pattern to fade away from the pale skin across his cheek, and he’d been mortified - especially when brushing his teeth, having to stare at himself in the mirror with that pattern taunting him. He may as well have written “PERVERT” in sharpie across his cheek instead, for all the shame it brought him.

That pattern was the reason for the Cardinal’s tardiness to his seminar that day, the man scurrying down the halls and checking his reflection in any and every passing surface possible to be sure that there was no longer an intrusive red flower burned into his pale skin.

When he reached his classroom, everyone had taken to their seats already, some chattering away with each other as they waited, others impatiently tapping their feet or pencils with each passing second. Copia slunk into the classroom, muttering apologies with his eyes trained on the floor to avoid the death glares of the siblings who took their studies just a touch too seriously.

Without further ado, the Cardinal began to make some notes on the chalkboard at the front of the classroom. The chalk squeaked against the board, some of the siblings in the room whining incredulously at the sound and the chatter ceasing as if he’d done it deliberately to shush them.

“Okie dokie, we will look today to focus on Latin pronunciation, and-” the Cardinal froze as he turned back to the class, eyes settling on a figure in the back corner.

He must have been dreaming...

There you sat, in your most conservative habit possible – purposefully changing after your meeting with Terzo that morning, your guilt for derailing the Cardinal in the confessional booth forcing you out of your impressive ensemble meant to manipulate Papa.

Coming to Copia’s seminar was not a choice; you just desperately didn’t want Papa to bring Sister Imperator into this or get yourself in any more trouble. Terzo had spared you a punishment and you weren’t to take this for granted. So, you’d made sure you arrived with a group of other siblings, pushing through into the seminar room and plonking yourself in the very back corner in the hope he wouldn’t see you.

But of course, he saw you. As if his body was magnetically drawn towards you, you were the first he laid his eyes on.

You avoided his gaze, scribbling something down on the paper in front of you to look busy. You hadn’t missed his cut off sentence as his eyes settled on you, nor the lingering silence as you scribbled.

‘Say something, Cardinal... Please say something. I can’t bear this...’ you thought, the seconds ticking by.

“Mi dispiace (I’m sorry), I lost my train of thought for a moment. Pronunciation, sì, that’s where we were. Okay...” he shook his head, returning his attention to the class. He couldn’t focus on you now, couldn’t jeopardise himself that way. One wrong move, and you may disappear for another four weeks, or worse, and Satanas, he’d never forgive himself. That was not the kind of hell he wished to endure.

Throughout the seminar, he would steal quick glances in your direction, as if making sure you were indeed still there, that you were real. Trying to find you before now had been like trying to catch smoke... downright impossible. His guilt gnawed at him like an insect burrowing into his skin, shame creeping over him each time he saw you staring down at your page.

You didn’t want to be here, that much was clear to him. He’d made you uncomfortable, avoiding him... It stung him more than it should.

“I... I think we’re done for today, classe (class) . Good job, molto bene (very good),” he fussed over the book on his desk as the class rose from their seats, gathering their things and heading for the door. In a moment of what he would describe as idiocy, he called out, “Uh, Sorella ______? Could I just...”

But you were gone.

Copia felt like a moron, embarrassed and pining over you as he watched you leave so quickly, quite obviously running from him. All he wanted to do was to apologise, to make you feel like you didn’t have to hide from him anymore. But you were that repulsed by him that you fled at the first chance you could.

He huffed, dropping into his chair at his desk as the room emptied. He thought it over for a moment – you didn’t want to be in his class, and yet you came anyway. Why?

Terzo... He had noticed your absence, questioned the Cardinal over it... Perhaps he’d told you to return to your duties, punished you...

And that was all his fault. He’d upset you so much you’d avoided your duties, hidden yourself away. You were so repulsed by him that you couldn’t even look at him anymore. His sweet, most innocent Sorella…

The Sorella who used to smile at him in the hallways, no matter who she was walking with.

The Sorella who never missed a seminar he was hosting.

The Sorella who only ever confessed on a Thursday, during his duty.

The Sorella who kept stealing glances at him as his brothers performed Black Mass.

Not anymore.

How silly of him to think there was ever any chance you might not hate him. How silly of him to think you might actually be attracted to him, that you could be at all interested in the blithering idiot Cardinale who still reads Beano comics and relaxes with a Juicebox and video games at the end of the working week.

Copia was always brushed to the side, never good enough for a woman as wonderful as you, as beautiful as you.

How daft he felt, and how sick he felt knowing how he had defiled your trust – and continued to do so every. fucking. night. Behind your back, in the shame of his private quarters.

Perverted old Cardinale Copia...

Those moans, oh how he could write a symphony with those moans. They sounded so visceral and somehow so melodic rolling from your tongue as his rolled against your heat. And Sathanas, the taste... he devoured that sweetness like it was his last meal on Death Row. Your hands clutching his hair scraped their nails against his scalp and he growled into your mound with a deep vibration that drew more sweet, sweet moans from your lips.

With two gloved fingers, he breached your walls and with expert precision, he found the spot only you had found yourself – no previous lovers ever able to satiate you like he could. You were his.

His his his.

Even through the leather, he could feel your warmth on his fingers, hear the hungry slurps of your pussy drawing him back in over and over with every pump of his fingers inside you.

“Cardinal... Cardinal....” you chanted like a mantra, eyes screwed shut and breath laboured as he drew you closer and closer to an end, more of your juices seeping out and dripping onto his eagerly lapping tongue, until...

Until...

Sweat beaded on Copia’s forehead as his eyes shot open, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he lay in bed, his skin hot to the touch in the dark around him. His head snapped to the side, seeing the glowing red of his digital alarm clock reading 3:09am.

He rubbed at his paintless eyes, groaning into the dark at the sticky feeling all over his body, the sweat now cooling in the night air and chilling him.

Just a fucking dream.

He could still taste you, still feel you, still hear you... How could he stop this? How would he ever be able to move on from this fucking chokehold you had on him? Does time heal all wounds? Copia sure hoped so.

In the dark, he felt the familiar need in his groin – a stiffness he wouldn’t be able to shake so easily. He didn’t want to, not again. Already he felt like a total degenerate, jacking off to the smell of your used glove a nightly occurrence. But now he was dreaming of you?

With reluctance, he shifted the sheets and let his naked form hit the cold air around him, thick cock standing to attention. He threw an arm over his eyes, his other reaching down until he could lazily stroke the shaft of his shame a few times.

Here we go again, he thought to himself in disgust.

But disgust wasn’t enough to quell the rising lust he felt, and his hand began to pump his length with vigour as he recounted the details of the dream that woke him.

He whimpered into the night, the heavy arm across his eyes shielding himself from his own depravity only getting heavier. His hips started to roll against the mattress, meeting his fist over and over. He couldn’t take this, he wanted so badly to bury himself, to grind down, to feel pressure...

He sat upright, reaching behind him for one of the silk pillows he lay on before. He got up onto his knees, folding the pillow in two to create a crease and pushed it into his mattress, lining his hips up with it.

And like the dirty old cardinal he was, he pushed his cock into the crease, groaning into a tight fist as he did.

He leaned his weight over onto the hand pinning the pillow down and began to roll his hips into the softness, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure as images of you flashed in his mind. That dream, it had felt so... so real? As if he could taste you still, smell you still...

And he could, of course, once his hand had snaked under the remaining pillows to retrieve that damned glove he was far too lazy to hide properly these days. He humped the pillow he buried his cock into like a horny teenager, holding that glove against his nose and mouth as he got faster and faster, inhaling.

“Ohhh, cazzo... (fuck),” he groaned, picturing you beneath him, his cock pistoning in and out of you. How good you’d feel beneath him, how slick, and wet, and warm you’d be for him. The noises from the confessional booth still haunted him, ricocheting off the inside of his skull as he buried himself over and over.

“Sorella... Hmmm,” he hummed, “______, merda (shit).” His hips stuttered, the silk dampened with precum giving just enough friction... He wished it was you so badly, your pussy enveloping him. He craved it, like he couldn’t bear to go on without having you, even if it were just once.

He bit his lip as he growled, hunching over the pillow like an animal and spilling his cum into the crease. His hips slowed, lazily rocking back and forth as he milked the rest of his spend until he could take it not more, letting go of the silk and falling face first into the rest of his bedding, uncaring of the mess beneath him.

Integrating yourself back into the Ministry life hadn’t been nearly as hard as you had thought, managing to avoid the Cardinal everywhere other than that damn seminar. You’d heard him call out to you as you were leaving, but it only made your feet carry you faster past your Siblings and out into the hall to escape. You knew it was cowardly, but you weren’t ready to have to explain yourself to him, to see the disappointment in his face or to chastise you for what you’d coerced him into doing.

You knew today you could evade him, his schedule keeping him busy all day and out of your current hiding place; the library.

You adored this library... The corridors were like a maze, easy enough to get lost in your pursuit of knowledge. In dark nooks, high back leather chairs to read in sat in dim lamplight. Artistic renditions of Satanic teachings littered the ceilings as they might in a Catholic church – except, it was Lucifer who danced through each scene instead of Jesus. Dark wooded desks for studying or translating lined up in the middle of the lobby, two grand staircases winding up the walls opposite each other to the second floor. In between the staircases, was the most beautiful part of all...

On the floor sat a reversed Pentagram, carved into stone with pictures of Lucifer and his most feared animals painted into the ramp where the staircases met – goats, cats, owls, bats... the misunderstood creatures tied to him. Carved into the outer edge of the pentagram sat purple stained Atropa belladonna flowers and vines, and atop the raised pentagram sat a marble statue of a white snake winding around a black pedestal. In the mouth of the snake, stuck between the fangs, was the ripest red apple – a symbol of Lucifer’s temptation, his greatest triumph in the Garden of Eden.

That statue always seemed to steal your breath away, as it did anyone who gazed upon it. The care and attention to detail, the way it always shined in the faux candlelight – real was too dangerous around the ancient texts and antique furniture throughout the library – it was just so spectacular.

It was a beautiful place to spend your day, but it served a purpose today. You chose one of the leather high back chairs just off from the lobby to relax and catch up on some reading you’d neglected in your time spent hiding.

As you neared the end of the book you were studying – an old Catholic tome you struggled to translate from the dusty pages – you decided to find the book that you knew countered the Catholic teachings, so you could cross reference and perhaps understand the old book better.

You stood, taking the Catholic tome with you into the rows of tall bookshelves in search of the Satanic counterpart. It had to be up on the fourth shelf, just out of reach. Sighing dramatically in your own laziness, you reached for the running ladder at the end of the shelves, dragging it along its tracks to the spot you had been standing. You rested the book in your arms on a lower shelf, and starting to climb the rungs of the ladder.

In your haste, the long skirt of your chosen conservative habit – the ones you had taken to wearing every day now that you were to be out and about around the Cardinal again – became trapped under your foot and naturally, you slipped from a few feet off the ground, losing your grip and balance.

Two unassumingly strong arms stopped you before you could hit the marble flooring, wrapping around your waist and tugging you to a body behind you to stop you meeting a rather bruising conclusion. “Careful, Sorella...” the chest you were pressed against vibrated with a deep chuckle. “Pretty girls should not be covered in accidental bruises, eh?”

You stumbled to your feet, straightening out your habit and turning to see Terzo smirking at you, his ghostly eye somehow even more bewitching in the dim lamplight. “Grazie (thank you), Papa... I slipped on...”

“Sì, your habit,” his eyes raked over your form, confusion furrowing on his brow as he remembered the other morning in his office – you'd been wearing something much more to his liking. “I must say, I preferred the shorter one, mia cara . With the red stitching...” he winked.

Your cheeks flushed with heat as you averted your eyes from his.

“Did you only wear that for me, tesoro? ” he winked, taking a step towards you, “Thought it would get you out of trouble, eh?” His teasing flustered you, and you couldn’t string a full sentence together as your heart pounded in your ears, breathing irregular to compensate for the rush of oxygen to your brain. He laughed as you stuttered a denial.

“Speaking of trouble, have you been attending your duties, sorella? Did you go to Copia’s seminar?” he stepped back again out of your personal space, allowing you to breathe normally once again.

“Sì, Papa.”

“And was he... happy to see you?” he asked, arching a brow. His tone confused you, like he expected a specific reaction. But Terzo was fishing... he suspected the Cardinal had a crush and was doing anything he could to put you in Copia’s way. He was making you dance around him, like the carrot on a string to tempt the donkey....

“Uh... I don’t know,” you thought back to the way his face fell when his eyes caught yours, the way his breath caught in his throat and the look of fear as his skin had paled to a grey colour. “Perhaps he was surprised.”

Terzo’s face screwed up in confused annoyance. He’d expected better from the Cardinal, for him to be more welcoming when he so clearly had missed you around the Ministry. He’d asked Terzo to keep an eye out for you, to tell him immediately if he saw you, after all.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back to your schedule, mia cara. But you know,” Terzo had a plan... He enjoyed meddling in the Cardinal’s affairs, and well, anyone’s ... “I must insist you attend confessional before today is out.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. You fought to keep your face neutral, quelling every natural urge to look absolutely petrified of the thought. Because of course he would want you to attend confessional today.

On a fucking Thursday.

“It’s been a while, no? If you were gone for four weeks, you must be overdue?” he quizzed.

“W-well, yes...”

“We can’t have you falling behind, mia cara. I’m sure you have something to confess to the Dark Lord,” he turned on his expensive Cuban heels, “I must go, I have some uh... business to attend concerning a rather beautiful Librarian,” he began sauntering off into the bookshelves, “By tonight, per favore, sorella !” he called out behind him.

Just as before, your shoes echoed on the Ministry floors as you walked to the Chapel. Except tonight, they felt louder and louder, ringing in your ears with each step. Your legs carried you on autopilot, unable to disobey a Papa’s direct instruction.

Why did he choose tonight of all nights? It felt like returning to the scene of a crime... You didn’t know what you were going to say, what you could possibly confess to the Cardinal this evening that you’d done in the last few weeks when quite obviously you hadn’t done anything at all...

The Chapel was steeped in dim candlelight, completely void of any signs of life. You stood in the doorway for a moment, staring like a deer caught in headlights at the booth at the other end of the room. A shiver ran over your spine, a nasty reminder that you were supposed to move, to go and sit in that infernal wooden box next to the source of your embarrassment, your fear... your lust.

Because of course, despite your efforts to pretend he didn’t exist, your brain liked to remind you at night that he most certainly did. Except now, the grunts and groans of his pleasure were accurate, burned into your memory and used against you as a weapon as you slept.

With a push, you entered the Chapel, somehow speed-walking to sit inside the booth beside the Cardinal who jumped at the sound of the door slamming shut a little too hard. You wasted no time.

“Bless me, Cardinal, I have sinned,” you deadpanned.

Beside you, the Cardinal sat bolt upright, eyes staring into his peripheral vision, afraid to make a move and look directly at the shadow beside him. If he made any sudden movements, perhaps you’d disappear in a puff of smoke...

He cleared his throat quietly. “Which of the sins have you committed, Sorella?” He stuck to his duty, as you stuck to yours. He wasn’t about to risk trying to have any other kind of conversation with you right now. Perhaps he could try after...

But what the fuck would he even say to you? He wanted so desperately to apologise, but he couldn’t completely clear his conscience without admitting to everything that’s happened since the last time you sat beside each other in this damned booth. And there was no way he could do that, not without the promise that the ground would open up beneath his feet and plunge him into the deepest pit of hell the second he finished confessing.

Beside him, you waited a moment, trying to think of something to confess to, but your mind was screaming the same thing at you. Lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. LUST.

“Sloth, Cardinal,” you huffed, “I’ve neglected my duties.” Coward, you scolded yourself. Not that it was a lie, of course. But... you couldn’t just own up to the worst of your sins.

Copia’s shoulders relaxed next to him, a sigh leaving his lips. Part of him was terrified you might say lust again – he wasn’t sure he could take that torture.

“Do you wish to elaborate, sorella? Is there a reason for your sloth?” he asked, as if he was trying to hurt himself further. He knew it was him – he was the reason. You were avoiding him, disgusted by him.

“I did something terrible, and... I’ve been hiding,” you admitted. The cardinal was confused... What could you, his sweet sorella, have possibly done that was so terrible? Lucifer, you didn’t mean him? Were you that horrified by him?

“Sorella, there’s no need to hide, you... uh...” he couldn’t think straight, his heartbeat rising in his chest as he panicked. He didn’t know what to say... Almost as if he were to absolve you of your sins but that wasn’t what confessional was for? But he wanted so badly to comfort you, to tell you it was okay, that he was so sorry... So very sorry for putting you in that position all those weeks ago.

And on the other side of the lattice, there you sat, feeling sorry for ever entering the booth that night, for pushing him into such a situation with a member of his congregation, for defiling his position as Cardinal.

Both two different sides of exactly the same coin.

“I... I can’t do this, Cardinal. I’m sorry...” you rushed, pushing your way out of the booth and running through the Chapel. Copia sat for a moment, frozen in shock and disappointment when his body reacted before his mind could.

He got up, and chased you. Out through the Chapel, down the hall where the clacking of your shoes was still echoing off the marble. But he kept running, desperately trying to find you without tripping on his cassock. He had to find you. He couldn’t let you stay like this, so angry and disgusted at him. He needed to apologise, even if that meant admitting to all the rest...

“Sorella, wait!” he called, the halls empty for the time of evening it was. He was grateful, chasing a mere shadow through the halls like a predator on the hunt for his prey. Except that’s the last thing he wanted you to feel; hunted.

You found it too difficult to run in your habit, far too long for you. You cursed as you stumbled, somehow managing to stay on your feet in the pursuit of your dorm but the Cardinal was faster than he looked, and before you knew what had happened you felt a grip on your arm dragging you into a nearby door, letting go as soon as you’d been almost flung into the room.

The door slammed, and the Cardinal stood against it, breathless and looking distraught.

“Cardinal, don’t make me s-” you wanted to apologise, to beg to spare you the shame of saying aloud what you’d been thinking since that first confessional... but he interrupted you. “Sorella, mi dispiace if I frightened you, but I owe you an ap-”

“Cardinal please, I can’t-” “Mia cara, just listen...” he begged, but neither of you could get a word in edgeways.

“I’m sorry, okay? I can’t help it, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable...” you cried, eyes filling with tears as you yelled your sorrows at him. “What? What are you-” his confusion painted his features, hardened lines forming in his face.

“Y-you’ve always been so good to me, and I don’t want to make you feel awkward or put you through that ever again. I should never have made you do that, I’m so ashamed of myself,” you rabbited on, wailing at him with four weeks of pent-up embarrassment spewing out your mouth. But the Cardinal stared at you as the cogs in his brain turned, realising what you were actually apologising for.

“Are you sorry for your dream, mia cara?” he asked you softly, taking a step to stand of his own accord instead of leaning his back against the closed door.

“Yes!” you yelled, “That and... well... what happened. It was too far, I put you in such an uncomfortable position and that’s not fair of me at all. Cardinal please forgive me, I’m trying not to have these thoughts-” “You’re still having them?” his head cocked to the side, eyes squinting as he processed your rantings.

“Well, um... I... yes, but I’m working on it, I’m trying to busy myself with other things and I thought that maybe if I hid for a while that I could stop it, not that I could look you in the eyes again anyway after what I did, and...”

Copia had heard enough. He strode towards you through the rows of desks and chairs surrounding him, pressing the palm of his glove to your mouth to quiet you and in turn, pushing you to lean back against the solid oak desk behind you. “Sorella, please...”

That moment, singularly, was the beginning of your downfall. When you felt the leather of his glove press against your lips, his body pressing against yours as you stumbled back, and you whined against his hand...

Copia’s eyes widened, like he hadn’t expected that at all. His movements were not meant to be at all provocative in nature; he had simply panicked, needing you to hush so he could speak, to apologise and not knowing how else to do so. But now... Well, he could see the crimson colour of your cheeks under his glove, matched with the look of shock on your own face. That noise; it was completely involuntary. But it came from a place of lust... Of submission.

A beat of silence passed between you, the air appearing to be sucked out of the room completely, suffocating you both where you stood. Your screamed at yourself inside your head, cursing how pathetically easily you had succumbed to the slightest touch and showed your hand before any kind of game had truly even begun.

“You must learn when to quiet this pretty mouth of yours and listen...” The cardinal tested his limits, watching your response. He noticed the way your chest rose and fell deeply and slowly beneath him, and how your eyes softened a little as they scanned his face and found no real anger there, only the hint of a smirk. “Now, give me a nod or a shake of your head, eh? I want to ask you a few things. Nod if you understand.”

You nodded, his hand still pressed firmly to your mouth.

“Are you still having these dreams, Sorella?” You shut your eyes now, embarrassed, and slowly nodded your head. “And are you still... enjoying these dreams?” he spoke slowly, deliberately. You nodded again, hesitant.

“And have you acted on these dreams since, tesoro?” You took a few deep breaths before answering again; a slow, ashamed, but deliberate nod.

Copia sucked a lungful of oxygen in through his teeth, watching your eyes on him as he did. His head swam in a dizzying array of images; thoughts of the dream you had told him about in such detail, thoughts of you alone at night thinking of him, touching yourself for him. As he exhaled, he looked away from you, breaking the eye contact you held in fear and finally looking around the room.

The seminar room...

… from your dream.

A wicked smirk spread across the Cardinal’s face, and as you followed his gaze around the room, you realised why. You dare not move, holding your breath as he turned back to you, his beautifully monochrome eyes hooded and boring down into yours.

“It’s here, no?” he asked. You didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. “This is where your fantasia (fantasy) takes place, eh? Answer me, tesoro. ..”

You nodded against his hand again, shame flooding your cheeks with warmth. The stirring in your abdomen was growing the longer he stood pressing you into the desk behind you. It was maddening.

“I press you against this desk in that dream, hm?” he knocked on the wood you leaned on with his free hand, in turn pressing just a little tighter against you. You could feel his body heat through his cassock, and it served to focus your own heat between your legs... “Will you remind me, mia cara , what exactly did I do here?”

Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth to let you answer him with words – except, you could find none. You stuttered and fumbled as you stared into his eyes, his face so close to yours you could smell his cologne stronger than you ever had. It was utterly intoxicating, a sweet yet smoky aroma.

“Come, now, dolcezza ... Don’t hold out on me now, hm?” The back of his fingers met your cheek, lightly grazing the blush soothingly. “What. Did. I. do?”

There was no escaping this, not that you wanted to. You were so close, your dream practically coming true before you. You may not be able to forgive yourself for pushing your Cardinal over the lines of professionalism all those weeks ago, but here he was, quite obviously flirting with you, enticing you.

Tempting you.

And you would never forgive yourself for fumbling this, for running and hiding once again. And that guilt would be worse, embedded with more shame and embarrassment than ever before.

“You... were kissing me...” you whispered. The Cardinal smiled – not the dirty little smirk from before, more of a satisfactory smile, sweeter.

“Tesoro, I’ll only ask you once – and whatever the answer, I will respect it,” he began, some nerves starting to bubble up in his chest. He feared rejection more than anything, having been rejected his entire life. Could he take it if you rejected him too? He wasn’t sure, but he had to try... “Would you like me to kiss you?”

Your chest bloomed with warmth, eyes flickering down to his half-painted lips and back to his eyes, somehow looking more puppy-dog like as the seconds ticked by. You realised then, he was scared of you saying no. Scared...

But you could never deny your Cardinal.

Words had failed you, that much was clear. And so, you opted for almost involuntary action, slowly leaning forwards against him until your lips barely grazed his. Copia could have sworn he felt his lips tingle where they’d brushed with yours; such a fleeting touch, unsure of yourself but it was all the answer he needed.

He leaned in again, pressing his lips to yours for a kiss that took your breath away... His lips melded into yours with such a longing, both of you easily losing yourself in the moment. Just as in your dream, you sank into him, your hands gripping onto his cassock as he deepened the kiss. His arms had snaked around your waist, pulling your hips flush against him as he hummed into your mouth.

Just as you imagined every night, one of his hands came to remove your veil, letting your hair fall freely while he worked his way past your lips with his tongue, gently mixing with your own as you fell further into him. You whined at the sensation, feeling his hands regroup and tighten on your waist as you did.

He pulled away from you breathless, the black paint of his top lip smudged slightly. He pressed his forehead to yours, searching your eyes for any sign you wanted to back out, but finding nothing.

“You look so beautiful without your veil, dolcezza...” he whispered before he could stop himself. Mentally, he scolded himself for being such a lovesick idiota, but the way you looked into his eyes and smiled was everything he had hoped for. He twirled a strand of your hair in his fingers, watching it as he curled it around the leather. “I had no idea you had all this under there, eh?” he chuckled, “ bellissima (beautiful).”

He dropped the strand and instead came to hold your chin between this thumb and finger.

“Now tell me, what happens next in that dream of yours again?” Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to punch straight through your ribs to get to him. This was happening. This wasn’t you pushing him into anything, you weren’t undermining his authority. He wanted this. He wanted you.

“Your hands... they slide up my habit...” you muttered, shy.

“Like this?” he narrated, crouching momentarily to hook his hand under your habit, trailing slowly up your leg until the skirt hung lopsided around your upper thigh. You nodded at him, watching as his eyes never left yours. “And do I touch you here, mia cara? ” His palm cupped your mound over your panties, and he could feel the searing heat emanating from your core through the leather of his glove.

The noise you made was involuntary – a soft gasp that made his already half-hard length twitch with interest beneath the heavy wool of his clothes. He didn’t wait for you to answer him, his question more of a rhetorical tease. Instead, he slid his hand against you, pressing against your entrance while his palm sat heavy against your clitoris.

“Cardinal...” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting to a perfectly round ‘O’.

He continued to tease for a moment, enjoying the soft mewls and sharp breaths you took each time he would alternate the pressure between his palm and his fingers. But he only had so much control, after weeks of pining, of dreaming of you, fucking his damn pillows to the memory and the scent of you.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down your legs and letting them hit the floor around your feet. Without wasting a second or daring to look away from the blissful expression on your face, he dipped his fingers between your folds, dragging them painfully slowly through the mess you had made for him. The choked moan you let out at the sensation of that damned glove sliding through rang out against the stone walls of the seminar room.

Copia collected some of your mess on his glove, lifting his hand into the dim candlelight of the room to see the way it shined. It reminded him of the moment he’d found your sodden glove in the booth, how it left the darker wet marks where he’d held it. Except this time, he was blessed enough to have it right from the source.

“ Splendido... (splendid)” he mumbled, before you opened your eyes to watch him bring his shimmering glove to his lips, tasting what he’d taken. The way he groaned at the sweetness had you clenching around nothing, fisting the cassock you still had such a tight grip on. “I can’t deny myself, dolcezza ... Not anymore.”

Before you had time to linger on his words – not anymore... - he dropped to his knees in front of you, as if ready to worship. He adjusted the skirt of your habit for you to hold around your hips, still covering your modesty for now. Both his hands slid up your thighs, parting them as he slotted in-between, finally coming to uncover you for him.

The way you glistened for him made his concealed erection throb, and as much as he wanted to dive in and devour you whole, he didn’t want to rush this. He’d waited too long to be sloppy here. Instead, he pressed his lips to your inner thighs, enjoying the way they trembled in anticipation. Slowly, he made his way up, his breath tickling and warming the trail of wet he’d left with his tongue.

Finally, his lips pressed against your mound. As painful as it was to have him tease, to gently kiss you where you so desperately needed more, you were grateful for any contact at all after the weeks of anguish believing he held no feelings other than disappointment and disgust for you.

When the Cardinal at your feet finally allowed his tongue to slip between your folds, you couldn’t help the hand that flew to knock his biretta off his head, grasping at the peppered grey hair that grew beneath it. He groaned against you; at your taste, at your heat, at your grip. It was all so wonderfully intoxicating.

As he let himself bury his tongue in you, he lifted one of your thighs over his shoulder for better access for him, and stability for you. He wrapped his arm around that thigh, gripping on for dear life as if you’d disappear on him again. But you were going nowhere anytime soon...

As he mouthed at your clit, he couldn’t help the grunts and groans that rumbled like thunder against you, vibrating through you. You threw your head back in pleasure, uncaring of how loud your moans and whimpers were.

When Copia started to slide his middle finger through your folds below his tongue, you almost collapsed back onto the desk. He pressed against your entrance, slowly allowing his leather-clad finger to slide inside you. He never stopped his tongue, never came up for breath.

When he had his ring finger join the other, you began to see stars. He filled you so well, scissoring inside you and curling up towards that glorious spot inside you that no other had ever found.

“C-Cardinal... ahh,” you whimpered. It fuelled him further, hearing his title fall from your lips above him. It was all too much for him; your taste, your grip. And now that? Oh, how sinful it sounded, how beautiful, like the prettiest songbird singing its morning melody.

He was ashamed to admit that what you were doing to him had such a tight grasp on his sanity, he was losing himself in his mind and his body was following suit. While he had no friction, no pressure, nothing to help the painful need in his crotch, he was so close...

In his reverie, he lifted your other thigh over his shoulder, burying his face further into you as he continued using his fingers to bring you closer and closer to the edge. You had to grip the desk under you to steady yourself, allowing his animalistic urges to take total control of your body. This was nothing like your dream.

This was so much better.

His tongue lavished against your clit unforgivingly, lips circling and suckling from time to time as he drank you in.

“F-fuck, Cardinal... I can’t,” you begged for nothing above him, so close to the edge, dangling by a splintering branch over a deep canyon that was ready to snap at any moment. You couldn’t help the way you bucked your hips anymore, or the way you ground your pussy down into his face, his nose becoming a tool for pleasure as much as his tongue, lips and chin.

That splintering branch snapped clean off when he growled into you, and suddenly you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, back slamming down into the hard wood of the desk behind you. If you felt any pain at all, it didn’t show – you were too busy writhing and squeezing your thighs around poor Copia’s head.

What you didn’t know, was that the growl that had pushed you into your earth-shattering orgasm had been a growl not only of lust, but of anger. At himself.

Beneath you, Copia was squeezing your thigh with the hand that wasn’t buried inside you, desperately trying to stop himself... But his poor, untouched cock had violently flinched beneath his cassock before spilling a hot load of his seed. Copia had cum just from eating you out.

If he didn’t feel like a pathetic pervert before tonight, he certainly did now. Who cums from just going down on a woman?

Oh, but you were not just any woman, were you? Not to him. You were the woman he pined over, stressed over, cried over, came over every fucking night for four wretched weeks. What it was about you, he wasn’t sure, but the Cardinal had never been so besotted with a woman in his life. Dare he say it, it had started long before that night in the confessional booth... He had been drawn to you since the day you took your vows.

And no, he just couldn’t help himself.

You lay on the desk, catching your breath and waiting for your head to stop spinning as your limbs went lifeless around him, one slipping from his shoulder. He detached himself from your core and stood up, readjusting himself in his pants for a more comfortable position now that the wet patch in his underwear was beginning to seep through to bloom into a deep red stain on his cassock. But there was no getting comfortable with his softening cock confined and covered in his own spend.

He stepped towards you, between your legs and reached for your hand with the glove that wasn’t still glistening with your arousal. He lifted it to his completely smudged lips, peppering the back of it with chaste kisses as you came to.

“Mia cara... are you... okay?” he mumbled between kisses. You hummed an affirmative response back, your mind still foggy in post-orgasm haze.

Copia continued peppering kisses to the back of your hand, to each fingertip, your wrist, a little way up your arm and back down as he waited patiently for you to come back around to him. Eventually, you sat up, pushing your habit down to cover your modesty once again. He held your hand in his, gazing up into your eyes with a soft expression you couldn’t quite read.

When you really looked at him, you couldn’t help but giggle. His paint was smudged around his mouth, a grey hue painting him from his nose to his chin, and his hair was so dishevelled he looked as if he had been dragged through a hedge.

“What’s so funny, cara ?” he smiled with you, the kind of smile you can’t keep off your face when someone you adore is laughing near you.

“You look a mess,” you laughed, smoothing out the parts of his hair that were sticking up.

“Ah, sì, you have quite a grip,” he chuckled, looking away for a moment, suddenly bashful. “I trust that was not so bad, eh?” he bit his lip as he waited for your response, a little smug smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Better than my dream, Cardinal,” you shyly admitted. “But um... my dream doesn’t end there...”

Copia’s smile dropped, realising what you were hinting at. You weren’t done yet... You wanted more from him. But in order to perform, he would have to reveal what you so far had missed.

Before he could protest, your hand was cupping his bulge under his cassock, but as you pressed your palm there, your eyes grew wide, and your gaze dropped to look at what you’d felt.

Wet.

“Uh... mi dispiace, sorella... (I’m sorry, sister...) I... I couldn’t, um...”

Someone had stoked the dissipating fire inside you once again, and a flame began to burn. You weren’t sure if it was knowing that Copia had cum in his pants at the taste of you, or if it was his dumbstruck look as he tried to rectify the situation with words but knowing he had been so enamoured with you that he’d reached his end even whilst neglected... that was hotter than you could have ever imagined.

“What was it, Cardinal?” you interrupted him. He silenced quickly, cocking his head in confusion. “Was it how I sounded?” You pressed your palm to the soft bulge beneath you, not at all bothered by the wet fabric.

“Was it how I tasted?” you asked, your confidence growing as his eyes widened in shock.

“Was it how I pulled your hair?” The heel of your palm dug into him, rotating in a small circle over his cock.

“Was it, how my thighs tightened around your head?” You heard him moan softly as you stared into his eyes. His cock was beginning to twitch in interest again.

“Or was it how my pussy clenched around your fingers?”

That did it. Without a word, the man before you wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you to him to crash your lips together. You’d awoken something inside him, a beast that he’d been keeping tame until now. Between desperate clashes of lips and tongues, Copia began to tease you back.

“You want to know what it was, tesoro?” he panted against your lips like a dog in heat, “it was the thought that not only did I have you right where I wanted you,” he paused for another heated kiss, “ finally tasting what I’ve been desiring for so long,” and another, “but that I had infiltrated this pretty little head of yours, corrupted the sweetest of all the sorelle... I got to make you, mine...”

You whimpered at his words, knowing every single one was no lie. But hearing Copia call you his had you arching your back to press against him, your hips desperately seeking him out and your lips messily found his again.

Terzo yawned as he walked down the halls of the ministry, the days of solid paperwork and papal duties - not the mention his library rendezvous earlier that day... - catching up to him as he slogged back to his quarters. The halls were dark, silent. He didn’t rush – he didn’t have the energy to. His mind wandered as he dawdled, taking in the stained glass around him with every step he took.

He rounded a corner, and thought he could hear shuffling coming from inside one of the seminar rooms. He rolled his eyes, annoyed at the thought of having to put on his big scary Papa voice and tell whoever was out of bounds this late to go back to their dorms. Why did they make him work so hard, eh?

As he drew closer to the door of a room he presumed was the one inhabited, he heard voices. He reached for the doorknob, until the voices registered, and he realised... These were voices he recognised...

“Uh... mi dispiace, sorella... (I’m sorry, sister...) I... I couldn’t, um...” Was that Cardinal Copia he heard stammering away in there like a moron? Well, as a higher up member of the clergy, he was okay to be out of bounds at this hour. Terzo shrugged to himself and started to turn away from the door – whatever the Cardinal was up to in there was his business. And frankly, Terzo was too tired to even realise he had been speaking to someone...

“What was it, Cardinal?” Terzo stopped, his brows pulling together in thought. That had sounded like you, Sister _____? What would she be doing alone with the Cardinal at this hour?

Terzo was now intrigued, and hung around for a moment.

“Was it how I sounded?” What on earth was she talking about?

“Was it how I tasted?” Terzo’s eyes widened, his jaw falling open. Had he heard that right?

“Was it how I pulled your hair?” This was not the same Sorella _____ he knew, surely not? Such filth spilling from her mouth... He almost felt a swell of pride in his chest.

“Was it, how my thighs tightened around your head?” Terzo all but jumped with giddiness at the door, keeping himself as quiet as possible to not alert those inside. He heard the Cardinal moan the most pathetic little sound, and slapped his gloved hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Oh, fratellino, you are down BAD...

“Or was it how my pussy clenched around your fingers?”

Terzo’s hand dropped when his jaw hit the floor, completely taken aback by your brazen use of such a sinful phrase. He’d clearly stumbled upon something already in motion... Suddenly, he heard a quick shuffle, followed by a suppressed moan from you and a hungry growl from the Cardinal. Terzo jumped away from the door as if it had burst into flames.

Now, Terzo was certainly a pervert. But he was not about to eavesdrop on his brother fraternising with a sister of sin. He recoiled at the thought, shivering as he backed away to the far wall of the opposite corridor. He stood frozen for a moment, his body not reacting anywhere near fast enough.

“You want to know what it was, tesoro?.... It was the thought that not only did I have you right where I wanted you... but I had infiltrated this pretty little head of yours, corrupted the sweetest of all the sorelle... I got to make you, mine...”

That did it. Terzo turned and bolted down the corridor to get away from the lip-smacking sounds and the whines you let slip.

As he rounded the corner and managed to get away from the noises that frankly would now haunt him in his dreams, he couldn’t help but feel a little... proud.

That had been his doing. He’d pushed them together, forced them into each other’s presence knowing how absolutely pitiful and sciocco (foolish) the pair of you were being. Terzo certainly wasn’t blind – he'd seen the Cardinal’s affections, saw how your absence had affected him so. Now he was beginning to think your disappearance may even have had to do with him, in some way. Avoiding him, perhaps?

Not that it mattered. For now, he was proud that his fratellino was making a move – however mentally scarring that move had been to overhear.

And he told you that you were his, too. The meaning of that may have been lost in the moment, but it certainly wasn’t lost on Terzo. Copia meant that with every fibre of his being.

He smiled to himself as he continued to walk to his chambers. For all the teasing and all the jokes Terzo made at Copia’s expense as they were growing up, he had to admit, he turned out alright in the end. His goofy little half-brother who kept his secret Beanos and drank his little juice boxes. He chuckled to himself – he certainly was proud of him. And finally, someone else saw him for more than a bumbling idiot. Someone finally didn’t underestimate him the way the rest of the ministry did.

“Ben fatto (good job) , Terzo,” he smirked to himself. His little plan had worked; albeit, far sooner than expected, and just a little too well.

He would be working hard this evening to forget what he’d just overheard...

Copia’s grip on your thighs around his hips tightened as he deepened your kiss, the leather of his gloves tightening and squeaking over his taught hands. You were sure he would leave bruises with how hard he held you, pulling you flush against him until your core pressed against his hardening length. You didn’t care though; any mark he left on you was like a badge of honour.

“Dolcezza, what do you want from me, eh?” he pleaded, breathless as he trailed open mouthed kisses along your jaw and to your neck, never once disconnecting his lips along the way.

“All of you, Cardinal...” you practically sang, “ please...”

He hummed against your neck, lost entirely to his visceral need to devour you whole. You threaded your hands in his hair again, holding him tight to you as you let your head fall back, enjoying the kisses, the nips and bites, the suckling against your skin that bloomed in beautiful red and purple patches.

Copia stood upright for a moment, biting at the leather on his right hand to free himself of his glove and spitting it to one side before he lay his palm on your cheek. He drank you in with his eyes, hooded and blown out with lust. You nuzzled into him instinctively searching out his touch, your lips finding his thumb to pepper kisses to the tip. It felt oddly intimate, more so than having his face buried between your thighs.

No one ever saw the Cardinal – or any clergy member, for that matter – without their gloves. Their bare touch was saved for those they devoted it to, and here he was, baring himself to you .

You pressed a final kiss to his thumb, before allowing your tongue to lave over the pad of it, your lips following to engulf his thumb in the warmth of your mouth. Copia hummed in front of you, his other hand squeezing your thigh tightly as he watched.

“Cosa ho fatto per meritarti, tesoro? (What did I do to deserve you, sweetheart?)” he groaned, pushing his thumb to smear your spit over your lips, adoring the way they glistened for him in the low light. “I want to give you all of me,” he slid his hand to your neck, a wet trail left along your skin by the saliva still on his thumb, and gripped tight enough to send a wave of excitement through you. “Every last inch...”

You whined for him again, as your body seemed to do of its own accord, and let him capture your lips in another kiss. You could no longer stand it – you needed him, like the moon needs the sun to glow brightly in the night.

Hastily, you reached for the buttons of his cassock, making quick work of them until he could shrug out of the heavy red wool and let it fall to the floor. He helped you then, to remove his jacket underneath while you focussed on freeing his length.

“A little messy, mi dispiace ,” he smirked, not sorry at all for the mess he’d made when he now knew how much that had turned you on. On another occasion, you would have liked to sink to your knees, clean him up and ready him for what came next but there was no time for that. Messy or not, you simply needed him.

You didn’t even attempt to remove his pants, instead pushing them just a little further down his hips to allow you to reach into his underwear and take him in your hand. He hissed through his teeth like you’d scalded him, but instead rocking his hips to chase your touch. He had been correct, there was certainly a mess in there – one that coated your hand as you pulled his erection free and pumped along his length once, twice...

“ Cazzo... (Fuck...)” he groaned.

As your hand moved, you let your eyes wonder over his body, half exposed to you now. The physique you had dreamed of wasn’t far off, except he had a little more muscle definition than your imagination had given him credit for, particularly in the two lines that framed his abdomen, leading down to where your hand worked him over. But what caught your eye most of all, was the strange tattoo that sat over his heart, hidden by a thin layer of grey-speckled chest hair.

Three 6’s, in a spiral, marked into his chest for eternity. Your free hand traced the black lines, fingertips grazing over it making him shiver at your touch. You didn’t ask about it, there was no need. He had kept it covered, hidden from knowledge of anyone else until right now – you were the only person he ever wanted to be this vulnerable to. Someday though, you might ask him about that...

Copia moved to remove his other glove, letting it drop to the floor beside him with the rest of his garments. His red pants still clung to his thighs, and he struggled to draw his eyes away from where your hand stroked his cum-covered cock lazily.

With one long, drawn out stroke back up his length, you lifted your hand – smeared in his mess – and pressed two of your fingers to your tongue, sucking the mess from them as you held his eye contact. His expression darkened, baring his teeth to you like an animal as he smirked, watching you lick and suck every last bit of his essence from your hand. A fire raged within you, like lava spewing through your veins at the quiet yet guttural groan he unleashed.

In a flash, he was dragging you to the edge of the desk where you sat, both hands burrowing into the soft flesh of your hips. His hips slowly rocked against you, cock dragging through the plentiful juices you’d left for him. You hummed at the feeling of some contact, particularly the feeling of the veins and ridges of his hardness. You needed him inside you, filling you. You couldn’t drag this out anymore; it was like torture. Worse than torture.

“Please, Cardinal...” you begged. And how could he deny you when you’d asked so nicely?

“Kiss me, bella,” he huffed, his focus snatched away by the hypnotising sight of his cock sliding through your folds as he teased. It was as if he could only be diverted by your lips, that he couldn’t drag his attention away voluntarily.

You grabbed him by the jaw with one hand, crushing your lips to his desperately. He growled again, the weeping head of his cock catching on your entrance and slowly, finally, he began to push inside...

Your jaw went slack, kiss long forgotten as your eyes squeezed shut and you let out a staggered moan into his mouth.

“ Sono qui, tesoro... (I’m here, sweetheart...)” he assured, holding your hips flush to him with a hand on the small of your back. He struggled to keep himself still, buried to the hilt and desperate to move, but you needed a moment. The feeling was overwhelming, stretched to the brink of pain and pleasure, dangling dangerously there as you got used to him.

It was a true testament to his self-control and his character that he waited for you – as soon as his length had been buried in your tight, wet warmth he thought he was a goner. He figured that this was it – this was the glorious afterlife he’d been promised, that he prayed to Lucifer for day in, day out.

Having you pressed against him grounded him as much as he needed. He watched the expression on your face, waiting for any sign of discomfort, of regret. He found none, because there was none to give. His lips hovered above yours, enjoying the warmth of your breath as you moaned for him.

You were wearing too many clothes still for his liking; he wanted to be unbearably close to you, to feel the warmth of your skin on his, see you in all your glory. Still buried deep inside you, he used one of his hands to unbutton your habit, slowly revealing more flesh to him, kissing down your exposed chest until he could reach no further down.

He was so gentle with you, so patient. He fought the urges to thrust into you, to take what he so desperately wanted from you. He simply wanted this to be perfect, and the thought had your eyes glazing with an adoration that went beyond a silly little wet dream.

As your own way of signalling you were okay, you wanted more, you shimmied out of your now open habit, letting it pool around you where you sat, and pulled the straps of your bra down, unclipping it at the back.

He watched your slow movements, tracing patterns on your skin with his fingertips. “ Più bella di quanto avrei mai potuto immaginare (more beautiful than I ever could have imagined),” he whispered, pressing his lips to your sternum, feeling your heart beating against him. If only he had known he felt this way, that it was more than just lust – if he had admitted that to himself...

“ Copia ...” you whined, the first time you’d called him by his name all evening... His heart swelled, smiling against the swell of your breast between kisses. “ Per favore, h-ho bisogno d-di te... (Please, I need you...)” you stuttered in broken Italian, piecing together bits you had picked up in your time in the Ministry, but he knew – oh , he knew what you were saying.

“ Qualsiasi cosa per te, amore mio (anything for you, my love),” he replied, sweetly pressing his lips to yours as he cradled your face in his hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck and sunk into him, only for him to begin moving his hips, slowly pulling back from where he had been buried deep within your warmth for a few minutes now at least...

You mewled into his kiss, letting your tongues dance together so beautifully. It wasn’t until he had slid almost completely away from you that he pushed his way back in, gliding almost effortlessly in the slick you’d created for him. He built his movements over a few slow thrusts, gradually setting a pace that would never bring you to any kind of climax, but enough that the two of you were swirling in pleasure, able to enjoy your first moments anchored together.

Copia’s lips never left yours, not to allow moans the freedom to escape or to allow his lungs the freedom to breathe. You were totally, utterly enamoured with each other.

With every roll of his hips, you edged closer and closer to a point of begging for more, begging for a means to an end. He was struggling to keep himself composed, too scared to frighten you off if he unleashed what had built inside him for the last four weeks.

“Copia, m-more... please...” you begged, finally separating the two of you to hazily look in his beautifully distinct eyes, show him the desperation in your own.

“Amore, if I let go, I’m not sure I can control myself...” he warned, still forcing himself to stay at the pace he’d set.

“Then lose yourself, Cardinal... Take me,” you offered yourself to him, trusting completely that he would never do anything you didn’t desperately want yourself.

With no further encouragement needed, and a whisper of “ Cazzo, Sathanas perdonami ... (fuck, Sathanas forgive me...) ” he picked up his pace, effortlessly sliding into you over and over until the tops of his thighs were smacking into the underside of yours. The sounds ricocheted off the stone walls around you, a sinful mix of whines, pants, grunts and skin slapping on skin swirling in the air around you.

The hands laying loose around his shoulders slid into his hair, pulling tight to press his forehead to yours. The desk beneath you groaned and creaked under the force, scraping along the floors with each hit. Your Cardinal’s cock filled you so deliciously, his hips angled to hit the back of your cervix and the top of your pussy where that tantalising sweet spot lay.

“I wanted you for so long, amore mio...” he confessed, “so completely, like un patetico bastardo (a pathetic bastard).” He grit his teeth together, grunting like an animal as he fucked into you. He fought the urge to push you back down against the desk and lift your thighs up, spreading you open as much as possible for him, wanting to savour the closeness, the way he could feel your breath beading in condensation on his neck.

“S-six months...” It was your turn to confess. “I’d b-been dreaming of... you... for six months...” you cried out as he slammed into you harder, fuelled by your admission.

“ Bella , you’ll be the end of me, eh?” he chuckled between pants of breathlessness. “ Adesso sono tutto tuo (now I’m all yours...)”

The coil in your abdomen wound impossibly tighter, threatening to fracture at any moment with the way he rolled his hips up into you, filling you deliciously with each pistoning motion. You felt the ripples from each violent thrust over and over against your clit where his body met yours, and the way his nails dug into your flesh, no doubt leaving bruises with deep crescent shapes imprinted in your skin.

“C-can’t... hold...” you could barely string a sentence together in your current state, “ fuck...”

“Cum for me, amore. Cum for your Cardinal, eh?” he roared. And well, you couldn’t stop yourself if you wanted to.

Fire spread from your core through every nerve ending, spanning your entire body and you squealed and writhed against him. He never faltered, not missing a single beat as you shook and spilled around his cock. The way your walls fluttered around him, squeezed him impossibly tighter made every thrust a struggle, but he fought it – he couldn’t let you down now.

He tensed his body, staving off another orgasm as long as he possibly could. He wanted you to revel in yours, wanted to watch you come undone on his cock like he’d dreamed of so many times. A litany of profanities and mumblings of his name spilled in incoherent babble as your limbs turned to jelly, barely clinging onto him to stay upright. If you were to fall back or forward, you were to choose forward, slumping against his sweaty chest, your head sitting where his neck met his shoulder.

In your tired and overstimulated state, all you could do for him was mouth at the skin there, leaving sloppy kisses while your pussy continued to pulse around him until eventually, he gripped your chin tightly to lift your head and crash his lips to yours. He growled into your mouth, hips stuttering and slowing – he had cum inside you, needing to taste you again as he did so.

With his final few thrusts, his spend leaked from around his cock, mixing with your own climax. He punctuated each thrust with a hum of satisfaction, until he couldn’t take the movement anymore, his cock too sensitive to continue. Still, he didn’t remove himself. Not yet...

Somehow you both slumped together, keeping each other upright with your body weight alone. Your chests rose and fell together, trying to regulate your breathing to have an opportunity to speak at all. But honestly? The pair of you were happy in your blissful silence together for a moment.

After a few minutes, it was you who spoke first.

“I thought you would hate me...” you sighed against his shoulder. Copia’s brows furrowed together, and he stood himself up removing his softening length from you, holding you by your shoulders to get a good look at you.

“Why would you ever think that, amore mio?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“I thought I had overstepped, that night in the confessional. I thought you were ashamed, disgusted...” you drooped your head in sadness at the memory of him excusing you so abruptly that evening.

“No... not with you, never you , tesoro,” he assured. “At myself, sì? I assumed you would despise how I took advant-”

“Cardinal no, you didn’t... Sathanas, we’re both really stupid, aren’t we?” you chuckled, shaking your head at your antics. “Idioti innamorati (idiots in love),” he laughed, until he realised what he’d actually just said – and then the colour drained from his face, his eyes blowing out wide in horror.

You smiled softly, taking his hands from your shoulders and pulling him to take a step closer to you. “Idioti innamorati,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to the end of his nose, still greyed from the smudging of his paints. Copia smiled sheepishly, a warmth spreading in his chest. He hadn’t felt like this before, much less ever had someone reciprocate his feelings. He felt strangely at peace, more so than he ever had.

“Tesoro, promise me something, eh?” he asked. You nodded, willing him to continue. “Never hide from me again, okay? I damn near lost my mind.”

You laughed at your idiocy. “I promise, Cardinal.” You leaned forward to press your lips against his, sweetly capturing the moment in a blissful kiss.

When you pulled apart, he wordlessly helped to gather the garments that had been carelessly removed and dressed you again. You exchanged jokes about the messes you both were, how vile it felt to put your clothes back on with the feeling of your spend seeping from you and his still damp in his underwear... How truly ridiculous you both were.

“Come, bella. I have a rather large shower cubicle I think we can both put to good use,” he flirted, pulling you to him by your waist now you were both fully dressed. You agreed, taking him by the hand and wondering through the corridors together back to the clergy suites.

“Besides, I have something of yours I feel I must give back...” Copia laughed at himself, somehow no longer afraid to admit what he had been up to in your absence when he knew now just how depraved your own mind could be.

Your mind ticked over at what on earth he could possibly mean, until it dawned on you... You had lost your fucking glove.

“ You pervert!” you accused, smacking his chest playfully as you walked. “Maybe I don’t want it back, Lucifer knows what you’ve done with that thing...” The two of you giggled and flirted your way back, uncaring and unaware of any prying ears that may hear voices late into the night.

And there were indeed prying ears, albeit accidentally, that perked up at the sound of voices outside his chambers...

Terzo sat on his couch with a glass of vintage red in his hand, attempting to read a book to take his mind off the sinful noises he’d heard from his fratello earlier that evening. When he recognised the noises, he groaned to himself.

‘Must they parade around to remind me of that?’ he thought to himself, rolling his eyes and standing to look through the peephole of his door. He saw the two of you waltzing through the dimly lit corridor, hand in hand like teenagers. The dopey look on his brother’s face was, to him, a wonderful sight; so hopelessly enamoured with you as you giggled and laughed together into the night.

He had always hoped Copia would find someone like you – perhaps that’s why you were the one sister he never tried to bed, the one he felt was off limits to him. Maybe he had always known... but he was glad to see his fratellino acting like himself in your presence. Goofy, dopey Copia. Perhaps now, he could stop looking for approval from those he looked up to and looked down on him, and focus his efforts on simply being himself. After all, he had now found someone who liked him for who he was, not who he hoped to be .

“Idioti innamorati,” he muttered to himself, chuckling at his win.

Sì, his fratellino could be himself now – however pathetic he may be... FIN

A/N: I hope you loved it as much as I loved writing this. This may be my first Ghost fic, but it will NOT be my last - so if you'd like to stick around for more, I'd be incredibly grateful. Send me some head canon requests or some drabble prompts - I'm MORE THAN HAPPY to do those for you. Endless love, Bee 🖤 TAG LIST: @melvilless @copiasprincipessa @siouxbauhaus @edensbuttercups @daughter0fcain @xnothingpersonalx @assassinprocrastinator @funfetti-furby @kadedoesthings @sunbleached-ghoul @gravehags @gbatesx @solluna00 @mae-mei-m @bolliancat @ghulehsin @socksandcr0cs @girlwithissuesworld @fallen-angelito @maccery @wjyndigo @thew0man @a-fools-circus @luxavier @saintedcooper @whatawonderfulexistence--blog @calamity-queen @eternaltiare @moongoore @wagooo @dolceterzo @emeritusing @letstalkstories @sacred-coffin @rainstorms-library @ryos-cruddy-side-blog @fruitmanstyles @relentlessmoon @cardinal-copingmechanism @werich @strawberriiblossoms @evepeve @portaltothevoid @casualghostfan @copias-juicebox @sl1psth3magg0t @enchantedbunny @pedro-pedrito-pascalito

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galedekarios · 9 months ago

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Hello, big fan of your Gale content um I just saw this post on X that really annoyed me that was a graphic saying Gale would use 3 in 1 shampoo implying he is lazy with his hygiene and that another character was more like that and it had like 6k likes and I just wonder why everyone mischaracterizes our best wizard so much? Generic male expectations? Justice for Gale. He deserved that lavender bath.

thank you for your message and kind words! 🖤

i haven't seen the post you're referring to so i can't say too much about it, but if we talk about the general concept of hygiene and personal care, in my heart i know the following truth:

gale loves his little indulgences and that includes the finer things in life, like taking long baths, perfumes, massages, and the like.

once he feels better again and has the spoons to fully appreciate it, he would have a ridiculously elaborate 13 step self-care routine, beard oils and all of that.

(we know his year of isolation likely led to him neglecting himself, given tara's repeated lines about not eating enough, as well as gale letting his beard growing out.)

in early access, he had this dialogue with the protag, about dreaming of a nice lavender scented bath:

Gale: Time is a precious gift. With time, we may even reach Baldur's Gate, a city rife with magic, wizards, scholars, and perhaps: solutions. Player: In that case I share your optimism. Here's to the journey ahead. Gale: And here's to your company. Gale: Oh, I can picture it now: academies, libraries, laboratories – the assembled knowledge of centuries that may just set us free. Better yet: soft beds, home cooked meals, and all the other little luxuries this wilderness so brashly denies us. Gods, I'd pay a king's ransom for a hot, lavender-scented bath – minstrels serenading as I close my eyes and let the water's warmth dissolve all woes. Plenty to look forward to.

this was sadly cut.

i also seem to recall another line of dialogue in early access where a companion commented on gale using a waterdhavian scent/perfume, which had woody undertones. if i can find it, i'll be sure to post about it.

but still, he still has similar lines in the full release version, like in this banter with shadowheart:

Gale: I must tell you, Shadowheart, the bathing waters here leave much to be desired. devnote: A bit know it all Gale: The ablutions offered at the Temple of Beauty in Waterdeep are far superior. And they have the most excellent soaps. devnote: A bit know it all Shadowheart: Hmm. I was wondering why you always smelled like a wealthy dowager. devnote: Teasing

bathing waters, excellent soaps and ablutions at the temple of beauty in waterdeep. the temple of beauty is a temple to the goddess sune, the goddess of beauty and passion.

"Her temples usually held social salons and displayed mirrors for use by lay parishioners. Some of them even had public baths for the local populace. Her shrines often stood on the corner of busy city streets. They would have a small ornate overhanging roof with a mirror underneath. They were used to check one's appearance while honoring Sune with prayer. Some shrines even held perfume and cosmetic items for those who could not afford such luxuries themselves." [x]

volo's waterdeep enchiridion says this in particular about the temple of beauty in waterdeep:

"If you need to refresh yourself during your travels, or perhaps to primp before an important meeting or a night out, visit Sune’s faithful at the Temple of Beauty. Its marbled public baths and mirrored salons are open from before dawn to after dusk. There’s no fee for these services, or for the advice and aid of the temple’s many pleasant attendants, but donations are encouraged."

there are some other banters & lines of dialogue in the same vein:

Player: I want to be with Gale. I'm sorry. Shadowheart: Don't be. He's charming enough, well-read and well-groomed.

there are more banters and comments like this from other companions as well (including minthara, for example), so yes, i think it's safe to say that gale is not a 3-in-1 shampoo type.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 meta #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3 #text: asks #gale also has a quadrillion comments about being really sensitive to smells (esp bad ones)#it's pretty funny #i need to make a compilation #also at some point i hope we can address how prejudiced these takes are and what they are rooted in #gale is not the toxic manly man or the token straight bc he has a beard & is mature #and was in a 'relationship' with a female goddess

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roguephenon · 2 months ago

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II: The Thing That Will Always Be

"...Knowing this was the outcome, would you have still done the same?"

"In a New York minute." (Chapter cover is by @pinkmeanschaos. Check them out; they have fantastic work.)

The beginning of the end lies under the cut.

This would be the part where I post a tease of the chapter, followed by a link to said chapter.

Let's switch it up this time.

You've all given me so much love and encouragement, and I appreciate and cherish it all. Thank you so, so much.

But I'm not the only fanfic writer for this fandom. There are so many others who deserve love too. Some come to mind.

Like...

@geekinclara just recently started a KND fic, "Those Were The Days". It looks to be their take on Rachel's days as Supreme Leader and maybe even beyond that. It's off to a fantastic start. I've occasionally seen their posts about how much prep they've been doing for it (did you know making a cohesive timeline for this show is hard? Because it truly is), so it could do with some love, non?

And then there's @spicedwatermel0n and his KND fic, "The Rebellion," a GKND AU with 15 chapters already. It explores darker themes (which he's gone through the effort of listing before it starts to prepare his audience; he cares!) while weaving a narrative of the cast trying to fight an oppressive GKND regime. In space. Which is dope. He even has his own art of his designs. I hear he loves people asking about his AU and headcanons on his side blog when he has time to answer.

Nowadays, I write stories and create art for myself first and foremost, and I believe that should be the ultimate goal. Learning to love and take pride in your work should compel your drive to tell stories!

But comments matter, too. Feedback and engagement are rarely ever not a boost. I read every review left and respond to what I can when I have spoons, and it's an amazing feeling.

So, this is just me saying, "Help them feel amazing, too!" And not just these two, but all fanfic writers! If you see a fic you like, leave a quick sentence of your favorite moment!

Even if it has no traction, you'll just be their first!

Even if it has yet to be updated in 14 years, maybe there's a chance they'll come back one day!

Just something that came to mind to me today! And, of course, everyone has boundaries and things they like and dislike. Be respectful of those, too! Seriously. I've had to learn lessons the hard way, and I hope you don't have to have as harsh of an experience.

Thanks for listening to me yap!

Here's the link to Cold Reception's penultimate chapter for your trouble.

#knd #cold reception #my writing #fanfic #numbuh infinity #numbuh vine #lizzie devine #rachel mckenzie #numbuh 362 #sector w #father #reviews and feedback always appreciated but don't feel pressured!#except for the people I've tagged. maybe feel a tiny bit pressured to engage with them haha #this chapter is a cameo fest. spot your favs

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kiryoutann · 18 days ago

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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: attempts of physical abuse (throwing objects), basically reader's mother being a really horrible narcissistic abusive person.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Listen to that. The opening strains of that old Elvis classic began to swell; a hush fell over the assembled guests. All eyes were drawn to the dance floor where Sabrina now stood, radiant in her lovely gown, and Andrew looked at her with such veneration, as if she had hung the very moon in the sky. In the arms of her now-husband for their first dance as a married couple, the newlyweds shone brighter than the stars outside the manor.

Sabrina’s cheeks flushed rosier than any wine—joy, adoration, and yes, a little champagne too—had left her glowing in a way you’d never seen before this man came into her life, and your heart swelled with happiness for her.

When at last the song ended and they shared a lingering kiss, you joined the room in applause. Someone handed them a mic, and the two tried to pass the mic to each other until Sabrina was the first to give a speech. Andrew squeezed her hand, gave her an encouraging smile, and nodded.

Clearing her throat, Sabrina spoke into the mic. “Hi, everyone,” she began, voice ringing out sweet and clear through the speakers. “I just want to say thank you all for being here on this special day. Sharing it with my family and friends who mean so much to me has made it truly magical.” Another applause returned her gratitude before receding again when she was about to continue.

With misty eyes, Sabrina then turned to her step-father. “I want to thank Jim, for raising me as your own since I was little. You’ve always been the best dad a girl could ask for.”

Then, you watched her smile at her mother. “And Mom, where do I even begin? You've been my rock since day one. From keeping me sane while wedding planning to celebrating with me every step, you know I wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be the strong, independent woman I am today without you and Jim. I love you both so much.”

When Sabrina's parents—Jim and Joyce—approached her and gave the couple a big hug, another round of applause arose from the guests. But as Joyce placed a final kiss on Sabrina's cheek before stepping back, the world seemed to dim around you.

Suddenly, everything is so foreign—the image in front of you was never presented to you. Aunt Joyce looks genuinely happy for her daughter, and Sabrina hugs her like she cannot imagine life without her mother—which, at some point in your life, you did believe too. Mother’s words, “You won’t survive without me,” ring like angry bees.

Yet now, the thought of sharing a roof with her again feels unbearable.

Joyce and Sabrina look... uncomplicated, despite your mother's statements about how your aunt wasn't prepared for motherhood. And suddenly, everything feels numb, and you're disconnected.

In your reverie, you missed some of the speeches, only blinking back to reality when Sabrina and Andrew’s enthusiastic cheers echoed through the room. The crowd roared as the romantic notes of the new music played, “Until I Found You” inviting guests to join in the dancing.

As you do at the few parties you’ve been invited to in your entire life, you stay away from the dance floor and become a loyal wallflower. However, this time, with a companion—a better people-watcher than you, Simon. The man sweeps his brown irises around, examining people before one makes him chuckle under his mask.

“Look at that old man, still got it in ‘im, eh?” He commented, his tone tinged with amusement.

Your gaze trails Simon's. Among the dancing couples were your other uncle and aunt, their smiles highlighting the lines on their seventy-something faces, clearly having more life in them than many of the younger ones. You chuckled to yourself.

“Actually, that’s Uncle Mick and Aunt Sarah,” you reply, watching the old couple share a laugh amidst the music. “They’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive. Slow dancing is kind of their forte.”

More people-watching, but you fail to notice how often Simon steals glances at you between his own. And by the luminosity of your eyes, he is drawn like an insect in a blazing fire. His slow, "near-dying" heart has yet to realize the change in him. Simon plays on the edges of the rotting wood.

Straightening his gaze, he strikes up a question: “If that old bugger can still cut a rug, why ain’t the famous ballerina ‘avin’ a spin, eh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Simon’s gruff invitation, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest with a foreign carefree ring that you didn’t recognize. Meeting his eyes, you saw amusement there but also something that told you he was serious. Heart tiptoeing at the edges of your ribs, your fingers busying themselves with their own bustle.

Biting your lip, you gazed up at him through your lashes, feeling a smile curling the corners of your mouth. "I don't know," you shrugged your shoulders. “I might suck at slow dancing.”

Simon scoffed. “Absolute bollocks.”

At his disapproval, your smile widened, teeth peeking out from behind those pretty lips. You gazed up at him, searching for something intently.

Somehow in that moment, the noisy celebration around you seemed to fade into a blur, narrowing your world until it was just Simon standing before you. Your chest warmed, as if caressed by the sun on a lush spring day. Capillaries rushed, painting your bones pink. Pink.

Gathering your courage, you mimicked Simon's invitation. “Unless... you're willing to be the judge of that yourself?”

The question came out just above a whisper, heavy with promise. With your heart dangling at the tip of your throat, anticipation mixed with anxiety gnawed at you faster than any termite. Simon gave a subtle nod towards the dance floor with his chin.

“Come on then,” he rumbled.

As Simon led you, you couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella herself; this room made a fairytale for you. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close so your bodies swayed as one. You shyly wrapped your free hands around his neck.

The romantic music continues to flow, caressing your ears with the singer's warm voice, Stephen Sanchez, if your memory serves you right. The merciless thumping in your ribcage persists, and you wonder if Simon feels it, if he has his own version resonating in the hollow of his chest. Settling into a slow sway, you feel his shoulders relax.

“You’re not gonna turn into a swan on me now, are ya? Would be a right shame to ruin such a lovely dance.” Simon asked, tone lighthearted. After mentioning your upcoming ballet performance, he doesn’t slow down his series of jokes about it.

You threw your head back in laughter. “You know that’s not how the story goes.”

Simon's grin grew wide beneath his mask. Cocking a brow, he said, “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then, love.” He challenged.

Taking a deep breath that lifted the smile still on your face, you began the long story of Swan Lake—about what happened to Odette and her flock by the sparkling lake and mostly things you had memorized many times. "So when Siegfried finally learns the truth, it’s too late—Odette ends her life by jumping from a cliff.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he reacts, and you let out a girlish laugh. “That’s tragic.”

You shrug. “I always thought it was kind of romantic.” You giggle again—God, the way this man can make you giggle like a silly schoolgirl—when you see the reaction reflected in his eyes.

“You’re a right bloody psycho, you know that?”

You deadpanned. “I’m not a psycho.” Your tone was flat, trying to be serious but the stubborn grin that followed ruined it.

“She should’ve just gone for another bloke.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, she can’t. She’s been cursed to be a swan forever.”

“Then she should’ve just lived out ‘er days as a swan then,” he said with pragmatism, very much lacking the charm of a fairy tale with all those logics. “Should’ve chased that arse’ole prince all over kingdom for revenge instead. Give ‘im a good peckin’.”

You exhaled in exasperation, but your lips held back a smile. “Please just stop talking.”

Simon chuckled, and fortunately, for his own good, he did. The music was nearing its end, but you were still swaying. Something caught his gaze over your shoulder. He looked back at you, raising a brow to make a suggestion.

“Should we do a spin?” he asked.

“What?”

He nods his chin behind you, and you follow suit—a young couple laughing as they twirl. “Should we give it a go?”

It's somewhat whimsical, somewhat absurd, that not only is this hulking man dancing with you, but he also wished to twirl you like you were partners in some grand ballroom. Yet, as you stare into his smiling eyes, you swear there’s a hint of excitement in them. And what good is a ballerina without a performative twirl?

“Okay,” you accepted his offer.

You placed your hand in his, feeling the rough calluses of his fingers but somehow right against your skin. At your subtle cue, Simon raised your joined palms, spinning you outward in elegance and then back into the solid wall of his chest.

“One more time.” You said, and he did as you asked.

You cup his mask-hidden jaw, feeling for each woven polypropylene against your fingers. The plum of your smiling lips swells with desire, and without thinking, you press your lips to his cheek. Your heart skips a beat, gripped by a jolt of trepidation, fear, and regret that perhaps you have crossed a line, that you might drive him away.

But Simon doesn't.

Instead, he seized your waist and drew you close, eliminating any distance between you. The air was snatched from your lungs in a stolen gasp with the force of his possessive move. Like a lover accompanied by passion as he reaps longing.

(I swell with hope, in the sweet desire of a girl seeking love.)

“I’m dyin’ for a smoke.” He confessed.

You glanced around at the lively party still swirling around you. Turning back to him, you suggested, “Should we slip out the back then?”

“Sure.”

Smiling up at him, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before untangling them from your waist. “You go on ahead—I just need to swap to flats real quick.” You gestured to the high heels that had been enveloping your throbbing toes for hours.

As Simon nodded and turned to go, you hurried off the floor, limping just slightly. The celebratory noise faded as you stepped to the left side of the manor, where the hallway to your room stretched in silence. You turned the doorknob, and the old wood swung with a low creak.

Walking to your suitcase, you flipped it open, took out your Mary Janes, and replaced your high heels with them with a sigh of relief.

Just as you moved to stand, you heard footsteps approaching, then a shadow fell across the open door. Too small to be Simon. Looking up with a start, your heart nearly dropped when you found your mother standing there, arms crossed in a frown full of distaste.

“I've been watching you all night with that… man. You're getting far too comfortable, are you?”

That tone—that same tone that you had heard countless times growing up, signaling the beginnings of an argument. Your shoulders tensed. The pulse inside you quickened as your defenses began to rise, readying themselves in anticipation of the barrage of barbed words that might come next.

The oceans dividing San Francisco and London were supposed to end whatever connection existed between you both—to pretend that it didn’t exist. It should have been a clean finale, allowing you to simply live as a normal girl with normal reactions to everything, as if nothing bad had ever happened to you.

Yet, look, your traitor body is gearing up for battle just the same. Your mind may lie, you may lie, but the wound bearer presents the results of years of being forged beneath her. 5,351 miles stretched, but you are still the same sixteen-year-old girl who bit her tongue, holding her words like a criminal about to be executed on the spot.

What a mother-daughter relationship you have.

You watch warily as Mother begins circling the room, her high heels clicking ominously, slightly showing the red soles beneath them. Louboutins, you remember. You also remember all too well how much those had cost—the very shoes you had “helped” fund years ago when you foolishly still let her access your bank account, even after you turned nineteen.

“Do you know why he’s here?” Mother tries the first question, testing the waters.

Like a frightened little girl—that same little girl from that sunny day so many years ago—you deflect the real question, “Because I invited him.”

Mother, unimpressed, casts you a sharp look, as if daring you to dare her. “You know what I mean. Do you know why he’s here?”

You bit your lip, grasping at straws. “He’s… my boyfriend.”

Mother scoffed mockingly. She turned to you, face contorted in amusement as if you had just told the funniest joke. “Boyfriend? Please. Is that what you think?”

You flinched back as Mother suddenly whirled to face you, her sculpted features twisting into a reflection of pure, unbridled rage. The similar pair of eyes glared at you wide. She buried her nails deep into your epidermis, and you gasped from the sting.

“The only reason a man would want you is between your legs. You think you found love, but really he's with you only because you're easy. You’re just a cheap fuck to him, (Y/N).”

The hot, stinging droplets gathered and spilled over without your permission. You hated yourself for fueling her twisted satisfaction. Hating that she still knew exactly where to aim her barbs to find their mark after all these years.

But nothing compares to the fact that she is your mother. She is your mother, and yet, how could those words come out of her mouth so easily? As if her criticisms had festered within her mind and she was finally allowing them to escape. There's a small, broken part of you that can't help but wonder—and why do you even wonder? You know yourself better than she does, surely.

Or do you?

Or is it true that there really is nothing to take beyond your body like the unloveable, worthless child she always says you are?

You felt a spark of anger flare. “How could you say that to me?” you choked out, baring your wounded heart. Wrong move—you know this, proved many times that showing emotion had never gotten anywhere with Mother before.

But the younger, wounded teenager in you would always crave some kind of validation, some sign she truly cared. Perhaps hidden beneath the person she's become, she still holds a flicker of the warmth she once felt for you. You’re her daughter, and she’s your mother—shouldn’t that be enough for her to finally treat you like one?

“I’m only telling you the truth so you won’t be naive. Do you think he’ll love you when there are so many girls out there who are much prettier than you?”

At times, the wiser you knew not to take Mother’s words to heart—your survival instincts, born of too many experiences, told you not to let her poison seep into your skin. But more often than not, you didn’t know better. Right now, you don’t know better.

(Prying my mouth open, she dripped her bitter blood until we were indistinguishable.)

Clenching your fist, you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t know him.”

Mother’s features bent in hate at your rebellion. The young daughter no more, grown into someone who dared to talk back rather than just gulping down her every word raw.

“And you do?” she spat. “How long have you known this man? Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, but not convinced enough for her to see the gap in your expression.

“Not my business? Of course it’s my business – I’m your mother!”

Summoning the last of your courage, you mumbled, “You’re not… my mother.”

Her neat eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you just say to me?”

It was a second chance, one she rarely gave. For a moment, you considered taking it back—rewording your reply to something less confrontational, something safer. But you were sick of it—years of carrying her wounds you hadn’t even caused, weighing your body down and sinking them deeper into pitless hell. Of always looking past her anger and ego, finding justifications and reasons to tolerate her. Of being under her control when the young girl inside you needed her anger represented.

And you repeated it without rewording: “You’re not my mother. Not anymore.”

As it left your lips, you saw a flicker of change in Mother’s expression—was that hurt in her eyes? So foreign was her expression that you almost doubted yourself. Regret seized you along with the guilt and self-loathing that gripped your heart.

Then, the hurt blinked away as if it was never there. “Look at you,” she hissed, “throwing away your mother, the woman who birthed and raised you with great difficulty, all for some worthless man. I'm not even surprised if you end up pregnant in a few months, or maybe you already are. Don't say I didn't warn you when he leaves you with a bastard child.”

And they were right when they said that anger is the most effective key.

Moments ago, you can still find the shadow of that sixteen-year-old girl remains within, with pieces of her innocence—a bit of a child’s grin. Her body is still in fear, yet her eyes are always yearning for praise from her mother’s voice.

However, as the grown woman you are ignites in a seething cauldron of fury—disagreement with Mother’s treatment—the little girl begins to fade, reduced to ashes amidst the fire. The “why” question echoes loudly with demands. I'm your baby—you made me; why do you hurt me?

“Why? Why are you so sure only bad things will happen? Why can’t you believe I can find happiness?” Warm tears welled up, tasting salty on your lips as you asked.

Mother raised a warning finger. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

But you’ve passed the point of backing down. “Why? Why are you so convinced I’ll always be unhappy? WHY?!”

(As if it had been written long before my creation.)

Taking a sharp, short breath, you feel self-control slipping away. Your lungs hitched with condemnation, constricting you, trying to escape the hell Mother handmade just for you. You’re crossing the line; something scolds (the same voice your mother planted early on) inside your head, but you refuse to give in.

The dim red light between the cracks in your skull grows brighter, and the next thing you say are the words you've been holding back for so long:

“I’m not you! And what happened with Dad was not my fault!”

And finally, silence fills the small space between you, followed by the faint echo of your voice. As the last syllable faded, the words that had been spoken left you feeling conflicted. That little girl would consider this disobedience—the result of the doctrine your mother spat at her every day—but all you know now is the strange lightness in your heart, as if shedding a massive burden that you didn’t realize you had been carrying your whole life.

Mother took a sharp, hissing breath, and you saw the subtle quiver in her clenched jaw. “You're out of line,” she said.

“I'm out of line?! You were the first one to cross that line, over and over, hurting me for years, but now that I finally do it to you, now I'm the one who's out of line?!” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush, all the pain and anger that you had piled up erupting to the surface. “You've always hurt me, said awful things, made me feel like nothing! But the second I did it to you, suddenly I'm the bad one? That's not fair!"

In the blink of an eye, she extends her perfectly manicured hand to grasp the first object within her reach—a heavy crystal paperweight on the table. Your eyes are glued to it, feet ready to flee when she hurls it at you.

“You fucking ungrateful bitch!” she screamed.

Some distant, rational part of you knows you should dodge. But a darker impulse held you frozen, as if welcoming the blunt object to damage your epidermis and even more so to become evidence of her abuse. And perhaps, once the crimson drips from your split temple, it will be enough to reveal the true identity she has been hiding—to destroy the loving mother image she has carefully built for years.

You will make a spectacle of the wound, perhaps even exaggerating it a bit like Mother always did.

It came so close when it landed on the floor next to you. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mother’s face flushed like the devil as she shouted, “I should never have given birth to you!”

Strange, that relief is what washes over you when her words land in your ears. Because for the first time, the two of you agreed on something – she wished you had never been born, just as you had so often wished the same.

Those “precious” teenage years were filled with alternating fantasies—some days hoping she might die, others wishing it was you instead. But you were never able to go through with killing her, or yourself. Because being without Mother meant being utterly lost and alone, and you were too cowardly to cut your wrist open. More days though, you regretted it—how it might have all ended sooner if only you had been braver.

You wonder who's to blame to just make sense of it—perhaps Mother's mother had been cruel, and she thought she had broken the cycle. Perhaps Joyce, for always being the golden child despite everything. Perhaps Dad. Perhaps you.

All those long, drawn-out years, you stayed, you suffered for her. Because the little girl in the bright pink shoes—the color that matched Mother's favorite dress before she threw it away—loved her mother so much. Always making excuses for her. Maybe she didn't know how to love me, or I didn't understand her way of loving me. Maybe somewhere in her anger were kisses in her own language.

You stood frozen as hollowness spread through your chest, as if the eruption had cleansed you until nothing but an empty clarity remained. Even when Simon entered the room, you didn't notice his presence until he spoke.

“Fuck’s all this?” His question didn’t really wait for an answer as he rushed to your side.

Mother smoothed her hair imperiously, then said: “We were just having a talk.”

Simon’s brown eyes scan the scene: the shattered paperweight, Mother’s suspicious fist. He then turns to examine you carefully, searching for any injuries and only letting out a slight sigh when he finds none.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll sort our things.” Simon orders, and without argument, you nod, walking out of the bedroom.

The room felt heavier with tension after you departed, leaving Simon alone with your seething mother. He moved with purpose, in a quick and efficient mind, as he gathered your things—a toothbrush and hairbrush from the bathroom, dresses from the closet, pulling out drawers for any other items. After throwing them into your suitcase, he tidied up his own things with even more haste and less care.

As he picked up his abandoned tie, Mother cleared her throat. “You don’t need to do this, you know. I know my daughter better than anyone, and she’s not what you really need.”

For a moment, Simon paused, jaw working as he reined his temper. Mother thought she had his attention—finally getting him to listen to her. But soon enough, he resumed his task as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Undeterred, she pressed on. “There are prettier, worthier girls than her. Ones who won’t cause you so much trouble.”

Simon’s hands stilled at that, Mother thought she had succeeded in making him consider. Slowly, he turned to face the older woman. But what she read in his eyes was not a realization or even a spark of curiosity. No, it was a look that suggested he knew a lot about people like her, had seen a lot despite him being a decade her junior.

“That what you tell ‘er then?” He began, hate raining down like hail in his voice. “That she ain’t good enough, or pretty enough? That she’s nothin’ but trouble?”

The woman met his gaze, and Simon noticed how her eyes were shaped like yours, except colder, full of twisted conviction whenever she talked about you. “I only speak the truth, for her own good. Someone has to keep that headstrong girl in line before she comes to ruin.”

At that, he let out an impolite scoff, but Simon gave zero fucks. “Yeah? Cause all I see is you tryin’ to keep ‘er under yer thumb.”

Simon watched as the woman's face contorted into an ugly frown of dislike; her mask had been abandoned somewhere. He wondered how you survived all those years at home, how you could still say you “love her to bits” on your first meeting.

But he supposes that’s how children are. Misplaced unconditional love for their lifegivers. Sometimes, his critical mind thinks it’s a shame for the Man in the Sky to give little humans to people who don’t deserve them—to abusers, addicts, snakes like this one right here. But then again, Simon had no right to complain when he stopped believing in any of all that years ago—after he lost everyone that mattered.

"I'm her mother." She repeated.

“And she’s yer daughter. Not yer pet or yer little dog to order about.”

As Simon returned to tending to the bags, the woman took a slow, deep breath. "I know men like you," she replied. “You think you're protecting her—you think you're saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you've grown bored.”

Simon’s tedious task came to a halt, the zipper of the bag half-open. He furrowed his blond brows, brown eyes focused on nothing. Before long, he gathered the bags and shouldered them, his free hand dragging the suitcase as he walked through the gaping door. That woman spoke again, but he turned a deaf ear to her venomous spit.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION. SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS HERE.

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caitchercatlady · 1 month ago

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He'll Have to Go Through Me

-Pomefiore Version

Vil Schoenheit

Out of all the times you and Vil have engaged with each other, you'd expected him to go up to bat for you last. He has better things to do, right? Helping out a hopeless, magicless Prefect? Please! He wouldn't!

Everyone on NRC campus is pretty much aware of your uniform situation as you wear what Crowley is able to provide (which isn't much). Just because they know doesn't mean that everyone is as sympathetic. All you want to do is mind your own business, yet you have snarks pass you by, talking about how unkempt your outfit is behind your back. Ace, Deuce, and Grim don't understand why looking good matters so much since almost everyone has the same uniform. Despite their encouragement, that doesn't stop the comments from attacking your eardrums. It even seeps onto MagiCam.

Out of the blue, Vil messages you and asks you to help out with a photoshoot to promote the film club's latest project. Thankful for the opportunity, you arrive at the agreed spot, your camera ready for action. Then, it happens again, the pompous clothing comments. They say them in Vil's earshot, thinking the famous actor would agree, but they are about to experience a wake up call. Vil halts the photoshoot to conduct a speech of how it's not the clothing that presents one's character but rather the personality that expels from the bodies. He proceeds to tell the snarks to change their attitudes in the dressing room if they want to continue their careers in the film club.

You're thankful for Vil's speech, but you also feel unworthy of it. The Pomefiore Housewarden pats you on your little head and sings words of wisedom.

"You focus on yourself first and foremost, but don't hesitate to come to me for a little makeover if you ever desire to."

Maybe one day, you'll use his offer. For now, you're just honored to know you've done nothing wrong in Vil's eyes.

Rook Hunt

Though not everyone is aware of this fact, Rook is the very worst person to irritate when it comes to someone taking a poke at the Prefect. You're just so happening to be reading in the garden, waiting for Rook to do a tutoring session with you, when you end up being bothered by some smartass who thinks he can have his way with you. No matter how many times you tell. him to leave, the more he persists.

It's a huge shock how he manages to avoid Rook's shooting arrow as it zooms between your face and his and pierces the bark of the tree next to where you are standing. You two jerk your heads to Rook's direction, and it's immediate to your knowledge that he is not in the mood for the truth game, despite his permanent smile. He approaches the smartass and poetically tells him to get lost before Rook kicks his ass. The smartass takes his note and buzzes off elsewhere. Before you can say a word in edgewise, Rook pulls you in for a hug.

"Trickster, not on any watch of mine should your feelings be taken so carelessly. No marks for that...creature. Never fear to have me guard for you, mon ami."

Epel Felmier

Epel is not afraid to throw hands, especially if a friend is in harm's way, regardless of what his Housewarden warns him not to do. Epel arrives in the dining hall at the correct time as he sees you being cornered while you're trying to mind your own business. He doesn't know how you got involved with a bunch of delinquent shmucks, but Epel also doesn't care.

"Oye! If ya rodents got a bone to pick, why don't ya come pickin' at me instead?"

The delinquents first laugh off Epel's threat, but that ends up being a mistake the moment one of them plucks a hair off your delicate head. Epel whoops some ass so fast that the witnesses of the event don't recall seeing the whole fight after a blink.

When the cowards run off, Epel, regardless of his height, shields you from the embarrassment and any potential guilt. You always had a friend and guard in the Poison Apple, and not a thing will make that change.

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oknowkiss · 2 months ago

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fic claim: hyacinth

a self-prompt for @hd-hurtcomfort-fest 2024!

RATING: M PAIRING: DRARRY WORDCOUNT: 7K WARNINGS: MCD, Hanahaki, Parental Abandonment/Disinheritance, Thoughts of Violence

Read on AO3 Here!

Spotify Playlist here! Additional Tags: First Person POV, Harry POV, Married Drarry, Drarry in the Muggle World, Draco #1 Cars Fan, Draco also loves Nandos, Drarry in a Cottage, University Student Draco Summary: Draco receives a letter. Inside is a note from a lawyer and a single, purple petal, the same color as the hyacinths his mother used to grow. This is what happens after.

welp! here it is. the sad fic that's been brewing in my head for two stinking years. thank you so much to (in no order) a) @hd-hurtcomfort-fest for providing a space for this fic, b) @citrusses for the heroic beta, c) @wolfpants @hoko-onchi-writes @eveningstruggle @dumbledoodlewriting @eggbagelsjr for your encouragement as i kept running up against the inside of my own skull during the writing, d) everyone who has read so far. as i mentioned in my a/n, this fic is largely inspired by lived experience, and words cannot express how meaningful all of your comments have been over the past month. it is, generally speaking, terrifying to put your writing out there, even more so when the writing is a torn out piece of your heart. your comments have touched me deeply. may we all heal our wounds together.

finally, because i'm incapable of being this vulnerable for too long, i'd like to share that during research for this fic i learned that hyacinths are (possibly? definitely?) named after hyacinthus, who was one of apollo's astoundingly beautiful lovers. hyacinthus tragically died when apollo beaned him in the forehead with a frisbee, and it is said that the hyacinth grew out of his blood. if the reality of this fic hurts too much, just pretend one of them dies from frisbee instead.

#my fic #my fic posts #hd hurt comfort fest 2024 #cw: major character death #drarry #drarry fic #harry x draco #draco x harry #harry potter #draco malfoy

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crazylittlejester · 3 months ago

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I'd absolutely love to hear what you have to say about Time 🙃 /gen

And, I hope you are feeling well. I think you said you were dizzy? I hope that gets better 🫶

I’m feeling much better, thank you!! I hope you’re going good as well :)

Sorry this took me a whole day to type out, but I finished!! I got it!!

I have a lot more thoughts, I had to cut a lot for the sake of making it readable and not obnoxiously long so I really hope I still get my points across well 😭 , but here we go:

An Abridged Version of My Thoughts on Time (I’m Insane I’m Sorry):

Okay so I’m starting off this whole thing by saying that 100% of this is my opinion and the research I did was done specifically to back my stance (which does not make it canonical fact. You can do research to back any point. You can do research to argue against my point, even). This doesn’t make my perspective or interpretation of a character the correct one by any means, and this definitely leans towards how I personally characterize and view him and is biased in that way because I’m the one who wrote it. All of you are entitled to your own opinions, you don’t have to agree with or listen to a single thing I say. In fact if you do disagree I encourage you to reblog and share your OWN thoughts so I can read YOUR perspective! I like seeing opinions people have and I love to see how differently all of us can view the same character /gen. I just that ask if you do do this, that you be kind and respectful to myself and others :)

This entire yap, analysis, whatever you wanna call it, is my perspective on Time and my thoughts behind why I believe he acts the way he does. At some point in all this I’m specifically going to focus on how he’s acting at the end of the Dawn arc and in the more recent updates. However in order to talk about that I wanna go to the beginning and talk about his past, the environment he grew up in, his relationships with others, and how I believe that has shaped the way he functions as an adult. My apologies now for being insane, unfortunately I have no life and also a lot of thoughts, and full access to a college library full of case studies- My professors would be so proud… Hope y’all enjoy lmao

Loneliness and Isolation:

One of the first things I noticed when I started playing OOT was this divide between Link and the Kokiri. Despite the fact that none of them know he’s actually a hylian, the bullying and teasing and the way they treat him for not having a fairy feels as though they’re making him to be different from them. Even Saria and the Great Deku Tree speak to/about him in ways that make it seem that, even though they care about him, they do see him as different from the others. (Granted, Saria’s treatment of Link is likely fully an unintentional thing. She doesn’t mean to be cruel when she makes her comment about how after Link got his fairy he could be a real Kokiri because she is a child and probably didn’t think about how that would come off to a kid who’s been arguably treated as less than for not having a fairy this entire time. She’s probably aware of how upset he’s been, but they’re children and I doubt she realized her attempt at comfort potentially made Time feel worse. The Great Deku Tree, on the other hand, referring to him as ‘the boy without a fairy’ immediately makes it clear to us as the player that Link is different from the Kokiri. He knows Link is hylian, which is something the player, Link, and the Kokiri do not know at this point)

Not having a fairy like the others certainly separates Time from the Kokiri because having a fairy companion appears to be a huge deal, something everyone has in common except for him. While it isn’t really on the same scale, I imagine this feeling of not having something your friends do could be, to an extent, comparable to how it would feel if all your peers had cell phones or social media access and you did not. (BAD EXAMPLE I KNOW BUT HEAR ME OUT.) The ability to consume media at such a fast pace and share jokes and trends with peers has become something to bond over, and being outside of that ‘world’ would leave someone to feel like they’re missing out on something they couldn’t possibly understand unless they get it for themselves. When your friends all have phones and you don’t, you have to sit there awkwardly when they all pull them out to text people or look things up, even if you’re doing something that doesn’t even require being on your phone, like going to the mall or hanging out. Sure they might show you a meme or two, but you can’t show them your memes, or share things and exist in the online world the way they do. Time could see and interact with the others’ fairies but he didn’t have that for himself, and I imagine it was probably hard for him to bond with the Kokiri because of it. Even if they were just playing a game or messing around and he wasn’t even being teased for not having a fairy of his own, those other fairies were right there as a constant reminder that Time didn’t have his own companion because he was, for a reason he couldn’t understand, different

Having played Skyward Sword and the beginning of Twilight Princess and seeing how both of those Links are treated by the people around them in comparison to how the Kokiri interact with Time, it feels safe to say there’s a good possibility he felt out of place and a little isolated by his own community. The way he was seemingly blamed for the death of the Great Deku Tree after finding out the life altering information that he is different probably did nothing but cause further divide between himself and the Kokiri in his mind, if not completely sever the connection he had between himself and that community

Do I think the Kokiri completely excluded him and intentionally tried to isolate him? No, I do not. However it’s clear that Saria was his best friend and the others weren’t always the nicest to him. It’s not too far a stretch to say he probably felt very lonely at times in his childhood, more so than the average kid

The theme of isolation and loneliness continues when the timeline shenanigans happen at the end of OOT and Time is now the only one who knows what happened to him. He has absolutely nothing to show for what he physically just went through and he can tell people about it all he wants but they’ll never understand because for them it simply never happened. Once again Time is isolated from this community he finds himself a part of because he’s different from them in a way they cannot relate to, driving a wedge between him and the rest of society. And Malon and Zelda are not people who would intentionally drive him further from feeling like he can belong, but they will forever be different from him in a way none of them now have the power to control. He formed relationships with them and with other people that were then erased. He knows a version of them that doesn’t exist anymore (in the timeline he continued to live in), and he’s alone in that. There IS no fix to that problem

Attachment Styles and Development

Relationships are crucial to child development and the connections formed when we’re young impact the way we create and view our relationships in adulthood. Peer relationships are just as important as parental ones because they play a different role. While your friends are the ones who have more of an impact on things like your music tastes, interests, and sense of identity/role within your group of peers, it’s your parents/caregivers who teach you right from wrong (often religion plays a part in that as well though not always), are responsible for feeding you and helping you learn new skills as a young child. Having a secure attachment and good relationship to caregivers when you’re young really impacts how you seek comfort as an adult and how you form relationships with others. Children whose parents or caregivers responded to their distress in unpredictable ways (by offering comfort sometimes and being unable to other at times, for an example) are less likely to seek out those figures for comfort or be soothed by them when the comfort is offered. I have no idea exactly how old Time was when he was placed with the Kokiri or what his mother was like, but I feel it’s fair to say the Great Deku Tree was probably the closest thing to a parental figure/caregiver (while he was living with the Kokiri) that he has any memory of. And I also feel it’s fair to say that as the stationary tree guardian of a bunch of immortal children, it was pretty impossible for him to support all of those kids’ emotional needs

Making this assumption based solely on Navi’s role in the story and what she does for us as players of the game: I feel like the fairy companions might almost be more of a parental/caregiver like figure to the Kokiri children than the Great Deku Tree is, simply because they’re able to be around them more. Navi helps Time (and the player) find things, gives clues, and helps the player with the game controls, so inside the actual game I think it’d be fair to say she (and other fairies) have more of a hands on role in guiding these children than the Great Deku Tree. And again, Time didn’t have that, not until his adventure started. He didn’t have a fairy companion while his friends and peers did, he was on his own. He wasn’t getting that potential comfort from a reliable caregiver the others were, which I believe can be partly responsible for how determined he is to solve his own issues. (Of course personality also has a play in things like this, and as we all know the hero’s spirit is incredibly fucking stubborn.) He was taught through the failures of the ‘adult’ figures in his life that the only one who’d be there to really comfort him was him

Identity and Relationships

Apart from feeling alone and not having the same types of companionship his peers did, I firmly believe Time seriously struggled with identity issues as well. Being told he wasn’t enough for the Master Sword yet, just to then be suddenly physically several years older and expected to operate as an adult despite having less than a decade of life experience, back to being shoved into the body of a child after living through horrors and accumulating scars that are now just gone doesn’t real make for the most confident, mentally stable of people. The message he most likely took from that was “You’re not enough as you are.”

He was a hero who saved a kingdom, then forgotten when everything was set back, and then abandoned by the one person (fairy) who went through it all with him after it was all done. If he’d felt alone or isolated in his youth before all that happened, I can’t imagine how overwhelming all those emotions were after all that. He needed Navi because she’s the only one who can really validate what he went through, she was the only one who could have understood him. She was a guardian and a friend and he couldn’t figure out why she left him, which must’ve just been absolutely devastating.

He was still just a kid, with no one to talk to about these issues. (Though he sort of works through some of them on his own through helping others in Majora’s Mask. Granted that left him with new issues even if it may have helped him work through a few old ones. I think there are quite a lot of similarities between Link and Skull Kid, but that’s a yap for another day.) I can imagine that both his identity and what he was supposed to do with himself were things he questioned constantly, and building relationships with people was probably very difficult for him when he hadn’t fully worked out himself. And he didn’t really have someone to comfort him or help him figure all that out

At a certain point, I think the feeling of being alone became almost a comfort to him. It was the most reliable thing he had, he could handle things on his own and that was something he knew for fact. He learned how to deal with his emotions and issues (maybe not in the healthiest of ways in his youth), and instead of being so suffocating, the isolation became something he could CONTROL. With all the instability throughout his childhood, the fact that he could reliably be on his own without dealing with the unpredictability of others was probably a relief. He didn’t have to worry about people leaving or getting hurt because he couldn’t protect them, but that didn’t really replace the feeling of loneliness so much as sloppily cover it up

Malon and the ranch are things that have been able to give him something he hadn’t had in years, which was stability and companionship. He’s been alone and isolated or dealing with loss his entire life, but she’s able to provide him with something steady, something safe to come back to. That’s been absolutely huge for him in regards to the healing process, because not only is it said in LU that she believes him completely, she’s literally his biggest supporter. And having a sturdy location and person to come back to at the end of whatever little trips he probably continued to go off to gave him comfort while still allowing him to keep that feeling of control over himself and his life. Sure not everything is perfect all the time and relationships are things that you have to put time, effort, and patience into, but he’s allowed to have his support and his much needed feeling of control over his life at the same time while living in that scenario. She loves him, she loves him very much and I have no doubt they worked together to get him to the place of comfort he’s at now. The panels from any of the ‘Malon’ posts are really the most relaxed we’ve seen Time for long stretches of time, it’s clear he’s been able to make a safe space for himself there

And now here’s the part where I actually talk about the recent comic update(s)!!!!!!!! (Yippee!!!)

Time is a very quiet, stoic character in LU especially when compared to the others, which are qualities that pull a lot from the hero’s shade. He’s the unofficial official leader, and he’s at a point in his life where he’s been able to work on himself and form healthy relationships (not perfect ones, but healthy ones built on communication which is clearly a struggle for him still but I cannot afford to get into that this post because that’s way too much. If y’all want a yap about that, ask me later). He puts a lot of stress and pressure onto himself, because he feels as though he’s responsible for these younger heroes, even though some of them have far more experience than he does

But in addition to this, he’s absolutely terrified of caring about people, and he’s not used to working with other people in this area of his life. Because no one sticks around, and if they do, what’s stopping the timeline from resetting somehow and taking their memory of him away? He no longer has the stability and comfort that comes with being alone because he’s forced to work with other people, other heroes who are equal to him in that regard, and people are unpredictable. And with unpredictability comes loss of control

Anger is an easier emotion for a child to process, and express themself through. This is why depression in children often manifests itself as anger. Children dealing with depression have a harder time managing and controlling their anger and can come off as snappier, inattentive, and reckless (obviously this is not the same case for every single child). While he certainly isn’t a child anymore in LU, I think Time is still someone who when overwhelmed is quick to anger, but this does not mean that he’s not kind. He’s incredibly kind and caring, and you can tell he loves everyone around him so deeply even though he’s probably a bit angry at himself for letting them all worm their way into his heart because he’s going to have to let them go some day. But still, some of that snappiness comes through even in his adult years and he’s a lot harsher with the others than I believe he intends to be. He’s not genuinely angry at them, he’s mad at the situation they’re in right now because he’s no longer responsible for just himself. He doesn’t have control anymore, and he’s probably back to feeling like a scared child who might be about to lose everyone again and he hates that

Twilight got hurt and he blames himself for it. He’s in an unfamiliar situation with people he cares a lot about who are all just as reckless and determined as he is, and he has absolutely no idea what to do with himself because in his mind if he lets something happen to one of these boys, that’s on him and he should’ve done better

Ough (A Continuation of ‘Isolation’)

In a way Time exists on a different level of the timeline. He retained memories of things that no longer exist, and he’s witnessed the rewritting of time over and over again. The timeline he was born in may no longer be the one he exists in, though it certainly branched from that original one. He has knowledge and memories of relationships that are real to only him in the timeline where he lives, and I would argue that because of this, he lives outside of society

Now this genuinely has nothing to do with anything I just wanna yap about something because The Voices, and it’s gonna be a fucking reach but if you’ve stayed this long you must find something appealing about my incoherent rambling so allow me to draw a genuinely insane comparison between Time and his existence in society and ‘The Lady of Shallot’, written in 1832 by a poet by the name of Alfred Tennyson. If you have no idea what this is, it’s incredibly short and easy to find with a quick google search, and I encourage you to read it. But for those of you who didn’t sign up for a poetry assignment today I’ll summarize

The Lady of Shallot is cursed to stay in a tower away from the rest of society and she’s unable to look upon Camelot with her own eyes, because something bad will happen if she does though she has no idea what. Day after day she creates these tapestries of what she sees of the society behind her through a mirror. She’s unable to look at it with her own eyes so what she creates is unable to perfectly reflect what it is the world has to offer. And she’s absolutely sick of it, she sees happy people wandering down below, knights riding through, she sees through her mirror what life is like for those within society and she wants to join them. She sees a beautiful man one day (Lancelot) and decides the curse is worth it, just for a chance to leave her tower, so she turns around and sees Camelot with her own eyes. She leaves her tower and goes to join society but by the time she gets there she’s dead

Now one of the meanings hidden within this is how artists are almost outside of society and that is how they are able to so accurately depict it, and that joining society and being ‘normal’ would make them unable to keep their unique perspective that isolation provides. But I’m going to be crazy here and draw parallels to a video game character because I CAN

Time exists outside of society and is isolated from every community he tries to be a part of because the differences between him and the Kokiri/normal hylian are so significant he feels like he doesn’t belong there. Despite having built his sense of identity back up, he still, to an extent, feels like an outsider. The things he’s been through separate him from being able to just be a normal guy, and he craves so badly to be part of a community he’s almost convinced himself he CANNOT join. The chain (and Malon, but mainly the other heroes) help him have something to connect to, because while they may not have the exact same experience they understand him more than anyone else ever could. He then tries to join society, something happens, and he dies a warrior full of regrets

Is it a reach? Yeah. But I like the poem and I can’t stop thinking about the parallels (that I’ve probably completely fucking made up at this point) every time I think too long about Time and it makes me claw at the dry wall and scream. I’m so normal…

Anyways, *weak cough* thanks for reading, if you did. It means a lot that you’ve supported my insanity. I hope this is coherent-

Thanks Emmie for reading through this for me 😭, and special shoutout to every single one of you who sent me asks yesterday to remind me to write this I love you all sm actually:

@trash-aged-like-fine-wine @rebornofstars @blueskybehindtheclouds @captainn-hook @ghosttoasts

#jes talks #jes ask #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu time #linked universe time #lu analysis #lu character analysis #this is kinda just pure insanity im so sorry #jes rambles #jes headcanons #jes analysis

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loppsided · 4 months ago

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hi lovely 🤍 i apologize for the very detailed request i have lol but can i ask for a fic or headcanons of dave’s best friend (fem!reader) accidentally finding out he’s kick-ass?

like… maybe the reader confesses she has a crush on kick-ass, and decides to send fanmail to his myspace page despite dave trying to convince her otherwise. she doesn’t understand why he’s so insistent about it until she sends the message and dave’s phone immediately goes off 🫢

i’ll leave the rest to you from there! again, thank you so much lovely 🤍 your writing is wonderful, don’t ever doubt that!

WARNINGS: dave lizewski x best friend!reader, f!reader, fluff, typical nerdy and nervous dave lol, lots o cussing, classic teenage girl!reader shes very bubbly, first kiss NOTES: the end is such a mess im so sorry! stop thank you so much i really appreciate that. and no worry's, i actually prefer longer requests with detail because it helps me set the scene. so if u have any others that are long, send them my way! also this is such a cute scenario ugh i love his nerdy ass. i donnnnnttt really think i like this buts its not completely terrible so ill post it lol. likes and reblogs appreciated! WC: 960

"because you just shouldn't, ok? god!" dave's whiny voice echoed throughout your room which almost made you giggle before you realized your parents were sleeping. you and him had been going back and forth for what seemed liked hours, all because you wanted to send your new celeb crush *kickass*, a few words of encouragement through his myspace page.

"that's not a good reason, weirdo. your such a baby, its not cringe to send him something. everyone deserves nice things said to them." you pulled your chair into your desk, a slight smile creeping on your lips at the thought of the green vigilante.

dave sat in silence, a little more nervous than he should be. i mean, what the hell was his problem? its just a comment on a damn board, and! its anonymous. dave knew you had a slight crush on the masked crusader, but you would never meet him so who cares?

you began to type, biting your bottom lip as you did. you caught a glimpse of dave out of the corner of your eyes and noticed he had scooted his chair farther away from you. whatever.

'dear kickass, i just wanted to comment about how much i appreciate you, well everyone does. so keep up the great work and keep kicking ass!' you re-read the message before hitting send. your internet had been a bit slower than usual that night, and while you waited for the message to send, dave excused himself to the bathroom. "um ill be uh right back, gotta piss." but as soon as he was about to open your bathroom door, you had noticed the message sent. and a slight *ding* could be heard from daves phone. who texted hi- your thoughts interrupted your own before you whipped your chair around and yelled his name.

he froze, nervous as ever and sweating profusely. "come here." you said calmly, even though you had put the pieces together in your head. you didn't want to overreact before you knew you were correct. he walked over to you, trying not to seem suspicious. "yeah? whats wrong." he said, but his voice cracked in the process which was a dead giveaway. "give me your phone, mines dead and i have to text someone." he paused for a moment before coming up with the most obvious lie ever "uh, um mines dead." you raised a brow, biting back a smile. "but i just heard it ding." he froze again, looking around your room dumbly.

you stood up quickly, startling him as you lunged towards his pocket and grabbed his phone. he tried to grab it but you held it high in the air with one hand, as the other pushed him away roughly. you jumped on your bed and turned it on. and lo and behold there was a notification from myspace. *to: kickass from: *user* 'dear kickass, i just wanted to comment about how much i appreciate you, well everyone does. so keep up the great work and keep kicking ass!'*

you gasped loudly, finally confirming your suspicions. "oh my god! oh my god! oh my godddddddd." you sat down while kicking your feet. "ok i know how this looks but i swear im no-" he started to tell another lie before you cut him off. "why didn't you tell me?! dave lizewski you are such a d-bag, im your best friend and you didn't tell me? this is fucking major!" he sat down slowly. your smile faded as you caught his expression. he looked...sad. like he was embarrassed. he spoke softly, "i just didn't want you to think-" you cut him off again, "that your a famous fucking superhero who kicks peoples asses for fun?!" you both laughed before he begun to speak again. "no....that i was a costume wearing loser. i mean i know im your best friend but your cool. cooler than any 'famous fucking superhero' and i like you too much to seem like a weirdo around you." his voice was barely above a whisper, he probably thought you wouldn't be able to catch that last part but you absolutely did.

you and dave had known each other for what seemed like forever, and despite your crush on kickass, your crush on dave trumped that completely. but you kept it to yourself out of fear of rejection. you two sat in silence for a few seconds as you calculated what you wanted to say. you wanted to be bold, and to tell him how much you liked him. you took his hands in yours and he looked up slowly.

"listen here, you could be wearing nothing but a speedo and a pink wig and i would still think your the coolest guy in the world. i wish you told me sooner, because i want you to trust me dave. and i like you too much to be kept in the dark." you repeated his words back to him as your faces were inches apart and his hands were sweaty in yours. but in this moment you didn't even care. you stared at his lips before pushing your face into his. he was still for a second before he ran his hands up your arms and cupped your face. he pulled back quickly leaving you confused, "so does this like mean you like be back? or am i wrong cuz like i dont-" you laughed at his ramblings "yes idiot, i like you back. and if you wanted..we could make this official. you and me." he smiled as a blush creeped onto his cheeks. "like girlfriend boy- wow. um yea totally. do you like wanna be my girlfriend?" you mirrored his smile quickly, "yes, kickass i would love to be your girlfriend."

#loppsided #dave lizewski x fem!reader #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski imagine #dave lizewski x you #kick ass #kick ass 2010 #aaron taylor johnson #dave lizewski fanfic #dave lizewski

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silenzahra · 4 months ago

Text

Green, Orange and a bit of Purple✨

This story was originally written and posted on 14th February 2024 in two different posts. My dear friend @itsavee4117 reblogged them, which I obviously appreciate, but I'm afraid some time after he did, I edited both posts to add the chapters to Tumblr so people could read them here as well.

That's why I thought of redoing them, and I decided to share the entire story in just one post so as not to drive everyone crazy 😅 You can find the story on AO3, where you'll see it's divided into two chapters (and I even added a title to them 🤭), or read under the cut to find the entire story. It's long though, so make sure to grab a snack and/or a drink. Of course, likes, comments and reblogs are always more than welcome, as well as kudos on AO3! 💖

My original source of inspiration was @sarahrsketches's comic Plumber's Bouquet, which you can see dubbed here!

Special thanks to @itsavee4117 @whippedcremepi and @mario-movie-brainbug for reblogging the old posts and to @elitadream for leaving such wonderful feedback on them 💖 (You can find them here and here if you're curious).

For those of you who will read this for the first time or would even like to give it a reread: I really hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for your support, and please remember that my asks and PMs are always open for you. Reblogs are deeply appreciated 💖

Also, this story got many lovely comments on AO3, which I'm obviously very thankful for! Still, it didn't get much feedback here on Tumblr (no disrespect to those mentioned above of course 🫂). I hope it's not too much to ask, but would you please consider leaving some feedback here, even if it's just one sentence? 🙏 I'd love to hear your thoughts on my beloved Luaisy story! 🥰

@vulpixfairy1985 @bberetd @peaches2217 @ask-rosalina-and-her-family @aqua-peri

@kimasousparky @megamagimugi @jellyfishinc @pepperycar @keakruiser

@teegeeteegee @supergay-64 @kelbreyworshipper @dragon-fly34 @artycomicfangirl

(Of course, if you want your tag removed, just let me know! 💖)

Without further ado: Luaisy for the soul! 💚🧡✨

Chapter 1: The beginning of the date

Luigi can’t believe it.

What he has been wishing for months is finally going to happen.

His first date with Daisy is about to begin.

Nervously, he smooths out the green shirt he’s wearing, the most elegant in his closet, so that there’s not a single wrinkle on it. From the corner where he waits, the one closest to his building, he takes quick and constant glances at the pipe through which Daisy is going to arrive, located at his back. Fortunately, it’s hidden in a seldom-traveled alley, so the chances of New Yorkers stumbling upon it by accident are slim. Of all the pipes in Brooklyn that are connected to the Mushroom Kingdom, this is the one closest to Luigi and Mario’s former home.

Which makes it the perfect pipeline for the brothers and their new friends to travel between dimensions while going unnoticed by the inhabitants of Earth.

As he patiently and with growing anxiety awaits Daisy’s arrival, Luigi goes over and over in his head the places in his city that he wants to show her. Everything will be fine, he repeats himself. He has been planning this date for months, long before he could even muster the courage to ask Daisy to go out with him.

He recalls that instant in his head very often. The way his legs trembled. His dry throat. His back sweating from nerves. How he kept fiddling with his fingers as, step by step, he approached the spot where Daisy was sitting in the garden of Peach’s castle, with whom she was having a lively conversation. Mario’s words of encouragement echoed in his head, along with the sentences they had rehearsed together so Luigi could say them to Daisy later. He remembers that Mario was waiting for him not far from there, hidden behind a corner and ready to intervene should Luigi require his aid. He remembers that Peach, as soon as she saw him arrive, apologized to Daisy and hurried to join Mario, giving Luigi a quick nod of encouragement as she passed him.

He remembers that Daisy, upon noticing his presence, smiled and greeted him by waving her hand with her usual energy, which made a smile blossom on Luigi’s lips. He remembers that, when he finally reached her side, she got up to give him a quick hug, causing his heart to bounce in his chest and her sweet vanilla scent to envelop him, before inviting him to sit next to her.

Of course, Luigi obeyed. Smiling nervously, he listened to her chatter for a few minutes, his eyes fixed on the dimples that appeared when she smiled and on the constellation of freckles that dotted her cheeks. Meanwhile, he was trying to find the right moment to start talking and the courage to push the words out of his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he distinguished that Mario and Peach, from their hideout, were gesturing to him. She did so discreetly and sweetly, but he was waving his arms and vocalizing in an exaggerated way, to incite him to finally start.

And Luigi, after swallowing, chose to do it in the same way as when removing a band-aid: in one go and without thinking.

“Daisy.”

His voice was barely a nervous whisper, but it was enough for the desert princess to interrupt herself and give him a warm smile.

“Yes, honey?”

“Er...” Luigi looked down, flustered by the affectionate nickname, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I-I thought that... W-well, I thought that m-maybe... you’d like to... c-come to B-Brooklyn?”

He scolded himself for his stammering. He’d practiced endlessly with Mario until he managed to deliver his sentences without stuttering, but standing in front of Daisy, the first person he’d been drawn to in a very, very long time, and trying to carry out the plan as intended was a very different thing.

“Luigi.” Her voice, full of curiosity, caught Luigi’s attention, making him set his eyes on her at last. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Her voice sounded defiant, of course, but Daisy accompanied it with a mischievous and amusing look that Luigi even found... suggestive? No, he must have been imagining it, he was too nervous and his eagerness to spend more time with her was playing a trick on him, Daisy could not be...

... Or could she?

“Uh-huh... W-well, uh...”

What should he answer now? Why hadn’t it occurred to Mario that Daisy might react like this? Why hadn’t it occurred to him?

“W-well, uh, I-I don’t know, I mean, o-only if you want to, I mean, I thought you might want to, but if you don’t, it’s okay! Of course you don’t want to, why would you, it’s a stupid idea, I-I’m very sorry...”

With every mumble that escaped his mouth, he felt himself shrinking more and more, to such an extent that he wished he could disappear, bury his head in the ground like an ostrich and never have made that suggestion to Daisy. Why did he think she would be interested? Why did he think she would want to spend time with a simple, clumsy, skittish plumber like him?

However, Daisy surprised him with a soft chuckle in which there was no trace of mockery, but rather... tenderness?

“Oh, Luigi,” she exclaimed, and slapped him on the shoulder so hard that Luigi thought she had just broken a bone. “Don’t underestimate yourself, sweetie! Of course I want to!”

Despite the pain in his back, Luigi sat up like a spring and turned to her with wide eyes.

“R-really?”

“Of course!” Daisy nodded vigorously, her grin so wide that it brought back those dimples that made Luigi feel like he was melting inside. “I really want to see Brooklyn, and I can’t think of a better guide than you!” she added with a wink.

With his back leaning against the red bricks so characteristic of his district, Luigi smiles, his cheeks flushed at the memory. Daisy’s joy at his suggestion was genuine, as was her eagerness to tour Brooklyn with him. Luigi really hopes, wishes, to be up to the task and get Daisy to have fun by his side. He fiddles with the flower he holds in his fingers and wonders if the desert princess will be much longer in coming.

He can’t wait to see her again.

A hand on his shoulder startles him so much that he lets out a shriek and is about to drop the flower. At the last moment, he manages to hold it close to his chest and places his other hand around its petals to protect it. As his fluttering heart tries to calm down, he hears a well-known chuckle, and a familiar and adored vanilla scent reaches his nose.

“D-Daisy,” he mumbles with a smile, beginning to turn his head.

“Sorry, honey,” she apologizes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Luigi is about to reply that it’s okay, that it’s his fault for being so easily scared, but he can’t do it.

He’s speechless.

Daisy looks gorgeous. More than that: she looks stunning, dazzling, radiant. Her pretty auburn hair shimmers in the evening sunlight, and a sparkle under her ears reveals the golden, daisy-shaped earrings she has chosen for the occasion. Her lovely eyes, as deep blue as the sea, gaze at Luigi with affection. He notices the eye shadow that Daisy has applied, a beautiful shade of purple that matches the full skirt she is wearing, which reveals the lower half of her legs. Her sandals, on the other hand, are orange, and the heel of them causes Luigi to see her even taller and slimmer than usual. Her blouse, matching her shoes, is adorned with yellow flower patterns, and leaves her slender shoulders bare. As he notices them, Luigi swallows, wondering what it would feel like to put an arm across them and thus touch her beautiful skin, just to see firsthand if it’s as soft to the touch as it seems.

But what catches his attention, no matter how hard he tries to avoid it, are her lips. Daisy often puts on lipstick, but today she’s wearing a nice earthy color that matches her beautiful brown skin, and Luigi is seized by the sudden and compelling need to find out what they taste like. He reddens immediately and chides himself. This may be a date and they may have both dressed up for the occasion, but it’s not like him, nor right for Daisy, that that, kissing her, is all he can think about at that moment.

He wants to say something, anything, make some silly joke to try to relax and make her feel welcome, but only one word comes to his mind.

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

Daisy covers her mouth with her hand to hide a giggle as her freckled cheeks light up under the blush she has applied.

“You think so?” she says playfully. “How cute.”

Luigi gasps. Did he just say that word... out loud? He feels his whole face burning immediately with embarrassment, and he’s about to apologize when he finds Daisy looking him up and down intently.

Suddenly he feels ragged, disheveled, very far from the elegance of the young princess. Almost unintentionally, he takes a quick glance at himself, searching for any wrinkles or stains on his green shirt or his blue jeans, even though he has carefully washed and ironed them for the occasion. His brown shoes are also shiny, as he has rubbed them incessantly, and he has used more shampoo than usual when showering, as well as making sure that not a single hair was left out of place when combing his hair. Including his moustache.

All in the hope of making a good impression on Daisy, but it wasn't enough. How could it be? He works non-stop day after day, he gets dirty often, so he's sure he's left something out, some tiny detail that he's missed because of his nerves, and Daisy has noticed it immediately and is judging him and is going to leave at once, because how could she want to go out with him?

“Handsome,” she then says, slowly, looking him in the eye.

“Wh-what?”

“You just used an adjective to describe me,” Daisy says, and winks at him. “So I just used another one to describe you.”

Again, Luigi is speechless. He pants, trying to find his voice, but he feels like a fish that has been plucked from the sea and thrown to the bottom of a volcano. A green, clumsy fish that doesn’t know how to react to the fact that the girl he’s getting crazier and crazier about every day has just paid him a compliment. To him, no less. Does that mean, then, that there’s no problem with his appearance?

In a reflex action born out of fear that Daisy will laugh at him or, worse, get tired of waiting for an answer and leave, Luigi stretches out his arm in her direction. She gives a start and looks down, and a beautiful smile lights up her face when she notices the gift he is offering her.

“A daisy?” she says, delighted, and brings both joined hands to her cheek. “And it’s purple!”

“Y-yes,” he manages to murmur, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I-I grow them in my garden, in my house in the Mushroom Kingdom.”

“I love it! Thanks, Luigi!”

Daisy reaches out with both hands to take the flower, and Luigi struggles to ignore the tingle of excitement that runs up and down his body as her fingers brush his and send a pleasant electric shock sensation to his nerve endings. Daisy brings the flower to her face to inhale its scent and admires its pretty purple petals with delight. Luigi smiles tenderly as he sees her take the aster to her head to try and pin it in her hair.

“Wait,” he offers without thinking, reaching out his arms to her. “I’ll help you.”

Daisy slowly lowers her hands and lets him do it. Luigi holds the stem of the flower and carefully moves a lock of Daisy’s silky hair aside, taking care not to muss it. He places the plant so that it’s held securely to the side of her face and its purple petals sparkle almost level with Daisy’s lovely blue eyes. Which, Luigi suddenly notices, are watching him attentively. Surprised, he turns away from Daisy and takes a step back while letting out a nervous giggle, blushing again. He hadn’t even noticed coming so close to her, nor that his tongue, as it usually does when he’s focused on something, was sticking out between his lips.

Fortunately, although Daisy is observing him with interest and a wide smile on her face, she does not utter a word. She just stares at him, as if seeing him for the first time, and Luigi suddenly finds himself at a loss for what to do with his arms.

“W-well... D-do you want to...?”

He points forward with his hand, unable to finish the question, as his throat feels dry and he needs to drink urgently. Daisy’s jump, as if her mind had wandered away from there and just suddenly returned, disconcerts him and makes him wonder if he has inadvertently done something wrong because of his usual clumsiness.

But Daisy soon pulls herself together and gives him a dazzling smile.

“Sure!” she exclaims enthusiastically. “Where are we going?”

“Not far from here.”

Luigi starts walking in the direction of Punch-Out Pizzeria, which is almost at the end of the street. It’s one of his favorite places in Brooklyn and he can’t wait for Daisy to try their famous pizzas. He really hopes she likes them, because then he’ll always have an excuse to invite her to dinner.

As they walk down the street, Daisy stops to look in the windows of the various stores they pass. She points at them with her finger, which she presses against the glass, and talks to Luigi about how much or how little she likes the products for sale and how exorbitant or affordable she finds them depending on the price. He listens to her without interrupting and smiles, his heart full of tenderness at the genuine enthusiasm with which she examines everything.

When they get to the bookstore, however, it is she who listens to him talk. This is Luigi’s favorite bookstore, the one he goes to at least once a week to browse through the new releases and, if possible, take home a new book. The same thing happens when they reach the florist’s shop, although this time the enthusiasm is shared, as they both have a passion for gardening.

By the time they finally get ready to enter the pizzeria, it’s almost dark. Luigi can’t help but be surprised, as the walk from his house to the establishment usually takes him no more than five minutes. But he’s not going to complain, since, almost unintentionally, he’s had a chance to take a nice walk with Daisy and show her two of his other favorite places in Brooklyn besides the pizzeria.

Luigi opens the door and steps aside with an exaggerated bow.

“After you, milady,” he pronounces with feigned refinement.

He hears Daisy let out a soft chuckle that, unexpectedly, makes him feel connected to her in a way he’s unable to explain.

“Very gallant, gentleman,” she replies as she passes him, imitating his tone.

Luigi stands up straight, laughing as well, and enters after her. Daisy moves to a free table by the window and Luigi follows her without hesitation. He feels strange: on the one hand, he’s on familiar ground, in the pizzeria he has been coming to with his brother since they were teenagers, which floods him with an intense sense of security so powerful that he believes nothing could bring it down. In fact, he knows for sure that, if he’s been able to make that little joke with Daisy when opening the door for her, it’s thanks to that feeling.

On the other hand, his companion is none other than the ruler of the Kingdom of Sarasaland. A warrior and brave princess who’s won his heart with her exorbitant and inexhaustible energy, her desire to prove herself all the time and her lively personality. A princess, a young woman, who has the power to make him feel as if his limbs were made of butter, his face a burning coal and his heart, an organ foreign to his body that belongs entirely to Daisy, so that it accelerates like a runaway horse when she is near.

And now she is near.

She’s sitting across from him, flipping through the menu, but the tables at the Punch-Out Pizzeria aren’t too wide. Luigi knows that, if he stretched his arms out just a little, there’s a good chance Daisy’s hands would brush against him when she drops the menu. He swallows. Should he do it or not? Would it be too bold? Would it be too brazen to try to hold her hand? Would Daisy even want their fingers to touch?

“What do you recommend?” she asks, her eyes still fixed on the food list.

Luigi gasps. He feels as if he’s been caught red-handed, as if he’s been doing something wrong. He shakes his head a little and ducks it to see his own menu as he tries to sort out his thoughts to answer Daisy.

“W-well, Mario and I always order the bell pepper pizzas.”

“Let me guess,” she asks him, her voice laden with a challenge that causes Luigi to look up, curious, and their eyes meet over the table. “He orders the red bell pepper, and you order the green bell pepper.”

Luigi laughs and rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, embarrassed.

Daisy laughs softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, just below the flower.

“Actually, I just went by the colors you two usually wear. Is it a coincidence that your favorite colors match your favorite pizzas?”

“I guess so.”

Luigi shrugs and she giggles again.

“If there was a purple pizza, I’d order it,” she states, returning her attention to the menu.

“You can try mine if you want to.”

Luigi purses his lips as he realizes he just said that out loud. It’s just a silly idea that has crossed his mind, but Daisy most likely doesn’t want to share. Why would she? He should’ve thought better before saying such a silly thing.

To his surprise, however, Daisy looks at him decisively and nods.

“What’s your second favorite pizza?” she asks, very seriously, pointing her finger at him.

“Er… C-carbonara,” he stammers, dumbfounded.

“Perfect.” Daisy picks up both cards and winks at him. “How about we order carbonara and green bell pepper? Then we can both try each other’s pizza.”

Relief floods Luigi with the intensity of the swell. Daisy’s solution seems perfect, so, trying hard to overcome his shyness, he raises his arm to call the waiter and places their orders. When the man leaves, Luigi places both elbows on the table and drops his hands over the edge of the table, close to his stomach. He doesn’t know where to look, so he wanders his gaze absentmindedly around the room.

Inevitably, his eyes end up meeting Daisy’s, so he forces himself to compose a smile. He’s so nervous, however, that it comes out weak and insecure.

But Daisy doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well,” she says lightly, also leaning on the table, and watches him intently. “So what else do you like to do?”

“Uh... Sorry?” Luigi feels lost.

“Apart from reading and gardening,” she says, smiling sweetly at him. “What other hobbies do you have, Luigi?”

“Oh! W-well...” Luigi shrinks back a little. Will he bore her if he goes into detail about his other hobbies? “I-I like photography. I like... to be able to save an instant, a memory, a place, and freeze them in time so that they become eternal.”

“Wow,” she exclaims admiringly. “That’s very profound.”

“Really?”

Luigi looks at her with wide eyes, unable to believe that, as is practically his case with the rest of the world, Daisy doesn’t think he’s being too intense or ridiculous in expressing himself that way. The young woman nods vigorously, a sincere smile glowing on her face, and her expression of sheer interest is all Luigi needs to launch into speaking.

He tells her that sometimes ideas or images come to his mind, and he needs to get them out of his head, to bring them to life. They drive him to write or draw, depending on what comes to him, which is why he collects notebooks and sketchbooks. He tells her that, every Christmas, he gives his brother a wool garment he knits himself, because Mario is quite a mess and his clothes hardly last from one year to the next. He tells her that on Saturday nights, he and Mario stay up late watching a movie in the living room of their new home, and that they always have trouble choosing because their tastes are so opposite. She listens to him, attentive, and from time to time lets out a giggle or makes a comment but does not interrupt him. Luigi, finally, tells her that on Sunday afternoons, and sometimes also on Fridays, he and Mario play videogames, and at his explanation about them, Daisy’s eyes light up more and more.

“That sounds amazing!” she exclaims, excited. “Oh my gosh, now I need to try those... What are they called?”

“Videogames,” Luigi clarifies, and leans forward, his eyes sparkling, sharing Daisy’s enthusiasm. “And you’re more than welcome to come try them out! I’m sure Mario would love to play with someone who’s not as clumsy as I am,” he adds with a laugh.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not that bad.” Daisy playfully punches him in the shoulder, which makes Luigi’s giggles increase. “Keep in mind that I’ve never played. Of course you’re going to be better than me!”

“That is, until you get the hang of it,” Luigi says, massaging his shoulder. “And I’m sure it won’t take you long at all.”

“Well, thank you for your blind faith in me!”

Daisy laughs too and brings a hand to her chest, but, in the midst of their chuckles, she stops and gives him another intense glance. Luigi’s laughter barely lasts a couple more seconds before it stops abruptly, as he feels overwhelmed by the intensity of her deep blue eyes.

“You’re very sweet, Luigi. Did you know that?”

Daisy’s cheeks glow as she utters those words, but her smile remains, serene and confident, no trace of nervousness or embarrassment on her beautiful face. Quite the opposite of Luigi, who is convinced he could fry an egg on his forehead.

“Th-thank you,” he mumbles, looking away, and rubs the back of his neck again, flustered.

Daisy giggles.

“And you look so cute when you do that.”

Luigi’s blush grows, which causes Daisy’s laughter to increase in turn, and Luigi, despite his rosy cheeks, suddenly finds himself feeling that he can go on behaving like this forever if it will make her chuckle in such an uninhibited and sincere way.

At that moment, luckily, the pizzas finally arrive, accompanied by their drinks, and the young woman’s attention turns to the food. She contemplates both pizzas attentively, almost as if they were works of art, and this time it is Luigi who has to hide a giggle. He watches, expectantly, as Daisy takes her first bite of her carbonara pizza, and waits, on the edge of his seat, for the girl to pronounce her verdict. Her face, thoughtful as she chews, doesn’t even hint at a simple clue, which makes Luigi, almost without realizing it, hold his breath.

Until Daisy, after swallowing, gives him a beaming smile.

“It’s delicious!” she nearly squeals, waving her other hand in the air in excitement.

“Yes!” Luigi exclaims in turn and raises a victorious fist.

For the next few minutes, he finds himself devouring, not even knowing how, small bites of both pizzas, his and Daisy’s. He cackles, half surprised, half overwhelmed, when Daisy, without so much as by his leave, moves her head forward to take a rather savage bite of the slice of green bell pepper pizza he holds in his hand. Her expression is so delighted, so self-satisfied, that Luigi can only cover his mouth with his free hand to try to stifle the fit of laughter that assails him.

After finishing the pizza, Luigi suggests they have some tiramisu. And, if Daisy was already impressed by the flavor of the pizzas, she’s completely thrilled when she tastes the dessert.

“Oh my goodness, Luigi,” she mumbles after devouring the last slice. “No wonder this is your favorite place in Brooklyn. You have to bring me here often!”

“Anytime,” he offers before finishing his tiramisu.

“How about...?” Daisy begins to say, casting a casual glance around the place before laying her eyes on Luigi as she rests her chin on her hand. “Tomorrow?”

Luigi almost chokes on his tiramisu. Daisy hurries to bring his drink closer to him, and even though there’s barely a sip left, it’s enough for Luigi to stabilize himself. Speechless, he stares at Daisy, astonishment dancing in his expression.

“T-tomorrow?” he repeats, still gasping for air.

“I mean, if you want to,” Daisy replies, though she keeps smiling.

“Yes!” Luigi almost shouts, unwittingly stretching out on the table. “Yes, I mean, yes! Of course I want to! B-but you…”

“Me what, honey?”

“You...” Luigi lowers his gaze, unsure, and begins to rub the tips of his index fingers together, wanting to look at her, but not daring to do it. “Y-you want to?”

“Of course!” she assures him. “I love what I’ve seen of Brooklyn so far. I want to see more... and I want,” she adds, gazing at him purposedly, “to see my handsome guide again.”

The air disappears from Luigi’s lungs. His heart is racing, galloping so hard against his chest that he thinks it’ll end up opening a hole in his skin and running away to Daisy’s arms. She, in the meantime, stares at him casually as she bites her lower lip.

“I know I’ve told you this before,” she says softly, “but I love it when you do that.”

“A-actually,” Luigi replies with a nervous chuckle, “y-you said I’m v-very... cute... w-when I do th-that...”

His voice trails off as he realizes what a stupid thing he’s doing. Why does he stop to point out something so silly when the important thing is the message Daisy is conveying? Why is he unable to come up with an answer according to what she has just told him?

“Both options are true,” she replies without raising her tone, shrugging her shoulders.

Still flushed and uneasy, Luigi gives a weak smile. He is thankful that Daisy hasn’t for an instant pointed out the ridiculousness of his remark. In fact, it doesn’t seem to bother her one bit that he’s been the awkward, embarrassed bundle of nerves he’s always been all dinner. Quite the contrary: judging by her words and the intensity with which she contemplates him, Daisy loves that Luigi is so... like this. So him.

And he loves that Daisy is so her.

He swallows slowly, determined to tell her so too. His eyes remain fixed on the wooden table. His fingers, again, fiddle with each other. His cheeks burn, as they’ve been doing for most of the night. His voice comes out hoarse at first, as if it wants to remain a prisoner inside his mouth, and Luigi is forced to clear his throat to force himself to speak.

“I-I t-too... like you. V-very much.”

He lets out a small sigh of relief, pleased with himself for finally daring to say it out loud. He even breaks into a small smile, the urge to laugh bubbling in his throat.

“Just... very much?”

Daisy’s voice sounds suggestive. Insinuating. Provocative, even. Luigi, very slowly, dares to raise his head. Daisy hasn’t wiped the playful, cheeky smile from her mouth, as mischievous as the wink she gives him when their eyes meet. Luigi purses his lips. Blushing as he is, he plucks up his courage and holds her gaze, even though inside he feels like he’s made of jelly. When he speaks, he gives his voice all the seriousness he can muster so that she understands that he’s not playing games or exaggerating.

“Very much so.”

He almost feels like applauding himself for being able to say it without stuttering. He smiles again, trying to appear confident, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Daisy’s. He wants her to read in them the sincerity with which he speaks, just like him, in her gestures, in her smile, in her beautiful gaze, has been able to see from the beginning that she was not joking when she expressed how much she liked the way he is.

Daisy’s smile widens slightly, in a barely appreciable way, as she hears the vehemence of his tone, but Luigi notices it. She then places her hands on the wood and leans on it to stand up.

“Luigi, you are adorable,” she states as she gets up, and the way she says it, her voice filled with fervor, her face as if she were simply talking about the weather, completely disarms Luigi. “I’d love to take a walk with you. Would you like that?”

“Oh!” Luigi’s throat has gone dry at the compliment, but he struggles to find his voice and stands up too. “S-sure! Th-there’s a park near here. W-we can... stroll there. I-if you want t-to.”

Daisy smiles and nods, smoothing her skirt with her palms, and touches her hair for a moment to make sure the flower is still firmly attached to it.

“That would be great.”

She places both hands on her purple garment and smiles at him, and Luigi grins too, staring at her. It takes him a few seconds to realize that Daisy is waiting for him to move first, as he is closer to the exit than she is. Feeling clumsier than he has ever felt before in his entire life, Luigi stumbles until he reaches the door and, again, opens it and steps to the side to give way to her.

As Daisy walks past him, she gives him a low chuckle that has no mockery in it, and Luigi, his face burning, imitates her, though his laughter sounds a little louder because of his nerves, which, though they had settled during dinner, have returned more impetuously. When she steps out into the street, Luigi closes his eyes for a moment and takes a slow breath, trying to calm himself, before following her.

The blush on his cheeks increases when his eyes meet Daisy’s, who gazes at him with a smile full of affection. After clearing his throat, Luigi puts one hand in his pocket as he raises the other.

“The park is that way.”

As he drops his arm, a slight electric shock elicits a soft cry of surprise. He staggers back in surprise and carefully examines his hand. Behind it, he notices Daisy’s confused gaze, watching him in astonishment, her own hand raised. They both drop them slowly, their breaths a bit shaky, their eyes caught in each other’s. Luigi does not understand what just happened. Bewilderment washes over him, and Daisy’s expression tells him that she, too, feels disoriented.

Until, suddenly, she smiles a somewhat... shy smile?

“Wow,” she says. “Looks like we have chemistry.”

“W-what?” Luigi raises an eyebrow in confusion.

Daisy covers her mouth with her hand to hide a giggle.

“We accidentally brushed against each other,” she explains. “And sparks flew.”

Luigi lets out a low “oh” and looks down at his hand again as his brain processes what has just happened. His cheeks start reddening again as a smile, much more self-conscious than Daisy’s, blooms on his lips. When he returns his attention to her and finds her as flushed as he is, Luigi feels again that tug of affinity inside him that pulls him towards her and makes him understand that, without a hint of doubt, they are somehow connected.

“I guess we’ll have to be careful,” says Daisy, “or we’ll short-circuit each other.”

Luigi laughs and nods, though the immensity of his feelings doesn’t diminish for an instant. Then Daisy extends her arm, smiling warmly at him, and Luigi stares for a second at those fingers waving in his direction in a silent invitation.

“Shall we try again?” Daisy suggests.

Luigi looks up at her again with a cheerful grin and, without hesitation, stretches out his own hand. At the first touch of his skin against Daisy’s, he does not feel a new electric shock, but a mixture of excitement and disbelief that only increases as his fingers slowly intertwine with the princess’, their palms touching, as if this is their place, as if this is where they belong, as if this is where they always should be.

United. Glued. Together. Being one.

That’s exactly how Luigi feels when, as he lifts his fascinated gaze from the union of their hands, his eyes meet Daisy’s. She smiles at him, a slight blush covering her tanned skin, but Luigi, to his surprise, doesn’t feel insecure or embarrassed for the first time all night.

For the first time, he knows that what he’s doing, holding Daisy’s hand and pressing it lightly, feeling his bond with her deepening, is okay. It’s more than right. It’s perfect. It’s the right thing to do. It’s what he wants to experience all the time, every day of his life, if she feels that way too.

And, judging by the speed with which Daisy is quick to return his squeeze, Luigi has no doubt that the young woman does, indeed, reciprocate his feelings.

With a soft chuckle, Daisy nods her head in the direction Luigi pointed when he left the pizzeria. Luigi responds with another giggle and, not letting her hand go, starts walking.

Chapter 2: The end of a wonderful night

Walking with Daisy hand in hand is a very different sensation from walking with her by his side. Now, even if Luigi still finds it hard to believe, he is touching Daisy’s warm skin, which turns out to be much softer and silkier than he had imagined. He is feeling her slender fingers wrap around his hand. He is feeling her palm press against his, seeking his touch the same way Luigi seeks hers.

He feels so exhilarated, so euphoric, so blissful, that, almost without realizing it, he begins to swing his arm, rocking Daisy’s as well. She laughs when she notices the movement, but she doesn’t try to stop him, quite the contrary: she starts swaying her arm with so much momentum that soon is she who leads the motion, which makes Luigi laugh out loud while, thrilled, he lets himself be carried away.

They soon leave the hustle and bustle of the city behind to dive right into the greenery of the leafy park where Luigi goes for a walk from time to time. Daisy smiles, delighted, as she notices the dense nature around them, and reaches out her hand to brush the trunk of one of the trees they pass. She can’t take her eyes off all the beautiful flowers that populate the area, her eyes wanting to capture it all, and Luigi gazes at her with a deep feeling of tenderness flooding his heart.

“I used to come to this park a lot when I was a child,” he tells her, his eyes also wandering around the place. “My Mom used to bring my brother and me here when we were just babies. We’d play together in the sand,” he adds, pointing to a section in the park where a children’s area is visible, “although at first Mario preferred our mom to swing him. It was too scary for me,” he confesses with a chuckle, “so I’d rather stay there building castles with my colored blocks.”

Even though he was very little, Luigi still remembers one of those occasions when, after he had finished building a big fortress with his blocks, a boy suddenly stormed in and stole the flag he was trying to crown it with. Luigi recalls the feeling of helplessness when the boy, with a brutal kick, smashed his castle, and the momentum caused him to fall backwards and crumple to the ground while the boy cruelly taunted him.

Until, behind his aggressor, something red unexpectedly appeared, hit him on the head and snatched the flag from his hand. Luigi still remembers how surprised he was when he noticed Mario, who, standing protectively in front of him, held out the flag without turning to him, his defiant and furious expression fixed on the boy. The latter, after getting up, gave them an angry look before running away. Only then did Mario turn to Luigi with a reassuring smile from ear to ear, and Luigi, still somewhat stunned by what had just happened, tried to return the smile, though he could barely compose a weak grimace.

From then on, however, Mario began to play more often with him in the sand. He still went on swinging, of course, and soon began to go down the slide without their mom’s supervision, but he never took his eyes off Luigi. Years later, moreover, that park was crucial in Mario’s recovery after his first love breakup, since Luigi, after several days of taking care of him and comforting him while his brother cried his heart out in his arms, managed to convince him to leave the house and go for a walk together. The fresh air of nature felt so good and cheered him up so much that, soon, it was Mario himself who began to look for Luigi to go for a stroll in the park.

A sigh escapes Luigi’s lips as he recalls those memories. This park is very important for him, so he’s glad to be showing it to Daisy. Since she wanted to see his favorite places in Brooklyn, this little garden hidden in the heart of his district could not be missed.

“What do you think?” he asks, turning to her, his hand firmly clasped in hers.

“I love it,” Daisy declares, looking everywhere to soak in the beauty of the park. “It’s a very beautiful place.”

She turns her face towards him as she takes a step to cover the short distance between them. The fingers on her other hand lightly brush Luigi’s arm, making him give a start. The touch is so faint and intense at the same time that he feels himself melting.

“Thank you for sharing it with me, Luigi.”

Her head rests gently on his shoulder as she releases a sigh, her hair, and the purple flower, tickling his ear. Luigi’s heart, at this point, has jumped into a runaway gallop that brings a smile to his lips, nervous and plethoric at the same time. His skin burns so much, it’s been burning so much all night, that he wouldn’t be surprised if the next day he finds burns all over his body, as if he had gone to the beach and forgotten to apply sunscreen.

By then, their footsteps have led them to the pond that rules the place. It’s a large lake inhabited by several families of ducks, where, during the day, passers-by can sail in small boats. Luigi promises himself to bring Daisy here again soon, so that they can ride together in one of the boats in the sunlight. He knows for sure that she’ll like the experience.

Right now, all they do is gaze at the calm waters under the bright light of the full moon, along with many other couples also strolling through the park. Luigi notices that there are some clouds scattered across the sky but hopes that they won’t rob the moon of its brightness and allow them to continue enjoying the peace and warmth of this summer night.

“Luigi, look!”

Daisy’s alarmed voice, together with the light tapping she gives him on the arm, makes Luigi lower his eyes again. He gapes at a duck that is approaching them, swimming calmly across the pond, tracing a clear straight line that emerges from the small house in the center of the lake, where all the ducks live, and concludes, without any doubt, at the exact point where Luigi and Daisy are standing in this moment.

“How strange,” Luigi murmurs, puzzled. “I thought all the ducks would be sleeping at this hour.”

“Maybe it’s a vampire duck,” Daisy suggests.

Luigi gives a snort and looks sideways at her.

“You think so?”

“Maybe it’s coming to drink your blood,” adds Daisy, running two fingers along his arm.

“Or yours,” Luigi counters, ignoring the shudder that runs through him at the young woman’s touch.

She laughs, and the sound of her laughter makes Luigi’s heart beat faster, full of tenderness.

“I don’t think so. My blood is blue,” Daisy points out, gazing at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m a princess, remember?”

“Then maybe it’s a bewitched prince who needs to be kissed by a beautiful princess.”

The words have come rushing out of his mouth, not even thinking them, his eyes fixed on Daisy’s. He scolds himself once again, convinced he’s gone red in the face again, but Daisy’s sly smile silences the apology that was about to burst from his lips.

“I can think of a much better candidate than a prince to kiss this princess.”

Again she runs her fingers along his arms as she speaks, so slowly that Luigi thinks he’ll pass out. Her eyes, two glittering sapphires, gaze at him with intensity, even brighter in the moonlight. Luigi is breathless, but the beauty of her look so mesmerizes him that he is unable to take his eyes off her.

A sudden squawk startles him so much that it makes him stagger and fall backwards, a shriek of surprise escaping his throat. Luigi closes his eyes just as his lower back hits the grass and he lets out a soft moan of pain, but Daisy’s screams immediately catch his attention.

Opening his eyes, Luigi gasps when he sees that the princess has placed herself in front of him in a protective attitude to defend him from the duck, the cause of his fall.

“Get away from here!” she shouts at it angrily, trying to shoo it away.

The animal flaps its wings, still quacking, but Daisy’s impetus, her eagerness to keep it away from Luigi, ends up causing the duck, although reluctant, to begin to waddle in the direction of the pond, to which it finally returns. Only then, Daisy lowers her arms, her breathing accelerated, and turns to Luigi with concern painted on her face.

“Oh, my, Luigi, are you all right?” she asks, holding out both arms to him.

And Luigi, who had been staring at her, completely fascinated, blinks suddenly, trying to get out of the state of confusion in which he’s immersed, and shakes his head.

“Y-yes,” he murmurs, laughing nervously, as he raises a hand.

Daisy clutches it at once, her fingers closing tightly around his palm and wrist, and Luigi feels that warm, pleasant shock again as soon as his skin comes into contact with the princess’. Daisy pulls him to help him up, and he embarrassedly massages his back with his free hand. His other hand is closed tightly around Daisy’s, and he has no intention of opening it.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, embarrassed. “It caught me off guard.”

Daisy, not letting go either, lets out a faint giggle.

“Don’t apologize.” She removes her hand from his wrist, only to place it under his chin and sweetly turn his face towards her. “It wasn’t your fault, but the vampire duck’s.”

They both laugh, sharing a knowing glance, and Luigi can’t help but stare at her, spellbound, still unable to take in the fact that this brave princess has just saved him. Even if it was from something as random as the attack of a duck from the pond.

“Thank you, Daisy,” he says wholeheartedly, his eyes shining with emotion.

Daisy’s face lights up with a smile that, once more, brings out the dimples in her freckled cheeks.

“You’re welcome, Luigi.” Her eyes stare at him again. “You’re... so charming.”

Luigi’s legs tremble, and not because of the fall. He feels that his smile is like jelly, flimsy and unstable. A scream rises in his chest and spreads throughout his body but does not reach his throat. His cheeks, of course, burn, even more intensely. And his heartbeat is so loud, so booming, that he’s convinced Daisy can hear it clearly.

She keeps looking at him, her expression full of warmth. Is it Luigi’s impression, or is her face now a little closer to his? His eyes, as if deciding for themselves, drift to those beautiful lips, so full and suggestive, that he so badly wants to kiss. Is it possible that Daisy... also wants to... kiss him? Him?

Suddenly, a soft melody reaches his ears. With his eyes still locked on Daisy’s, Luigi doesn’t lose any detail of her reaction: a new sparkle, naughty this time, shines in her eyes, while her smile turns mischievous. With a giggle, the princess puts a finger to his chest and pushes him gently, making him back away, at the same time that she herself takes a step backwards. Luigi laughs, stunned, though his mirth dies when Daisy’s hand slowly slides across his palm until the touch is broken, leaving him with a sensation of emptiness that makes his chest feel hollow.

“Wow,” Daisy exclaims playfully, as she places both hands behind her back. “This music is perfect for a dance, don’t you think?”

Luigi laughs again, but, somewhat confused, he takes his eyes off Daisy for a moment to search for the source of the melody. He then notices a figure, under a tree near the pond, sweetly sliding a bow over the strings of a violin, inviting the many other couples strolling around to dance to the beautiful song and take in the intimate and romantic atmosphere.

A throat clearing from Daisy impels Luigi to rest his gaze on her again. The princess does not look directly at him, but her eyes are raised to the sky.

“I wonder,” she says, pretending to be oblivious to his presence, “if there’s a handsome gentleman around here who would like to ask this lady to dance.”

Luigi gasps as he realizes Daisy’s intentions. His heart pumps wildly at the fleeting wink she gives him. Dancing? Together? Like in those romance stories set in bygone eras? His throat goes dry. Of course he loves to dance, and of course he’d love to dance with Daisy, but pretending to be a gentleman asking a lady for a dance? And a princess, no less. He’s just a simple Brooklyn plumber – how can he possibly live up to her expectations?

But it’s Daisy. The girl who has driven him crazy practically since the first time he saw her. The warrior, feisty princess who won his heart with her impulsiveness and her spontaneity. The bold, sassy woman he has fallen for head over heels. And, besides, she looks so beautiful, with her pretty orange blouse, her cheerful full skirt, the purple flower pinned to her lovely auburn mane, shimmering under the moonlight...

He wants to do it. He wants to dance with her. He wants to feel her close, he wants to feel her hand in his again, fitting together like two pieces of a perfect puzzle. He wants to please her, to whirl with her until dawn if necessary, to be carried away together by the sweet melody that flows from the violin and floods his ears.

So, without a second thought, Luigi plucks up his courage, shortens the distance between them in two strides and, with a slight bow, extends his hand to her.

“Would you do me the honor of granting me this dance, beautiful lady?”

Daisy’s smile widens at his gesture, her dimples appearing once again on her cheeks. She brings one hand to her chest in feigned surprise and slowly reaches out the other to place it softly on Luigi’s palm.

“With pleasure, handsome gentleman.”

Luigi’s fingers unconsciously close around her delicate hand. When he straightens, however, Daisy lets go, but does not pull away from him. With her eyes fixed on Luigi’s, the young woman places one hand on her partner’s shoulder and reaches for his fingers with the other, so that, at last, their hands are joined again, palm against palm, the fingers of one of the back of the other’s hand. Instinctively, Luigi raises his other hand to, with some uncertainty, rest it on Daisy’s waist, whose smile widens, and she gives him a slight nod of approval. Luigi sighs in relief, his grin a little more confident, and then, to the rhythm of the music, they both begin to move.

At first, of course, Luigi’s feet stumble, his legs shaking like a leaf. Daisy laughs faintly at his embarrassed expression, but she gently squeezes his hand and, whispering, begins to set the beat to help him.

“One, two, three... Now!”

And Luigi obeys, and strives to follow the pace she sets, and manages to complete the steps so precisely that he surprises himself. He watches Daisy with enthusiasm shining in his eyes, and she, smiling tenderly at him, falls silent, because she understands that he no longer needs her to guide him.

And suddenly, they’re dancing.

Luigi can’t believe it. The delicate cadence of the melody propels his feet, which move in near-perfect synchrony with Daisy’s. They whirl around the park together, close to each other, Daisy’s purple skirt tangling around her legs. She, with her eyes closed and a serene smile on her lips, rocks in Luigi’s arms, feeling the music, living it, and he soon catches the passion with which the young woman dances. The song floods his mind, reaches his heart and urges him to dance with his soul, devoting himself entirely to the beauty of the music.

Without letting go of Daisy, Luigi reaches out his arm to spin her around, and watches her beautiful hair float behind her, making her look even more attractive in his eyes, if that’s even possible. The purple daisy, still clinging to her mane, slips a little to rest on Daisy’s ear, and, at the conclusion of the spin, she falls into Luigi’s arms with a soft exhalation of awe. Luigi holds her, one arm behind her back, his hand gripping Daisy’s firmly, and breathless, she gives him a rapt smile, her free arm coming up to encircle his neck. Luigi, to his surprise, finds himself smiling gallantly at her, completely immersed in the music and the intimate atmosphere of the place. He helps her straighten up and resettles his hand on her waist, as Daisy’s hand slides back to its place on his shoulder. As they continue to dance, however, her fingers lift slightly to graze his ear, sending a tingle of pleasure to every nerve ending in Luigi’s body.

By the time the harmonious melody concludes, they’re both breathing heavily, their hearts beating fast to the rhythm of the other’s. They glance, smiling, their hands still intertwined, Luigi’s palm still on Daisy’s waist, Daisy’s fingers still resting on Luigi’s shoulder. Their bodies are very close, their chests almost pressed together due to the posture. Luigi, for the umpteenth time that night, finds his eyes entwined with Daisy’s, caught by that depth that so reminds him of the ocean. She too seems unable to stop gazing at him, a pretty smile gracing those beautiful lips that Luigi is so eager to taste. His heart gets a little faster if possible at the thought, but the princess drives him so crazy that he can only think of having her closer, a little closer, just a little bit closer. He feels totally imprisoned by her spell, hopelessly wrapped around her finger, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

His breath intermingles with Daisy’s. Hers is a bit shaken, while he feels like a bundle of nerves. Still, Luigi’s instinct is screaming at him to keep his head down a little, and who is he to resist.

“Luigi,” he hears her say then, her voice barely a choked whisper, “if you want to stop... you’d better do it now.”

Despite her words, Daisy doesn’t sound too convinced. Luigi can’t stop the corners of his lips from lifting slightly, his heart full of tenderness, and his voice comes out hoarse and low as he manages to answer her.

“I don’t want to stop.”

Fleetingly, Daisy returns his smile. She continues to move closer, raising her head a little higher, and Luigi continues to tilt his, both anxious and excited with anticipation.

Until, at last, their lips meet.

And Luigi feels like he could die in that instant.

Daisy’s lips are sweet, soft, far more delicious than Luigi could have imagined, and he melts inside with delight. He thinks he might burst into tears from the joy of finally seeing his greatest wish fulfilled. Is Daisy, the princess he’s madly in love with, really kissing him? Is this not a dream? But no, the touch of her velvety lips against his is so real that he’s about to lose his mind.

He wants to give himself completely to this madness and never let go.

They linger for a second with their mouths pressed together, enjoying each other’s touch, until Daisy begins to move her lips. At first she does it slowly, tempting him, tasting him, and Luigi, delighted, lets himself be guided by her lead and enjoys the movement.

Then Daisy opens her mouth, inviting Luigi to explore her, and lets go of his hand to wrap both arms around his neck. Luigi barely notices, so lost as he is in the kiss, so fascinated by the flavor of the young woman that he can’t even realize that now both his hands are squeezing her waist, instinctively pulling her closer to him.

They both raise their tongues at the same time, so they meet somewhere in the middle of the union of their mouths. Luigi moves his away for a moment and allows Daisy to be the first to explore his mouth, and he feels his legs tremble at the gentleness and tenderness with which she does so. Next it is Daisy who pulls her tongue away and, again, opens her lips, and this time Luigi accepts the invitation and marvels again at the intoxicating taste of the pretty princess.

They continue to kiss and savor each other, not wanting to stop, not wanting to move away from the other, not wanting this sensual and exciting experience to end. They press more and more against each other, the kiss is more and more ardent and passionate, Luigi feels more and more flushed and heated, but he doesn’t want to stop for anything in the world. He feels that he could spend all his remaining life kissing Daisy, lost in her lips and in her flavor and feeling how she entangles her fingers around his neck in an attempt to bring him even closer to her.

Suddenly, Luigi begins to feel a slight discomfort on his arms, something cold and wet that makes his skin prickle, but he ignores it, for Daisy’s lips are more important. However, the discomfort increases, now falling on his hair as well and slipping through Daisy’s fingers. She lets out a little cry of surprise against his lips and Luigi can’t help but smile, but doesn’t release Daisy’s mouth, eager to prolong the kiss for all eternity.

Nevertheless, even though she doesn’t seem to want to break away either, she begins to say his name giggling as she places her hands on his chest to try to push him away a little, gently but firmly. Luigi, thinking it’s just a game, laughs and pulls her a little closer, ignoring the cold he feels in his arms and head. Daisy presses her lips on his for a moment more and, to Luigi’s disgrace, she moves away and says his name again, still chuckling, raising her tone a little. He finally opens his eyes but doesn’t erase the infatuated smile from his face nor take his arms away from her waist.

“It’s raining,” she points out with a giggle.

“How nice,” he mumbles, enraptured, and seeks her lips again.

Daisy is about to burst into laughter, but it’s drowned out by the intensity of his kiss. However, after a few seconds of kissing him back, she pulls away again and places her hands on his cheeks.

“Luigi,” she insists, amused. “It’s raining!”

Oly then does he manage to process her words.

“It’s raining?” he repeats as he instinctively raises an arm to place it over both of their heads.

When he glances up, he realizes in frustration that the clouds he saw when they arrived at the pond have ended up hiding the moon and have broken the magical moment he was sharing with Daisy. He purses his lips in annoyance. They’ll get soaked, and the flower he gave the princess will be ruined.

She, however, covers her mouth to hide a giggle, amused at his reaction. Luigi, without a second thought, grabs her hand and runs away. She laughs heartily, letting him lead her, and Luigi guides her through the flora of the park and back to the city. He runs, pulling Daisy and catching her loud laughter, unable to help it, and takes her to the only place he can think of: his parents’ house. They enter and stand in the doorway, close to the ascending stairs, sheltered from the sudden storm that has burst over their heads. Breathing heavily, they look at each other, wide smiles on their faces, their hands still clasped together.

Luigi, lost in Daisy’s beautiful eyes, raises his free hand to check the condition of the flower, which, to his surprise, is holding firm, resistant to the rain. On impulse, Luigi begins to stroke the princess’ freckled cheek, and she widens her smile and tilts her head a little to enjoy the caress. Luigi’s heart fills with tenderness, and he, captivated, wishes to be lucky enough to see this girl every day.

He wishes to be lucky enough to kiss this girl every day.

“I had a very great time,” Daisy says softly.

“Even with the storm?” Luigi asks, giggling to hide his blush.

“Even with the storm,” she nods.

They laugh again, feeling deeply connected once more, and Daisy’s hand rises to rest on Luigi’s, who hasn’t stopped brushing her cheek with infinite fondness.

“Although...” Daisy stands on tiptoe so she can whisper in his ear. “What we were doing just before it started raining was my favorite part.”

Luigi is sure his whole face is now redder than Mario’s hat. He swallows, as his throat has gone dry, and notices his heart hammering in his ears. When Daisy looks at him, he smiles and nods in an awkward attempt to tell her that this was his favorite part too.

“We’ll have to do it again,” Daisy adds suggestively.

Seizing the fact that she was still on tiptoe and that their faces are close together, she rubs her lips against Luigi’s, just for an instant, just a quick caress of her mouth on his. For Luigi, though, it’s more than enough: he grabs her waist again and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. Daisy gives a soft giggle, but immediately reciprocates his gesture and cups his face gently.

This time they’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps running down the stairs. Startled, they separate, although their hands remain in the same places, and they look up just in time to see Mario arriving, at full speed, at the hallway of the building.

“Wow,” he exclaims with a chuckle. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Luigi gives him an embarrassed smile and hopes that Daisy’s hands, still resting on his cheeks, hide his blush. She, without a trace of shyness, widens her smile and leans a little towards him, so that her hair grazes Luigi’s chin. His legs automatically turn into butter again.

“I see the date went well,” Mario observes, smiling mischievously at them.

“Better than that,” replies Daisy, and her fingers begin to affectionately squeeze Luigi’s cheeks, making him feel the urge to laugh and hide underground, all at the same time. “Your brother and I are boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Her words fill Luigi’s heart with so much joy that, not caring that his brother is present, he gives Daisy a fully beaming glance.

“Does that mean I can treat you like a sister now?” Mario asks amusedly.

“Weren’t you already doing that?” replies Daisy, following his joke.

“Maybe, but I guess it makes more sense now.”

Daisy responds with a laugh, her hands coming down to Luigi’s shoulders. He manages to emit a nervous chuckle, and his eyes suddenly meet Mario’s, who, slowly, has continued to approach the door. At that instant, however, Mario stops, his gaze filled with understanding and affection, and Luigi’s heart swells in his chest, his smile a little hesitant at his brother’s sincere joy for him. Luigi nods slightly, hoping Mario catches the appreciation in his gesture and in his eyes, for, after all, his brother has helped him from the beginning in everything concerning his feelings for Daisy.

Luigi would not be experiencing his exciting first date with Daisy were it not for his beloved big brother’s invaluable help.

Then Mario, not taking his eyes off Luigi’s, approaches him in two strides and gently pats his shoulder.

“See you later at home, Lu,” he says, a warm smile tattooed on his lips.

Luigi nods, feeling a little reassured by his brother’s familiar touch, and takes one hand off Daisy’s waist to place it on Mario’s shoulder.

And, for an instant, Luigi holds in his two hands the two most important people in his life and for who he would gladly give his last breath.

Not even realizing it, he tightens his grip around Daisy’s waist as he gives a light squeeze on Mario’s shoulder. His brother, after a final pat, slowly pulls away from him and turns towards the door.

Then Luigi realizes something.

“Mario,” he calls out to him, worried. “It’s raining. Didn’t you take your umbrella?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Lu,” Mario replies, waving his hand to play it down. “The pipe is quite close. I won’t have time to get wet.”

Luigi smiles and shakes his head slightly, resigned.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he scolds him affectionately.

“And then I’ll have two Moms instead of one, I know,” Mario says in the same tone, making both Luigi and Daisy giggle. “See you, lovebirds!”

And before Luigi or Daisy have time to answer him, he’s gone.

Luigi sighs, the resigned smile still on his lips. His brother will never change, and he adores him for that very reason.

Then he turns to Daisy, who also turns her face towards him at that instant, and they smile at each other, knowingly, their cheeks reddened. There’s something Luigi wants to ask her, but he doesn’t know how to broach the subject. Daisy, however, is faster in taking the initiative.

“Where were we?” she murmurs, running two fingers provocatively across his chest.

But Luigi, despite the embarrassment, despite the shudder of pleasure that runs up and down him, still needs to get something off his head, to ask her something about what she just declared in front of Mario.

“D-Daisy,” he mumbles, and rubs the back of his neck for the millionth time that night. “Th-that thing about... us being... y-you know... b-boyfriend and girlfriend... W-were you s-serious?”

“Absolutely,” she says without hesitation. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

“Yes!” Luigi shouts, almost at a faster speed than when they were at the pizzeria. “Y-yes, Daisy, I-I mean, o-of course I do, I...” He stops for a moment and takes a deep breath, trying to order the words he wants to pronounce. “Of course I want to go out with you, Daisy. I-I r-really l-like... you.”

She laughs softly, a bit blushed, and bites her lower lip, still running her fingers down his chest and sending shivers down his spine.

“I really like you too, Luigi,” she confesses, her voice a faint whisper. “You’re... so sweet. In every way.”

She places a tender kiss on Luigi’s lips, which makes his heart skip a beat. But before he can reciprocate, she pulls away for a moment and looks at him with sparkling eyes.

“See you tomorrow, my sweet Green Bean?”

Luigi jumps at the affectionate appellation and flushes again, but finds that he likes, no, he loves it that Daisy addresses him that way. A smile blossoms on his face and his grip around her waist tightens.

“I’m looking forward to it, my Desert Princess.”

She grins and, to Luigi’s surprise, reddens too. Captivated, he caresses her cheek as she watches him intently. Then he slides his hand into her beautiful, velvety auburn hair, taking care not to drop the purple daisy, and she cups his face again. And, lost in each other’s eyes, they lean in until their lips meet once more.

But this kiss, even if it is also intense and sweet and deep and passionate and intoxicating, tastes like a farewell.

“I’m already counting the hours until we meet again,” Luigi murmurs, pulling away for a second, only to kiss her again as soon as he finishes speaking, with greater intensity and passion.

“I was about to tell you the same thing,” she replies, resuming the kiss a second later.

And they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and his hands stroke her waist and her mane, and hers get lost in his tousled hair and encircle his neck, and their tongues dance a dance that both would like to last forever.

And in that moment, not being aware of it, they both inwardly promise themselves the same thing.

That, someday, it will be.

#green orange and a bit of purple #zahra's writing #zahra's fics #Luaisy #luaisy story #luaisy fanfic #Luaisy first date #Luaisy first kiss #luigi x daisy #luigi #princess daisy #super mario #super mario bros #super mario fanfic #first kiss fic #first date fic #organizing my new blog #silenzahra

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therealcocoshady · 5 months ago

Text

Recovery - Chapter 39

Synopsis : Simon comes over for dinner and Reader makes a mistake.

Tags : angst

Author's Note : I want to take a second to thank my dear @shady-577 who has the role of Very Important Reader ❤️. I usually run my ideas by her and she kindly reads my stuff ! Thank you so much ❤️

Y/N’s POV

Your friends made you delete the social media apps from your phone, for your own good. In hindsight, you were grateful, because seeing everyone comment and bring back your photos was doing a number on your mental health. Another thing you were grateful for was the presence of everyone who took the time to check in with you. Everyone around you made sure to show their support, even Marshall’s close friends and his family. When they first called or visited, you half expected them to encourage you to talk to him and patch things up but they didn’t. Porter even suggested that you let him bask in it for a couple of days. They were truly disgusted by the track and it made you feel a little better. It didn’t really change anything - what was done was done - but at least you felt valid in your feelings.

The incident even prompted an unexpected reunion with none other than… Simon. Since the whole thing had gone viral, you weren’t surprised that he heard about it but you did not really expect him to call you. However, he did and he was really sweet. He showed support and even sent you a big bouquet of peonies to cheer you up, as soon as he learned that you were staying at Talia and Jamal’s. In fact, he called you practically everyday and made sure to get your mind off things. Every time you mentioned the incident, he encouraged you « not to think about it » and you had conversations about everything else. Back when you were first dating, you were impressed by the fact that he was very well-read, knowledgeable on a lot of topics. You spent at least an hour on the phone everyday, discussing politics, art, movies… what you enjoyed the most, though, was his humor and the fact that, even after all this time, you had a couple of inside jokes left. Talia saw what a breath of fresh air it was for you, and decided to extend a dinner invitation to him. She thought it would be good for you to socialize with someone you knew, that wasn’t a close friend or acquaintance of Marshall. Jamal wasn’t too keen on the idea, though. He had made his opinion of Simon quite clear in the past, and didn’t care for the way your ex had treated you, especially after the miscarriage. That being said, his fiancée didn’t give him too much of a choice on the matter and he ended up agreeing that, at least, it would be good to see you smile.

When you brought it up to Marshall over the phone, you could tell he wasn’t too happy. However, he was in no position to tell you who to hang out with, after what he had put you through.

Simon… Your ex, Simon ?! He asked.

My friend Simon, you said in an annoyed tone. He’s been cheering me up.

Ok, he sighed. So… when can I see you ? We need to talk.

I don’t know, you replied. I think we should talk but… I don’t think I want to see you.

There’s stuff I need you to see, he said. So that you… I don’t want to say you’ll understand but, yeah, i guess it’ll provide context.

I guess I’m intrigued, you admitted.

So… can I come and give it to you ? He asked tentatively.

I don’t think it’s safe for you to come, you said. If Talia sees you, she will lose her shit. So will Jamal. Can’t you just… e-mail it to me ?

I guess I can send it over, he said. Y/N, I… I miss you. So much. The cat misses you. Please come home. I need to see you. I need to talk to you, to-

It’ll depend on what you send, I guess, you cut him. I have to go. I have to get ready for dinner. Tell Wiz I love him.

Sure, he mumbled.

And hum… thanks for the public apology, I guess.

You hung up the phone before he could respond. At first, you had been willing to call him but as soon as you heard his tone, his ever so apologetic voice… you were back to feeling angry. He was the one who had betrayed you and you were not about to give in to his own pain. You missed him, though. In fact, every night, you cried yourself to sleep and hated yourself for wishing he was by your side. But you were even angrier at him for what he had done. You knew he would hate the idea of you having dinner with Simon. And perhaps, on some level, it was exactly why you had been so quick to accept, when Talia suggested to have him come over. After all, Simon had been here for you this week. He had been the one to make you smile, laugh and regain a sense of self. He was the one who did what any loving boyfriend should have done.

Dinner with Simon was fun. So much so that even Jamal laughed at his jokes and engaged in the conversation, in spite of his initial reluctance. No one spoke of the track that mentioned you, or pronounced Marshall’s name. It was just the four of you, talking about anything and everything, just like it had been, years ago. Talia and Jamal were your friends but they had always gotten along with Simon, for the most part, and you all shared some fun memories of your days in university. After dinner, Simon suggested the two of you go for a walk, after learning that you hadn’t really been out since the track leaked.

I don’t feel like being the laughingstock of the neighborhood, you pointed out.

It’s 9PM, there’s barely anyone out, he replied. And as long as you care about it, you’re not winning.

I guess we can go out, you sighed.

Talia seemed elated that you would finally go out. You went for a walk in some remote part of the neighborhood that had a small trail where people could go on walks. During the day, it was full of people who jogged or families with strollers. But at this time of the night, there was no one in sight. You walked in relative silence when Simon finally spoke.

I had a lovely evening, he commented. Talia’s cooking is even better than I remember.

She is quite skilled, you agreed. I had a great time too. Thank you for coming. And thank you again for reaching out.

You don’t deserve what you’re going through, he said. You deserve the world. Nothing less.

I doubt it, you sighed. I must have done something awful. If not in this life, a previous one.

No one deserves what he did to you, Simon insisted. You deserve love, respect, safety…

That’s what he gave me, you know ? You rambled. When I met him, after you broke up with me… Marshall became my safe space. He made me feel loved, seen, appreciated. He is the one who helped me overcome addiction… I thought I had found a good man.

You deserve to find one, he commented. You know… not a day goes by without me regretting what I’ve done to you. I should have been your safe space. I often wonder where we’d be if I had been there for you. If I had given you what you needed after you lost our baby…

Married with a kid on the way, perhaps ? You wondered aloud.

Boy or girl ? He asked.

A girl, I guess, you shrugged. I always wanted a little girl. And to call her…

… Emma, he recalled.

You remember ? You asked in surprise.

Of course I do, Simon said. I remember everything. You are impossible to forget. I’ve been on dates with ladies but none of them compare to you. No one ever will. I know that now.

Don’t say that, you said softly.

No, it’s true, he said. No one is as funny as you. No one is as smart, as caring, as loving as you are. That’s why I can’t find anyone else. And that’s why I can’t stand to know he hurt you like this. I’m fine with the idea of you being with another man, but knowing that he is not worthy of you… it’s driving me crazy. I want to beat him up.

You don’t have to defend my honor, you know ?

I know, he said. I guess I just… I wish to give you what you need. What you deserve.

That’s nice, you said shyly. Thank you, Simon. But I don’t think you could.

What do you need ? He asked as he looked at you.

I want to feel like myself again, you explained as you looked down. I want to feel loved and seen. But now… I feel dirty and ashamed.

Simon stopped walking and cupped your cheek, before coaxing your chin so that you’d look him in the eyes. His thumb stroked your cheek and you felt an oddly at peace. He was staring at you with an affectionate gaze.

You have nothing to be ashamed of, he said. And I’m here if you need anything.

Thank you, you whispered underneath your breath.

You stared at each other for a split second and you pressed your lips to his. Half of you hoped he would push you away and the other one hoped he would kiss you back. He did the latter, giving it his all. His lips were soft against yours and, for a split second, you didn’t feel as unworthy, as dirty or as ashamed. You could feel his affection for you, his desire, even. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his tongue found yours, the kiss growing passionate. It had been two years since the two of you last shared a kiss but you felt safe. It was comfortable, familiar. After your mouths parted ways, he grabbed your hand and looked at you.

I should walk you home, he said.

I’m sorry, you replied. I-I shouldn’t have…

I’m happy you kissed me, Y/N, he clarified. But something tells me that what you need is a friend, right now.

That’s right, you said. I’m mortified, Simon, really… that was wrong. I’m… with Marshall.

You are, he agreed. For now.

Yes, you said breathlessly.

You weren’t too sure of what you wanted. Ten seconds ago, you had wanted to kiss Simon. You wished you could play dumb and say it was an accident but it wasn’t. You had initiated this kiss. You had asked for it. Simon walked you home in relative silence and you were almost mortified. As minutes went by, you absolutely regretted kissing him. Because, regardless of how good and familiar it had felt, it was still cheating. And no matter how mad at Marshall you were, cheating on him broke your heart. Maybe somewhere deep down, you hoped that kissing your ex would erase your feelings for your boyfriend and that you wouldn’t see Marshall as the love of your life anymore. But this didn’t have the desired effect and it only felt more wrong. Once you reached the front door of Talia and Jamal’s house, he kissed your cheek and promised to call you soon on Talia’s phone. It was the only way people could reach you since you’d had the excellent idea of throwing your phone in the staircase after reading one more headline about Marshall’s track.

When you walked inside the house, your friends were waiting for you in the living room, with a big box sitting on top of the coffee table.

What’s that ? You asked.

It was delivered while you were gone, Talia explained. Marshall’s security dropped it off.

He… Sent my stuff ? You asked anxiously.

No idea, Jamal said. Might very well be yet another bouquet… As if the whole house wasn’t full of them already…

You anxiously opened the box. You expected to find your stuff, thinking that maybe he had interpreted your silence as a breakup. But instead, you found a bunch of CDs and stacks of paper, as well as an envelope that read « Open this before the rest. ». Inside, you found a letter, in Marshall’s perfect handwriting :

« Dear Y/N,

I sent over the stuff I wanted to show you. I figures that maybe it would be better if you got to go through it alone. In this box, you will find everything I have ever written about you since we met, as well as some letters I never sent while we were apart. I know it doesn’t change what happened with the track that leaked but I hope this will show you that you are always on my mind, always have been. When I wrote and recorded that silly track, I was sure you were going to leave and what you heard is my me venting on the microphone, letting my mid go to the darkest places, not because I actually think or mean everything but because it’s how I blow off steam. I know it doesn’t make the lyrics any more acceptable, but this is just me, being unable to get you off my mind for one second and trying to deal with it as best as I can. I never planned on you, nor anyone, hearing any of it. I realize this is not a healthy way to deal with my feelings, and I promise I’m never doing this again. Anyway, here is everything : things I wrote, stuff I recorded… I’m here if you want to talk about it.

I’m sorry I hurt you, more than you’ll ever know. I miss you. (Wiz misses you too).

Please come home.

I love you,

Marshall »

You sighed nervously and handed the letter to Talia, so that she could read it. Once she was done, she handed it to Jamal. After everyone was done reading the letter, you agreed that you should have a look to the content of the box. Your friends offered to give you some space but you were feeling a little overwhelmed. It was painfully obvious that your boyfriend was trying his best to make things bette with you and you had just repaid him by kissing your ex. You spent about three hours looking at every item the box contained. You got to read some letters Marshall had written to you while you were in France, that had your address on the envelope but he never sent them. I here, he was telling you about how much he missed you, how gloomy life was without you and how badly he wanted you to be happy, even if it meant that he would have to stay away from you. He also mentioned a couple of trips he had taken, mainly to California for some work, and how he wished he could have taken you on his travels. People, including himself, had told you how miserable he was while you were apart, but to read what he wrote during that time was gut-wrenching. There were so many writings that it was clear that you had not left his mind for a minute. Some of them even dated back to when you were dating Josh ! You were in tears by the time you were done reading the letters but the worst was yet to come. You listened to the CDs, that were full of tracks you never knew about. They were all about you and you could clearly see the pain in Marshall’s voice. By the time you were done listening, you were bawling like a baby.

Are you ok, Sis ? Jamal asked.

I… Guys, I… I don’t know, you hiccuped.

Come here, babe, Talia said as he took you in her arms.

You should call him, Jamal said. You guys need to talk.

You looked at him, taken aback. In the past days, Jamal had not exactly been secretive regarding the disdain he had for Marshall, and you definitely did not expect him to encourage you to patch things up with him. What you read and heard definitely made you want to see him and talk to him face to face, but you knowing what you had done earlier in the night made you sick. You couldn’t face him and tell him you had cheated on him. Not when you knew he had spent months writing the most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking things about his love for you, how being without you was a fate worse than death.

I don’t know, you said in a croaky voice.

Baby, I know we’re still mad at him, Talia said. But… You’ve heard these songs, right ? You’ve read these letters… Shit, I’m crying too !

She’s right, Jamal said. He loves you. He’s an obsessive fucking moron but… It’s Em. And I know you love him.

I thought you were mad at him, you pointed out.

I am, he said. But he sent me an email to apologize, as well as a check. He’s stupid but he’s trying to make things right. You have to give him a little credit, Sis. And I know that you guys have been through a lot and I’m sure you can work things out.

His last sentence has you burst in tears. After reading and listening to everything, you wanted nothing more than to « work things out », but you were afraid that you had ruined everything. How ironic. He was the one whose actions had led to you leaving the house but he would be the one breaking up with you because you were too dumb. Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were crying so much that it made it difficult to breathe. It wasn’t just guilt or sadness, it was panic, as you realized you would have to tell Marshall what happened with Simon.

Baby, what’s wrong ? Talia asked as she stroked your back.

I… I fucked up, guys, you said.

What ? No ! Jamal said. What he did with that track sucked, you had every reason to leave for a few days !

No, it’s not that, you hiccuped. I-I… I kissed Simon…

NO YOU DIDN’T ?! Talia almost screamed.

You were virtually unable to stop crying, to the point where you were unable to form a coherent sentence and ended up hyperventilating. It felt like you had the weight of the world on top of you. Talia took you in her arms and tried to get you to calm down but you were having a full blown panic attack. You heard her talk to Jamal but, even though you could hear the words, they weren’t making much sense. You were trying to talk but only French words would come out of your mouth.

Il va me quitter, you cried. Je l’ai trahi… Oh mon Dieu. J’ai trahi Marshall !

What…? Jamal asked confused.

She’s having a meltdown, Talia sighed. We can’t leave her like this, babe !

What do we do, then ?

Let’s call Em, she directed.

Non ! You pleaded. Please… Non.

Talia took your hands in hers and tried to reason with you. In her opinion, it was better for you to tell Marshall and have an actual conversation with him, about both the track and you kissing Josh.

I fucked up, you cried. Oh my God. I fucked up.

Look, Sis, Jamal said sheepishly. Cheating sucks, and I’m not going to say Em deserved it. But… You know. You probably wouldn’t have done it if things had bee alright in your relationship.

True, your best friend chimed in. You were feeling betrayed and vulnerable.

He’s going to kill me, you sighed.

He’s not, Jamal said. Look, I already texted him. He should be here in about 20 minutes. We’ll let you guys talk but we’ll be right next door, in the kitchen, alright ? No matter how mad he is, I swear, you’ll be alright.

But… I’ll have to move, I-

If he kicks you out, you’ll just move back in with us, babe, Talia said reassuringly. We got you. Always.

You thanked them and tried to pace yourself by taking deep breaths. It was the middle of the night but it didn’t seem to matter to anyone. Twenty minutes later, Marshall was here. As soon as he spotted you, curled on the living room couch, reading one of his letters, he rushed to your side.

Y/N, he said.

Hi, you said as you tried to avoid his gaze.

Have you… Been crying ? He asked as he took a look at your face ?

You nodded sheepishly. Your stomach was in knots and you felt as if you were about to throw up. He was inches away from you, looking at you intently. You nervously glanced at him and it was safe to say that he looked absolutely terrible. From the looks of it, he had been missing on a lot of sleep. His face looked gaunt and had worry all over it.

Is it the letters ? He asked. God, I didn’t mean to make you cry… I-I…

They’re beautiful, you said in a creaky voice. A lot to take in. But beautiful.

And I meant every word, he assured you. These letters, these songs… that’s how I really feel about you. How I have always felt about you. Not that stupid leaked track.

Yeah ? You asked.

Swear to God, he said. That’s just… My mind goes to this dark place, sometimes, you know ? When I’m sad, when I’m hurt… I know it’s creepy as fuck, and I know it’s not… It’s not ok. I know it. But I swear, this is just fiction. No different than a book or some drawings, you know ? But it has nothing to do with you. It’s my feelings, my dark thoughts… None of it should matter.

But you name-dropped me, you pointed out.

I shouldn’t have, he said. That was fucking wrong of me. I thought no one would ever hear it. It’s just… that’s the only way I know how to get things off my chest, you know ?

You nodded. It hurt to be on the receiving end of it and to be the one who inspired such deranged lyrics but you could sort of see where he was coming from. After all, he had always resorted to music as a coping mechanism. He sat on the couch next to you and took your hand in his. The contact between you - the first in a week - almost made you shiver. He seemed to notice it and immediately placed his jacket on your shoulders.

I know it sounds easy to say but… I recorded that before I agreed to do therapy, you know ? He said tentatively. I went and told my therapist about it the other day, and… I’m going to do better, Y/N. I promise. I know I’ve hurt you, but I need you to know that I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. And I want us to get through this. I’ll book more therapy sessions, I’ll work on myself, we can do couples therapy if you want… I’ll do anything for us.

Marshall, I-, you began.

Y/N… You’re the love of my life, he continued. You make me want to improve myself, put in some actual work so that we can have a future together. There’s nothing I want more than this. I need you with me. I know we can get through this. I just know it. Because it’s us.

You were overwhelmed. You had told him he was the love of your life several times before but it was the first time he said it back. Tears started rolling on your cheeks and he pulled you to his chest.

I’ll never hurt you like this again, he said. I love you, and if you still love me, we can get through anything.

Marshall, I need to tell you something…, you started nervously.

Do you love me ? He asked as he ignored your sentence.

I do, you replied. Of course I do, but-

No but, he said. I swear, I’ll do anything you want, honey. I have already gotten rid of the studio equipment but if there’s anything I can do, anything you want… I’ll do it. Just come home, and we work things through, ok ?

I need to tell you something first, you said nervously.

Ok, he said as he still held your hand. Anything, baby.

It’s… It’s about Simon, you started with tears in your eyes.

What about him ? He asked. It’s not like you cheated, right ?

You knew he was resorting to humor to try and diffuse tension but you immediately started crying, giving everything away. You immediately saw the color drain from Marshall’s face, his eyes instantly turning dark.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #recovery fanfiction #eminem fluff #marshall mathers x reader #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #marshall mathers imagine

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