#and sometimes when you look at him all hollowed cheeks and empty eyes and smiles and words he does not mean | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aquidragon · 1 year

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Compulsory

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4902

Summary: There was no one you hated more than your ex-boyfriend Leon Kennedy, however, until he appears in your office after a long mission that changed everything.

Content Warning(s): smoking, reference to drinking, refrence to drugs, nsfw content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)

(this is my magnum opus, I can die now)

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You weren’t sure if there was anyone you hated more than you despised Leon Scott Kennedy. Even if you searched in the farthest corners of the universe, it would be hard for any living thing to somehow beat the burning, red-hot hatred that burned deep in your heart.

You also hated that there was no one else in the infinite galaxy that you could love more than you loved Leon. His presence was like a drug, pulsing throughout your entire body, fueling you with aphrodisiac. Your nerves tingled at the thought of him, the hair on your neck stood on end in remembrance of his warm touch on your bare skin. The scent of sandalwood, refined whiskey, and rust haunted your senses.

You couldn’t get enough, you craved him again, you wanted to feel him rushing through your veins again. You needed him to feel alive. The burning desire to be dependent on him again weighed heavily in your mind, your body and your soul. It was why you loathed him, why you never wanted to see his alluring, mysterious frozen ocean eyes again.

Leon had shattered every effective piece of your heart when he walked away, when you demanded him to stay. It had been a cold, stormy night, your clothes were soaked to your bones as you screamed at him. Hot tears streaked down your cheeks, mixing with the freezing droplets that fell from the heavens. His eyes held the same empty, hollow walls that you had fought so hard to tear down. You had reached into the abyss of his mind, every secret, every memory, every emotion that he felt was once at your fingertips.

Before you could grab a hold, you were forced out by a violent tsunami. Sealing away what was once yours, for what you assumed to be forever. Leon Scott Kennedy became a mystery to you once again, a stranger whom you never knew. You thought you had known him once, as well as he knew you, but you were wrong.

You saw him sometimes, walking the narrow hallways of the DSO building, in between assignments. His blonde hair and square shoulders lingered in the corner of your vision like a ghost. Occasionally, you’d catch cyan in your sight, as you briefly met his eyes. For seconds, you remembered when you were his, before it all crashed down to Earth. You’d tear your head away, cramming yourself in your work, unable to look at him any longer. You couldn’t bear the thought of him, a hot knife that tore through your chest, slicing you open; it made you vulnerable. Leon made you feel weak, powerless, similar to a deer caught in headlights. You hated him. You hated your own weakness.

You even had asked to be reassigned to a new agent, within the Field Operations Support, which you had been granted. Not many people within the DSO knew about your complicated relationship history with Leon, most people assumed you were just best friends who had a falling out. Sometimes, you wished that they were correct. It would’ve saved you years of heartache if the nature of your relationship with your former lover remained platonic. If the intimacy you had shared with the blonde agent continued at a surface level, far above the trench that pulled you both down deeper.

Maybe, you wouldn’t have drowned.

“Hey, did you hear about Kennedy's status?” The question that was directed at you felt muffled, your ears were underwater. You blinked, as reality set back in, and you turned to face your co-worker. Her perfect teeth peeked through her rouge-painted lips in a wide, ecstatic smile.

“Kennedy? He’s not in my detail anymore, remember?” You grumbled, finishing off the rest of your water bottle. “Why?” Ingrid Hunnigan was one of the few people who you told about your former relationship with Leon, who she often updated you about, much to your personal dismay.

“He successfully extracted Miss Graham, they’re landing back in the states in thirty.” She practically cheered, taking a celebratory sip from her hours-old fast food soda. “The president is thrilled, I hope that means a pay increase.” Hunnigan sang her excitement, as Leon’s direct communication agent, his accomplishment reflected well onto her.

“Congratulations, you deserve it.” You smiled at her, as you suddenly craved a cigarette.

Her excitement began to ebb away as she rested a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I know that talking about Leo-,” she hesitated, “-Kennedy isn’t easy for you.”

You chuckled, humorlessly, shaking your head. “I know this is a big deal for you, don’t sweat it. I’m fine.” You licked your lips, wishing you hadn’t finished your water. “You deserve a massive promotion, honestly.” You shut off your headset, stretching your arms over your head with a satisfied groan. “I’m going to have a smoke, I’ll be back.”

It was perfectly cool outside, you brought the paper stick to your lips, before beginning to light the white end of it. You had supposedly stopped smoking a year ago, alongside Leon, after creating a pact to quit. After you broke up, and an emotional breakdown at a bar, you gave into the compulsion. The hot, foul-smelling smoke fueled your lungs as you inhaled, and your built up frustrations rushed out with your exhale. “Shit,” you mumbled softly as you watched a familiar, private helicopter grace the horizon. You decided this warranted another puff from your cigarette, before stomping the butt into the pavement.

Although you were no longer one of Leon’s agents, Operation Baby Eagle required almost every Field Operations agent to be on deck. You had attempted to call in sick, but your impending rent payment had other plans. While you didn’t have any direct impact on the mission, you were still required to visually confirm Leon Kennedy and Ashley Graham’s safe return from Spain.

You were grateful you didn’t have to verbally confirm with them, at the very least. With a longingly sigh, you walk back inside the building, to get ready to head to the airstrip. You stand beside Ingrid, alongside the president and a large party of other people you didn’t know to welcome Ashley and her rescuer. You tapped your foot, impatient, and perhaps a little anxious as you watched the helicopter slowly lower to the ground. The wind whipped up from the spinning blades causes your hair to loosen from the hairstyle you chose to wear it in, as dust gets into your eyes.

Within seconds, the aircraft’s blades slow to a stop, and the doors open. Leon exits first, his perfectly cut hair frames his angular face perfectly, his eyebrows remain in their permanent, serious position. You almost scoff at his overly stoic appearance, but you decided that that wouldn’t be very professional to do, feet away from the President of the United States. Ashley follows after her rescuer quickly, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, but her face lights up in a smile at the sight of her parents. Without a moment of hesitation, she rushes into the waiting arms of her father, sobbing as they embrace her.

You crack a smile at the sight, while Hunnigan is almost in tears. Your gaze shifts back to the blonde agent, who stands at attention a few feet away from you. Leon’s eyes are as distant as they always are, a solid cold blue, resembling ice. For a moment, you swore those same eyes met yours, but you weren’t sure. “Thank you, agent Kennedy, for bringing back my daughter safely. I’m forever indebted to you.” President Graham’s words are professional, while warm at the same time.

“Anytime, Mr. President.” Leon responded, in a mostly friendly manner. You can tell that he was exhausted, based on the heavy ring of purple that underlined his eyes, as well as the subtle sag of his shoulders. A large, loud part of you wanted to rush over, wrap your arms around him to take care of him. Like you would have if you were here, a couple months ago.

Ashley freed herself from her mother’s embrace, looking up at Leon with watery eyes, a grateful smile gracing her youthfully pretty face. “Thank you, Leon.” She hugged him, her arms wrapping underneath his arms, as she buried her face deeply into his chest.

“Take care, Ashley.” The blonde agent cracked a smile, returning her hug briefly. His head lifted to meet your eyes, and his smile fades. A pathetic, sad looking expression formed on his face, you smile anxiously, more akin to a grimace.

“We can talk more about paperwork and such tomorrow. Tonight, all of you go home. Get some rest, you deserve it.” Graham orders, his stern facade returning. “Good work, thank you.”

The crowd began to disperse, you yawn, as you walked back inside the building. You step into your office, as you begin to pack your stuff together, mentally noting a thanks to the president for gracing you with the ability to go home early. As you slid your bulky laptop into your work messenger bag, your door creaked open. “Hunnigan, I’m going home, we can go to Cowboy’s Tavern tomorrow. I’m fucking exhaust-” you look up, finally, and met the stormy blue eyes of Leon Scott Kennedy.

“What the fuck are you doing in here, Kennedy?” You spat out his name like venom, as your heart faltered. You felt sick, as he shut the door behind him, his expression unreadable. “I’m pretty sure I remember that you made it clear you didn’t want to see me again. Ever.” You avoid looking at him, choosing to focus on the task at hand; gathering your stuff. “I thought we were in agreement there.”

He tiredly mumbled your name, standing a foot away from you, on the opposite end of your desk. “I know what I said, just please, hear me out.” Leon’s voice is weak, raspy, as if he hadn’t had water in days. He pleaded your name, finally forcing you to look up at him, apprehension burning through your head.

For once, in months, the frozen walls of his soul were gone. Leaving his blue eyes open, desperate, all of his feelings pouring out of his soul like a cascade. Your eyes widened, as your mouth fell open. In the brief time you spent with him, you had never seen him cry. Until that moment, in your office, standing before you with wet salty tears carved through the collected dirt on his face. His hands grabbed onto the oak surface of your desk tightly, you were sure that the wood would splinter underneath his touch.

“I know you don’t want to see me, or talk to me. I broke your heart and I deserve it.” Leon blurted, reaching out to grab one of your hands. Instinctively, you flinched, but you didn’t pull your hand away. You let him hold it, as he leaned over your desk. “I just needed to see you, I needed to know that you’re okay.”

You blinked, thoroughly confused. “Leon, I,” you cleared your throat, “where is this coming from?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows. “We haven’t spoken in almost a year, now you come back into my office like this? What happened?” Your heart pounded wildly against your chest, like a caged bird, desperate to fly free. You felt nauseous, as your stomach churned and your thoughts spun violently.

“I almost lost myself,” Leon admitted, vaguely. “They infected me, I couldn’t-” he paused, inhaling deeply. “The only thing that kept me together was you, thinking about you.” The blonde exhaled through his nostrils, in a strange laugh. “I realized I couldn’t live without you, I thought I was protecting you, but I put everyone in danger instead.”

You studied his expression, swallowing the ball that had wadded in your throat nervously. His handsome face morphed in multiple expressions; desperation, fear, grief, and pain. It looked like he was in agony, as his large, calloused hand tightened over your smaller one. “What are you talking about?” You stammered, you felt breathless. “Leon, please tell me.”

“In Spain, Ashley and I were infected by Las Plagas, a parasite, similar to a virus.” He strained his words, struggling to get them out. “It allowed us to be controlled by an outside force, fuck, it felt like I was on fire. I thought I was going to die.”

You opened your mouth, but you were at a loss of words. Instead, you allowed him to get closer, as you pressed your lips against his temple. You allowed your hatred towards him to be silenced, for a moment, to comfort him. To provide sanctuary to his tormented mind, to allow the part of you that still loved him to shine though. “You’re okay now, I promise.” You whispered, scooting to sit on your desk, gently petting his back. Your fingers trailing over the bumps of his spine, as his damp forehead pressed against yours.

As always, his skin radiated heat, as your bodies sat magnetized closer together. Your positives were drawn to his negatives, as your hearts fused together in an electrifying sense. You shut your eyes, as the same thrilling sparks that you craved for so long echoed underneath your flesh. His soft sobs evened out, as he pulled away from you, breathing heavily. Your name was rough, yet gentle on his tongue. His warm hands trailed over the curve of your waist, before coming up to cup your face.

“I never meant to hurt you.” Leon’s voice was like broken glass, as his thumb traced the skin below your eyes. “I thought if you hated me, loathed me, you would be safer. I didn’t think I needed you.” He trailed his lips against your forehead, before planting a kiss between your eyes. “God, I was wrong, please, forgive me.”

You straightened up on your desk, even from your position, sitting on the desk, he still towered over you. His body leaned over yours, as he held himself up, with both of his hands holding the end of the wooden oak. You felt him pull away, afraid that he had done something wrong, thinking that he had angered you more. For less than a heartbeat, you wanted to scream at him, for breaking you apart. However, the longing desire for the man that you loved so much to be yours again, even for a moment, washed away the hatred you had felt for him.

Against your better judgment, you pressed your lips against his mouth. Leon’s pale rosy lips were chapped, and your nerves smoldered with him. Your lungs inhaled the scent of sweat and blood. As he returned your kiss, feverishly, you could taste the metallic indication of blood in his saliva. One of his hands pressed against your cheek bone, as he desperately tried to get closer to you. Your own palms traced over the firm muscles underneath his thin, stretchy, shirt.

He was almost overloading your senses, in the same way that he always did. You felt like you were going to collapse, as you steaded yourself with a hand by your hip. The other hand, found itself in his filthy ash-blonde hair, you didn’t care. You didn’t think you’d even care if he was covered head to toe in blood and rotten flesh. You missed him. You wanted him. You needed him. You wanted him to take over you, to melt into your body and permanently become a part of you.

As your lungs burned for oxygen, Leon’s mouth left yours, breathing heavily. “You’ve been smoking again.” He commented gruffly, trying to catch his own breath.

You huffed, in a hint of a laugh. “Got a problem with that?” You gasped as his lips pressed against your neck, effectively knocking you backwards. The curve of your spine rested against the uncomfortable oak surface, but you didn’t notice. Your nerves sparked wildly from Leon’s touch, as his chest leaned against yours.

“I thought I taught you better than that, sweetheart.” He murmured lowly against the shell of your ear. You hadn’t heard him call you that in what felt like decades, which made electricity shoot through your body, making you almost giggle with delight.

“Well,” you breathed, “you haven’t exactly been able to keep me on track.” You wheezed as he rested his body weight on one of his arms to use his spare hand to drift over your curves. His pupils dilated, and his breath heavy against your face.

“You don’t think I’ve kept my eye on you, do you?” The blonde asked, almost patronizing you. “I know what you’ve been up to. I know what bars you’ve gone to every weekend, I know you drink yourself into oblivion every night.” He groaned, his teeth softly scraped against the tender skin on your neck. “If only you knew that, I ached for you every single time I thought about you.”

The thought of him watching you, from the shadows, when you weren’t paying attention made your brain spin with delight. You moaned as your fingers dug into his scalp, as he nipped at the flesh that joined your neck to your collarbone. “It almost hurt, y’know, that I couldn’t call you mine when I saw you with other people.” Leon pulled his face away from your body, looking down at you with blown, ocean eyes.

“Be mine, again.”

You exhaled sharply, as his gaze burned into yours. As he waited for your permission to go ahead, to continue what you both had started. Without a second thought, you yanked his hair down so he’d kiss you, in a passionate clash of your lips. He grunted in surprise, but quickly recovered as he melted into your mouth. Leon Kennedy was yours again.

As you kissed, your hands trailed down to his rough, black jeans, his erection strained against the thick fabric. You smirked against his lips as you fumbled with his leather belt buckle, before toying with the smooth button. He hissed once you freed his solid boner from his pants, as he squeezed your thighs in delight. “I almost forgot how beautiful you are, baby.” Leon panted, carnally, quickly tearing your work blouse over your shoulders. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He buried his nose between your breasts, inhaling your scent deeply.

You whimpered as his wet tongue traced the outline of your skin, over your bra, as his hands squeezed your biceps. “Jesus, fuck Leon, take off my bra.” You grumbled, desperate.

He gave you a wolfish grin, “your wish is my command.” Without another word, his teeth snagged the center of your bra, as his hands went undeath you to unclasp the back. Once the clasp was undone, he pulled the garment away from you with his teeth, before tossing it in an unknown direction in your tiny office. Goosebumps puckered across your skin as your sensitive nipples were exposed to the cool air, you shivered in delight.

Wordlessly, Leon climbed off of you to crouch at the end of the desk, his head between your feet. You sat up, confused, ready to ask him if he was done; before he used a firm hand to lay you back down. “Take off your pants and panties. Now.”

The commanding, desperate tone of his voice made your brain spin and heat pool between your legs. Without a single complaint, you yanked off your dress pants and panties. You made sure to aim the lacy undergarment at your partner’s head, who caught it with ease. Amused, he studied the fabric, before flinging it back to you. “Familiar.” Leon teased, before pulling your lower half over the edge of the desk.

You yelped as papers scattered onto the floor, as he held onto your ankles. Like a starving man, he buried his head in between your thighs, the hair on his head tickling your skin as his breath rushed against your swollen clit. “Oh Jesus Christ,” you groaned, as your head tilted backwards. Leon littered biting kisses alongside the underside of your upper thighs, looking up at you with half-lidded, smug eyes, before pressing a firm kiss against your sensitive bud.

You hissed in pleasure, as your toes curled inside your shoes. Your entire body flinched at the sudden, yet familiar feeling, as sparks began to echo from your pelvis. “I missed this, I missed you.” Leon murmured against your cunt as he dragged his tongue up the slit. You squeaked, adjusting to the sudden intrusion. “You taste as good as I remembered, sweetness.” Two of his fingers slipped inside you as his lips remained on your clit. You arched your back, giving him easier access as he devoured you. Your hips jerked as your moans grew in pitch, your muscles clenched tighter with every flick of his tongue and thrust of his fingers.

You cursed him and his ability to absolutely consume pussy. You almost thought he was attempting to eat you alive. You fruitlessly tried to grab onto something, to steady yourself, but all you could manage was crumpled up paper (that you hoped weren’t important) and sliding your fingers across the smooth surface of your desk. “Fuck! Leon!” You moaned as he curled his fingers against the sweet spot inside you, with ease.

Without intending to, the tightening sensation inside you suddenly snapped. You gasped, as white, blue and black sparked through your vision as you felt every nerve in your body explode. Like fireworks, scattered underneath your heated skin. Your jaw fell open as you grabbed ahold of Leon’s hair to steady yourself, making him hiss delightfully. He didn’t stop, instead, he continued to finger you as you rode out your orgasm. Monster.

As your high began to fade away, Leon pulled away from your soaked pussy. Covered in your own juices and his salvia. You could see the cocktail of his actions across the lower half of his face, reflecting the orange light of the sunset outside your window. You panted heavily, your arm resting on your damp forehead as he looked down at you, affectionately.

“Do you want to continue?” He asked, with a charming, gentle question. His lips pressing against your cheek, fingers filing through strands of your hair. You nodded, rapidly, as desire began to build back up throughout your body.

“Please,”

Leon grinned at you, before standing back up to completely undo his belt and pants. With an effortless move, he stripped his combat pants away, alongside his boxers. His dick was delightfully curved and thick. You had to force your eyes away from staring. Gently, he pulled your hips against his pelvis, as he stood at the end of the desk. He pressed the head of his erection against your prepared hole, and looked down at you.

You nodded encouragingly, with a smile, as he began to push himself inside you. You both gasped at the sensation, it felt familiar yet foreign at the same time. Leon let out a breathless moan, as he adjusted to the feeling of your heat around his dick. “Fuck,” he breathed out your name like a prayer, “you feel so good.” Without a second thought, he began to thrust inside you, as he began to rush through your veins.

Your body thrilled at the sensation of Leon Kennedy rushing through your skin again, you felt him inside every fiber of your being. Like a drug, an aphrodisiac, you could never get enough of it. You moaned out his name, as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer to you. His forehead pressed against yours as your lips parted, looking into your lust hazed eyes. He groaned his desires to you, as his hands grabbed onto your hips tighter, nails digging into your plush flesh.

You didn’t just need him, he needed you too. In a knotted twist of fate that ensured that you could never live without him. You knew it meant the same to him as well, of course, as he pressed wanton kisses to the side of your face, whispering the words you loved to hear against your ear. You had never truly hated him, you realized, much to your own personal disdain. You had always loved him, even when you had denied it.

“I love you,” Leon moaned against your skin, in a raspy voice. “I always have, and I always will.”

You almost laughed in joy, but instead, you simply responded as breathlessly as he did, “I love you too.”

With a grunt, he came inside you, his hips pressed against yours, without an inch to spare between your bodies. With a wheezy chuckle, he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily as he emptied himself deep within you. You pressed a kiss to his temple, soothingly stroking his hair as he came back down to Earth.

You assured yourself for as long as you lived, you would always be the person who knew Leon Kennedy better than you knew yourself. He would know you better than anyone as well, forever bound by the allure that drew you closer together. You weren’t sure if you believed in soulmates, but you knew damn well that there was no one else in the universe who you loved more than him.

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reblogs greatly encouraged and appreciated. Thanks for reading!

#resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennendy angst #re4r #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy

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luna-writes-stuff · 1 year

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The type my favourite Arcane characters would fall for:

With Viktor, Jayce, Mel, Vi, Caitlin, Ekko, Jinx, Silco, and Vander

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Viktor:

Viktor is very much a person who prefers solitude over social interactions. He focuses on his job more than anything, and can not quite find the time nor energy to do anything after that. Though he loves to find solace in lonesome rooms, he needs a little sunlight occasionally; metaphorically and literally. Someone who drops in once every two hours to get him a drink, a note or simply sit next to him to distract him from his project momentarily. You could sit on an empty chair at his side, observing his work from a safe distance, careful to not shove your nose in there. Tiny questions would escape you, such as “what is that?” Or “why are you using that?”, and he would be delighted to answer them. Sometimes, he’d pull off his goggles to look at you shortly, a tiny smile gracing his face, before he returns to his work. You’d get along with Jayce quite easily - maybe too easy, but it’s all in good manners. Viktor tries to make time for you and take short breaks, but more often than not, he gets so caught up, he cannot afford the distraction. Jayce is more than happy to entertain you for the time being; he rather enjoys your presence as well.

——

Jayce:

Jayce oozes charisma. Now usually, fire and fire don’t go well, but match his energy, and this is man is smitten. Absolutely at loss for words. Desperately in love, if you will. You tease him; the words disappear on his tongue. Now come the heart-eyes. You’d walk down the halls, and you could simply feel his eyes on you. He’d halt any conversation he held and stare at you in silence. Respectfully. Would you work in the same lab as him, this man cannot focus to save his life. Your jokes, your smile, your witty remarks….He’s gone. The worst is when you radiate serotonin. A job gone right, a good song, a funny joke? Anything that makes you smile, makes his heart skip a step. You know that hollow feeling in your stomach, but the good one? That’s him. He’s quick to pick up on little things you do once you get excited: Clap your hands, squeal, jump up and down, squeezing your hands in fists? He sees it. And there is that pit again.

——

Mel:

Listen, this woman is so busy and booked, she tends to miss out on the little things. She needs someone who will take little times a day where they will take a short walk, or do some painting together. Anything to get her mind off of work or business for a short second. A spontaneous decision often takes her aback, as she likes to plan things out, but once she trusts you, it’s all in, baby. During council meetings, you’ll sit on the side, silently calming her down when things get hectic or chaotic. You help her plan things out, but leave room for the fun things. She treasures this so much, she cannot even begin to explain it to you. Small touches on your arm or hand constantly to remind her you’re still there. Ironically enough, it keeps her from overworking. You’re simply so soothing to her.

——

Caitlin:

Bamf. Do I need to elaborate? Caitlin is the type of person to see the good in everyone, no matter how tiny it will be. ‘How bad can they be?’ is a regular question from her. She can be attracted to anyone, really. But if there was one type to capture her heart, it’s the bamf. The person who says things as they are, does as they please, witty remarks, teasing winks etc. The impression you leave on her is large, and she is in awe immediately. Even if she claims to not be amused. She is. Her heart is almost beating out of her chest. Someone get her some help, please. If you start flirting with her, this poor woman does not know what to do. Her cheeks turn red, her ears heat up, she freezes on the spot. But she loves it so much, though she would never admit it. And it’s great to get her flustered.

——

Vi:

Sure, Vi would love a badass and independent partner. But when that partner has a soft spot for children? Always sees the good in everything? Smiles when someone says hi? Don’t get me started. The way your voice changes when you speak to someone in a friendly manner: gone. Bye-bye, Vi. She is a bit rough around the edges, and can come of as cold at times. You contradict that in the best ways possible. Your kind waves to everyone you pass, the ‘how are you?’ when trying to pay for something, your loving hugs…All the things she’d 100% fall for. No question about it. She insists on holding your hand at all times. She says it is because you like it, but let’s be honest. She is not planning on letting you go and likes to let everyone know, you are indeed taken. 10/10 the type to make-out in public when someone takes your friendliness a bit too extreme. Her hand tugging on your waist, the glare shot towards the one flirting with you? Oof.

——

Jinx:

Jinx has a teasing tone, as everyone might know. Though she could use someone to work against that, she would not necessarily find herself attracted to it. If you decide to throw a confetti bomb her way though? You just got yourself a new girlfriend. She is the type to cause mayhem anywhere and everywhere. If she finds someone to do that with, her heart is taken. There are times her emotions tend to get the best of her. You’ll have to calm her down gradually before she does anything stupid. Offer a listening ear, a supportive arm, and she’ll eventually calm down. She loves to do stupid things with you, but she needs breaks. Sit with her and help her tinker with new ideas. Your voice can truly be enough to simply soothe her.

——

Ekko:

Ekko has a soft spot for nerds, no one can convince me otherwise. And I’m not talking technology nerd. I’m talking info-dumping nerd. Someone who knows a little bit about everything. With anything he encounters, you are able to tell a fun story behind that. “Is that a raven?” “Actually, it’s a crow. Did you know crows actually remember people and voices and can even hold a grudge against you? Even worse, crows gossip. What? They do.” Man has fallen head over heels. Your little ranting and rambling makes him feel all giddy inside. He actually used to hate it, but as he grew to realize it was love, he began to accept it. Now, the feeling is welcomed. He can listen to you talk for ages, as cheesy as it might sound. And he remembers everything you tell him. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t, so you could tell him again. You know you ramble, and you have often been told to shut up. So, when you notice you’re ranting again, you always stop suddenly, offering a meek ‘sorry’. He will not hesitate to shake his head wildly, grabbing your hands in reassurance, claiming he wants to hear more. And it’s not to make you feel better, he genuinely enjoys your little talks. It’s one of the things that makes you so special to him. He treasures every single word spoken to him.

——

Silco:

Now, Silco is not an easy one to fall. Not at all. Even with you, it might not have been love at first sight. You had to grow on him. But your mind, and your strategies? They were phenomenal since day one. And though he simply shrugged at it at first, he found himself being attracted to you for that exact reason. You had a solution to every problem, and you had a way of thinking that he simply adored. And from there, he started noticing other things about you. Had your eyes always held that sparkle in them? Were your hands always that delicate? Had your voice always sounded that soothing? It wasn’t until you once laid a hand on his shoulder to shake him out of dreamland, that he realized that he had indeed fallen. Because that touch seemed to linger on his shoulder even as you walked back to your seat at the table. And your eyes silently asking him if he was okay, suddenly looked so different. And then it all clicks. From that day on, his behavior towards you completely changes. Now he wants you in the room with him. Now he wants your opinion on everything. Now you have to follow him wherever he goes. He needs you closer to him now than ever before.

——

Vander:

Listen. Dad friend meets mom friend. It’s meant to be, what else can I say? Your warm-hearted personality, the way you kneel down when talking to children, your reasonable words always interrupting fights. That’s just a short list of things he adores about you. Being the voice of reason, but with that compassionate tone is something he greatly admires. Perhaps more than people usually would. But of course, carrying the day on your shoulder and trying to remain kind to others can take quite a toll on a person. At night, when you’re sure others will no longer come look for you, you tire yourself with thoughts of the day. He often comes to visit you around this time so you will not be alone. You share your worries with each other, but also try to encourage each other to keep it up. Those talks are something so precious and intimate to him. And he keeps on doing these even after being your partner through the years.

#arcane #league of legends #viktor x reader #jayce x reader #mel medarda x reader #vi x reader #Caitlin x reader #jinx x reader #ekko x reader #silco x reader #vander x reader

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dayasusays · 3 months

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“say i love you”

bruce wayne x reader

my first experience in translating my writing into eng 😭 it’s not my first language, there can be a lot of mistakes (ngl i’m scared)

words : 1007

tw / cw : ??hurt comfort??? angst, maybe ooc sorry T-T

for better experience:

"what's going on with you?" you ask softly and take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. bruce doesn't resist, doesn't snatch his hand away. he looks up at you and tries to smile.

"nothing, sweetheart," he parries in an attempt to escape the exhausting conversation, "just... tired. again," he lifts your intertwined hands and leaves a kiss on the back of your palm.

god, he's not okay.

those running eyes, not typical of the strong, commanding wayne; those gentle touches in which you read the incomprehension of what's going on.

"bruce," your voice is caressing, sweet, "you're trying to get away from me," you don't sound upset, and you certainly don't sound angry.

"bullshit," his lips press together into a thin line, "you know i'm just busy."

"busy," you say again, "you're busy."

of course he's busy; being batman has never been easy, and you're someone who understands that just as much as he does, on every level. of course he's tired; the constant patrols, the scuffles, the villains leave wayne with little in the way of a normal life.

"but that's not the point, not the tiredness," you sit down next to him, parting your hands and resting one of your palms on his tense shoulder, which relaxes under your touch, "you're acting weird, more distant than usual."

bruce is silent, unable to admit to you that he's noticed it himself.

"do you even love me?"

"of course i do," wayne sighs, looking up at you, "to the moon and..."

"...and back five times," you finish for him and smile softly, "of course..."

...no. there was something in his words and behavior that you could latch onto.

"but it's like you still have something to say, love," you leave a brief kiss on his cheek, which he returns immediately.

"dunno," bruce resists, frowning, "i'm not sure."

it's as if he's completely consumed with guilt when you look at him like that, with all the love and tenderness you feel for him. all the anxiety in his chest gathers into a lump, remaining there as an uncomfortable feeling. wayne reaches up to kiss you, and of course you don't refuse - you've never refused to kiss him when he's in this state.

"talk to me," you whisper against his lips, your thumb gently smoothing the hollow between his eyebrows so he wouldn't frown, "i don't bite, bruce," you smile slightly, catching his tired breath and kissing him.

he doesn't even know what this is about, god, he really doesn't. all he knows is that he loves you to the core. he loves you for your endless tenderness, for your patience, for the fact that you never ever blame him for anything. bruce wayne just knows that he loves you deeply, but delicately, sometimes passionately, sometimes quietly, but he swears to himself that it's love.

"i dunno," he repeats, looking away for a few seconds.

"bruce?" you call to him, still softly, as he lets out a short, questioning sound, "i love you."

and inside he feels an inexplicable emptiness at those words. an all-consuming, black hole like emptiness.

"so do i."

"look at me and tell me you love me," you ask.

wayne looks up and looks into your eyes, feeling a lump in his throat.

"i..." he tries to start, a couple of times he averts his eyes, but comes back to you, "honey, i just..."

"say "i love you", bruce," you interrupt, slowly reaching up and squeezing his hand.

"i can't," he whispers as his blue eyes try to lock onto something in your shared bedroom.

you just nod.

no tears, no tantrums, no screaming; just a nod as you turn away from him.

"sorry," he squeezes your hand tighter, "i dunno why... why i can't."

it wasn't surprising to you; you may never have been the best detective in the world, like wayne, but you knew every thought in his head. you knew something was wrong just by the look in those soft azure eyes. there was probably no one in the world who knew bruce as well as you did; that's why now, when he lets himself cry on your shoulder and apologizes, you stroke his hair soothingly.

"i dunno why," he continues to whisper, "you're wonderful. you're the woman of my dreams," he grasps at you almost desperately and you catch yourself wanting to believe him, "maybe it's just a phase."

"you think so? that it's a phase?

"no, but i wanna think so."

you look around your shared bedroom and smile weakly. the windows are curtained, there's a hairbrush on your dressing table, his pen with a piece of paper; your two mugs, turned exclusively one way, with the same pattern.

you're in one of his shirts, he's in the pajamas you gave him last christmas; the soft blue one that matches his eyes perfectly has always suited him better than black formal suits.

you smell of shampoo, he smells of his cologne that he smelled of on your first date; the restaurant you celebrated each of your anniversaries in.

"this is home," you think, lowering your gaze to bruce and taking another look around the bedroom.

"even if you don't love me..."

god, it hurt so much to realize that.

"i still love you just as much."

"but this isn't about you," wayne responded, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, "can i be honest?" he's almost whispering against your skin when you nod,"i dunno if i can love at all."

but his truth was that he loved. he really did, but probably not as much as you.

your truth is that you love him too much; so much that you're willing to put up with everything from him being batman to the fact that he's not even a third of the way to how much you love him.

you can't remember a time when that same bruce wayne looked so broken.

it hurts you to look at him like that; it hurts him to look into your eyes.

#dc comics #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #hurt/comfort #dc universe #Spotify #batman #angst #star

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try-set-me-on-fire · 1 year

Note

‘you could say I’m fond of you.’ for the soft prompt 👀👀👀

@leothil also asked for this one! Send me soft fic prompts! Here’s the rest of the fills on ao3!

"You could say I'm fond of you," Buck says, head tilted almost sideways, the sort of twinkle in his eyes that Eddie always worried might prove fatal one day for the way it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

"You could say that, huh?" He crosses his arms, mouth curving upward unbidden. He’s pretty sure Buck is actually saying “hehehe” as he leans forward, giggling, to kiss Eddie’s cheek. Eddie snorts and dodges the attempt, which just causes Buck to follow, until they’re chasing each other in dizzy little circles between the sink and the table. Buck catches him with an arm thrown around his waist, and plants a big wet kiss sort of on his cheek but mostly hitting nose and eye. Eddie laughs in a way that still surprises him, sometimes - a helplessly open thing, so much joy in his body that he has no reason or care to hide.

“Ahem.”

Well, maybe some reason. Maddie stands in the entryway to the kitchen with the squiggly kind of smile someone trying not to. Buck and Eddie are gently frozen around each other, no survival instinct to spring away and avoid capture.

Maddie holds out a hand. “Chim says you owe the PDA jar.”

Eddie makes an indignant sound as Buck throws back his head with a shout of laughter and then, terrible coward, flees the room.

“Nobody was in here! We’re not even at work! This is my house!” Eddie protests even as he digs to find his wallet.

Maddie puts a finger up, reciting “If more than four members of the 118 including the two of you are present at a gathering it counts as a work functio-“

Eddie slaps cash in her hand. “I don’t like your husband very much.”

She grins at him, and then raises an eyebrow. “Two dollars? That seems kind of steep.”

“Inflation’s been brutal.”

She laughs, pocketing her ill gotten bounty. Eddie expects her to return to the party but she stalls there, a curious look in her eyes. Eddie feels suddenly nervous. He counts Maddie as a friend, and he’s pretty certain they’re going to be in laws one of these days, but they haven’t spoken one on one very often and her expression reminds him of the one his own sisters would get when they were about to make his life a little more difficult. He’s started self consciously pretending to rearrange finger sandwiches when she speaks.

“It’s nice to see you being goofy.” When he huffs out a startled laugh she grins and tilts her head, so like her brother. “Evan- Buck is always goofy, no surprise there. But you’re… Funny, certainly, you’re sarcastic, but it’s nice seeing you be silly, Eddie.” She’s so sincere it makes Eddie duck his head, just a little. “You seem really happy. And you make Buck so happy.”

Eddie exhales more than laughs, a quick little sound of awed half-belief. It’s true, he knows it is. It hollows him out completely some days, looking at Buck and seeing such easy elation on his face, and knowing he has some part in putting it there fills up his empty form with light, or champagne, or some other metaphor for love given shape. “I’m glad to,” he says softly. “That’s all I- I want to make him happy, for the rest of our lives. I’m… honestly, the happiest I’ve ever been, and it’s because I get to share it with him.”

Maddie’s smile gets all squished and watery. “I can see why they charge you so much for public displays of affection, you romantic.”

Eddie laughs outright, shaking his head. “It’s the coffee fund anyway, I’d still just be spending it on his ridiculous lattes. This is only an extra step.”

Maddie puts her hand on her hip, gleeful and incredulous. “Okay, even that was stupidly sweet. Do I have to charge you again?”

“Have mercy,” he says, putting his hands up. “I have no more cash.”

“You wanna go mug my brother for it?”

Eddie laughs, and picks up the sandwich tray to bring outside. “Come on, let's go sick Chris on him.”

Later, when Buck sprawls to the ground like a sack of bricks under the gentle force of Chris’s tackle, Eddie tells him to give over extra money to the jar.

“Why?” He grins, sweaty from the chase and smelling like fresh grass.

“Preemptive payment.” Eddie bends down and kisses him thoroughly, ignoring the wolf whistles and groans from the audience. He pulls back just slightly, holding his happiness with two hands, and kisses sort of Buck’s cheek, but mostly his nose and eye. “You could say I’m pretty fond of you, too.”

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #maddie buckley #my writing

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happyk44 · 1 year

Text

Thinking about Percy dying and Annabeth clawing at Nico's door, begging him to help her bring him back and Nico tries not to cave but she looks him with wet red eyes, her face puffy with hours of crying, and whispers, voice hoarse, "You can have him too, if you bring him back", and well, he caves.

Percy comes back, his fingers entwined with Nico's and Hades's voice ringing rules and stipulations behind them, and Annabeth throws herself at him. He hugs her with one arm. He doesn't let go of Nico. He look at her and it's not the same as it used to be. She doesn't seem to care, crying tears of joy.

When they get back to New York, no one says anything. They don't know what to say. Grover is the first to break the silence of Percy's reappearance.

"Hey, man," he says. "Thought you were dead."

"I got better," Percy says. The words bite sharp, licking at the air like sudden steam. His voice is hollow. He blinks slowly, inhumanly.

Grover eyes him closely. Nico is worried. He knows what Grover is seeing. A dead man walking. What he must smell clinging still to Percy's flesh.

But Grover just hooks an arm around Percy's neck and tugs him in close with a quiet sigh. Percy lets go of Nico's hand and hugs back.

Sometimes Nico forgets that Grover was Percy's friend first. They are more entwined than anyone else. More so than Annabeth who hovers with bright eyes less than a foot away.

When they pull away, Grover places a warm hand on Percy's cheek. "Hungry?"

Percy's gaze is blank. He stares. Is silent for a moment. Then, "Starving."

From the crinkle in Grover's face, he understands just how much.

It gets better and it gets worse. Percy's world tightens. His mom, Estelle, Annabeth, Grover. And Nico. He doesn't dismiss anyone else when they crop up but he doesn't care. They notice, but they say nothing. Nico can see the mental math, though, when Percy and Hazel are in the same room. He doesn't know how to explain that it's different. Hazel was brought back when Death was chained. Hazel is his sister. She gets perks.

She gets her humanity.

Percy gets a fast lesson in acting.

He smiles more after the first few days. He laughs. He plays games. He makes weird jokes.

It's not the same. When the spotlight shifts, he goes empty. Like someone has carved him out and left nothing behind but a void.

He doesn't breathe.

But he eats. He eats and eats and eats. Sally watches him swallow mouthful after mouthful. She sees what's different in him, but she doesn't question it. She just pulls Nico aside and whispers, "Will he be okay?"

Nico watches Percy drain an entire jug of juice, the rim of the bottle never leaving his lips. "Yes," he says, because he doesn't know what else to say. Doesn't know how to apologize for what he's done to her child.

Sally doesn't ask him to though. And Estelle doesn't remember when Percy was different. When he was more human. More alive. So she loves him all the same and makes him sing off-key with her, oblivious to the lack of pulse beneath his skin. Paul keeps his distance, which is smart of him. He's not afraid, just wary. He knows Percy's different, that he's wrong. But like Sally he doesn't question it and just keeps a careful eye on Percy when Estelle is around.

Hades was clear though. Nico is sure Annabeth has already thought about it, considered their lines of actions. He doesn't know how to broach the topic, how to bring it up. Luckily he doesn't have to. A couple weeks go by. They're cornered. Estelle is crying. She can't see the monsters, not like her mother, but she knows she must be afraid and she knows that when she's afraid, if she cries Percy will help her.

Riptide never makes it out Percy's pocket. The fight is over before it's begun. He crouches low, mouth stained with green-red blood. Estelle is still crying but doesn't flinch when he touches her face. The monsters have all been dusted. There's some poor mortal lying in the alleyway, half torn to shreds for getting in Percy's path, stubborn and gasping for breath like a fish out of water. Nico puts Estelle in Percy's arms and she finally quiets down as he holds her. He severs the mortal's soul from their body. It falls easily into his pocket. They shadowtravel home. Estelle helps wash Percy's hands clean of the blood that stains them.

The corpse is splayed out on a towel in Percy's room. Nico closes the door and joins Estelle downstairs. She's playing with her blocks. He wonders if she'll wake up screaming about this later. If he'll have to tell Sally what happens. She laughs when the blocks fall. They restack them.

It's an hour later when Percy creeps out of his bedroom. He looks better than he has. His smile sits right on his face for once. He sits down beside Nico and loops their hands together before helping Estelle build one huge wall with all the Legos she has.

When Paul returns from school, Percy takes Nico up to his room. He tastes like blood and his teeth are hungry. They bite and pulls at Nico's skin but never break. He's not starved, but he swallows every groan Nico gives and devours him whole anyway.

Later Nico burns the bloodied towel in the bathtub and piles the leftover bones in a flower sewn bag from Persephone.

Annabeth likes to play with them. She is convinced she can create something from Percy's destruction. When he eats, she watches with pinched eyes and chides him for making a mess of his mouth, of his clothes, of his hands. Percy nips at her when she cleans him up. But he doesn't break skin. She scrubs the bones cleans and cuts them down and makes things.

She reminds Nico of Persephone when she does it. Skull vases and hair clips made of femurs. Grover's nose always wrinkles when he visits, but he never complains.

Nico finds himself falling asleep in Percy's bed more than his own these days. The hunger in him soars every day. There's always a hint of normalcy in him when he eats, faint, but it's not right.

The angles are always wrong, skewed by some nth of a degree. Barely noticeable, but just enough to make people shiver when they walk past.

Annabeth is clinical. Nico is factual.

They're a good team. Nico can spot the pits in people's souls. Terrible things they've done. He doesn't go after thoughts, just actions, and Annabeth prowls down, pretty and unassuming.

Grover comes with, a few times. He doesn't partake but he doesn't stop them either. His nose wrinkles when Nico murmurs over a glass of water, pointing discreetly at their newest food source with a soul full of violence and cruelty, but he doesn't complain. Annabeth undoes her ponytail and sashays over.

Percy is waiting outside patiently, half hidden in the shadows. When Annabeth disappears out the front door of the seedy bar with Percy's food, Nico tastes death in the air only seconds after. Grover's nose wrinkles, but when Percy comes in half an hour later, hand-in-hand with Annabeth, he smiles wide and loops an arm around Percy's neck.

As he tugs him in close, Percy breathes hotly. He inhales Grover like an addict, then reaches out for Nico once they part. Nico tastes blood on his tongue a minute later and chases it down with whiskey. He knows Annabeth tasted blood earlier.

When Percy eats, his hunger doesn't leave, it just changes. Nico knows he'll be choking back moans on Percy's creaking twin bed later in the night. Knows Annabeth will watch with close calculating eyes from beside him and that he'll taste the aftermath of cinnamon and cheap beer on her tongue while Percy devours him whole.

He knows this as much as he knows the sun will rise in the morning and set in the evening. That the stars will twinkle in the night sky and Percy will feast, teeth ripping at skin and blood filling his belly once more.

#nico di angelo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #percico #happy talks pjo #my writing #my fanfic #percicobeth #kind of?? 😂

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thosehallowedhalls · 3 months

Text

Until the Stars Fall from the Sky

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Tyril x Raine (f!human!MC)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 886

Summary: Even Tyril finds himself at a loss for words sometimes. Expanded version of the diamond scene in book 2, chapter 2.

A/N: Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge (prompt: flowers), and @choicesflashfics (prompt: my life would be empty without you in it). @choicesficwriterscreations

Raine snuggles up against Tyril, soaking up his presence as they lie together in the forest. The mingled scents of damp earth, greenery, and flowers waft up sweet and heady through the air, making her heart ache with the beauty of it.

Strictly speaking, though, this moment has no business being perfect. The ground is damp, she can hear what’s most likely mice scurrying through the bushes, and she’s pretty sure that the tickling in her right leg is ants. And yet.

This is Tyril.

Being back in his arms tilts the balance to the side of perfect so thoroughly that all inconveniences barely register. She rests a hand on his chest, feeling the comforting thump of his heartbeat under her palm. She has no recollection of the last year, but she knows that somehow, even in her state of unconsciousness, she missed him.

She isn’t surprised when the arm around her tightens its hold every couple of minutes. She wants to hold onto him with all her might, too. But she tries to reassure him anyway.

“I’m right here, Tyril. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales. “I can’t help it. Part of me still believes I must be dreaming.”

“Have you dreamed of this? Since I left?”

“Every day, in all my sleeping and waking moments.”

“I hope reality lives up to it.”

He trails his fingers down her cheek. “The reality of you is always better than dreams.”

She will never get used to the way he talks, like she’s the most precious thing in his life. The way he looks at her, like she truly is his dream. Sometimes she wishes she could speak like he does, words turning so seamlessly into poetry. But she can show him how she feels in other ways.

“Tell me, what did you do this year? Kade only knew the basics.”

“I spent the vast majority of my time seeking a way to get you back.”

“Oh, Tyril.”

“I scoured through libraries, archives, and private collections. I believed that the answer must be in Undermount, so I rarely left the city.”

“Didn’t you spend time with your family?”

“To an extent, yes. Although my primary focus was my research, I endeavored to assist Adrina with the restoration of House Starfury.”

“How is that working out?”

“Better than I could have expected. My sister is extraordinarily clever.”

“She takes after her big brother, I take it?”

“I believe her gifts are all her own.” His smile fades. “But all the successes, the repaired alliances, the regained status… It all rang hollow. Because you were gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says fiercely. “I’m the one who failed you. “

“You did no such thing.”

“I did. I didn’t protect you.”

“Tyril, there is nothing anyone could have done.”

“I prided myself on being resourceful. I should have found my way to you.”

“There was no way. There’s a reason Valax needed me. Realm walkers are rare.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, she flutters her lashes. “One of a kind, even.”

His lips twitch. It’s not quite a smile, but she feels the triumph of it all the same. “You were one of a kind before you became a realm walker.”

“My ego would be lost without you.”

“I was lost without you.”

“Tyril…”

“It’s the truth.” Levity forgotten, he raises himself up on an elbow and gazes into her eyes. “Before, I used to think my life would be empty without you in it. Once you were taken, I knew it to be true.”

She laces her fingers through his, a silent reassurance.

“Being without you, Raine… It felt like all the sunshine had left my world.” When his voice breaks, her heart does the same.

“I’m right here, Tyril.” She kisses his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks. “You have me.”

When his hand cups the back of her neck, bringing her mouth back to his, she follows eagerly. Her hands come up, fingers digging into his shoulders as she breathes in the scent of him. Parchment, ink, and just a hint of smoke. “Gods, I’ve missed you. I know it doesn’t make sense,” she says when his brow furrows. “But I missed you so much.”

He whispers a few words, and suddenly, there’s a small bouquet of pink flowers in his hand. “For you.”

“Showoff.” Laughing, she slides off his body and back to the ground. “They’re beautiful. What do they mean? Don’t give me that look. You wouldn’t give me random flowers. There’s a meaning to them.”

He brushes his lips against hers. “Indeed. Pink camellias signify longing. Most particularly during someone’s absence.”

“Is that your way of saying you missed me too?”

“More than words can convey.”

She swallows past the knot in her throat and lays her head on the crook of his shoulder. “Coming from you, that’s saying something.”

“It appears even I can be at a loss for words.”

“I love your words, but… I don’t need them. You know that, right? All I need is you.”

He tightens his hold on her again. “You have me. Until the last star falls from the sky and beyond.”

They don’t speak after that. They don’t need to.

They both know they’re exactly where they’re meant to be.

#tyril x raine #tyril starfury x mc #blades of light and shadow #playchoices

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cellythefloshie · 11 months

Text

;; To Be So Lonely Chapter Three of Alone With You Dedicated to @miracleonice87

Table of Contents Chapter Two «« 🏙️ »» Chapter Four

Summary: For one night only, Anthony returns to the UBS Arena as a member of the Canucks to play the New York Islanders. Seeing his friends and family is bittersweet and leaves Mat to seek comfort in Anthony's sister, Estelle. Kinks & TW: brother's best friend, dry humping, vaginal fingering, protected sex Word Count: 5600

Vancouver.

Anthony had tried to be quiet, he really had, silencing his alarm before it could drone on and on and risk waking Dani who was asleep in the next room. He had kept his steps light as he moved to the shared bathroom just across the hall and kept his shower short just in case she would need one when she got up. Then he retreated back into the spare room that was now his bedroom and packed his bag with enough to last him the week. While he was sure he was forgetting something, he knew he could get Estelle or Mat to bring him something from the apartment he still considered his home, so he turned off his light and began the quiet walk up the length of the hallway.

All that could be heard was the roll of his suitcase wheels against the floor. The hollow, rolling sound, drowned out as he pushed his AirPods into his ears to mark the beginning of his commute - but the music wasn’t loud enough to deafen his ears to the sudden smack of the kitchen cabinet as he walked past the archway that connected the two rooms. The loud sound left Anthony recoiling, his hand falling from the handle of his suitcase as he stumbled off to the side just enough to identify the sound.

Sometime between when his alarm had gone off and his shower, Dani had woken up and had made her way into the kitchen. Wide eyes took her in, his jaw left slacked as he stood in baffled shock, his lips muttering out soft curses as he found his composure. “You’re awake-”

“I’m awake,” Dani echoed him as she leaned back against the kitchen counter. She was wearing nothing more than an oversized t-shirt and a tiny pair of shorts from what he could tell and cradled a cup of coffee in her hands, “you want one?”

“I’m going to grab one at the airport,” he assured her, his eyes lingering on the length of her legs for a little too long. Clearing his throat, Anthony dropped his gaze to the ground and reached back for his suitcase. “I’ve got a cab waiting for me downstairs-”

He took no more than a single stride before he could hear the clamour of ceramic against the counter. She had put aside her coffee, and he could hear her bare feet taking rushed steps to catch him before he could reach the door. “Wait, you gotta give this to Mat.”

Turning in place, he looked Dani up and down, from her toes that were painted in bright colours that reminded him of summer daisies to her fresh face that had yet to be painted with even a drop of makeup. His eyes would have lingered there, on the soft angles of her face, and the sleepiness that still lingered in her warm brown eyes if it hadn’t been for the confusion that had taken him. Her hands were empty, just what did she want him to give her brother?

Dani stepped in close to him, her hand coming to rest over the buttons of his shirt as she pressed up onto her toes. Leaning in, she closed the gap between them, placing a simple kiss on the corner of his mouth - though, he was sure she had meant to kiss his cheek that was now hot and Anthony was sure it had flushed with colour. He was sure she noticed when she pulled back, her hands still lingering on his chest as she looked up at him with such pride, and such enjoyment Anthony thought for just a moment he could get away with leaning back in and kissing her lips just to get a state of them himself, but instead, his grip on his suitcase only grew tighter with his restraint.

“I’m not going to kiss your brother, Dani,” he told her, his words a mere breath against her cheeks.

“Fine,” her smile only grew, “you can keep that one for yourself then.”

If his cheeks weren’t already, there would be after her words and the drag of her hand down his chest until it had fallen back down to rest at her side. Anthony stared down at her, past her smiling face down to her hands as they curled her fingers around the hem of her shorts as she spoke again, “I’ll ah- see you when you get back?”

That hadn’t been the plan. He was supposed to have found his own place to settle into before the road trip had arrived. Dani had been helping look at places, as had representatives and teammates from the Canucks, but he had made zero effort to move out of her guest room. He had gotten comfortable there, too comfortable even, but would have to figure something out when he got back.

“Yeah, I hope that’s alright,” Anthony reached a hand back to run over the back of his neck earnestly.

“Yeah,” Dani nodded, “there’s no rush, really,” her assuring words put him at ease as he took a slow stride toward the door.

“Then, I’ll see you when I get back,” Anthony offered her one last smile before he was out the door. Its heavy closure echoed down the hallway behind him as he took to the elevator. The opening and closing of the elevator doors had him releasing a heavy breath and his back found the support of the cold wall as it travelled down. Its temperature calmed him, easing the colour and heat from his cheeks but they could not rid him of the feeling of her lips that still lingered on his skin.

New York. February 9th, 2023.

Staring out the fogged-up window, her chin resting on her knees, Estelle let out a perplexed sigh. The view beyond it was not one she had gotten used to for this wasn’t her bed she was sitting on. Her brows furrowed, she couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in her own bed. Since the snowstorm has kept her snowed in, she had only got back to her Brooklyn apartment when she needed to grab something or check the mail. Anthony’s old bedroom had become her own, with his table tops and wardrobe becoming cluttered with things that were uniquely her. She had clothes thrown over the chair that sat in the corner of his room and over the door of his walk-in closet - things that were still clean enough to be worn but not dirty enough to denote being town into the laundry hamper that was still half filled with her brother’s clothes. She had stacks of books on the bedside table, some read, some half-read, and another pile in the living room that she had just bought. Then there was her makeup and other necessities that plagued her private bathroom - but there was no stopping how her perfume permeated the air, giving the apartment that certain smell that told anyone who was to walk into it: A woman lives here.

It hadn’t been her intent to stay, but it was a comfort to be in the apartment even when Mat wasn’t around. Everywhere she looked there was a memory she could remember fondly, and her dinners with Mat quickly became something she enjoyed. It was something so often found herself looking forward to. While Estelle knew it would only be temporary- and knowing she shouldn’t be getting too comfortable - living in the luxury condo beat her small Brooklyn apartment where she would have spent her nights alone.

Shaking her head, her eyes returned to her laptop screen where it rested on her bed. The bright glow was harsh on her eyes as she sat in the darkened room to work on one of her class assignments. She had slipped behind after Anthony’s trade, missing a handful of lectures and behind on her assignments as due dates rapidly approached. Thankfully, she did have her alone time when Mat was at practice or on the road so it made catching up easier - but it would be derailed again. Her paper would go unfinished until the morning, as her brother was finally back in town.

Anthony travelled with the Canucks back to the East Coast for his first series of games in their jersey, and Estelle had watched every single one of them. It had been weird seeing him on the television in that blue and green jersey that was branded with their orca logo. It felt wrong, and it looked wrong too. Not only in the fact that the jersey wasn’t the one she was used to seeing him in but in the way he played too. He looked lost, disjointed even in his first game against New Jersey. They had slotted him on a line with Kuzmenko and Petterson, landing him more than seventeen minutes of ice time but he failed to make the scoresheet and took -2 on the night in what was a 4-5 OT loss. Then, yesterday night, the Canucks had played the Rangers in a 3-4 regulation loss. She had seen his lines change a bit, from Kuzmenko and Petterson to Kuzmenko and Miller, and still, he failed to record more than 2 shots on goal. Estelle hated to see her brother struggling after years of being such a cohesive part of the Islander organization, but if he was going to find a night to contribute she couldn’t think of a better one than against his old team.

The open and close of the front door pulled Estelle from her thoughts and her stare from the blink of her cursor where she had stopped midsentence. Mat was home.

Pushing up from the bed, Estelle pulled on her cardigan and moved to stand in the doorway of the bedroom. Her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned up against the door frame, her head lulling to the side as she spoke to Mat who stood with his back to her as he took off his shoes. “Lunch is in the fridge, and I’m just waiting on a text from Tito to confirm the dinner-”

Estelle cut her own sentence short, her lips left parted in surprise as Mat stood upright and turned to face her. In his hand, he held a bouquet of flowers, though she couldn’t tell what kind as they were wrapped up to keep them from wilting in the cold. “Are those-” she started again but again found herself at a loss for words.

“For you?” Mat quirked a brow as he moved to meet her in the doorway of Anthony’s room. He stood on the opposite side of the doorway, his free hand tangled in his hair that was still wet from his post-practice shower. When he spoke, he spoke with the caution and hesitancy that reminded her of his post games interviews. The ones where he stopped and thought about just the right thing to say - what he was allowed to say; “yeah, they are. I ah- I just wanted to thank you, you’ve really ah- gone out of your way to help me out and I really appreciate that.”

“Mat, you didn’t have to do that,” Estelle told him with a smile, her hand meeting his hand carefully for a moment to accept the wrapped bouquet, “I’ll have to find a place for these.”

“I stopped and got a vase on the way back,” he told her, his thumb pointing back to the counter where an intricate vase had been placed on the table by the door - the sticker from the thrift shop still visible. Mat knew her better than she would like to admit, and it left her smiling.

“Thanks, Mat,” Estelle spoke softly, her doe eyes dragging up over the angles of his face from his own crooked smile and to the soft gaze of his eyes, “Let me get these all set up and changed for the night and we can go meet Tito at the hotel?”

She would have just had him meet them back at the apartment, but Estelle refused to let her brother see that she had been staying at the apartment - it was bad enough that she and Mat would be arriving together. She just hope that he wouldn’t question it.

And he didn’t. Not when they had showed up at the hotel, and not over dinner when she and Mat had much more to say to each other than they had back when they merely existed together in the company of her brother. Estelle wasn’t sure if they were just doing a good job at hiding what their friendship had become since she had left them, or if Anthony was too overcome with the relief of seeing them to notice. But he didn’t question their little inside jokes that had formed in a mere ten days or when Mat had slipped up and mentioned that he had last seen her wallet on the table by the door when she was sure she had misplaced it when she needed had been asked for her ID when she had ordered a glass of wine.

It had all been overlooked, unquestioned and forgotten as they enjoyed the first dinner together in over a week - and it left her chest aching. Things almost felt normal again, but that all changed the moment she walked into the arena wearing her Islander’s jersey with her family name stitched into the nameplate. It felt wrong to wear it now that he was playing for Vancouver. Worst of all, she had to sit back and watch as Anthony and Mat warmed up on separate sides of the ice, only to meet in the middle to exchange words she could not hear from where she sat in the stands and smiles that she was sure would be talked about all across the many sports media networks.

Then, after their brief warm up the game began. It was a bittersweet thing to sit back and watch Anthony and Mat at odds on the ice. The game felt almost evenly matched in the first period with the first goals from each team being scored within 40 seconds of one another. With each goal for and against, Estelle was left conflicted about just who to cheer for and the teams didn’t make it easy as the first period ended with a score of 2-2.

Come the second period, Estelle was sent jumping out of her seat with the crowd when Mat had scored on the power play giving the Islanders a 3-2 lead. The excitement in the UBS Arena was electric and only continued to thrive when Bo Horvat would increase the lead, but his goal didn’t have the same effect on Estelle. The crowd roared around her as she sat in her seat, her eyes focused on her brother who had been on the ice for the goal against. Even from her place in the stands, she could see the defeat on his features, she could feel his disappointment. It was a feeling she felt deep in her gut as she sat on the edge of her seat, praying that her brother could leave his mark on the game.

Going into the third period, the Islanders lead 4-3, but not for long. A mere four minutes into the period Elias Petterson had scored on the power play, and scored again four minutes later to take the lead, the score 5-4. The minutes winded out, the one goal lead nothing in the game of hockey. If the Canucks wanted to win, they would need to score again - and they did.

On the powerplay, Anthony had found his place in the slot in front of the goaltender. It was the perfect place not only to screen Sorokin but to tip the shot past him and into the back of the net. There were a few Canucks fans in attendance to celebrate the goal, and some Islanders fans joined in, Estelle among them. Anthony would always hold a special place in the hearts of their fans, even if it meant a goal against them. His goal increased their lead to 6-4, but with one final push from the Islanders, the game would end 6-5 in regulation, securing the Canucks their first win since the blockbuster trade.

While the Islanders had lost, and she had been loyal to them since her brother had been drafted to the organization, there was no hiding Estelle’s excitement as she wound her way through the arena and down into the corridors between the locker rooms. She knew he was well enough thanks to Anthony, and after being a frequent presence before and after games not many questioned why she was there - especially since she had learned very quickly how to stay out of the way. But this time, her destination was different. She wasn’t rushing off to wait outside the locker room, or to the parking lot to meet them for a ride home. Estelle was rushing to where the bus for the away team was idly waiting. Soon it would be taking the Canucks to the airport, their next stop Detroit - but she wasn’t going to let him leave without saying goodbye.

“Tito!” She called out to him as she spotted him lingering by the door of the bus as their gear was being loaded up by the staff. Her sneaker-clad feet carried her to him in rushed steps, her arms thrown around him in a tight embrace. “You did it!”

“Finally,” he muttered as he drew back, his smile matching hers.

“First of many,” she assured him, “just takes the one to get started, and 3 games in, against your old team. I’d say that’s pretty damn good. Keep the streak going.”

“I’ll do my best,” Anthony assured and looked away from her, past her, the found of footsteps on the pavement behind her drawing her own gaze back.

Mat had joined them, his blazer pulled on over his white button-down that was left only done up halfway, and his hair was left dripping wet and soaking into his shirt. It left it to stick to the muscles of his chest, and when enough water soaked into one spot you could see more of his tanned complexion. Estelle stared at the sight of him approaching, her teeth taking her lower lip. She should have been used to this by now - especially when he seemed to be walking around the apartment without a shirt on more often than not, but there was a certain appeal to him when he was so carelessly put together in his gameday suit.

“Hell of a game,” Mat told Anthony as he reached out to clasp hands with his best friend.

Estelle stepped back, giving the pair the room to say their goodbyes and their good luck - and it was no easier to watch the second time. The first time they knew that Tito would be back. That he would be playing them in just over a week's time. Now, it would be months before they would see him again - and when that time came it would be the playoffs or the post-season break.

Stealing one last hug, Estelle fought back her tears and watched as he boarded the bus. He would be on a flight to Detroit before the night was over, and she and Mat were left to head home.

The two of them drove home with nothing more than the faint sound of Drops of Jupiter on the radio - and if there was one thing Estelle had learned in their week together, it was that he loved this song. He sang it around the apartment, and at practice. Anywhere he heard it he was singing along with it too which only meant one thing: They were back at square one.

Reaching across the center console, Estelle reached to place her hand against the strength of his forearm, “Mat, are you okay?”

Her words were soft, joining her gentle touch in coaxing one of his hands from the steering wheel. Her fingers dragged down, over his wrist and found his hand in a gentle, reassuring squeeze. It was a simple comfort she hoped to offer him, but one that she needed herself. She missed her brother dearly, but in his absence, she was also overwhelmed with guilt. The guilt of staying with his best friend. The guilt of needing Mat around to not feel so alone - and enjoying it. The guilt of not telling her brother about it. Yet, Mat’s touch put that all at ease.

“Yeah,” he nodded slowly, his glance cast to the side for a moment as they stopped at a red light, he was trying to hide that same look he had worn that day they had dropped Anthony off at the airport. That sullen look that left his eyes glassy and his jaw set. “You okay, Star?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, her hand giving his a gentle squeeze again as she drew his hand across the median and into her lap. She held it there, her fingers stroking over his hockey-worn hand as he drove and he didn’t pull away until he had parked the car in the lot of his condo.

They walked together in silence, their head’s hanging low and the exhaustion of the night taking its toll. Estelle moved lazily in the doorway, her shoulder shrugging off her coat, leaving her in the Islanders jersey she had worn to the game, and she kicked off her sneakers and left them in a heap beside Mat’s dress shoes. She would worry about the puddle they would leave on the floor as the snow melted in the morning. Until then, Estelle just wanted to hide away in the bedroom that was more hers than her brother’s now.

“I’m going to turn in,” Estelle muttered as a courtesy. She was sure the words had been lost on him, that was until the rough touch of his hand had found hers, drawing her back from the direction of the bedroom. Instead with the force of a single tug, Estelle was spinning around in place and was drawn into the embrace of his arms.

She had no time to question him, a single breath was all that was allowed to escape her lips before her body was flush with hers and he was leaning in and stealing that air between them. His lips met hers in a kiss, one that was cautious, with no haste, and flooded with curiosity. The kiss was so careful that it was silently asking her if the act alone was okay. Estelle knew that she should have pulled away, that it was wrong but not in the way that had her pulling away. She should be letting her brother’s best friend kiss her - she shouldn’t be kissing him back. Yet, Estelle let her lips part, tasting his sweet kiss and melting into him.

Her hands found the front of his shirt, grasping it on each side where he had left it open. They were the perfect thing to hold, to desperately cling to as his hand came up, knotting into her hair at the back of her neck to keep her drawn into him. The gentle force of his touch coaxed a soft moan from her lips. The sound was muffled by his mouth and welcomed the hungry stroke of his tongue. What he wanted was clear in the way he clung to her, desperate to taste her - desperate to touch her. Mat wanted to feel something, to really feel something. Something, anything, that wasn’t the same aching pain she felt from having to say goodbye to her brother - his best friend - and Estelle, she wanted that too.

Steady hands dragged down the front of his shirt, and to the few buttons that Mat had actually taken the time to do up. Her fingers fidgeted with the buttons, fighting each one free as she could feel his soft skin against the back of her fingers as she works. Mat was warm, hot even, and it left her moaning against his lips at just the anticipation of touching him.

With the final button freed, she was free of Mat’s touch as he shrugged off the shirt and let it fall to the floor. When his touch returned to her, his hands were not lost in her hair or pressed against her cheeks to angle her head just right. No, they had got to her waist, his firm grip hoisting her up from the floor. Her long legs wound around him, locking at the ankles as he began to move through the living room and into his bedroom.

Along the way, Estelle had tugged the Islanders jersey that she had worn to the game up and over her head, the BEAUVILLIER distorted in the heap of fabric as it was tossed to the floor. Mat didn’t need that kind of reminder, and neither did she, as she was left in a white turtleneck sweater and her jeans as he lowered her down to his bed without once leaving her lips.

Estelle welcomed the heavy weight of him hovering over her body, and between her legs that slid off him, to rest against the comfort of his mattress leaving her knees to frame his hips. Gasping against his lips, she could feel his hips begin their descent down the inside of her thighs. The smooth fabric of his trousers met the rougher fabric of her jeans, gliding down it with little friction until his body met the apex of her thighs. She could feel the firm drag of his belt over the thick seam at the crotch of her jeans. It sent a tingle of pleasure, so faint that it was only the beginning of the pleasure he could bring her, and before it could fade it was overshadowed by the aching need at her core as she felt what followed.

At the bottom of his hips roll, Estelle was greeted by the stiffness of his arousal. The outline of his thick cock was clear in his trousers as he dragged its length along that same stiff hem of her jeans. Each careful roll of his hips had Estelle raising her own to meet his, the defined bulge pressing hard into her cunt and earning a string of sweet words from her lips as she defaulted to the French she had grown up speaking. She whispered it against the shell of Mat’s ear, earning a low groan that rumbled in the depths of his chest and ripped its way up his throat. She was begging for him. All of him.

His answer to her was nothing but heavy breaths as he pulled back and let his hands fall on his jeans. His fingers fumbled with the button before his hands joined hers in fighting the denim down the length of her legs - his fingers waiting no time in hooking her panties and dragging the flimsy and damp fabric down with them. She was left to lay practically naked beneath him, wearing nothing but her turtleneck as he crawled back up the length of the bed, his thick fingers dragging along the inside of her thighs. The delicate touch left her trembling coaxing the desperate mewl of her name from her lips as he came to her desperate core.

Two thick fingers dragged up and down the length of her slick cunt, collecting her arousal on his fingers before sliding them into her core. The pressure of his fingers, easing into her core and stretching out her tight walls left Estelle hissing through her teeth, her hips angling to welcome his fingers.

Looking up at Mat through her thick lashes, Estelle let out uneven breaths. Her hands lurched down to the mattress, anchoring herself there, and she watched as a smile blossomed over his features. She could feel the heat of his body against her own as he leaned in, his lips coming down in a hungry kiss before he pulled back just enough to whisper in her ear. His sweet French words sent a shiver down her spine; “That’s it,” his fingers plunged inside her wants until they were knuckle deep, her arousal dripping down into the palm of his hand, “so nice and wet for me. Do you want all of me, Star?”

Fuck, she thought to herself, her head leaning back into the mattress as she bit her bottom lip. Estelle had almost forgotten just how good his French was - and how incredibly sexy it was to have him make that effort in bed.

Estelle nodded eagerly as his lips kissed down the angle of her jaw just below her ear and encroached on her neck only to groan when he found the turtleneck still there.

“Off. Take it off.” With his words, his fingers were drawn from her core, leaving her void and aching for more.

Her hands found the hem of her turtle neck. Drawing it up and over her head, leaving her straight brown hair a mess in her eyes as she looked down the length of the bed and to Mat who had moved to the end to take off his pants. Heart hammering in her chest, she admired the flex of his muscles right down to counting every single one of his abs. Mat was impressively fit, even for a hockey player - tall and not too lean, big but in the muscular kind of way, and crawling back up the length of his bed with the eye-catching foil of a condom in his hand.

Estelle held her breath as she met his eyes, Mat bringing the package up to his teeth to rip it open without looking away. She could hear her own pulse in her ears as the latex fell from its wrapper and down into the palm of Mat’s hand. She didn’t have to watch his hand to know that he reached down to his cock, working the condom onto his cock with the stroke of his hand. Instead, she watched as his face softened at his own touch and the anticipation of fucking her.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Mat had ever worn that same soft expression at the thought of her before. To the thought of fucking her and the touch of his own hand.

The thought left her own core to clench, earning a soft chuckle from Mat’s lips as she pressed the head of his cock to the entrance of her core.

“So beautiful,” Mat groaned, the head of his cock slowly stretching out her core as his dark eyes admired the subtle curves of her body. It was a burning pleasure, one that took her slowly as he eased his way inside. She was so wet, so eager, that he could have slipped comfortably inside her with one swift thrust of his hips, but Mat took his time with her.

His thrusts started out shallow, working himself into her core inch by inch. Estelle didn’t know if he was doing that to tease her, or to tease himself, but left her body chasing the release it craved. Legs wound around his, encouraging him to finish his every thrust until she could feel the smack of his thighs against her ass, and her core consumed every inch of his cock.

There was a kind of relief in taking all of him, Estelle’s legs hooking around his hips and digging her heels into her back as if she could manage to take him any deeper. Her heels remained there as Mat fucked her, his movements never hastening even as her body had fully accommodated him. Each thrust was slow and steady, his kiss leaving hot trails over the angles of her body. Her body ignited with the heat of her pleasure, her face buried into his neck as she let out each soft sound until he had buried his last thrust and stilled. His every hot breath washed over the skin of his shoulder as their bodies calmed. Together they were still, their bodies one until their breathing had calmed and Mat pulled away. His body was tired and sluggish, he didn’t go far, only rolling onto his side to peel the latex from his cock and discarding it in the trash nearby. Then he recoiled back, his one strong arm draped across her body as sleep took him - but Estelle, she lay awake.

Dark eyes stared up at the ceiling, her mind in turmoil with what had happened. She didn’t regret it, not one moment of it - in reality, she enjoyed it far more than she knew she should have. She just hated that it was Mat. Her brother’s best friend. It was a betrayal she felt heavily on her chest, the suffocating feeling preventing sleep from taking her as his hand still lingered on her body. Yet, she remained there well into the early morning, wide awake and waiting. Waiting for the very moment he rolled over in his sleep, freeing her body from his hold. It was then she slowly climbed out of his bed, grabbed her clothes from the bedroom floor and tiptoed back to the other bedroom. Not only could fully rid herself of the weight of what she had done - what she would do again if the opportunity so happened to present itself - but sleep was able to take her then and come morning they would both wake up to their respective alarms alone.

#anthony beauvillier #mat barzal #nhl rpf #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey rpf #hockey imagines #nhl smut #hockey smut #the summer fic exchange 2k23 #;; alone with you

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slippinmickeys · 8 months

Note

mood/word prompts if any take your fancy: the rain / a train; raw honey; the Hudson River School; Tuck Everlasting; September’s end

On the far edge of the yard that they’ve hacked out of field grasses and ragweed, an old apple tree sits, a hole at the apex of its two main branches. The tree is not dead, still producing tart little knots of fruit every fall, but there is a hollow in it that runs for several feet inside the cocoon of its bark, which rounds along the edge of the hole like the cowl neck of an autumn sweater. It is from this soft cavity that Scully can hear the bees.

They are kind bees, if you can extrapolate an intentioned personality from a colony of insects — focused solely on the collection of pollen from the bountiful vegetation that surrounds the valley in which the unremarkable house sits. They do not mind that Scully wanders near their hive, that she sometimes sits under the apple tree in which they’ve made their home. They are driven, and respectful, so long as Scully respects them, too.

From behind her eyelids, the sun is warm and rose colored, and the waxy leaves rustle above her, their scalloped edges catching on one another to produce a susurrus that punctuates the constant hum of the colony. It is late September, and still hot enough that the skin above her lip prickles with sweat.

There was a summer in which Melissa worked on a farm that kept bees, and she took Dana there once, pointed out the beat-up white boxes of hives dotted amongst the sprays of pink and white petals in the neat lines of the orchard. Scully looks back on the memory fondly, though that was the summer Melissa didn’t come with them on the camping trip up to Sequoia.

She often thought of the car trips they used to take as a family; the California sun beating on the steel box of their massive Chevy, her legs sticking to the vinyl seats. She remembered Bill flicking her earlobe from the rear-facing seat in the back, how the car smelled like warmed mildew and her mother’s cigarettes. She remembered the feel of the wind whipping her hair about her face, her father’s smiling eyes flicking to hers in the rear view mirror.

They stopped taking trips after that summer. It just never felt the same after, with that empty spot in the tent.

She has been sitting under the tree for twenty minutes, the seat of her pants damp from the grass, when a shadow steps in between her and the sun. She opens her eyes to see Mulder standing above her, warily eyeing the buzzing yellow flits that come and go from the tree hollow two feet above her head. He has never quite recovered from their encounter with the army of genetically modified insects unleashed upon them in the middle of Texas.

Scully doesn’t let herself think of them.

“I thought I might find you here,” he says gently.

She smiles drowsily at him in invitation, closes her eyes again. She can feel him settle across from her, close enough that his knees touch hers, both of them sitting criss-cross-applesauce.

She leans her head back, the rough bark of the tree catching at individual strands of her hair. She doesn’t talk and Mulder lets the silence rest between them; buzzing filling the space, the chirp of cicadas and a single shrill cry from a red-tailed hawk.

“The tree is cracked,” he observes after several long minutes, and she opens her eyes enough to watch Mulder study the tree, the long sweep of his lashes brushing the delicately pebbled skin above his cheeks. A bright green grasshopper lands briefly on his knee and then is gone.

“Mm,” she agrees, her voice a little cracked from disuse. “It’s where the hive found its home.”

“Looks like it goes all the way to the ground,” he says, and this surprises her. She had never noticed. Sitting up and craning her neck to look at the tree behind her, she sees that he is right, the hollow in the tree goes all the way down the inside of the trunk, opening back up in a small inverted V hiding just behind a spray of grass.

There is something about the way the light of the sun hits it, a tiny spark of gold, like a canary diamond hiding in the seam of a rock. Scully reaches out to touch it, and when she draws her hand back, a thick glob of raw honey clings to her pointer and middle fingers, the milky white and amber dollop running slowly toward the palm of her hand.

“Honey,” she says, a little awe in her voice. Like there are maybe still mysteries in the world that the two of them haven’t uncovered.

She is still marveling at the clod of nectar on her fingers, and is surprised when Mulder’s warm hand encircles her wrist. She raises her gaze to find his, sharpened and penetrating, and his eyes never leave hers as he raises her fingers to his mouth.

He sucks the sweetness from her digits before running his tongue between them, the surface of it rough as a cat’s. He swallows the honey, unpure as it is, stippled with dirt and bits of desiccated wing, as if it were the purest ambrosia, and she feels a heaviness rise up from her sacrum as if gravity were nothing at all.

What did he come out here for, she wonders, when he rises up from the ground smoothly, pulling her with him by the wrist. The sky above them is a velvety blue, soft in that way of September, and Mulder is running his thumb along the delicate skin of her wrist as if seeking permission. A small crab apple thumps to the ground at their feet.

“Honey,” he says softly, the word meaning something else entirely.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #prompt

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elvensorceress · 1 year

Text

Sunday we have Sentences more than Seven of them?

tagged by @alyxmastershipper @shortsighted-owl @heartbeatdiaz @spotsandsocks @sibylsleaves @rogerzsteven @jobairdxx @rewritetheending @hippolotamus

tagging @lostinabuddiehaze @eddiescowboy @fatedbuddie @spaceprincessem @megsvstheworld @tulipfromtheinternet @eddiesbleps @messyhairdiaz @astronaut-karenwilson @ajunerose @buddierights @babytrapperdiaz @loveyourownsmiilee @ashavahishta @putijeansdiaz-ronordmann

okay so. have a little bit of undercover-as-a-married-couple poker date from my catching lightning fic.

They don’t duck out immediately but Buck texts Bobby everything he picked up on about these people and their tricks and any secrets they might have let out while drinking and gambling. Eddie sits across from him in a secluded booth and watches the way the warm, dim lighting looks on his face. He sticks his tongue out in concentration the same way he does when he’s focusing hard on winning a game or breaking open a mangled door or rolling a hose. But flashes of excitement and thoughtfulness spark in his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the set of his jaw.

Eddie wants to touch his lips to every part of Buck but especially his face. He’s so handsome, and Eddie knows so many people see it when they look at him. How could they not? There’s so much depth and light in his eyes. There’s so much joy in the world when he smiles. His cheeks are round and adorable when he’s flushed. The point of his nose and the solid cut of his chin just beg to be kissed.

There’s never been a more perfect shade of blue than the one his eyes are made of. Eddie doesn’t know what it is about his pretty birthmark but it also needs soft touches and kisses and love showered all over it. His lips are perfect in every way, the shape, the color, the fullness, what has to be pillowy softness, perfect except for the fact that they’re not pressed to Eddie’s.

He’s beautiful. Everything about him. He’s beautiful and alive and it feels like a miracle. He makes Eddie want to believe in hope and happiness and maybe even the powers of the universe that listened and gave him back.

They gave him back. He’s still here. And Eddie wants so badly to reach and touch and finally hold on.

The longer he looks, the more he can’t bear to look away.

He’s alive. He’s beautiful and he’s alive, and Eddie can’t breathe with the weight of how much he loves him.

Buck turns a little pink when he notices the blatant staring and ducks his head in that flirtatious, self-conscious, adorable way. “You’re staring.”

Eddie bites his lip and drinks until his glass is empty and he’s bathed in hazy, fuzzy warmth. It’s not real warmth, it never is. And it only feels hollow and fleeting.

But sometimes it doesn’t matter what is fantasy and what is reality. Maybe it’s real in the moment, real while it’s happening. Reality is for when you wake. If you’ve captured a good dream, you stay and keep it until it’s ripped away. Why can’t the dream be true in the moment that it exists? Why can’t he have what he needs while they’re sitting here, still dreaming it?

So, Eddie shrugs and wets his lips. “You’re my husband. What else am I supposed to stare at.”

There’s a clear bobbing in Buck’s throat as he swallows and blushes. “How many drinks have you had?”

“A few.” Not enough that he’s anywhere near drunk. Not enough that he’s even that tipsy. But enough that it can be an excuse. “I think we had an autumn wedding,” he says softly as he leans back against the cushioned booth and words drift like fog across the ground. “You love warm colors. Rust and burgundy, gold and honey, copper and pumpkin. I like cobalt. It’s a nice word. It’s a good color with the sunset. Complementary. Like you and me.”

Buck stares at him, frozen in the middle of whatever thought he had, whatever he was going to text. He’s stunned, uncertain, but he doesn’t say anything.

#seven sentence sunday #buddie wip #911 spoilers #jenwyn fic #fic: catching lightning #in which Eddie is a little teensy drunk and also massively pining

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theflyingfeeling · 6 months

Text

Twentieth Day of Gift-Giving: Twenty Tells

Prompt: humming

Continuing the main story after a couple of standalones 💕 The previous part was posted on Day 17, go read it!

There were tiny marshmallows in Olli’s hot chocolate. He didn’t even know they had marshmallows, so he was clueless about where they had appeared. Perhaps it was just another one of Aleksi’s magic tricks, like his music or the way he could make Olli come in a matter of minutes (sometimes seconds).

“Would you like to give cooking another try today? I’m getting kinda bored with takeout,” he asked as he watched the tiny sugar clouds float on the surface of his drink.

“Sure!” Aleksi said from where he was standing by the kitchen counter, still preparing his own mug of hot cocoa. Olli heard the rustling of plastic and saw Aleksi looking over his shoulder with a coy smile before he joined Olli at the kitchen table, tiny marshmallows decorating his own drink as well.

Magic, or just some good-spirited mischief, it was endearing all the same.

~*~

For the first time since Aleksi’s arrival, the two of them actually went grocery shopping together. This had been enabled by Tommi’s spouse calling them to ask if Rilla was up for a play-date with their schnauzer, and so Rilla had company while the two of them ventured to the supermarket. As a favour in return, Olli and Aleksi would come home with ingredients for a salmon dinner for four (as well as some dog treats, just to keep their furry children satisfied).

Olli had never known what kind of joy simple things such as picking out the perfect lemon together or squabbling whether their dessert should be berries and ice cream (Olli’s suggestion) or tiny chocolate cakes (Aleksi’s idea) would bring. He loved walking around the store at a leisurely pace with Aleksi by his side and was only a little sad they couldn’t do so hand-in-hand, at least not quite yet.

If Olli stopped to think about it, these little moments were everything to him. He tried not to contemplate it too much, however, because if he did, he’d inevitably had to remind himself he was supposed to give it all up in just a couple of days when Aleksi would go back to his own home. He couldn’t let himself get too used to it all; he was already terrified of the emptiness in his house when Aleksi and Rilla would no longer be there and of the hollow feeling in his heart on the first morning when he’d wake up to the spot next to him vacant.

“Is this all or do we need something more?” Aleksi asked him as they approached the check register.

Actually, Olli said in his head as he stared into Aleksi’s eyes, if you could find a way for us to do this every day, that would be great. I don’t care if it’s some kinda magic juice or a surprise in a cereal box, as long as I won’t have to let you go once Sunday's upon us.

“Maybe some more treats? Just for us,” he suggested. He knew even Aleksi with all his magic could not fulfil his wish, so the next best thing would have to do.

~*~

“Are you sure you won’t need any help?” Tommi asked from the kitchen doorframe, overt concern on his face about the fate of the salmon Aleksi was just in the middle of seasoning.

“Nope! Just sit back and relax, we’ll join you in a minute once we get this bad boy ready for the oven,” Olli smiled, for once confident in his cooking – not least thanks to Aleksi doing most of it.

Tommi didn’t seem any more convinced but did as he was told nevertheless and returned to the living room, Rilla’s pink ball in his hand. Once Tommi was out of sight, Olli turned to give Aleksi a peck on the cheek, the first of many.

“Hey! I’m trying to concentrate,” Aleksi smiled at him. “I can’t be chopping dill while you’re…doing that.”

“Oh, just pretend I’m not here.” Olli ignored Aleksi’s giggly protests and continued peppering Aleksi’s cheek and neck with kisses. After about fifty more, Olli congratulated himself with a job well done, noticing a faint blush on Aleksi’s cheeks, and buried his head in the crook of Aleksi’s neck while he kept on preparing the salmon.

Olli wasn’t sure which happened first – him closing his eyes or Aleksi starting to hum quietly – but soon he was relaxing against Aleksi’s shoulder while a soft, simple tune filled this little bubble of happiness they had built around themselves. Not caring if it would make Aleksi’s cooking more challenging, Olli sneaked his arms around the man’s waist, wanting to be as close to him as physically possible.

He pressed his nose against Aleksi’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. Maybe it would help him create a scent memory in his head for him to return to once he could no longer hold Aleksi like this, half a country between them.

“Right, I’m gonna put this in the oven now.” Olli was reluctant to let go of him, but the small kiss that landed on Olli’s forehead made up for the loss.

“Hmmmmhhh,” Aleksi purred and let himself be gently pushed against the kitchen counter as Olli cuddled up to him again. “Maybe we should go back to the living room. To see what pranks Rilla has pulled to entertain her audience.”

“Maybe,” said Olli, suddenly feeling sleepy and all too cosy in Aleksi’s embrace. “Or maybe we could stay here like this for just a little longer?”

“That sounds pretty good too,” Aleksi agreed.

Olli rested his cheek on Aleksi’s shoulder and let the vibrations of Aleksi’s humming banish all the thoughts of their time together coming to its inevitable end soon. Right now, he was too happy and too in love to worry his head about it too much.

#blind channel fanfiction #blind channel rpf #24 days of gift-giving by theflyingfeeling #ollixallu #fluffy and sweet like a marshmallow floating on hot choccy 💗#alsooooooo i just finished part 24/24 a moment ago?? 🤧#it's done now guys i can't believe it 😭 pls be proud of me

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hxneyhxrts · 2 years

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Sun Bleached || Jake “Hangman” Seresin (part 10)

Part 9

note: here it is guys, second to last part. i hope we can still be friends by the time you guys finish reading this lmao

warnings: explicit language (what else is new?)

I Know the End

‘You’ll always be my girl.’

Gwyn felt sick. Too warm and too confined in her own skin to think. Several times throughout the night, she had found herself slumped over the toilet, dry heaving and shaking.

She had made it worse. Not only had she walked out on him after he told her he loved her, God he loved her, but she hadn’t allowed herself to say it back to him when it mattered the most.

Because she wanted to say it back.

She loved him.

God, she loved him.

Gwyn had scolded herself beyond belief after their closet rendezvous. Pride and arrogance had leashed her so tightly that she had let him walk away from her without knowing just how badly she ached for him. For allowing him to spend even a moment thinking that she could ever feel anything but completely and foolishly in love with him.

Loving Jake Serein was an easy breeze filtering in through the window on a hot August evening. It was fresh flowers on the kitchen table that held their radiance even when they began to wilt. It was the exhaustion that came after a day spent in the sun, and the way your cheek stuck to the pillows upon waking up.

Loving Jake Seresin was everything she had never allowed herself to have, but everything she had always wanted. She wanted him to love her and to love him right back. She wanted him.

Not just Jake. She wanted all of him. She wanted Hangman, and all of his crude remarks and teasing smiles. She wanted Lieutenant Seresin, who took himself too seriously sometimes, but always came back down when it mattered most. She wanted all of it, anything he was willing to give her. Any way that he would have her. And if he woke up tomorrow and decided he no longer felt the same, she could accept that too. So long as she had him, in whatever way that meant.

Nausea had swept over her at the realization that she would do damn near anything for him, that he had crept into her life and filled in every empty space she had available. He had made a home for himself in her heart, and she worried she’d always feel this way.

“You have to talk to him,” Alec had insisted when she’d told him.

She would. She planned to. She just needed time to swallow the raw emotion that came with loving Jake Seresin.

When Monday morning rolled around, she decided she still wasn’t ready. Allowing herself to accept that, she dressed for work and dragged herself to base. No, she wouldn’t talk to him today. He deserved all of her, and she couldn’t give that to him when she was sweeping up the pieces of herself that had fractured after her weekend. Not today, then.

‘You’ll always be my girl.’

She hoped he meant it.

She barely acknowledged the various people loitering around the base, giving them all a wide berth and only pausing for the occasional “good morning”. Gwyn knew she was only biding her time until she had to see him, see how his eyes hollowed whenever he looked at her and saw the woman who had left him out to dry, so she took her time making her way to the hangar.

Bradshaw found her somewhere around her second loop through a loop of hallways that she pretended to be lost in, greeting her with a chipper smile and a small wave around the disposable coffee cup in his grasp. “Mornin’,” he offered.

She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Rooster knew. Jake had said as much during their supply closet meeting. She opened her mouth to speak before snapping it shut again. This wasn’t the day for her to talk these feelings out, she reminded herself. Bradley glanced at her sidelong.

“You know,” he began, lowering his voice as they passed a group huddled near the bathrooms, “Hangman’s been acting a little different lately.”

She swallowed. Today would be the day, then. “Has he?” she tried, playing up the nonchalance she most definitely did not feel.

Bradshaw hummed as he took a sip from his coffee. “He has.” Another glance. “So have you.”

She felt embarrassed, the same way she had felt when Alec walked in on her changing during their first week of Top Gun. Vulnerable and exposed, naked for anyone to see and without time to cover herself.

“I have to talk to him,” she confessed, voice hoarse. This aching feeling wasn’t going to go away unless she did. Could she ever go back to the way things were before him? When life was quiet and unexciting and without the technicolor he brought along with him, but at least it was guaranteed and predictable. She always knew the end, no matter the beginning. Gwyn wondered if she even wanted that life again, the days before Jake, when simplicity seemed almost poisonous. Would she go back if she had the chance?

She knew the answer. And she would always choose him.

“You do,” Rooster cut through her train of thought. “Just not today.”

Her steps faltered at the words.

“He gave you time,” Bradley continued, not accusingly, but firm nonetheless. “Now he needs time.”

“But I-” she tried to interject, but Rooster waved a hand, cutting her off with a smile.

“Don’t tell me,” and it wasn’t commanding, couldn’t be the way it came out around his soft grin. “Those words aren’t for me. But no matter, give him a chance to process what he’s feeling. For me?” He laughed. “Don’t tell him I said this, but the guy’s starting to grow on me, and I just want him to get his head screwed on straight before he has the chance to mess this up further.”

Gwyn let out a wet laugh at that, brushing back the moisture in her eyes discreetly. She nodded. “Okay.”

He punched her shoulder that felt very Alec. “Atta girl. Let’s get to work before they send out a search party.”

Time. She would give him the same consideration he had granted her when she needed it. She could at least offer him that.

After all, if he was to be believed, they’d have all the time in the world.

‘You’ll always be my girl.’

She sure hoped so.

—-------

Jake squirmed in his chair, pointedly trying not to look at the young woman sat right across the aisle from him.

She had walked in with Rooster, laughing about whatever slipped past his stupidly mustached lips, tying his insides in knots and driving him further into madness.

‘I’ll get over it,’ he told himself.

‘Not a chance,’ his brain shot back.

—————-

Monday passed without incident.

So did Tuesday.

Wednesday is when everything fell apart, her world collapsing in on itself.

True to her word, Gwyn didn’t try to approach Jake no matter how badly she wanted to. She’d give him time.

Bradshaw had been surprisingly supportive through the whole thing, subtle thumbs up and words of encouragement throughout the day that Alec had picked up on and whined about endlessly.

“Wait, since when do you share stuff with Bradshaw?” he demanded after Rooster had clapped her on the shoulder to pull her away from staring at Jake’s arms in his flight suit.

She snorted. “What does it matter?”

“What does it matter?” He was nearly pouting. “I thought I was your hot, handsome pilot who you brought all your emotional nonsense to.”

Gwyn threw her head back with a cackle that echoed around them. “Nonsense, huh? Maybe that’s the reason I prefer Bradley.”

“You’re on a first name basis now, too?” Alec moaned dramatically, making a show of his fake anguish and tearing more giggles out of her.

“Only when we’re getting hot and heavy and really diving into all my ‘nonsense’,” she teased as she wiggled her eyebrows. Alec scoffed, but the sound had no bite when he finished it off with a smile.

“Does he-“

“Guys!”

Gwyn and Alec whirled around at Phoenix’s shout. The female pilot was sprinting at them full speed, boots pounding against the cement and echoing.

“Radar picked up something coming in from the North West. We gotta go. Now,” she yelled over her shoulder as she shoved past them.

Panic rose in Gwyn’s chest. This was it. This was the culmination of all of their hard work. This was the mission they had called her out for. There would be no talking to Jake today or mulling over her feelings.

‘It could be nothing,’ she tried to calm her anxieties.

She prayed it was nothing.

———

It wasn’t nothing.

“Rev, talk to me!” she pleaded to her RIO. They had run head first into conflict with three unmarked planes, newer and faster than their F-18s, and found themselves directly in the line of fire as soon as they were close enough to run through gun lock. She had lost sight of the rest of her team, one of the unmarked aircrafts corralling her further North.

“They’re on our ass, you need to lose them!” Alec shouted, panic crackling down the radio along with his voice.

This was bad. This was so bad. This was the real deal, something no amount of dogfight practice could ever prepare them for.

“I’m trying!” She wanted to cry. They were miles away from the rest of the group, too far to call in support quickly enough to save their ass. She wondered if they were okay, if any of them had gotten struck and if they would be going home with one less crew member.

Her stomach dropped at the thought.

“Smoke in the air!” Alec roared.

Acting without thought, Gwyn dropped her plane well below what Jake would’ve outlined as their hard deck.

Jake.

God, was Jake even okay?

Her stomach flipped as the ground rose up to meet them before she jerked them hard enough to the side to send them spinning before leveling out. It didn’t matter, though. Not when the other pilot was just as crafty, if not more so, than she was. Within moments, the other plane was behind her wing once more, forcing her to swing her craft back and forth in a wild scissor motion to keep him from locking her. Her brain was slowing as exhaustion crept in and replaced the adrenaline surge that had claimed her upon first boarding the plane. They had been at this for what felt like hours and her resolve was slowly crumbling with every close call she just barely managed to slip out of.

How many more close calls could she afford?

“One plane down,” Jake’s stern voice rang through the comms and she released a small relieved sigh at the sound of it. He was okay.

For now.

“I’m on the other. Payback, cover my wing,” came Phoenix’s reply.

Gwyn wanted to bask in the joy of knowing they were okay, that they were holding their own (of course they were), but the anxious grip she had on her controls kept her from celebrating too early.

“Where are the twins?” Jake called, voice nervous. “Rev, Cheek, do you copy?”

“We’ve got a plane on our ass, and we’re not shaking him anytime soon,” Alec winced, head swiveling wildly as he tried to keep track of the plane quickly closing in on them.

Her hands were shaking. “I can't lose him,” and as she said it, her voice cracked and the tears she had been fighting pushed harder against her eyelids.

It would be one thing if it had just been her. She could accept that. But Alec was in her backseat, the same Alec who would follow her to the end of the Earth and trusted her to always get him home.

She wondered if she’d be able to do just that when it came down to it.

“Where are you baby?” Jake’s voice was rough, but she could tell he was trying to be gentle. “I need coordinates, come on.”

Alec rattled them off for her, followed by a quick confirmation from the green-eyed pilot. Her mind eased, but only for a moment before an alarm sounded through the cockpit.

They were in gun lock.

Gwyn pulled up on the controls until the nose of her plane was nearly perpendicular to the landscape beneath them. Alec cursed and she heard the distinct sound of his helmet smacking against the back of his seat.

They were so fucked.

As the sun crept out from behind the cloud cover, and temporarily blinded her, an onslaught of thoughts threw themselves at her.

She hasn’t talked to Mo in a week. She had forgotten to call her dad yesterday. She was supposed to go to her little sister's sweet 16 in a few weeks, had already scheduled time off for it. Her and Phoenix had lunch plans this weekend.

She swallowed back the cry that threatened to tear out of her, but still her mind spiraled.

What about Alec? He was an only child. His mom’s pride and joy, something she shared with anyone who would listen. Alec, who had always treated her as an equal and held her hand when she felt less than. Alec who had just worked up the nerve to ask out the pretty blonde on base. Alec, who had stayed up on the phone for hours telling his dad about the mission they had landed straight out of Top Gun. Alec, who she hadn’t spent more than a weekend apart from since they met.

Alec, who might not see his 25th birthday.

A broken sob pushed its way past her lips before she could stop it. “Jake, where are you?”

“I’m coming, baby. I’m on my way.”

There were orders shouted down the line, but she tuned them out as a hulking shadow raced up behind her. “He’s on us again!” Alec cried out, and God, was this how it ended?

“I can’t see you, baby, you gotta talk to me,” Jake edged past her terror, voice nearing desperate.

“We tried to lose him in the sun, but he followed us right up. We’re stuck up here with him,” and Alec sounded completely lost as he said it.

They were out of moves. They were out of answers. They couldn’t get behind him quickly enough and he wasn’t going to let them close enough to even try it.

“Baby, I'm gonna need you to drop down here. I'm gonna get below him while Rooster squeezes behind and we’re gonna knock this guy out, okay? But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” His voice was a final gift from the universe, she thought, one last reprieve before life ran its course and grounded her permanently.

Her fingers trembled so hard she thought they might break. She wanted to answer, but her voice was trapped in her throat.

“Talk to me, baby. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded, despite knowing he couldn’t see her. “Yeah,” she croaked weakly. “Yeah I can do that.”

“That’s my girl,” Jake coaxed, making her want to cry even more. Would she ever get to be that? “Alright let’s do this-“

“Smoke in the air!”

Gwyn had barely registered Alec’s words before the plane jerked and shuttered, a blaring ringing through her head and making it pound.

They’d been hit.

She wrestled with the controls, to no avail. The plane nose dipped forward until it was facing straight down.

‘This is it,’ she thought helplessly. She had always known the end from the beginning, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

“Mayday, mayday. This is Canadee and Shaw, and we have been hit,” she cried in a panic.

“I’m coming,” Jake shouted, a note of uncertainty lingering on his tongue. “Bradshaw, stay on my wing.”

It didn’t matter. Alec was scrambling to keep an eye on the plane behind them as she fumbled for control just out of her reach. “We’re putting off smoke,” Alec warned, something she already knew but somehow hearing it out loud made it more concrete.

They were plummeting towards the ground and no amount of wishing or crying out or praying was going to change that. She had failed Alec, she had failed her team, she had failed this mission and she was going to pay for it with her life.

“Eject!” Jake roared, voice sharp and clearer than she had ever heard it.

“Alec,” she wheezed as her head spun, the rapid descent making her dizzy. “I’m going to try to level us out, and then you’re gonna pull at the handle next to your head. Watch the canopy.” For Alec, she could do this. She could get them steady enough to get him out.

“Not without you,” he gasped out, breath sounding too short and too rushed and fuck, the ground was getting too close. “Can’t let you have all the glory, right?”

She choked out a laugh through the few tears spilling down her cheeks. “Goddamn you, Shaw.”

“On three,” he countered. She scrambled to get them as level as she could, nodding her head to settle her nerves and clear the spinning that blurred her vision.

“One,” she began.

They would do this. They would get out of this.

“Two,” Alec bit back, the strain of the flight evident in the way his tone wavered.

“We’re closing in guys, just a few more seconds,” Jake promised.

“Three,” Gwyn ordered, wincing as the canopy flew open and flailed for the handle behind her head. With the last ounce of strength she could muster, she pulled at the yellow cord and held her breath.

Nothing happened.

With a panicked gasp, she yanked once more and still, she found herself rooted in the cockpit, the canopy now open and exposing her to the wild wind ripping at her.

“Eject, Gwyn!” Alec’s shout pierced through her skull as it ran down the radio. Her hands were shaking again and she wailed, loud and unabashed as she continued to tug at the eject handle.

“I can’t!”

“Baby, get out of there,” Jake warned, an edge in his voice that she couldn’t place.

Despite everything she had worked for, she found her only regret was never forcing herself to tell Jake just how deeply and terribly she loved him. That he would never know how tormented she was by the way his eyes lit up when he talked about flying. Or how she wished she could spend the rest of her days groveling for his attention if it meant she would get it. He would never know that she needed him like she needed air, and that she wished they’d been given more time.

Gwyn continued to pull at the chord, and slowly leaned into the acceptance that they wouldn’t have that time, not now at least. But maybe in another life, under different circumstances.

Still, she selfishly wished fate had been kinder to them in this lifetime.

The reality of the job she had been faced with since she first announced she would be pursuing aviation was now staring her dead in the eye. Her brother had been right, this was never gonna end well, and she could’ve laughed at the mental image of him telling her “I told you so”.

“Hangman, watch out-”

The sharp groan of metal on metal blocked out Rooster’s voice, as well as the spine jolting crash that sent her body slamming into the side of the cockpit. Jake’s shout sounded before the smell of smoke filled her nostrils. She had collided into something, not the ground thankfully, but something heavy and metal and strong. Strong enough to send her spiraling.

Her stomach churned.

Another plane.

The force of the impact had her pulling on the handle once more, only to steady herself against the hard air slamming into her, and found the cord finally giving away and sending her barreling out of the cockpit.

“I’m out,” she rasped just as Bradshaw shouted, “Seresin, eject!”

Gwyn tried to call out for him, but her head spun wildly, only stopping when her vision spotted and faded.

Part 11

taglist: @rachelccollier @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @the-winter-marvel33 @barbiewritesstuff @dilfsandtherapy @dempy @itevilhag @supernaturaldawning @katesmadness @roses-and-grasses @tallrock35

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman top gun #jake hangman x reader #top gun maverick

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thesistersarcheron · 1 year

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Pairing: Elriel Rating: E Tags: Canon Divergence - ACOMAF, Accidental Courtship, Secret Marriage, Human/Fae Relationship, Smut, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending Word Count: 3k Summary: After learning of her younger sister's fate Under the Mountain, Elain Archeron struggled to envision her future as the lady of the Nolan estate. Sometimes, when she woke in the night and the iron band of her engagement ring was cold as ice on her finger, she knew only dread. She had no such trouble with the fearsome Fae male who made a habit of checking on her every day. It might have been some trick, a faerie enchantment or thrall, but falling in love with him was the easiest thing she ever did.

Part four of my @acotargiftexchange present for @ultadverb. Cover art by @krem-does-stuff, commissioned by @ultadverb.

Read this fic on AO3!

Elain’s stomach rolled and jolted as the carriage bounced beneath her on the uneven road through the village. Beside her, Graysen watched the weatherbeaten shops and leaning merchant stalls pass by with a smile, and she wondered if he saw the same thing she did when looked out those clear, expensive panes of glass.

Hunger and humiliation and hard, pitiless villagers who were too consumed by the pain in their own empty bellies to spare an ounce of kindness for three starving girls.

She didn’t think so.

Graysen rapped on the roof of the carriage as the blacksmith’s shop came into view—the cleanest, sturdiest establishment in the village despite the thick, black smoke its chimney endlessly coughed up, thanks to Lord Nolan’s patronage.

“I will see you for dinner tomorrow,” he told her as the carriage lurched to a stop, glancing around the carriage before swooping in to peck her cheek. His eyes glittered when he pulled back, looking her over. They snagged on her bust and then landed somewhere between her chin and her eyes. “My beautiful bride.”

He went through the motions of sneaking another kiss, and Elain’s hand clenched around the folded silk fan in her lap as she tilted her head to meet him, the too-tight band of her ring digging into her finger.

She knew full well that the armed sentries surrounding the carriage saw everything. That was their job—the only well-paying job in this village for any member of the middling class—and they took it seriously. It was an innocent kiss, perhaps the most innocent that she and Graysen had shared in recent months, but the sheer number of eyes on her still made her throat tighten.

And then Graysen was gone, throwing himself out of the carriage before it fully stopped. He turned back to her once he gained his footing, doffing his hat.

“Until tomorrow!” he shouted, waving the carriage on.

Elain smiled, and not for the first time, it was forced. She thought too hard about how much of her teeth to show, about how to crinkle the corner of her eyes to look truly happy and to think about a hot summer day to force some color to her cheeks, and nauseating guilt settled into the hollow of her throat like a stone.

The sentries rode on with her at Graysen’s command, but peeled off after a half-mile, undoubtedly circling back to guard their master’s son. As they turned, she heard a gruff, muffled voice ask, “Think that blush goes all the way down?” and a pair of them snickered, elbowing one another as they craned their necks to look at her.

Elain was no stranger to attention. She had been the shining centerpiece of every ball she’d attended during her season. Even now, as an engaged woman, she still relished the way men tripped over themselves to beg a dance from her and the society matrons pinched her cheeks now that she attended balls with Graysen.

And it was almost easy, when yet another man pressed a crystal glass full of wine her own father imported from the continent into her hand, to forget that everyone in that room would not have looked twice at her a year earlier. That none of them knew the way hunger started in the gut but clawed up into the throat like a ravenous beast trying to escape a barren prison, or how the cold could be so blunt and violent that Elain had sometimes woken up thinking every bone in her body was shattered overnight.

Elain had known how to turn their indulgent smiles and avaricious once-overs into something that warmed her, something that fed her, since she was a young girl, when the surest way to garner a moment of her mother’s attention was to smile sweetly and say something clever.

But when her watchers were armed with such familiar ash arrows, making crude jokes and murmuring things like, "Shame she didn’t get tits like her sister’s," where they thought Elain couldn’t hear… she forgot how to do that. She couldn’t harness the force of their eyes on her face and transmute it into a demure, acceptable smile.

The carriage slowed as it crested the hill at the end of her estate, a whip cracked, and Elain flinched.

Graysen’s compliments were also beginning to stick in her throat, and her jaw often ached with the force of maintaining a smile. She was his beautiful bride, his gorgeous girl, and divine darling. Each one had set her alight the first time she heard it, bubbling up from her stomach like sparkling wine—until the second and third and fourth time he used them, and the compliments went flat and stale.

“My princess in the tower!” he had cried the morning after their first night together as he helped her into the carriage to three walls guarding that too-cold, too-masculine manor house. “I shall rescue you from the dragon for luncheon. Do save me a seat at the table.”

Insult to her older sister aside—and however accurate the description may have been, she still seethed at his casual disdain for Nesta’s ferocious protective streak—Elain had been forced to wonder if Graysen even saw the irony in his words as the carriage rolled through the three walls staffed by a legion of ash-armed sentries that separated the Nolan estate from the village that afternoon.

As the weeks passed since Feyre’s visit, she found herself haunted by the ring on her finger. More and more, she tried and failed to envision her future with Graysen. To see a life where Feyre didn’t attend her wedding and never knew her nieces and nephews. To see Nesta being welcomed as family at the estate when she helped Elain select new draperies and furnishings. To see herself, hunched and wrinkled with age decades after her beauty faded, still laughing and smiling with a husband who loved her...

More and more, found that she couldn’t see very far beyond the white, watered silk she selected for her wedding gown and the peonies she was cultivating for her bouquet.

It was unfair to Graysen to doubt his intentions, and she knew it. He was generous and indulgent, and he loved her. He had taken a chance on her by asking her to dance at that first, terribly awkward ball she and Father had attended. He had seen her—or, at least, she thought he had—instead of the whispers about her family's sudden, surprise reappearance in society that had burned her ears. He’d drawn her into the spotlight beside him and hadn’t once faltered in the months since.

Elain sighed and looked out the window, watching the hedges and shrubbery roll past.

By the time the carriage juddered to a stop in front of the house, she was tired and heartsick, and her finger was sore and swollen from the edge of her engagement ring catching on her knuckle every time she twisted it. It was a late, lonely hour, too; Nesta would be secluded in her study, and…

She hesitated to even think his name before she glanced through the small window behind her head, making sure the sentries had all left.

And they had. The air around the carriage was clear, and she loosed a shaky breath.

Yes, Nesta would be secluded in her study, and Azriel only ever came between noon and dusk.

“Miss Elain?”

“Oh!” Elain blinked at the gloved hand in front of her face and smiled in apology to the footman as she took it. “Thank you, Zakary.”

“Of course. Good night, miss,” Zakary said as he helped her out of the carriage.

It was easy to feign a smile for him; he was far kinder and more polite than Lord Nolan’s men. “Good night. There is some stew leftover from lunch in the kitchen if you all are hungry after you finish with the horses.”

She turned toward the house, half-hearing his “Thank you, ma’am,” and fishing in her pockets for the keys to that great front door—

But there they were, clustered beneath the wide carved-marble arch that led to her garden.

Shadows.

Welcome, wonderful shadows.

Another quiet sigh shuddered out of her, taking the tension in her shoulders with it. She slipped Graysen’s ring off and left it in her pocket with the keys instead—irritating as it was tonight, it also felt like an insult to wear it in front of any of Feyre’s Fae friends now.

She sidestepped the stairs leading up to the door. Gravel crunched underfoot as she stepped off the paved driveway, and she balanced precariously in the heeled slippers she had worn to meet Graysen until a bit of shadow curled around her arm to steady her.

The rest of the mass skittered back as she approached, sliding deeper into the dimly lit garden beyond. She followed, glancing back at the house, at the glowing, golden windows, only once as she was led back to the birdbath.

She heard Azriel take a breath, and then there he was, stepping out from under the shadowed lattice again.

“Are you well?” His voice was a low, quiet tendril of darkness.

“Of course,” Elain lied. She waved a hand in the air, shooing away the curious shadows reaching for her tonight, but they were undeterred. It was a half-hearted gesture anyway; a large part of her wished she could sink into them and disappear with as much ease as the male before her. “Why do you ask?”

“You looked…” Azriel’s head tilted, but the light from the house didn’t illuminate his face. No, that darkness stayed put, masking whatever lay behind it.

Elain frowned, looking closer. “Are you okay? You never come to visit so late.”

“I’m fine.”

His tone wasn’t cold and it wasn’t harsh, but it was empty, devoid of the soft, subtle note it usually held when they were alone together. Her brow furrowed, and he folded his hands together behind his back.

”Would you like to talk about it?” she asked.

He pushed out a breath. “I shouldn’t.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She watched the shadows shift, revealing the slightest outline of his eyes as he watched her back. For a long moment, no words were said… and then his wings rustled ever-so-slightly, tucking in tighter against his back.

“There is a… secondary court, in the Night Court,” he said lowly. He turned until they were no longer face-to-face, but side-by-side, and Elain clasped her hands together to distract from the temptation to reach out to him. “It is known rather infamously as the Court of Nightmares. It is what it sounds like—a pit full of every cruel, prejudiced courtier who decided they would be better off in seclusion underground than under Rhys’s rule—the rule of a half-breed. Amarantha…”

Azriel paused, and she nodded at him, though her throat closed up and hateful, burning fury scorched through her.

Amarantha, the murderous witch who had tortured Feyre for months, who had slaughtered innocent children and then murdered her brave little sister. Elain had committed the name to memory even through her weeping as Feyre detailed the events of her transformation into a faerie to her and Nesta.

“Amarantha modeled her court Under the Mountain after the Court of Nightmares, though by all accounts, it was a pale imitation.”

He went silent then, staring out at the darkened rows of hedges.

She chewed on her lip for a moment before asking, “Why are you telling me this?”

“We went there today to secure proof for the queens that our intentions are pure.”

A shiver wracked her. “But… if they’re the Court of Nightmares, what could they possibly have—”

A bit of dark mist swept over her mouth, a featherlight tickle of sensation, and a different sort of shiver pulsed down her spine.

Azriel shifted on his feet, his head tilting toward her once more.

“I can’t speak of it here.”

“I see,” Elain said evenly, even though she didn’t—not fully. “And you are upset because... they refused?”

“We didn’t bother asking,” Azriel said. His voice was dark, and as he shifted again, Elain saw his profile take form in the dark. His expression was severe. “It wasn't that. After I completed training in the Illyrian camps, I was stationed there to train… another skillset.” A glimmer through the shadows betrayed the way his eyes flickered over to her. “This is not a secret. I spent much of the first war in their company at the High Lord’s—Rhys’s father’s—side. As his spymaster.”

“And that other skillset…?” Elain trailed off, feeling queasy at the way he bowed his head to her, as if it were too heavy to hold upright. The catlike shadow slipped off of his shoulder, and she watched as it curled and writhed around the obsidian hunting knife sheathed on his thigh.

He’d told her the blade had a name—Truth-Teller—when she’d asked about the curious, silver runes stamped on that sheath.

Truth-Teller.

Her face felt cold, and she interlocked her fingers as the temptation to take one of his hands in her own became near-unbearable.

“I see,” she said again, her voice trembling.

Was that how he’d gotten the scars that stretched over the backs of his hands? Had some… some violent incident mangled them while he was…

Elain forced herself to think the word.

Torture.

He was a torturer.

She let the information slot into place in her mind beside everything else she knew of him and found it did not color any of it. She looked at him, concealed as he was in his shadows, and saw the male who guarded Feyre’s new home, who was working himself to exhaustion to gather enough information to turn a brewing conflict in their favor so her sister would not have to fight, who still stopped to take tea with a silly human woman to soothe her fears and listen to her prattle on about seedlings and sugar…

The long shadows cast by the window panes stretched, reaching for Azriel. “I’m sorry. It’s too heavy a topic for—”

“No, wait!”

He had taken another step back, but before she realized what she was doing, Elain rushed forward, finally hooking her hand around the scaled, leather armor on his elbow. He was warm and hard and the blue gems on the back of his beautiful hands—his Siphons, she remembered—pulsed faintly as he reached out to steady her when she wobbled again in her slippers.

“Don’t… Don’t go,” she begged. “Nesta probably has her nose in a book up in the house and my day was just terrible, and you…”

And he was her unlikely friend, as easy to talk to and tease as Nesta.

Easier, sometimes.

Often.

She squeezed his arm. ”It’s not too heavy a topic. Not if it’s you.”

Because the weight she felt around most others, the concrete block of duty she was tying around her neck for the sake of love, simply didn’t exist around him. He held no preconceived notions of who she should be; there was no judgment or expectation whenever he turned those hazel eyes on her.

There could be none, given that they lived in such different worlds, that their lives were so separate, so different, divided as they were by the wall. All of the assessing, greedy glances she felt around Graysen and Lord Nolan and the legion of ladies pushing and elbowing to be her bridesmaids…

She had never once felt that with Azriel.

She just didn’t know how to say it. Or, for that matter, if she should.

His eyes flickered to the bare hand. Her left hand. He opened his mouth, a wry, curious brow rising, and Elain tensed.

“Cold feet?”

“No!” She let go only to swat at him, fully expecting the easy way he dodged the hit, but allowed the hasty change of subject nonetheless. “It’s just… planning all of this. Even with Nesta helping me, it’s exhausting. I’m exhausted. I’m used to hosting dances and balls, so I thought it wouldn’t be too much different, but...”

But planning a wedding with the security measures Lord Nolan insisted upon having was next to impossible. It made Elain appreciate that she and Nesta had been invited to that first ball at all—and made the strange, physical examination the guards had done of their eyes and fingers and ears seem like child’s play.

She wondered if the security measures were half as strict in Azriel’s Court of Nightmares.

“How about something to take your mind off of it, then? An early wedding gift?”

Slowly, so, so slowly, the shadows melted away from Azriel, pooling on the ground beneath their feet instead of around his shoulders. Elain got the distinct sense that they were watching her with something like fondness.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t accept gifts from—” She couldn’t say it. It made her feel dirty just to think it.

“From the Fae?” Azriel snorted. He rolled his shoulders, and Elain watched as his wings followed suit. A callused hand rose between them, and he brushed a fingertip against the edge of her long sleeve. “Come now, Elain. If you could have anything, anything at all…”

“I hardly think you could give me what I truly want,” she demurred again, though her heart turned over in her chest at the sharp slash of too-white teeth that cut through the darkness.

Such moods from him tonight, she thought, tightening her grip on his arm as her knees took on the consistency of jelly at that look.

“I am a wicked faerie. We have wicked ways to ensure we get everything we want,” he prodded. “What do you want?”

She ignored the way his use of we made her pulse rush and, remembering those dark whorls of ink on Feyre’s hand, and asked instead, “Does this gift come with a price, wicked faerie?”

“Smart question.” Azriel’s eyes peered down at her, a shade darker than usual. “But since this is a gift, no strings attached.”

“None?”

“Only your time.”

Elain dug the toe of her slipper into the graveled path, considering. “How much time?”

“As much as you’ll give me.” Azriel’s voice was soft—softer than she had ever heard it. “What is it, Elain?”

“I would like to travel.” She looked up again, and there was a strange look on his face. “What?”

Azriel shook his head, and the fleeting look disappeared on her next blink. “I thought humans went on honeymoons?”

“Not Graysen. Lord Nolan won’t allow us to travel, lest the sirens lure his son to a watery death,” she said, and she was too aware of how bitter she sounded.

“Please. I doubt there are any lightsingers below the wall.” Azriel rolled his eyes. “And I doubt they’re hungry enough to stoop to eating human men.”

“They don’t eat women?”

Azriel chuckled at that, sly and pleased and amused all at once, and the sound skittered along Elain’s bones before settling in the dips of her ribs. “Oh, I’m sure they do.”

“Well, regardless of who they eat—” He huffed again, and Elain fought the urge to stomp her foot. His mood was brighter, though, and it almost made her smile, too. “Regardless, I am not going on a honeymoon. I’ll have too much to do, ordering rugs and drapes and blankets for that cold, stony castle anyway.”

His own smile vanished again. He watched her for a long minute until she rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head at herself, at her own foolish hopes, and stepping back.

“Where do you want to travel?”

Elain reached out with the hand that had been warmed by his leathers and traced the long, thorny stem of a rosebush with her fingertip. “The tulip fields on the continent. They’re just beginning to bloom this time of year, too.”

Azriel made a low noise, one that settled warmly in her stomach, and then one of those brutal, beautiful hands entered her line of sight.

"What?" she asked.

He extended his hand further, silently, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

The second she took it, darkness and shadow and cold, cold wind whipped at her. She might have shrieked if it lasted longer than a heartbeat, but in the next second the air was balmy and sweet, and bright sunshine was blinding her.

“Will these do?”

Elain's heart was still racing, but she felt her lips part as she stared out at the endless, rolling hills of red and pink and yellow stretching in front of her. Terror melted into awe, and her gasping breaths shifted into breathless, stunned silence.

It looked like a quilt; like some ancient, nameless god had reached down and patched great squares and lines of brilliant color together.

She glanced at Azriel and realized they were on the edge of the tulip fields, hidden in the shadows cast by a copse of trees. A small, pleased smile played on his lips.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

“It’s… it’s daytime,” she whispered, holding the hand that wasn’t still gripping Azriel’s out to let the sun warm it. “Are we above the wall?”

“No—just near the eastern coast of the mortal half of the continent, where the sun is rising.”

“Oh.” An embarrassed laugh bubbled out of her; she hadn’t stopped to consider where else on Earth it might be sunny other than some enchanted faerieland, hadn’t dared imagine they had gone so far in just one instant.

A breeze rustled the tulips and dragged her attention back to the fields, sending a rippling wave of green through the pink, and her eyes widened. Such deep, endless happiness filled her, her heart beating so quickly and her head a wash of color and sound and the scent of a million tulips, that she was sure she would simply burst with it.

He lowered their joined hands, gently extricating himself from her grasp, and asked, “Aren’t you going to go look?”

“Oh, Azriel.”

Elain bounced on her feet, unable to contain herself, and threw her arms around his middle. He was firm and unmoving, and she hugged him for only a second before she pulled back, sparing him a smile before she kicked off her slippers and took off at a run through the fields.

The colors blurred, the sweetness of the flowers chasing her, and her skirts whipped in the breeze. She ran and ran and ran, the dark soil damp and soft under her ruined stockings, until she was at the crossroads in the center of the field and Azriel was a smudge of shadow at the field’s edge. Elain spun, drinking in the flowers and sunshine and beauty until she was dizzy.

Then the shadows were beside her, and Azriel was stepping out of them as she started to giggle.

“What was all that about?” he asked, that barely-there grin still turning up the corners of his mouth.

She was breathless, laughing at herself, but said with complete honesty, “I just wanted to be surrounded by them. I want to look in every direction and see nothing but flowers.”

She turned again—and her toes caught on a root hidden beneath the soil. The ground rushing up to meet her, but an arm like a band of steel caught her around the waist. Elain let herself fall back into that touch, tipping her face toward the blue, blue sky.

She took a deep breath. Instead of tulips, it was full of cedar and cool mist, strength and darkness, and her contentedness shifted into something deeper, something greedy.

“Elain.” Another arm held her behind the shoulders, and Elain had never felt so safe and so sure that she wouldn’t fall. She blinked open her eyes, and he was there, looking back at her. His inky hair was a mess, weighed down by gravity, and his breath fanned over her too-warm face.

She felt it settle in her stomach like sun-warmed stones plunking into a pond.

“Azriel.”

They were pressed together so tightly that his near-silent groan trembled through her, weakening her knees once more, and his eyes darkened as the space between them shrunk. “Tell me to stop.”

She lifted a hand, tracing the sharp, fascinating line of his jaw. The moment was so familiar to her and the next steps were so clear and obvious in her mind’s eye that she wondered for a second if he had her in some sort of thrall, had trapped her some Fae enchantment that dictated what she was meant to do, before deciding she didn’t care.

“Please don’t.”

His lips brushed hers—the slightest, sweetest touch. He pulled back, scanning her face, but she didn’t give him another moment to overthink and didn’t give herself a second to doubt as she pushed herself back to her feet, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

"These bulbs,” Elain said, pointing with a gloved hand to a cluster of purple-and-white flowers, “came all the way from the tulip fields of the continent. Father promised that next spring he’ll take me to see them. He claims that for mile after mile, there’s nothing but these flowers.” She patted the rich, dark soil. The little garden beneath the window was hers: every bloom and shrub had been picked and planted by her hand; she would allow no one else to care for it. Even the weeding and watering she did on her own... “You should come with me,” Elain went on. “Nesta won’t go, because she says she doesn’t want to risk the sea crossing, but you and I ... Oh, we’d have fun, wouldn’t we?” ...My sister was beaming, content—prettier than I’d ever seen her, even in her simple muslin gardening dress. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her large, floppy hat. - ACOTAR, Chapter 29

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #elain #azriel #acotar fics #my fics #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acotar secret santa gift exchange 2022 #acotar secret santa 2022 #ultadverb #you get a kiss! you get a kiss! look under your seats you all get kisses!

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darkhymns-fic · 7 months

Text

Pilgrimage

Lloyd had never seen Colette's grandmother, who she goes to visit everyday and bring food. It is only when the wolf decides to follow the girl, dressed always in her red riding hood down a long and winding path in the woods, that he finally realizes… [Werewolf AU]

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Phaidra Brunel Rating: T Word Count: 5599 Mirror: AO3 Notes: A special treat for Halloween, where I decide to visit this AU once again! Visit AO3 for previous chapters of this story. May or may not have some spooks.

It's autumn again, when Colette comes to see him.

For the past few months, Lloyd found himself needing to keep moving through the forest, no longer keeping to one cave or a small glade. He was being tracked—even when he wasn't entirely sure by whom. Sometimes he thinks it's that same huntsman, who had held a gun over his knees, finger over the trigger, watching him with caution. He'll hear a familiar step over the dead leaves before he rushes away, hoping to evade another encounter.

Even if the man’s eyes no longer seemed distant or cold. But Lloyd didn’t feel like speaking with him yet. Some other time, he would think, rushing off to somewhere else so he could be alone.

Sometimes, usually at night, he thinks he’s being tracked by the bear named Mithos. He hasn't heard sounds, anything at all. But at certain moments, when the moon is full, or the night was unnaturally quiet, he would feel something. A shadow, a cold shiver in his spine, one that makes him run even faster until his lungs hurt. Those are the days he couldn’t really stand still, or even really sleep. He would prowl among the brush, searching and waiting, searching and waiting.

And then, the hollow, empty feeling would leave. But such nights happened too often now.

It was different with Colette. With her footsteps, which always landed over the fallen leaves carefully, as if afraid she would crush them too harshly, Lloyd would catch a scent. Sometimes it was of the food she was carrying, other times it was of the lavender in her hair.

He couldn't run away from that. He'd just run towards it instead.

Lloyd found Colette leaning against a tree, tracing the intertwined roots beneath with her left shoe. A thought briefly lit up in his head, one to surprise her with a tiny growl and his hands reaching for her own. His tail thumped against the ground as he waited behind her, but before he could do anything, Colette leapt from her spot and jumped right into the brush. Her hands found the sleeves of the jacket he wore, fingers tracing upward.

"Ha! Caught you!"

Lloyd blinked before he gave a little snicker, revealing sharp teeth. "Hey, no fair! I was about to get you first!"

"You're getting sloppy then." Colette smiled as she tugged at something around his neck, a little chiming sound echoing around them. "I know the sound your collar makes. I’m surprised you’re still wearing it.”

Sometimes Lloyd forgot he was still wearing the small gift from her. It was of red leather, clasped around his throat when she brought him home one day, In case you get lost! He had never really understood the logic, but he wanted to keep her happy and wore it with no complaints. He looked down, watching Colette press the shiny tag with her thumb.

“Guess I’ve gotten used to it,” Lloyd said with a shrug. Then he leaned down to kiss her, as he always did when she came to see him. A gentle brush against her lips, no longer as worrying or shy as before. The lavender scent was even stronger the closer he was to her, his hand reaching up to cradle her cheek.

She kissed him back, feeling her fingertips at his neck—but it ended too quickly. She pulled back, looking towards her right briefly before she smiled again. “Sorry. I didn’t bring any extra food with me this time. I only have enough for my grandmother when I go see her later. Father was around the house today so I couldn’t sneak in another helping.”

“Oh, uh, that’s fine. I already feel full from the last meal you gave me.” Lloyd raised an eyebrow. “Is…everything alright?”

“Yep!” Colette had said that way too quickly, but already she was taking his hand, further past the trees into the glade. The sun’s rays couldn’t push through the boughs overhead, the leaves still hanging on despite their gold and orange colors. It was dim, with the occasional spider web blocking their path, but Colette would simply avoid those, pointing at an orbweaver or two, fascinated by their patterns.

On their walk, she avoided his eyes, and her grip on his hand was tight.

“Here seems nice,” Colette said, taking a seat on the grass. Her red cloak spread among the leaves behind her, like a shimmering crimson lake. She also put down her basket to her left, but it was as she said. She had brought no food, and though Lloyd was a little disappointed, it’s not like he was starving.

She patted the leaf pile next to her. “Sit!”

Lloyd tilted his head at her. “You’re doing that thing again. Where you think I’m a dog.” But he obeyed, quickly sitting himself next to her, his tail brushing aside the leaves.

“Oh, whoops,” Colette said, pushing aside a lock of her hair over her ear. “It must be because of the collar.”

Still, he noticed she wouldn’t look at him—not unless she needed to. Her hands fidgeted with each other, and her eyes kept shifting to the trees. Was she nervous about him? Or about this part of the forest?

He knew something that could help.

Lloyd moved a little closer, and then put his head right into her lap. “Whoops. Maybe I’m a dog after all…” His tail wagged rapidly. “I want some pets!”

If this had been a few months ago, he would have been embarrassed. Well, he still kinda was, but he had to admit that Colette was way too good at petting…

He got the expected reaction from her. Now she was all smiles, laughing cutely as she began stroking his ear and rubbing his furry pointed ears. “Aw, Lloyd! You’re so cute when you’re like this! Of course I’ll pet you.”

Success! But, her pets also made him a little sleepy. With a great yawn, he made himself a bit more comfortable over her knees, feeling her relaxing strokes. “Mmhmm….”

The glade was dim, but he felt what few rays of the sun continued to shine down. Bits of warmth against the chill breeze. The occasional pockets of birdsong around them. The scent of Colette’s hair.

She continued to pet him, to play with his hair, her fingers sometimes reaching to caress his cheek. She had never been afraid of him, of his claws that he dug a little against the grass, or his fangs that she must have felt in their kiss.

Her petting slowed. He could hear a soft stutter in her throat. She was still worried about something.

"Will you always be here?" Colette asked him, fingers running through his hair. "In the forest?"

Lloyd tried to keep himself awake, but her pets were always so soothing. His eyelids came dangerously close to lowering. "Huh… Y-yeah. It's just easier for me being here." Maybe she was going to ask him to stay in town again, but she should know it was still a bit impossible for him…

"Um, that's not exactly what I mean." Colette traced patterns across his scalp; the shapes of stars, of spirals, of little animal faces. "Just…will you be here five years from now? Ten? Or….will you have to leave someday?"

Lloyd blinked, suddenly more wide awake. He looked up at Colette's face, and even from the awkward angle, he could see her worried expression. In the way her lips pressed firm, in the way her eyes seemed so far away.

"Colette, what are you talking about?"

Cruel of him to ask, when he half-suspected, he realized.

She paused before speaking again. "You've been wandering more and more lately. I've noticed." Her fingers rubbed against his ear. "And going farther… like you're running from something."

Lloyd waited. How had she noticed? Then he remembered that Colette was one of the few people who knew these woods more than most. She had found him so easily, after all. How she came upon a scared shaking thing in the forest, so happy to offer him food.

"If it's Mr. Kratos, I can talk with him. I can tell him it's okay. I think…I think he's just worried about you, that's all."

His hand reached to find hers, interlacing their fingers. "It's not just him."

Colette may have seen the bear that night, but she had no idea how much it wanted to tear at her throat.

How much it pushed Lloyd to do the same.

“Lloyd?” The hood of her red cloak bundled up around her neck. Maybe it was the dim lighting, or the way his mind was still fuzzy from her touch, but, if he let his mind play tricks…

It would have almost looked like blood on her skin.

“There’s things out there that you don’t know about,” he whispered. “I’m just…watching out for them.”

And leading them away, if he needed to.

“I’m not going anywhere though, I promise.” He tried to give her an easy-going smile, brushing his tail against her knees as he looked up at her. Still, he saw the small worry lines at the corner of her eyes, even in the dimness. Her hands stilled within his hair, no longer stroking or petting.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” she said, her voice softer. “If you’re afraid of something, I want to help you. Won’t you let me?”

Lloyd had to do all he could to not deny it outright. He couldn’t let Colette be in danger again.

He couldn’t let Mithos find her again. The bear was slow. It always lumbered through the woods, even with no sound, leaving no tracks behind. But on most nights, Lloyd could feel that creature near.

He reached up to take the hand that has been petting it, clasping it tight. “I know. But, it’s okay. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

And when Colette finally smiled back, maybe, he realized, he was getting better at lying now. Because he knew couldn’t keep throwing off the bear forever. He knew that one day, it was going to find him again. And anyone that happened to be too close to him.

I’ll protect Colette, he thought to himself. Even if it means leaving her.

—

However, Lloyd couldn’t follow his own advice sometimes.

When Colette finally left the glade, waving to him goodbye and going down the same forest path she always took every day, Lloyd decided to see where she went. He had never really done so before, too anxious and skittish in those earlier days, of both her and the huntsman that would occasionally appear by Colette’s side.

And the only other instance had been on that night, when he felt the bear so close, when it had been hunting Colette down.

Maybe, if he followed her now, he could still protect her from anything that got too close. That was his excuse as he moved through the brush, astounded at the steep slopes that Colette walked on, and through dark thickets. He had to be careful, aware of Colette’s good hearing, so he didn’t crinkle any fallen leaves or step on any twigs. It’s what he learned after all these years when hunting, to stalk and slink through the brush until he was ready.

Though, if someone were to see him now, they would think he was hunting Colette…

Soon, she arrived at her destination—a small, lone church made from stone. It was perched on the top of a hill, embedded against the cliffside. Lloyd had never seen it before, which was surprising. He had lived in these woods for as long as he could remember, yet had never stumbled upon this place.

But why was there a church that was so far from town? Lloyd couldn’t imagine most people would walk this far just to pray.

Who would they even pray to? he also had to wonder. He felt he should know but couldn’t remember…

The hillside had another path to climb on, one that Colette went to with little hesitance despite how easy it looked to trip over. Lloyd watched nervously as she occasionally stumbled, gripping the tree he was hiding behind with his claws. She was getting farther away, and there was barely anything to hide behind on the hill besides the occasional bush.

But what if she fell and hurt herself? He had to get closer! He held his breath, following along that same steep path. So light that he barely made tracks, so quiet that even the nearby crickets didn’t scurry away from him.

Somewhere on the hill was a small stump, its ends all ragged and the roots half-rising from the soil so that it created a little enclave beneath. Maybe a storm had destroyed it, though there was no sign of a log anywhere. Still, Lloyd made sure to hide within its opening, settling in the dirt but keeping his eye on Colette who finally made it to the top.

Lloyd watched her give a little sigh once she did, gripping the basket she carried more firmly in her right hand. He could also see more of the church, moss crawling along its sides, a banner flying from the breeze, with a symbol he couldn’t recognize. Again, it was such an odd place for a church, being in the middle of nowhere.

Twin doors fashioned by oak opened then, as if knowing Colette was here. She waved, rushing up to the front. “Good afternoon, grandmother! I brought some lunch!”

Lloyd stared. Wait, her grandmother lived in a church? He always thought she lived inside some tiny cottage!

The woman that walked out was quite old and very much looked like a grandmother in Lloyd’s opinion. She had a bit of a hunch, bent over a wooden cane she gripped in her left hand, tapping it against the dirt. Her hair was a similar shade to Colette’s, arranged in a bun, but in a style that let her forelocks frame her face, wrapped in ribbons. An old-fashioned hairstyle that Lloyd could somehow recall, vaguely.

“Colette, it’s so good to see you.” She lifted her head, the wrinkles around her cheeks and mouth so deep and pronounced. Despite her soft tone, Lloyd could pick up her voice, his wolf ears catching even the faintest breath. “And just in time for the tea to be ready.”

There was something sharp about her eyes, he thought. At first, he had wondered why an old lady would be living by herself so far from town. But clearly, there was something more to her.

Through the open doors, the grandmother led Colette by the hand, both of them careful in their steps. The wind blew somewhat strong, lifting up her red cloak, its color catching Lloyd’s sight. It was the last thing he saw before the doors shut, the sound of it so loud within the woods, and oddly final.

Lloyd peeked out his head a bit more from beneath the stump, sniffing the air. He could still catch the scent of food that Colette brought—of honey-glazed ham, crisp apples, and some freshly-baked bread—on the breeze, but little else. And what he could catch from the church itself was strange; of something old and musty. Such a place must have been built decades ago, the walls crumbling, with only the stained glass windows on the side well taken-care of.

He stared at the building, his tail occasionally thumping the ground in thoughtfulness. Lunch didn’t usually take too long, so he could just wait until Colette was done and make sure she got back home safe! He nodded at the idea, satisfied. Maybe she’ll still have some leftovers?

Lloyd yawned wide, enough to crack his jaw, then scratched at his fur. The sun was pretty warm, and this space beneath the stump was warm and cozy. It’d been a while since Lloyd had napped at a new place…

—

It's too dark.

Ever since Lloyd became this, shadows are no longer an obstacle. His eyes can pierce through the dark nearly as well as his nose can, catching scents of a fleeing rabbit, or a skittish bird. Prey.

Foliage is outlined to him in all its details. He can see the eyes of other creatures stare back at him, confused at his existence. He can see the dips in the ground, careful to not slip, or the ridges of roots ahead.

But now he can't see anything.

Lloyd half-got up, his claws scrabbling at the ground. It feels different, no longer as loose as soil. It’s hard like stone, but he can’t understand why.

This no longer feels like the forest.

Something is breathing. Near him. On him.

Lloyd tries to move away, but there is a wall in front of him, one that he can’t see. He tries to move left, and meets another wall. To his right. Another. Even up top, something blocks his way. Trapped. Closing in. Suffocating.

The thing behind him breathes, and speaks, and reaches for him. What it says is unintelligible in every way. It blocks the exit. Or maybe there is none at all. Maybe Lloyd is stuck inside. Forever. In this place where he can’t sense anything, where he can’t feel the earth anymore, where he can’t hear anything except someone’s breathing.

But he catches a scent. It’s sudden and overwhelming. It stinks of rot and decay.

Like he’s trapped inside with a corpse.

Lloyd tries again, tries again to leave, his claws digging deep into the stone. It’s not enough. The thing behind him speaks again, opening its jaws to make it even more unbearable.

“You’ll be just like me.”

The air leaves him with nothing left to breathe in. Lloyd scratches at the wall.

“Everyone will see you as the monster you really are. Even her.”

A great weight crushes him to the ground. Suffocating him. Devouring him. He tries to scream, but no sound leaves him. He feels he’s gone deaf except for the voice that’s all around him.

“Why else do you stalk her through the woods if not to hunt her down?”

—

When Lloyd woke up, it was to the sound of his own shouts.

“Let…let me go!”

It clutched at his ribs, made him feel as if thorns were sprouting all around his throat. Breathing, once something he sought after desperately, was painful. Terrifying. His arms scrambled against walls again, and faintly recognized the feeling of bark against his claws. There was dirt on his knees, clinging to his fur. The earth again. Not encased in stone.

Lloyd had to calm himself to breathe normally again.

It’s not here, he tried to tell himself. It’s not here it’s not here.

But he still felt trapped.

With a shake of his head, Lloyd controlled himself well enough to finally squeeze himself out of the hollow beneath the stump. Fresh air hit him, ruffled his fur, his hands gripping the grass and feeling every soft blade against his palms. He breathed in and out. In and out. He clenched his sharp teeth, his fur standing on end.

It was sunset. The shadow of the church fell over him, and the stained glass windows reflected the sunlight in varying hues of orange and pink. Lloyd rubbed at his eyes, hoping for the images of the nightmare to finally disperse in the light.

It was dim, but not pitch black. He could still see the church and its crumbling walls, its strange spherical rooftop, and its moss-covered columns. He took in the sight, in the details that transformed from blurs to sharpness, until he realized there was something else there.

A person. One who stood before a nearby well that was placed by the side of the church and near the tree stump. The old woman clutched at a pail in one hand as she faced Lloyd, her body framed by the watercolored sky.

Lloyd was in the open now. He remembered then how he had just burst out from beneath the ground, shouting and breathing roughly. How he must look to her, with his ragged tail and sharp claws, and his eyes still shining bright from his nightmare.

Too late to run away and hide. He faced her, but slowly tried to back away.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered out, not meaning to. The words had just come, leaving his throat in all its coarseness. He winced at the sound of them, the half-growls escaping with those words.

“Now, hold on,” spoke the old woman. She set the water pail down the path, placing both hands on the top of her cane. “Have you come for salvation then?”

The question was unexpected. Lloyd blinked, unsure how to answer the woman who didn’t seem bothered by his appearance—or at least, it wasn’t obvious she was. “I… I was just…sleeping before..”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Dangerous to sleep out in these woods. Many things hunt at this hour, you know. We have beds for those seeking help, or those who may have lost their way.” She gestured to the church with her cane. “You must have been guided by Martel Herself to us.”

The name sparked something in Lloyd’s head, but only slightly so. Like an electric shock against his fingertips that left him warm and a little in pain. He knew about Martel…A friend? A name said in passing?

“No…It was Colette,” he said, rubbing his head. “She said she was going to visit…”

He didn’t realize the old lady had hobbled closer. She was gazing at his great ears, and then at his tail that brushed away the dead leaves on the ground. “You’ve gone through so much trouble, haven’t you?”

Lloyd paused, watching as this old woman looked at him with a strange curiosity that was so familiar to him. He didn’t know how to react, instead eyeing her hands that were wrinkled with bones jutting against the skin.

He couldn’t help but ask, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

The woman smiled, the wind shifting her golden hair. Though in her age, it had lost much of its shine. “I’ve known many like you. A curse like yours has existed for as long as I can remember.”

She shifted towards the church, gesturing to him to follow along. “We don’t turn the afflicted away. Come inside. I still have some food leftover from when my granddaughter visited.”

Such words prodded again at Lloyd’s memory, making him shake his head from the sleep that still clung to him. “Wait, about… Is Colette your granddaughter? Where is she?” Did he ask too roughly? He could still hear his own growls in his voice, at how unkempt his fur was now, which stood up more in the cold night that was coming.

“Oh, Colette? She’s already long gone, dear.” The old lady walked up to the side of the church, with Lloyd trailing after her quickly. She then entered through a small kitchen door, one that Lloyd had missed earlier. It blended in with the stone, its wood painted in the same color. “No matter how much I ask her, she never stays here until the morning. But she’s strong. I believe she will be safe.”

How had he already missed her? “I need to find her. I—” He winced, feeling himself shake. “Agh…”

“Have you eaten today? It wouldn’t be wise to go anywhere on an empty stomach.” The old woman reached for a woven basket on a nearby table, the dim sunlight streaming in through the door to highlight the iron pots that hung on racks, and a fireplace where some tea was still brewing in a hanging kettle.

“Th-thanks, grams,” Lloyd said, already reaching into the basket to munch on the first thing he grabbed: a few slices of the honey-glazed ham. The delicious taste of it brought a little more warmth to his limbs.

The old woman smiled, somehow not put off at all by his ravenous hunger, or how his sharp teeth must have been obvious by now. Then, as if propelled by a memory he couldn’t even remember, he swallowed his bite before speaking again.

“Sorry, I didn’t even give you my name. I'm Lloyd… Um, just Lloyd.”

She chuckled at his sudden politeness, and only turned away so she could grab the tea kettle with a well-used dish rag. “My name is Phaidra Brunel. I’m the priestess of this church, the last left.” She raised blue eyes to meet his own. “We don’t get many visitors here.”

“Yeah, I…can see that.” Lloyd stilled as he realized what he said and how rude it must have been. “Uh! I mean it’s so far away from town, and I barely see anyone else on the roads.”

Phaidra nodded, pouring the tea into a pair of porcelain cups, etched with blue whorls all around their surfaces. Lloyd noticed an extra cup off to the side, one with a small picture of a dog on its side. Had that been Colette's?

"Many would once make the pilgrimage here to the temple of Martel, but now it is mostly Colette who does so regularly. And she only does so to visit me instead of pray." She smiled softly and with sadness, gripping her own teacup with gnarled knuckles. "Very few remember the goddess nowadays."

Lloyd sipped at the cup she gave him, the flavor of it reminding him of Colette's home. This place sounded so lonely—maybe that was why Colette visited all the time. Especially if such an old lady lived here by herself, taking care of such a grand, if old, church.

"But, you know of the goddess, don't you?" Phaidra asked. "You know her name."

He stared, still holding the cup. "I do," he said. "But, I can't remember from where…"

She nodded. "Then please stay here. Maybe, with time, you'll remember her."

—

At Colette's home, she had also made him tea.

"It's a specialty from my grandmother," she had told him then. The cup she gave him had been worn with use, the paint on its side chipping away. But he had felt the tea's warmth through the porcelain, its dark color reminding him of the earth.

"Oh, is it too hot?" And as she leaned close, her hair brushed against his. He watched her blow the drink, making ripples along the surface. "There!"

"I'm okay with it being hot," he had said, but when he sipped, it was nice that the tea wasn't scalding. It let him taste the honey she had mixed in more easily.

"Then next time, I'll make it hotter," she had teased. And by her side was the same woven basket he always saw her carry. Because, once again, she was off to see her grandmother who lived deep in the woods…

—

It wasn’t a dream Lloyd was recalling as he walked down the hallways, night already settling in. Yet the memory played out in his head as if it happened right in front of him, brought on by the tea Phaidra had made, by the familiar symbols etched into a tablecloth, similar to what he had seen at Colette’s home.

He wished she was here still. He hoped she was safe.

The hour was getting late when Lloyd went to see the main chapel, placed within the front of the church. Phaidra had said she needed to check on the rest of the church, such as the food storage and her own herb gardens. "You can see the others who made the pilgrimage here," she told him. “The goddess calls to those who are lost like you.”

He still didn’t really understand who this goddess was, but, if such a goddess made Phaidra accept him despite how he looked, maybe she wasn’t bad. Could such a goddess have an answer to what was going on with him?

Could…such a goddess heal him of what he was? He looked down at his hands, at the claws painted black, sharp enough to rend through most things. Maybe I really was supposed to come here…

Lloyd entered the great room from the side, and the first thing he saw was the statue of a woman. Placed in the far back, she seemed to tower over everything. Her right hand held a staff, its top framed with wings, while the other was turned palm-up, facing the heavens. The expression chiseled on her face was beautiful and calm, and her long hair flowing from her like some winding river, circling her form. On her dress, he saw the same familiar symbol as the church displayed on its tattered banner outside.

In the daylight, she must have looked amazing once the sun streamed in through the stained glass windows. But tonight, there was not even a full moon—thankfully, as it left him feeling less feral. She was only highlighted by the circle of candles placed around the statue’s base, elongating shadows down her face and across the carpeted floor.

And she was facing a roomful of empty pews, each row crumbling and empty.

Lloyd blinked, looking around the room, confused. “No one’s here?” he said aloud. “Phaidra said there were others…”

He felt awful for thinking it, but he began to suspect that Phaidra wasn’t exactly…all there in the head. It would explain why she didn’t seem to show any fear to his looks. She probably just thinks I’m having a bad hair day or something. He sighed. Maybe it was for the best that no one saw him now. Especially when it was so late at night.

Lloyd walked up to the statue, looking at her more, trying to pinpoint her to a place, to a person—to anything. It was there, sleeping in the back of his mind. But why did looking at her bring some other feeling to him? Something that loomed behind him like some hulking shadow. He felt his heart beat a little faster. He gripped a hand against his chest, clutching the shirt, his fur standing on end.

Something was wrong.

Movement shifted to his right. Someone was here, sitting at the pews. Someone was here. And he hadn’t seen them.

There was a boy sitting in the front row, but he didn’t kneel in supplication. He only sat there, looking up at the statue. The candles highlighted his pale face, his light blonde hair, and a white overcoat that cut through the dark. He continued staring, as if unaware Lloyd was even there.

Lloyd held his breath. He tried to edge away, a soft and soundless step on the carpet.

The boy turned.

The eyes of the bear stared back at him—along with a white-toothed smile. “So, you’ve come,” said Mithos.

Lloyd couldn’t move.

The boy walked towards him gracefully and quickly, as if all in one motion. It wasn’t lumbering, and didn’t stink of rot, and maggots weren’t digging through his skull.

But even so, Lloyd felt some great shadow fall over him, rooting him in place. Or was that the shadow of the statue?

“Martel always accepted those who were different,” spoke the voice that had been a constant in his nightmares. It was soft and slithering, writhing through his chest like debilitating poison. “Because she was different too. She was tortured for it. She was killed for it.” Mithos faced Lloyd, hands clasped before him, near the hem of his coat. He smiled, but the smile was lifeless and cold. “I make sure that her suffering is never forgotten.”

Lloyd couldn’t make much sense of what Mithos was even saying—every word was pain in his ears. Every sentence made him want to wretch onto the carpet, made him want to tear and destroy everything and rip this entire church to the ground.

He must have fallen at some point. Because Mithos was soon kneeling over him, his eyes as dead as a corpse’s. “She shouldn’t be the only one to suffer. That just wouldn’t be fair, or just. And you, you’re all about justice, aren’t you?”

“I…I don’t…” Lloyd shook. His claws clutched at the carpet, ripping through the fabric.

A hand reached out, gripping him by the collar Colette had given him.

“But you made it into some twisted little game with her.”

Lloyd couldn’t breathe. Just like before. Just like when he had clutched so desperately at his swords, but they had slipped from his hands as a great paw pinned him to the dirt. He had tried to fight back. He had tried so much. But the sight of great teeth took everything from him, until he was lost to the sound of his bones breaking apart, of his own skin being torn through again and again and again and again—

Furious barking echoed throughout the chapel.

Lloyd could suddenly breathe again, and he could move, so he swiped at Mithos before he could even think. Claws caught onto fabric, and in Mithos’ face, he saw rage twisted beyond anything else. It grew fur and fangs, and a skull was reflected in the candlelight, that of the bear that had haunted him ever since. There was barking again, sharp and angry.

And then Mithos was no longer there.

Lloyd breathed hard, falling back to the floor. Soft footsteps padded up to him, a wet snout ruffling his hair. He opened his eyes, barely, to see green fur and big ears above him—and black eyes that had always been so anxious.

“...Noishe?” he whispered, unbelieving. But then darkness took him again, last seeing an old friend, standing before the statue of a stranger.

#tales of symphonia #halloween #lloyd irving #colette brunel #phaidra brunel #fanfiction #multichapter

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