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nevereclipse · 5 months ago

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father figure

Pairing: Platonic!Tim Bradford x femme!rookie!reader

Requested Y/N: no this came from my own brain !!

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Use of y/n, yelling (standard TO Bradford style), domestic violence from a police perspective, light verbal sexual harrassment, mentioned vomitting, mentioned anxiety/nervousness, panic attacks, referenced/discussed past child abuse (emotional, with vague mentions of physical). Tim being a big ole softie (eventually).

Words: 5k+

Summary: How you went from being Tim Bradfords boot, to his unofficial kid.

this one got away from me a lot and has not been proofread!😭 enjoy! feedback is fuel.

----

“Officer Y/l/n, you’re assigned to Sergeant Bradford.” Sergeant Grey was standing at the front of roll call, having just asked you to introduce yourself to your new coworkers. It was your first day as a rookie at Mid-Wilshire, and your stomach was alive with nerves.

“Yes, sir.” You responded, sitting back in your chair.

“Alright everyone, you’re dismissed,” Grey continued, “Stay safe out there.”

Immediately, Sergeant Bradford was out of his seat and walking towards you, his face stony. You’d been warned about him by a… Officer Chen? You couldn’t really remember her name. Still, she’d warned you about his ‘Tim Tests’ and gruff demeanour. It wasn’t helping your nerves.

“Boot! Let’s go.” Bradford snapped, gesturing you over with a flick of two fingers. You smoothed your uniform and walked over. You forced a smile onto your face, wanting to make a good impression.

“Sir, I’m-,” you started.

“Save it, boot.” Sergeant Bradford cut you off. “You will address me as only Bradford, Sergeant Bradford or Sir. Is that understood?”

You nodded, the nerves settling comfortably in your stomach. Bradford was clearly not planning to calm your worries. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go grab the warbags and meet me at the shop.” Bradford nodded his head vaguely in the direction of the supply room, and you hurried off to prepare the war bags. The last thing you needed was to make a bad impression on someone who was already making you nervous.

---

Tim watched you hurriedly walk to the war room to set up. As he watched you go, Angela Lopez approached.

“So, what do you think of the new blood?” Lopez asked, gesturing (albeit unnecessarily) behind you.

“Too soon to say.” Tim replied, crossing his arms as he turned to Angela.

“Come on, Bradford, you always know right away.” Angela pushed, nudging Tim’s side.

Tim couldn’t deny that. He had a knack for knowing whether someone would be a good fit for policework – it was why he was an excellent TO.

Still, he paused, considering. “She’s… eager.” He hedged. It was true, to a degree. You did seem eager. But he could tell there was something more bubbling under the surface.

“Uh huh.” Lopez grinned, “Don’t be a total dick today, yeah?”

Tim glanced over his shoulder just as you walked out of the storeroom carrying the war bags. “No promises.”

---

Office Chen had been right. Sergeant Bradford was extremely intimidating. You’d graduated third at the Academy, and you knew you were good (well, competent at least), but some part of you was still constantly second guessing. Maybe it was Bradford’s height and build, or his permanently pissed off energy but an hour into your shift and you were scared. Not of him (not really), but of what’d happen when you inevitably screwed up. You’d tried to chat initially, but it hadn’t gone down well.

“So. Why do you want to be a cop?” Bradford asked as he pulled off West Olympic.

After an hour of near-silence, since Bradford had firmly proclaimed that the shop was a personal-life-free zone, the question surprised you. “Is that a trick question?”

“No. If I’m going to train you, I need to know why you’re in this car.” Bradford didn’t even look at you as he drove, instead scanning the streets around you.

You looked out your window for a moment. It wasn’t exactly an easy question to answer. Not without revealing way more about yourself then you wanted to on your first shift. Then you wanted too ever, really. “Um.” You swallowed. “I know it’s… basic, but I want to help people.” You hedged. “People who don’t have anyone else to-.”

The shop screeched to a halt, and you were suddenly cut off by Bradford yelling: “I’VE BEEN SHOT! WHERE ARE YOU, BOOT?”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck- you didn’t know. “Um…” You looked around, trying desperately to find a street sign, or some clue as to where you were. After a few more seconds, you heard Bradford scoff.

“Now I’m dead. It’s your fault.” He didn’t even look mad. Just completed blank. That was almost more nerve racking.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” You started, hating the way your voice shook.

“Not good enough, Boot!” Tim’s voice was loud and sharp, cutting through the silence of the shop. “Apologies don’t save lives, rookie. Get out.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“I said get out and walk, boot. You can get back in when you know where you are.”

In that moment, you knew you’d ruined it. This had been your chance to be a cop, and less than two hours in, you’d already fucked it up. You got out of the shop, walking along side it. Hoping Bradford didn’t notice how your legs had shaken as you left. You wouldn’t let yourself be upset by this. Bradford was just doing his job, you were perfectly safe. From him, anyway.

Still, when you finally got back in the shop, you didn’t talk again. All your focus went towards scanning your surroundings.

---

Your legs had shaken when you got out of the car. It was subtle, but Tim had noticed it. Unbidden, a touch of guilt settled in his stomach. He honestly hadn’t meant to frighten you. It was just a Tim Test – he didn’t need (nor want) you to be scared. It was hardly conducive to training a good rookie.

What bothered him most, though, is your complete silence the rest of the day. You’d been annoying chatty the first twenty odd minutes of your shift (until Tim had, in traditional Bradford fashion, banned any sort of personal talk), but since getting back in the car, you’d stuck strictly to ‘yes, sir’s and ‘no, sir’s. It had been… unnerving.

Tim didn’t like changing his training style. After all, after half a dozen rookies, he liked to think that he’d perfected his TO methods. Everyone knew that he was an exceptional training officer. The only people he ever made exceptions for were veterans like him. But the thought of scaring you every time he yelled made his stomach drop in an unpleasant way. You’d been so eager when you’d first gotten in the shop – nervous, sure, but eager. And you were so, so young. You reminded him of himself in a way.

In the way you’d immediately changed he’d yelled, which even Tim could admit would’ve been… slightly scary. And that change had implications, ones Tim didn’t like. He especially didn’t like the implication of what that made him to you. A threat. So he’d never mention it, but he did quietly resolve to adjust – adjust, not change – the way he made sure you learnt what you needed too.

---

A few weeks into your training and Sergeant Bradford had significantly lowered on your rating of ‘scary people I know.’ While he was still harsh, and quick to criticise, he’d never shown you that cold, disappointment-infused yelling that he had on your first shift. It’d made it a lot easier for you to get comfortable around him, and you’d almost immediately started breaking the ‘no personal talk in the shop’ rule.

“Anyway, then she said that I was the one who needed to check my attitude. I mean can you believe that? Me? Having an attitude?” You said, watching your surroundings (you hadn’t forgotten your first Tim Test) as you rambled about some woman you’d run into grocery shopping.

At your comment, Bradford simply side-eyed you. He did that a lot, you were realising.

“Rude. That’s rude.” You said in response to the side eye. “It gets worse, though. She had the audacity-.”

Bradford held up a hand, cutting you off. “Boot.”

You turned, “Yes, sir?”

“Stop. Talking.”

You shut your mouth, but that was mostly to hold back a slight laugh. Bradfords hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, but they weren’t white like they were when you really needed to shut up. (You’d always been observant.)

“But this is the best part of the story.” You pressed.

“Boot, I swear to god-.” Before Bradford could issue whatever threat, he planned too, someone’s voice crackled over the radio.

“7-Adam-100, we have a domestic call at 4195 Clover Drive. Neighbours reported shouting.”

Tim’s face hardened. He glanced briefly at you, and you knew, even without a mirror, that your face had paled a shade. You’d been lucky so far to not have to deal with any DV calls. Guess that luck was over.

“7-Adam-100, show us responding, Code 6.”

Tim floored the breaks a little harder than he objectively needed too.

You could hear the yelling as soon as you pulled into Clover Drive. It was distinctly male, the words harsh and clear, and coming from a house halfway down the street.

It was an effort to clear your head.

“What’s the procedure for a domestic call, boot?” Asked Bradford as you switched off your sirens and approached the house.

You swallowed, “Um. Get inside the house to assess any damage. Separate the assumed predominant aggressor from the presumed victim or any children if possible. If there doesn’t appear to be violence, there isn’t much we can do, though.”

Bradford nodded tightly. “Good. I’ll take lead on this one.”

“Yes, sir.”

You knocked on the front door as Bradford called out, alerting the occupants to the polices presence. The yelling stopped immediately.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Asked a man, probably in his forties. You and Bradford pushed your way into the house as you spoke with him. There was water spilt across the countertop, and a girl in her early teens standing in the kitchen. Her face was tear-streaked, but she appeared unharmed.

“We got reports of yelling from this area, sir.” Came Bradford’s voice from behind you. Your head was starting to spin as memories flooded back to you: late nights, angry words, the occasional smashed plate. Or worse.

You didn’t hear what the man (you assumed he was the girl father) said in response. The teen was watching you and Tim with wide eyes, shaking her head. She rubbed her wrist absentmindedly, and if you weren’t so stuck in your own head, you would’ve thought to ask to see if she was injured. You turned to her father and vaguely registered that he was wearing a wife beater under his button up. Ironic.

“Let’s go, boot.” Bradford snapped, beckoning you over. His jaw was set, and he obviously didn’t believe whatever the man had said. Your head felt like it was underwater as you walked out of the house, and your stomach turned. Memories flooded your head.

Bradford was grumbling under his breath, something about hating the laws around DV in California, when he noticed you stumble towards the bushes outlining the road.

“You good, boot?” He asked, frowning something.

You nodded frantically, “Mmhm… fine, si-.” The ‘sir’ was cut off by the sound of you throwing up in the bushes. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so nothing really came out, but still you dry heaved, clutching your stomach.

“Shit, Y/l/n, are you okay?” Instantly, Tim was at your side, one hand on your back. You nodded vaguely, gesturing for a drink of water. He almost ran to get it. When you could finally breathe, and had swallowed nearly half a litre of water, he asked,

“Jesus, boot, what the hell was that?”

“I’m fine.” You insisted, not wanting to get into some conversation about your past: Bradford wasn’t the understanding type. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Like hell it’s not.” Bradford snapped, guiding you back to the shop. His words were harsh, but his touch gentle. A strange combination, but one that left you feeling comforted. “Listen, boot, if you’ve got something that’s going to make you react to scenes like that, I need to know. Now.”

You shook your head frantically, refusing to open up. As much as you were starting to trust Bradford, you weren’t ready to give him that information. Not when he was the age he was, the build he was, holding so much authority over you

“It’s fine, sir. I swear. It won’t happen again.” You repeated, and you meant it. It wouldn’t happen again.

Tim surveyed you for a moment, watching the guarded expression in your eyes. It was one he recognised, having seen it in his reflection countless times after teachers asked about a suspicious bruise. It was for that reason he relented, though he fully intended to bring it up again. “Fine. But if have something you need to tell me… you can, kid.”

“Yes, sir.”

---

More time passed, and even though you still refused to open about your childhood to Tim (how do you even have that conversation?), you were starting to rely on him.

It was inevitable, you supposed. Unrequited, but inevitable. After all, he was in his mid-forties, an authority figure, admittedly a bit of a dick, but you were gradually (ever so gradually) starting to see a slightly gentler side of him. So of course you looked up to him. You had daddy issues, okay?

It wasn’t a crush. You knew that for sure. You’d half expected it to be, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a healthy dose of admiration, paired with a slightly-less-healthy dose of please god be proud of me. But that was fine. It was entirely reasonable given he was your TO. You hoped.

---

“You’re under arrest for attempted grand theft auto and possession of illicit substances,” you said, hooking handcuffs around some criminal’s wrists. He’d been a pain in the ass to catch, and you could already feel a bruise blooming across your jaw from his escape attempts. Bradford had, predictably, been unhelpful in the arrest, instead opting to analyse your fighting technique as you’d taken the crook down. He’d even cracked a rare ‘good job’ smile as you’d put the cuffs on.

You pushed the perp against your shop, already halfway through the Miranda Rights: “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?”

The thief mumbled slightly, and you nodded to Tim to take him off your hands. The second your hands were off him, however, he started complaining. Loudly.

“Aw, come on man. If you’re gonna arrest me, at least let the lady cop throw me ‘round.” He said, looking over his shoulder to grin at you. You scrunched your nose. It wasn’t the first time a suspect had hit on you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Nothin’? Dude, you gotta… I ain’t going to jail without gettin’ to feel some sweet lady cop ti-! Ow! The hell was that for?”

Tim scowled, hitting the suspect over the back of the head a second time for good measure (or something). “Get your eyes off Officer Y/l/n. You’re not fit to look at her.” He shoved the perp into your shop, rougher than was strictly necessary, and you couldn’t help the slight smile that crept onto your face.

“Really?” You asked, slipping into the shop’s passenger seat.

“What? You got a problem, boot?” Tim said, his voice flat. You just chuckled and shook your head.

“No problem, sir.”

---

The silence in the shop was unbearable. It was almost lunch, and you’d scarcely said a word all day. You were preoccupied replaying your conversation with your parents from the night before over and over in your head, trying to figure out how them coming over for dinner had dissolved into fighting so quickly.

“You good, boot?” Tim asked after a particularly long stretch of quiet. “Usually I can’t get you to shut up, but you’ve barely said a word today.”

You nodded quickly, forcing yourself to focus. “I’m fine, sir. Sorry. Just tired. Besides, not personal talk in the shop, right?”

“When have you ever followed that rule? You sure you’re good, boot? Because if something’s going on that’ll affect your performance, I need to know.”

“Nothing’s going on. Sir.” You knew the words sounded thin, but what were you going to do? Complain about your parents?

Tim glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Uh-huh. In that case, what colour was the Lexus we just passed?”

Shit. You hadn’t been paying attention to your surroundings, too lost in your own thoughts. “Uh… silver?”

Another side eye, this one harsher than the last. “There was no Lexus. It was a Camry. And for the record, boot, it was blue.”

“I…” You didn’t really have a defence.

“Seriously, kid. What is going on?”

“Nothing.” You said, and you had to admit, you sounded like a kid. “I just. Had my parents over last night, and it didn’t… go great.”

Instantly, Tim was on edge. He wasn’t proud of the reaction, of the way his stomach instinctively dropped. He knew, he knew, that his version of ‘it didn’t go great’ with family wasn’t the same as most people’s. But this was you. You who’d thrown up at your first DV call, even without any violence. You who’d completely shut down after being yelled at.

Which is why he couldn’t help the immediate questions if: “Are you hurt?”

You tensed. Why would he ask that? “No,” you replied, “I’m not hurt.” It was true, technically. You hadn’t been hit since you were fifteen. And even then, it’d been rare.

Tim’s eyes flicked over you, trying to find a lie. “What happened?” He asked, and his voice had a weird gentleness that made you feel... strange.

You swallowed. Shrugged. “My parents came over for dinner. I did something, I don’t really know what, ‘n pissed my father off.” Your explanation was purposeful vague, but you could help but add: “He broke my favourite mug, which really pissed me off. It’s my apartment, you know? He’s not supposed to be able to break my shit anymore.” A long pause, your father’s furious insults running through your head. “He didn’t like it when I told him that.”

Tim nodded slightly, knowing exactly what you were suggesting. “He insult you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Despite your cool delivery, the words stung. You looked away, out the window, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You didn’t like talking about this, especially not with Tim. Just because you viewed him as... something, didn’t mean he thought of you ask anything more than a rookie he had to train. A burden.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Tim said, assessing you carefully. “I know what that feels like.”

“You do?” You looked at Tim, curious, and instantly regretted it. The tears welling in your eyes were all too obvious now.

“Yeah. My dad was like that too. I got slapped around my fair share.” Tim’s words were clipped. He clearly also wasn’t fond of talking about his childhood.

“Oh.” What else could you say?

“Listen, boot. I know it’s rough. And you don’t deserve it. But you’re not whatever he says you are, okay?”

You sniffled, hastily wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

Tim nodded tersely. “Good.” There was a small moment, where Tim placed a hand on your shoulder, and you felt like things might actually be okay. Like you might actually have someone. Then, “Come on, boot. We’ve got six hours of shift left. You gonna focus now?”

---

Tim kept an eye on you the rest of the day. He’d known there was a bit of him in you, but the parallels between your childhoods made his heart crack.

He could see the countless untold stories behind your eyes, ones he’d undoubtedly heard before. And the way you’d tensed when he asked if you were hurt... you hadn’t been hit last night, but you had been before.

He really had tried to not get attached.

And look. He knew you looked up to him. He’d seen the way you preened at praise, the shaky look over to him after making a decision, waiting for his nod of approval, regardless of how confident you were in the decision. He’d tried not to encourage it – limiting praise, refusing to approve your decisions unless you did first. It wasn’t good for a rookie to get that attached to their TO, not when they were only partners for a year. It was especially not good for them to view them as some sort of parental figure. More importantly, Tim Bradford didn’t get attached to his boots.

But goddammit it. The look in your eyes when he’d told you about his dad? It made him abandon all the principles he thought he held so strongly. He’d always wanted a kid, after all.

---

“Does anyone know what day it is today?” Sergeant Grey asked from the front of the roll call room.

You groaned internally. Of course he had to announce it to the whole it room.

A few rows behind you, Officer Chen perked up, grinning, you were sure, at Bradford.

“The day Officer Y/l/n takes her six month exam.” She said.

Cheers and whistles filled the room and you almost buried your head in your hands.

“Boot!” Tim called out. You turned to look at him. “I’ll take it as a personal insult if you don’t get more than a 93 on this exam.”

Great. Like you weren’t stressed enough about the exam already. “Yes, sir.”

As Grey tried to calm the room down, you swallowed, focusing on calming your breathing. You knew what you were doing. You just had to not disappoint Tim. Not forget everything. Not be a total fucking failure.

No pressure, right?

---

Three days later, and you were back in roll call. Grey had written three numbers on the white board. An 84. A 91. And a 95. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the 91 and the 84. Of course you’d failed. Of course. Why hadn’t you worked harder? You’d been a straight A student in high school, and university, why was this different?

“Can anyone guess which of these belongs to Officer Y/l/n?” Grey asked the room. Various answers were shouted out, most leaning towards the 95, until Grey cut them off and said: “The 91. Good work, Officer.”

You could only nod, your head already pounding. You’d failed. Not really, not truly, but enough. And Tim. What would he do?

You didn’t notice everyone leave the room. Didn’t notice Tim approach you, not until he was practically having to shout in your face.

“Boot? Boot! Y/l/n!” The sound of your name, paired with Tim waving a hand in your face, snapped you back to reality.

“Yes, sir?” Your voice had an almost unnoticeable tension to it. A shake. Please, please don’t be mad.

“Let’s go, boot. Why aren’t you getting the war bags?” Tim asked, completely ignoring your test results.

Completely ignoring your test results? What? Why wasn’t he yelling, reaming you out for disappointing him? He’d been very clear with his expectations and he’d never been one to let you down gently if you did something wrong.

“Sir?” You asked, confused.

“What is it, boot?” Tim asked, exasperated. You should’ve been on the road by now. Wait, where you okay...? Your eyes were wide. Almost afraid.

“Why aren’t you mad?”

“What? Why would I be mad-..? Oh.” Tim looked down at you, his face softening as he recalled what he’d said before your test. What you’d told him about your past. “About your test? No, kid, I’m not mad. I was screwing with you when I said you needed to get a 93. A 91 is an excellent result, boot “

“Oh.” You said quietly, looking away sheepishly. Of course he wasn’t mad. This was Tim.

Tim looked at you like you were an idiot, but somehow, you didn’t feel stupid or insulted. “Yeah, oh. You’re not a disappointment, kid. Not to me. Now hurry up and get the war bags sorted.” Tim clapped you on the shoulder as he sent you on your way, and you couldn’t help but think that this was what a father was supposed to be like.

---

“Red or black?” You asked Tim during one shift a month or so later. It was a random question, but you wanted his opinion.

Tim glanced at you. “As concepts, or…?”

“As dress colours.” You elaborated, before hesitantly adding, “I have a date.”

The shop skidded to a stop. “Woah, woah. You have a date? When? With who?” Tim was turning instantly, all his attention on you.

You bit back a laugh. “Tonight. With a boy. Jacob. And I don’t know what to wear.”

Tim frowned. “Where did you meet this ‘Jacob?’” He couldn’t help the protective instinct. The last time one of his rookies went on a date, she got kidnapped. And you weren’t Lucy (he wasn’t in love with you) but he did… care.

“At a bookshop. Calm your farm, Bradford. It’s one date. You really pulling the protective dad card right now?” You smirked, watching the slight red colour Tim’s face.

“I- no. I’m not pulling a card, boot. I’m just… curious.” Tim spluttered, not wanting to admit that he was definitely acting like a protective dad.

“Uh huh. He’s a good guy, Sarge. He’s funny, and sweet, and I actually like him.” You said, as if the concept of actually liking a guy was foreign. It had admittedly been a while since you went on a date. “So, red or black?” You repeated, crossing your arms. Your cheeks were the tiniest bit pink.

Tim glared from the corner of his eye. “Black.”

“Thank you.”

In signature Bradford fashion, Tim huffed and simply said, “For the record, I still don’t like this whole ‘date’ thing, boot.”

---

The date was a success. So much of a success, in fact, that three dates later, Jacob came to pick you up after work the next day. It was adorable, and he showed up with fresh flowers and a planned date, and it would’ve been perfect, if you hadn’t been leaving the station with Officer Bradford.

The same Bradford who’d been demanding more information about “this Jacob person” ever since you’d first mentioned a date.

So, while you were excited about the date, you weren’t thrilled at seeing Jacob stand in front of you, levelled by one of Tim’s many practiced glares.

“Who are you?” Tim asked, crossing his arms. He knew exactly who he was.

“I’m Jacob…?” Your boyfriend said hesitantly, trying to figure out why the man in front of him was staring at him so intimidatingly.

You winced and jumped in quickly. “Jake, this is Tim. My TO?”

Recognition clicked quickly in Jacob’s eyes. He instantly stuck out a hand to Tim, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Uh huh.” Tim raked his eyes over Jacobs outstretched hand, but didn’t shake it. “You got a last name, Jacob?”

“Anderson.” Jacob supplied immediately, lips twitching faintly in amusement.

“What do you do, Anderson? If you say screenwriter, you’re going in a cell.”

Jacob chuckled. “I’m a teacher, sir.” Tim didn’t look impressed, but he didn’t look totally disgusted either. Which, to you, was a win.

“Is this the part where you tell me not to hurt Y/n?” Jacob asked with a barely contained grin.

Tim glowered. “Yes. In fact, consider this your one and only warning. Hurt her, and I’ll find a way to make you spend the rest of your life in a cell.” Tim crossed his arms over his chest, and God you were glad he’d never given you that look before.

Pitying your partner, you jumped in and placed yourself between the two most important men in your life. “Oookay, Bradford, chill. We’re going to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, sir?”

“Uh-huh. See you tomorrow, Boot.” Tim’s words came out tense, and he didn’t take his eyes off you until you were well out of the carpark.

---

The day had arrived. You’d officially been a police officer for an entire year. You weren’t a rookie anymore.

It was everything you’d dreamed of it being.

“Finally, congratulations to Officer Y/l/n for completing the FTO program and surviving her rookie year. Welcome, officially, to the team, Y/l/n.” Grey walked over to you, shaking your hand proudly. “Good work, kid.”

“Thank you, sir.” You beamed, returning the handshake. Grey dismissed the rest of roll call, and you walked out of the room. You could barely make it a few steps without someone grabbing you, hugging you or congratulating you in some way. You’d never been happier.

You reached the edge of the room and were met with Sergeant Bradford, a rare smile on his face.

“Congratulations, Y/l/n.” He said, reaching out a hand.

“Don’t even try.” You said, knocking his hand out of the way and pulling him into a hug. It was unprofessional, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. Aside from your boyfriend, Tim had managed to become one of the most important people in your life over the past year.

Tim froze for a moment, but gently returned the hug, patting your back a couple times. You thought you heard Harper snicker from across the room. You definitely heard Lucy say the word ‘Dadford.’ She wasn’t… entirely wrong. You had found a father in Tim. Maybe one day he’d even admit it – in actual words, not just actions. You still laughed every time you thought about his interrogation of Jacob when they’d first met.

You pulled back and only then did you shake Tim’s hand. “Thank you, sir. For everything.”

Tim nodded, the smile lines by his eyes crinkling. “You’re welcome… Y/n. I’m proud of you, kid.”

You smiled softly and forced yourself to only say, “Have a good shift… Tim,” before hurrying away. But as you got into your shop (your shop, for the first time), you didn’t stop a few happy tears from falling.

---

You were nervous. It was your second time riding with Tim since graduating the FTO program and you were nervous. It had nothing to do with riding with Tim, however, and everything to do with what you were going to ask him.

“Tim?” You asked, hesitant.

“Yeah, Y/l/n?”

“I have to tell you something.” You fiddled with your left hand nervously, already missing the weight on your finger.

Instantly, Tim was softening and frowning, “Are you okay, kid?”

“Yes! Yeah, I’m okay.” This time you actually meant it. “I have news, though.”

“Oh?” Tim turned to you for a second, before looking back at the road. “What is it?”

You swallowed, and then, “Jacob asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

Tim had finally come around to Jacob a few months ago. Little did you know, but Jacob had actually asked Tim’s permission before proposing. You’d told him once about how you wished you had a father that you still spoke to, just for that reason. Jacob had known Tim was the next best thing.

Tim smiled widely, “Congratulations, Y/n. I’ll be expecting an invite to the wedding.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that.” This was where the nervousness was coming in. You were pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach had reached your lungs too.

“What is it?” Tim tilted his head slightly.

“Will you walk me down the aisle?” Tim froze, shocked. You quickly rambled on, as you so often did when nervous, “You don’t have to, I just-.. I don’t talk to my bio dad, and you’re the closest thing I have to a father, and it would mean a lot to me, and-.”

“Relax, Y/l/n,” Tim cut you off with a smile. “I would be honoured to walk you down the aisle.”

The smile on your face then was the third biggest you’d ever smiled. The first had been when you’d graduated the FTO program, and the second when Jacob had proposed. But this… this was an entirely different feeling. This was the feeling of your whole life, finally working out. You had a career, a fiancé, and now, a father. A real one, who never insulted you or made you feel worthless.

What more could you ask for?

fin

!! DO NOT REPUBLISH OR FEED TO AI !!

#never rambles #tim bradford #the rookie #rookieposting #tim bradford x reader #lucy chen #angela lopez #nyla harper #wade gray #tim bradford x daughter!reader #platonic tim bradford x reader #never writes

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lvrclerc · 1 month ago

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✶ WATCH ME PARTY ON YOU

summary: post-race parties usually don't come with invitations, but this one does. you understand why when you see lando norris, your ex, mixing on a rooftop in monaco.

F1 MASTERLIST | LN4 MASTERLIST

pairing: lando norris x ex!f!reader

wc: 1.5K

cw: alcohol, many many the great gatsby references because party 4 u is just so tgg coded, exes to ???, reader is bisexual because i'm bisexual and i'm the writer, complicated relationship, not proofread.

note: requested here! i decided that writer's block wouldn't get me and that no matter how much i hated it i wouldn't delete a word once it's on the page, enjoy this one sitting madness <3

THE INVITATION HAD come gold-lettered, and your name nowhere to be seen on the expensive, grainy material of the paper. You had laughed in Kika’s face, because no one ever came to post-Grand Prix parties with invitations— you knew someone who knew someone who knew a friend of the person who was invited, and it was proof enough. The brunette shrugged, muttering something about a special occasion as she gently sweeped the bristles of her highlighter brush on your cheekbone.

Monaco is small when you’re someone, which is why every face on the rooftop is familiar. You leave lipstick stains on darkening blush as acknowledgement even if first names escaped you, and welcomed the cool droplets of those who dipped in the pool for celebration against your burning skin. The music throbbed low and intimate: lights were dark purple swirling with the dangerous golden hem of your dress, your body pulled flush against Kika’s. There was something about the way the beat looped, syrupy and sticking to your collarbones in its sweetness, that turned the atmosphere heavy with secrecy.

The tongue of the girl you kissed tasted like vodka and cranberry juice, and the perfume of the man with his hand on your hips smelled of endless car rides from one country to another. They both ended up talking about the earlier Grand Prix, the words getting lost to you in the heat of the first hours of morning. Kika had told you about the winner, which you promptly forgot about— she looked at you with barely contained pity when you answered you no longer tracked the fingerprints staining the trophies.

“The music’s good!” the girl comments. You nod through the lemony haze of your cocktail— it was good. Familiar, even, and your eyes turn to the booth at the very end of the rooftop, where the sky brushes the railing with modest curiosity.

The name Kika had uttered between layers of sounds crashed onto you.

He’s up on a platform, one headphone half-on and his shirt half-opened in a similar fashion, exposing the slick of his tan skin under the Monaco air. His curls are longer, grazing the back of his neck the way you used to. The sickeningly saccharine liqueur that is melancholy sobers you right up: Lando Norris was not supposed to be good at this—the mixing thing he picked up after too many nights post-race with too much adrenaline and too little sleep—but somehow he is. Of course he is.

Lando excelled at everything he set his mind to. Yet, when it came to you, to the quiet maintenance of love and all the small, thankless instances that came with it, he faltered.

You weren’t built for waiting. Patience was a language you never learned; the world had never asked you to slow down, so you never did. Life moved with you— not the other way around. When Lando didn’t show up the way you needed, you didn’t wait for him to catch up.

You left before he even had the chance to prove if he ever would.

The tangled mess of bodies dancing together under harsh brush strokes of lights stills for the half of a second, and memories come flooding back in the dull brown of strangers in train windows. As the beat lags, imperceptibly, and the pads of his fingers you imagine must still feel as rough as his steering wheel hovers over the board, you still knew him well enough to deduce he saw you too.

The crowd is champagne-colored when you go back dancing but your heart is already heavy with a hangover when your feet find the tempo. Lando’s eyes, as he navigates through the music for the night, glides over you like water when you drop in people’s arms, laughing and singing, one after the other. You didn’t enjoy it one bit— not because it was unwanted, but because the knowledge of his presence made you all too aware of the debauchery you’ve been indulging in ever since you left. The outside perception of your humanity was not something you liked to be reminded of.

Tracks after tracks, you dance for Lando to watch, and you can’t remember if it was tears or tongues that wiped the specks of glitters on your cheek.

The party doesn’t end in a cathartic split. It bleeds out, like so many other things.

Bit by bit, the bodies disperse. Laughter thins into whispers, lost to the humidity and the inevitable promise of tomorrow. The last bottles sweat themselves warm on sticky countertops, cadavers-shaped confettis floated in the pool, the shades of light going from enamel to watercolor, and somewhere below, Monaco exhales— restless and bright.

You lost sight of Kika hours ago, you realize as your bare feet plunged into the water. You find yourself alone again. Not in the literal sense— there are still a few limbs flung on velvet couches, a couple kissing like the night will never end. You wished it did, so you wouldn’t have to find yourself in your own company.

Behind you, the music switches to something treacly, ripping open parcels of your heart without much thought about the consequences on the feeble hold you had on it. The melody trickles down your spine. The first lyrics escape your lips like a well-oiled, forgotten jukebox.

You don’t look to see whose feet dips in the water next to yours. “That’s a nice song choice,” you comment instead, eyes locked on the dark water below. The melody spills like honey into the quiet. You remember swaying to it in the kitchen light, tucked comfortably in the warmth of his arm, the rare times he allowed you to settle between the shards of his self-doubt. He held you at the base of your spine like it was the only place he could linger without trembling.

The notes had never felt more intimate as they do now.

“Thought you might like it,” Lando answers, and the only bite behind it is the unforgivingness of the cool evening air on your bare shoulders.

The silence stretches for a minute longer than it should, dense. The last stragglers had stumbled awkwardly to the exit before the Brit spoke up again, the melody of the song echoing between each syllable. “I play it at the end of each after party,” he says, barely above a whisper, shifting. “In case you’d drop by.”

“You sent the invite.” It’s not a question.

Lando nod. “Kika told me you’d be in Monaco.” He breathes in, sitting a little straighter next to you. “I just… I wanted to know if that's what it would take.”

“You could have just asked.”

“I didn’t think you’d come if I did,” he says. It’s almost sheepish, as if he was the one declining your own party. He put you on a pedestal deserving of a marble idol— you were just another woman with neons in her bones, with the necessity to crack a little in order to shine. Nothing like who he pictured when he kissed you.

Which is why you replied, “Me neither.” Then, after a beat. “But I’m here, so now what?”

That undoes him a little, you can hear it in the hand he runs in his hair.

Lando draws a breath, pursuing something that already slipped past the fragile skin of his lips. “We could try again,” he offers, voice brittle with something desperate. “We could go back to what we were before, you and me. Before it all fell apart.”

You let yourself savor the possibility— but that’s what it was: a suggestion. You could play pretend at being a different person than you were back then, and Lando could too, but the truth was that you were still the same people who couldn’t push the thorny edges of their own minds to love each other properly. The city below sparkles, but the rooftop is dim, quiet.

“We can’t repeat the past, Lando.”

He turns to you fully then. You can finally catch the dark rim lining his lower lashes, and the flicker of something wide-eyed in his gaze. The want inside of them blurred into a child-like naiveness, which you could only compare to a boy staring through a looking glass and hoping to find the answers he seeked. “Why not?” he asks. “It was good, wasn’t it? While it lasted?”

The last rooftop light flickers behind you. Once, twice, and dies. A final green blink before you’re swallowed in darkness. The music stopped a few minutes ago, the only familiar rhythm now the aching pace of Lando’s breathing.

You don’t answer. You choose to kiss him instead, and it grounds you. His mouth is familiar, yet salted with nostalgia and softened by regret. His tongue slips in your mouth to swallow your secrets, his fingers wipe the black stains running down your cheeks following the map he traced so long ago. You finally feel real again.

The rooftop stays dark and the city spins on. Here, in the quiet wreckage of a night that once belonged to the both of you, you kiss him as acknowledgement that the past did happen. As a testimony that, in this moment, it was still yours to hold.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

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noirscript · 1 year ago

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silent servitude

WARNING/S! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. YANDERE. noncon; breeding; powerplay; biting; slightly descriptive sex scenes; f!reader

Sequel: In The Lion's Keep

One must abide by His Majesty's every rule.

It was a phrase you often hear from other servants in the castle from the moment you joined them as your mother's apprentice. A phrase that helped them survive the dog-eat-dog world inside the palace walls.

“You're not expected to excel in your work, but do not even think about failing the task given to you.” Your mother grabbed your shoulders with a squeeze. “Do you understand, my child?”

You nodded your head as you tightened your grip on your skirt. “Yes, mother.”

She lightly tap your cheek before placing a lasting kiss on your forehead. “Go on, dear. I will see you before sunset.”

You looked around your surroundings before hesitantly nodding. For some reason, you can't seem to ignore what you've been feeling from the moment you entered the servant's gate. As if someone's watching your every move.

The path inside the dark tunnel was short, but for you, the time seemed to slow down. Your feet felt heavy to take one step forward after another. Like it was keeping you from going any further.

“You've arrived,” a middle-aged woman spoke while standing in the midst of the desolate area, few steps from where you came from. “Follow me.”

You scanned your surroundings, a poor attempt in remembering the path where you came from. However, the more you walk further and further away from the path that leads to your mother, the more you could sense something ominous was about to occur.

“Are you listening?”

You bowed your head and apologized.

“Stand tall and look at me,” she ordered. “In this castle, you must keep your eyes and ears open at all times. Do not even try to let your mind wander elsewhere. If you don’t want to suffer any consequences.”

Your body shook. You tried to speak, but your voice broke. However, when you nodded your head in desperation, the woman simply turn around and started to list down the rules within that castle.

“Do you even know why you're here?”

“T-To train to become my m-mother's replacement...”

The woman sneered. “If that'll help you sleep at night.”

After giving you a tour around an area that only a handful of servants can access, she led you towards a gated path that lead towards a small chateau in the middle of a small open field inside the castle walls.

The chateau, albeit small compared to the colossal main palace, was still bigger than your home. You also noticed the crawling vines on its walls, and as well as its tinted windows that kept its interior hidden from prying eyes.

“You will keep this place in order. You may not ask for anyone's help. You will only work here alone. Your food will be provided by one of the servants, but do not let anyone else inside the chateau.”

“But my lady...”

“That is all you need to know.” She looked down at your stature before clicking her tongue. “Stupid commoners.”

With that, she left you on your own.

THINKING BACK, you should've realized the message behind her poisonous words. Nobody would think that it is normal for a servant to clean an entire chateau within the day all by themselves.

That doing such chore might result to an inevitable mishaps that forces one to change their attire. Something that might force them to take every piece of clothing from themselves.

“Y-Your Majesty, please forgive this commoner from—” you felt one of his large, calloused hand caressing your face while the other hand pulled you closer to his bare body.

“Kept that mouth shut before I do it myself,” he whispered against your cheek before slightly biting it. “Who would've thought that this would be an easy chase?”

Callix, the reigning monarch, is known for his compassion towards the commoners. Some people would even see him interact with the lowest of the poor during their darkest moment, providing them hope and warmth.

But as you writhe beneath him, allowing him to touch every inch of your body as he please, made you doubt everything you heard about him.

After savoring your heat, he aligned his thick member against your quim. Callix grabbed you by your cheeks and forced you to meet his gaze.

“Please...” you pleaded, but he only swallowed all your pleas and cries as he penetrated your tight walls.

When your first intercourse with him ended almost immediately, you believed that he would let you go. That he would order you leave and never show yourself in front of him.

But after resting his head against the crook of your neck, he suddenly grabbed your ankles and pushing it apart.

You could feel his cum gush out of your quim, but Callix was far from satisfied.

That night alone, he ravished your body until the morning sun has risen.

When you woke up, you felt the coldness of the heavy iron wrapped around your ankles.

“You're awake,” you heard his voice from somewhere in the room. “I have some news for you. So, open your eyes.”

You tried to open your eyes, but for some reason, your eyelids felt heavy.

“Are you disobeying my orders?” he asked while gritting his teeth.

“Open your eyes!” he demanded as he grab your cheeks tightly.

You tried your best to open at least one of your eyes and look at him.

“There's my queen's beautiful eyes.” You could feel his hands all over your body as he leave kissing against your face. “Can you hear me, my queen?”

“M’not... queen...”

He chuckled before yanking your hair back, exposing your neck to him.

“You dare oppose me, hm?” he asked as he harshly nip your neck. “Are you forgetting who I am, my queen?”

How you wish you could simply forget who he is.

Quick note: This might be the start of some series. Let me know your thoughts :)

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere blog #yancore #yandere king #yandere royalty #dead dove do not eat #tw.noncon #tw.dark content #tw.breeding #tw.yandere #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #smut #yandere male

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dreamersparacosm · 3 months ago

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under the checkered flag - epilogue blurb 2!

prompt ; in which sunday’s are your favorite day.

warnings ; tooth aching fluff. that’s all. watch out for cavities yall xoxo

request ; linked here

part of under the checkered flag universe

There’s some song written about days like these with your boyfriend. Something about Sunday mornings, something about them being all you need.

It’s like it always is with you and Jungkook—a soft, slow Sunday morning where he isn’t subject to interviews, training, or anything that requires him to take his time away from you. You savor these moments, them being far and few between. You’ve adjusted to it in the long time you two have been together, and now find solace in the peace of your home, in the moments away from the races and Excel sheets.

And it would be all beautiful and dandy and sunshine and rainbows on this particular morning, however, when your hands outstretch, shaking the sleep from your body, feel the sheets next to you, you realize it’s empty. Jungkook’s warmth is gone.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you shuffle into your slippers, wrap the wool blanket around you that his mother had gotten for you, and make your way to the living area of your home.

The smell of buttered toast and sizzling sausage wafts into your nostrils as you shuffle through the house. It’s warm, inviting, a scent wrapped in comfort.

And to no one’s surprise, you find the origin of the scent standing in the kitchen.

Jeon Jungkook, in all his sleepy, early-morning glory. Hair still a little messy, a loose t-shirt hanging from his frame, his silver chain glinting under the soft kitchen lights as he stands by the stove, spatula in hand.

You blink slowly, dreamily, adjusting your eyes to the light as you lean against the doorway.

“You’re up early,” You yawn, voice still thick with sleep.

Jungkook turns at the sound, a grin immediately spreading across his face at the sight of you.

“Morning, baby,” He hums, reaching for you instantly, tugging you toward him with ease. You let him, stepping into his warmth, arms looping lazily around his waist as you press your cheek against his back.

“You’re making breakfast?” You mumble, peeking at the pan of perfectly cooked eggs, golden and fluffy.

Jungkook chuckles, one hand still flipping the eggs while the other sneaks down to squeeze your fingers. “Your favorite,” he confirms.

Your heart swells, the simple gesture so unbearably sweet, so him. He has yet to fail you in the sweetest boyfriend competition.

But then, as another yawn escapes you, a thought hits.

“It’s too early for this,” You whine softly, nuzzling into his back.

Jungkook laughs again, light and warm, but before he can reply, you’re already fighting him. “Come back to bed,” You sigh, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his shoulder.

“Tempting,” He drawls, reaching for some seasonings in the cupboard. You grin against his skin, fingers tracing lazy shapes against his waist.

“I just wanna cuddle,” You say, not quite a lie, but also not the whole truth. You also want to drift back off to sleep, something you do best when you hear his heartbeat pounding away underneath your ear.

Jungkook hums, turning the stove off before spinning to face you. “That’s all you want, huh?”

You blink up at him, playing innocent. “Mhmm.”

His grin deepens, and he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Eat first,” he says, lips still grazing your skin. “Then I’m all yours.”

There is a warmth pooling through the windows as you and Jungkook settle onto the living room couch, plates in hand, breakfast steaming between you. There’s something so domestic about it, something you never thought you would have with someone like him. Maybe it’s the way he sits beside you, thigh pressed against yours, comfortably close as he digs into the food he made for you both. Or, the way he occasionally reaches over, stealing bites from your plate despite having the exact same meal on his own. It’s these small moments that make your heart ache in the best way, the kind of love that settles in, familiar and steady.

“So,” Jungkook starts, nudging your knee with his. There’s a quiet hum of the TV in the background, playing some weekend morning show neither of you are really watching. “What’s the plan for today?”

You chew thoughtfully, taking a sip of your coffee before answering.

“Well,” you begin, shifting slightly to face him. “We need to pick out a gift for my coworker’s baby shower next weekend.”

Jungkook’s brows lift instantly, eyes flickering with sudden interest. “Oh, right. When is that again?”

“Sunday afternoon,” you reply, setting your plate down on the coffee table. “We should probably get something soon. We’ve gotta outdo Jisoo, she said her budget for this was her whole paycheck.”

“What do we get her?” He muses, shoveling another bite of eggs into his mouth before glancing at you. There’s excitement creeping into his features like he’s a kid in a candy store. “Like, a stroller? Cute baby clothes? Oh! What about one of those little stuffed animal things? You know, the ones with the big heads and tiny bodies? Jellycats?”

“I think she’d love that,” you say, unable to hide your smile. “You’re really into this, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs, grinning through a mouthful of food. “Babies are cool.”

It’s subtle, but undeniable. You had never really thought of it, never let yourself dream. It wasn’t because you couldn’t have it, you knew that much. In fact, there was a small part of your brain, tucked deep within your subconscious, that hoped and prayed it would be Jungkook at the end of all this.

Of course he’s like this. Of course he’d be good with kids, thoughtful and compassionate.

You picture it before you can stop yourself: the way he’d probably be the most hands-on dad, the way he’d play with his kids, spoil them rotten, make them laugh until their little bellies hurt.

Deep down, you picture them with him. With his eyes that resemble boba pearls, his ridiculous bunny-toothed smile, his heart.

You don’t hate it. You actually want it so bad it scares you to death when you think of the possibility that it could not happen. But you shake that thought away before it can fully settle.

“Earth to [Y/N]?” Jungkook’s voice pulls you back, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Where’d you just go?”

“Nowhere,” You lie, reaching for your coffee again.

Jungkook narrows his eyes, clearly not buying it, but to your luck, he lets it go, smirking as he nudges your thigh again.

“Okay, space cadet,” he teases. “Then we need to make a choice. I’m all in on the Jellycat.”

You’re laughing again, warmth spreading through your chest as the conversation fills the room, the sunlight peeking through the blinds and illuminating his features.

He doesn’t dare bring up how his heart aches for the same thing that you do.

Jungkook is still focused on his breakfast, chewing thoughtfully as he leans back into the couch. You’re sipping your coffee, still trying to shake the ridiculous warmth still lingering in your chest from the idea of a mini Jungkook running around.

You don’t get to finish the end of your daydream, however, because Jungkook drops a bomb of epic proportions on you, enough to shatter your world and explode into smithereens.

“I kinda want a baby.”

You choke on impact. The sip of coffee you had just taken goes down the wrong way, and then, to make matters worse, the bite of eggs you were mid-chewing follows suit. Enter stage left: a dramatic fit of coughing.

Jungkook’s head snaps toward you immediately, eyes widening in alarm as he quickly sets his plate down, patting your back with firm, steady hands.

“Shit, babe, breathe,” he says, brows knitted in concern. “You okay?”

You nod between coughs, waving him off as you struggle to swallow properly. The man must be out to kill you if he’s going to say things like that, in your shared home, that you pay half the rent for (he believes in chivalry.) After what feels like an eternity, you finally manage to clear your throat, wheezing slightly as you blink up at him.

Jungkook is just staring at you now, mouth parted slightly, as if he’s unsure whether to laugh or keep worrying. “What the hell was that?” He asks, clearly holding back amusement.

“I—” you pause, pressing a hand to your chest. “Sorry, I just— what did you just say?”

Jungkook blinks. Deadpans. Realizes his words may have carried more weight than he thought. “I said I kinda want a baby?”

His hardened exterior fades and his expression tips, a little nervous. “Wait,” he says, tilting his head. “Is that… weird?”

Thoughts buffering..

“I just—” you stammer, still slightly breathless from your near-death experience. “I didn’t know you wanted all that… with me.”

Jungkook’s expression softens immediately. He didn’t even realize it was something you might question. He thought it was a done-deal, cross his heart and hope to die. Jungkook was never really sure of many things in his life besides racing and gold medals, but this.. this, he was so sure of.

He exhales, reaching for your hand instinctively, threading his fingers through yours.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice warm, steady, grounding you. “We’ve been dating for a little over a year.”

One year. One year of knowing him, loving him, building a life together. One year of late nights tangled in sheets and early mornings, such as this one, where his sleepy voice is the first thing you hear. Of laughter echoing in spaces that once felt too big for you, of shared glances across crowded rooms that say more than words ever could. You didn’t even realize it was all coming together until you looked around one day and saw a life that was so intricately woven with his, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Yeah,” you swallow, eyes flickering down to where his thumb is slowly tracing circles against your skin. “I guess we have.”

“You know..,” he begins, his excitement bubbling up before you can even process your own., “I think you’d be the best mom.”

You suddenly feel dizzy, like your breath has been punched out of you.

“You really think that?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook nods immediately, shifting closer on the couch, eyes flickering over your face; the man is already picturing it.

“Are you kidding?” he scoffs, grinning so wide it makes your stomach turn over. “I can already see it. You, holding our baby, doing that cute little humming thing you always do when you’re focused, like when you’re crunching numbers for clients. Probably making tiny little meals, cutting everything into heart shapes because you do that for me already.”

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “Jungkook—”

“And I’d be the fun dad, obviously,” he continues, unstoppable now. “Teaching them how to ride a bike, letting them get away with stuff when you say no. Probably buying them toy racecars too early because I get too excited.”

You see it so clearly it almost hurts. Jungkook, holding a tiny hand in his, a child with his nose and your eyes, running ahead while he watches with that soft, lovesick smile. Jungkook, pressing a kiss to your forehead while you rock a baby to sleep in your arms.

You want that so badly. Now, it’s within arms reach, and you want to reach out and clutch it to your chest so tight it can’t run away. You swallow hard, eyes burning, blinking rapidly to fight off the sudden rush of emotion.

“Baby,” Jungkook notices immediately, voice dropping as his smile falters slightly. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” You whisper, and it’s true. It’s not sadness weighing you down. It’s everything else. Hope. Love. The terrifying, overwhelming realization that you could have everything you ever wanted, and it’s sitting right in front of you, ready for you to take it.

“Just…” you pause, voice trembling slightly. “I guess I didn’t know I could have that with you.”

“[Y/N],” he breathes out, bringing a hand to cup your face, his thumb tracing delicately along your cheek. “I want nothing more.”

You don’t want to overthink it, don’t want to let it linger too long in fear of it disappearing.

“I want that too,” You whisper.

You feel it, the way his whole body tenses, the way his fingers freeze against your cheek. His eyes, wide and searching, lock onto yours, scanning your face for any sign that you might not mean it.

“You do?” His voice is quieter than before, hardly recognizable.

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I do.”

There is a slow, breathtaking smile that lights up his whole face, makes his dimples appear, makes something inside you feel like it’s unraveling in the best way.

“Well then,” he muses, shifting even closer, his hand sliding down to rest over your thigh. “We should probably start with marriage, hmm?”

You choke. Again. This time, on your saliva.

Of course, Jeon Jungkook would just casually drop that into the conversation like he’s talking about the weather, like he’s asking if you want almond or oat milk at the grocery store.

“I—” you splutter, wheezing slightly as your brain short-circuits for the billionth time this morning. “I—what?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners as he squeezes your thigh. “I need you alive long enough to actually get a ring on your finger. At this rate, Im nervous that if I actually propose, you’ll pass out.”

“Well, you can’t just say stuff like that!,” You half cry out, half mumble.

“Why not?” Jungkook teases, “It’s true. You’re already stuck with me forever, might as well make it official.”

The thought of forever with him doesn’t scare you like it probably should, like it would’ve a year and some months ago.

As Jungkook continues rambling excitedly about your future—about rings and wedding colors, about how he’s definitely going to cry when you walk down the aisle, about how your first dance has to be something ridiculous like a choreographed number—you just watch him.

It’s somehow overwhelming in the best way.

Because if someone had told you back when you first met, back when he was just a racecar driver with a gaggle of fan girls, at the apex of the NASCAR world, that this is where you’d end up, you wouldn’t have believed it.

Now, you can’t imagine wanting anything else. Not when he’s right here, grinning at you like you’re his whole world, planning forever like it’s the easiest thing in the universe. Or, maybe it is that easy.

Oh, how you love Sunday mornings. They’re kinda like that song you listen to.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

#jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jeon jeongguk

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just-some-random-blogger · 8 months ago

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Tormented Spirit | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ayo i did it again (rambled). i have no idea where i went with this but it really wENT yknow, but hey you get fluff!!!!!. ALSO (im looking at you cristi) if it wasnt clear this is set, like, pre-show T_T just before ep 1 lmao (ily cristi im just going through it with my writing) | cross posted on ao3

tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

You did not realize being made a spectacle would be as exhausting as it was. Truly, all you did as your prince brought you to the training quarters of the City Watch, was stand, force a smile and feel their gaze upon you as Daemon instructed them to roughhouse for your (but really his) entertainment. Yet, it felt like you had been running nonstop and only now found reprieve.

Perhaps it was because it was really your mind that was running with the thought of how you snubbed your twin. In truth, you knew Gwayne understood your actions, for he was really the only person who understood you, and yet that was precisely why it ate at you so much. How could you do such a thing to your brother?

At some point, Daemon is too distracted by his sparring soldiers to remember you were there. By the time they began to drink, you gave word to one of the guards and made your way back to the Keep yourself.

You head for your brother's chambers, set on setting things straight. You do not find him there however, and your mind begins to wander. Was he avoiding you? Was he cross?

Upon asking one of his servants, you find that he was tasked with duty from the Lord Hand. Part of you feels comforted by the answer, but then you wonder if the task had something to do with you. You try not to think about it as you head back to your own chambers.

You are ripped out of your train of thought when you hear your name called.

Queen Aemma stands across you, hand on her belly, smile on her lips, "have you come to worry on me, good sister?"

Your back straightens and you clasp your hands in front of you, "my queen. I-I-"

"I do hope not," she stretches, leaning back into her hands, "the last thing I want right now is to have yet another person try to tell me what is best for me and my babe."

You shake your head, turning to your feet, "the last thing I would do is impose my inexperience of child bearing upon you."

Aemma's face softens. She's seldom seen someone who looks as though they suffer more than her. "Excellent."

You lift your gaze.

"Come keep me company then and distract me with tales lacking child bearing."

You are taken aback by the invitation and watch the queen slowly waddle back into her quarters. You delay to realize you should be assisting her then promptly rush up to her side. You offer her your arm and she gratefully takes it. She is exhausted by the time you reach her bed.

"Thank you," she sighs, wiping the sweat on her temple.

"Of course," you help her put her feet up. You look over your shoulder momentarily, "have you no one to call to? Shall I call for someone?"

"No," she waves you off, "I merely walked out of the room and looked out of the window for a while. I am fine."

You nod and pull away, fidgeting with your fingers, "is there something I might do for you?"

"Yes," she reaches for your arm, "sit."

So you do.

"And tell me, why on earth did Daemon bring you to the City Watch?"

You freeze upon hearing that.

There is a playful curiosity upon Aemma's features, but you do not think she asks to embarrass you. Still, you open your mouth and begin to stutter, "h-how did you kno-w?"

She chuckles, leaning deeper into her pillow, "oh, my dear," she rubs her belly, "I am privy to all gossip in the Keep. Tis the only activity one such as I can do in my state. Incidentally, had the opposite been true, it is all the servants speak of—" she slowly reaches for you, pushing your hair back.

You are made acutely aware of the marks on your collar again.

"—how the fragile lamb tamed the ferocious dragon."

You chuckle dryly and stare at your lap. You pick at your nails, feeling your throat tighten, "I tame no one, my queen."

As Aemma looks at you, she thinks again she's not laid her eyes upon someone that looks more pained than herself. The sun was already setting, but the marks on your collarbones were still visible. She wonders if you at least enjoyed yourself when you received those marks. "Perhaps not yet."

You chuckle once more.

"He is stubborn and brash, but he is also loyal and passionate."

"Loyal to himself," you turn to her, "with a passion for deviance."

You are unnerved by the sudden call of your name. Your heart races at her misplaced familiarity.

This might be why you blurt out, "I am no fool."

She straightens up, "I did not say you were."

"I know I am feeble in form, but not in mind. I am a mere piece in someone else's game of chess, but every piece has its purpose, even pawns."

Aemma frowns. Her forehead curls, "and pawns can turn into the most powerful piece."

You stare at her belly.

"The Queen."

You do not tell her it is only true in board games.

"Does it frighten you?"

Your eyes quirk up to hers. Her violet orbs are much softer than Daemon's. She does not clarify, but the way in which she rubs her swollen stomach makes it clear to you what she meant. You rub your own as dread pricks through you, "I do not know how it is possible for anyone not to be frightened."

It is her turn to chuckle.

It perturbs you.

"I will not lie to you," she shifts in her spot, "there is no greater pain in the world than becoming a mother, I think..."

It is mortifying to hear, considering you know how many times Queen Aemma has conceived and given birth. How much more painful it must be, as she remains to have one child. You do not think all your years of pain could ever prepare you for such loss.

"... that can be the most gratifying."

You are taken aback when she reaches for your hand. Her palms are soft, just as her expression.

"I do not presume to know you, but I find that whatever pain I have is eclipsed by love I feel for my babe. Still, when the thought of childbirth gets too much, I retreat into something I loved before my babe."

Your brows furrow.

"Tapestries and tea time," she tilts her head, "and Viserys."

You do not know how to feel as she pulls away.

She rubs her forehead, "even speaking is exhausting when you are with child. Forgive me, but I think I would like to go to sleep now."

You shake your head and stand, "there is nothing to be forgiven. I will leave you to your own comforts," you curtsy.

You roam the candlelit halls as you digest the queen's words. You were on your way back to your chambers, then you remember your brother. You promptly head to his room, finding the door open. "Gwayne?"

Emerge two servants carrying a trunk, greeting you before walking off. Your brows furrow as you watch them. You turn back when you hear your name called.

Your twin walks over, still in his doublet and leather shoes. You begin to get nervous, "you're leaving?"

"Preparing to," he says, eyes falling on your collarbones, "there is still the matter of the tourney."

"Tourney?"

"The queen is set to give birth soon— you must not let that man dishonor you so," he quips through clenched teeth, pulling you into his room.

You are dragged inside and he releases you once you're in front of his bed. He grabs his blanket and drapes it on your shoulders. He gathers your hair and pulls it out from underneath, "play dumb if you must."

You knit your brows.

"Bat your lashes at him to have your way."

You tighten the blanket around yourself, "I already have."

"To protect me," he tilts his head, "protect yourself, sister. Put yourself first, always."

You clench your jaw.

"He will be kinder if he believes you to be a bimbo."

You scoff, "must I do such a thing?"

Gwayne narrows his eyes, "he is shaming you purposefully out of spite— for me and our father."

The idea makes you queasy because you knew it was true. Your brother was sensible because he got his sense from you, and yet... is it so farfetched for the prince to simply want to show you off proudly? Even in something like this, you were not even being thought of. "And acting a fool will save me from spite?"

He looks at you the way he did whenever you said something stupid. It offends you because it was not a stupid question. He speaks to you, as if you were four, "if he asks you to wear something compromising again, tell him all your dresses are being washed."

You chuckle dryly, "you honestly think he would believe such a blatant lie?"

"He need not have to," he scoffs, "it's not like he'll go through the trouble of inspecting your closet." He places a hand on your arm, "come. I will walk you to your room."

Something unpleasant bubbles up your throat as Gwayne leads you out. As you exit his chambers, you pull away and choke out, "do you think me a fool, devil?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes, "do not be-"

"Do you truly think that I am slowwitted and senseless?"

Your ears ring because of how says your name. You step back when he tries to take your arm again. Gwayne raises a finger and a brow, "I've had a long day. I do not wish to quarrel."

"And I have not?!" you quip, "answer the question!"

He says your name again, firmer, as though you were a petulant child.

"Just fucking tell me!" you snap.

"Gods!" he wipes his face, "you're acting fucking stupid, I'll tell you that!"

You scoff and shove him with all your might. It barely makes him recoil, but you get your point across, especially when you walk away.

Gwayne sighs and calls your name, following after you.

"I hate you!" you spit back, unwilling to turn back as you feel your eyes begin to water.

"I did not mean it," he calls, quickly coming up to your side, "why would you ask me something you clearly know is not-"

"Then why would you reduce me as such?" you stop in your tracks to glare at him.

Gwayne freezes and scowls back, "why do you think I tell you anything?"

"Stupidity will not save me, you fucking idiot," you blurt back, doing your best to hold back your tears.

"It will fucking save you from scheming rats," he grabs your arms and shakes you gently.

You shake your head as tears stream down your cheek.

"H-"

"Do not make me."

He purses his lips.

"You know I will do it if you tell me to," you mutter, "do not make me."

Guilt eats him whole as you weep. It never gets easier. You'd think that he'd be indifferent to it by now, but he knows the great effort you put in withholding your emotions. It hurts him even more, if anything. He sighs in defeat, dropping his head before wiping your cheeks. He attempts to hush you.

You only further fall apart, "I would be remembered as a stupid, dying girl."

He speaks your name, as if to correct you.

"Please don't leave," you mumble weakly.

"Listen to me-"

"No, promise me you won't le-"

"I am heir to Oldtown," he interrupts, "my place can never be at your side."

"So you forsake me now?"

"Listen," he speaks firmly, "you are my twin sister. There is nothing I have not shared with you, and you know this."

You look down for a moment then shake your head, "I wish you kept a few things to yourself..."

Gwayne releases a breath at your words. He leans down to look you in the eye, "says the woman who bares love bites on her neck for all to see."

You shove him away and tighten your arms around yourself, "ass. That's different."

He rolls his eyes, placing his hands on his hips, "how?"

"I did not chose this," you mutter.

His expression falls. He balls his hands into fists, "I would call our house to banner for you."

You scoff, looking away, "don't be ridiculous."

"An affront to my twin is worse than one to myself," he points a finger to the ground.

"I am his wife," you look back to him.

"And I am a man of honor," he proclaims, "if he kills me, then all will know I died protecting my sister from his malice."

"You idiot," you shake your head at him, "do you think the people would believe the words of a prince or a dead man?"

"A princess."

You stare at him.

"With a tender heart," he takes your arm, leading you off.

You take a moment before responding, "you mean a stupid, dying princess."

"You are not dying," he gives you a serious look.

"We are all dying."

He sighs, "a jolly thought."

"I am dying sooner than you howev-"

"No," he interrupts, "you will outlive me. I will die in battle."

You glare at him, "we cannot both be yearning for death, moron."

"I do not yearn no more than you do," he raises a brow.

You stare at him for a moment. He is in denial. You almost tell him that you still pray the same prayer he caught you praying all those nights ago. You do not.

"You will get better, sister," he says, "I simply won't allow you not to."

You look away, "ever imperious."

His expression slips for a moment as he imagines a world without his twin. It is so grotesque, he cannot bear it. He hides behind humor, "you mean charismatic, dashing, and valiant."

"And stupid."

"And incredibly well-spoken, witty, charming-"

"Shut it."

"-attractive, gallant, seemly—"

You bid each other good night with a smile. Neither of you knew how broken your spirits were after your conversation though, and you never will.

Your head lies heavy on your pillow. You are unsure if you are grateful or resentful that you sleep tonight by yourself.

Meanwhile, Daemon is startled out his sleepiness by the words of his subordinate. He sets his cup of ale down and chuckles in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at one of the three men he had been drinking with, "what?"

The man clarifies, shifting in his seat adjacent his commander, "you've changed since being wed, my prince. For the better."

The prince chuckles yet again, "pray, tell."

Someone else answers for him, "you have been more gracious during drill training."

Daemon's brows quirk.

"And you have been more forgiving as of late," another blurts.

The first who spoke finally says, "you do not drink with us as often as before. This is the first since you've gotten married."

He scoffs and shakes his head, "so. You think I've grown soft?"

The three immediately straighten up and even manage to muster in unison, "no, commander."

Daemon downs his ale and shakes his head, "I'll show you soft."

The next morn, the queen's words repeat in your mind as you awaken. Retreat in what you love. What was it that you loved? You think of Gwayne, but he is set to leave, Alicent, but you do not wish to burden her with your woes... your father...

Oh... your mother. You could retreat in her.

You sit up and rub your face when your servants enter to wake you.

You lose your resolve to light a candle at the temple at when you realized you'd be dying girl retreating to her dead mother. Pathetic.

By the time your servants are helping you fix your hair, you ask them, "if you could do whatever you wanted for a day, what would you do?"

The servants turn to each other then break into giggles. One says, "I would spend a day with my Gwilym."

You watch them in the mirror as they squeal under their breath.

You turn to your nails. You cannot retreat into Daemon.

After they're finished squealing, the other speaks, "mmm. I might go foraging for fruits and flowers."

You lift your head upon hearing that.

"And if I had my pay that day, I'd buy myself some lemon cake."

Your lips part at the idea, "you absolute wit." You turn to her as much as you could as she fixed your hair, "what a brilliant idea."

She chuckles and curtsies, "thank you, milady."

By the time your ward comes, you're already at the door, eager to greet him.

He examines your smile. His brows knit and belly feels uneasy as you take his arm.

You narrow your eyes at his face, doing your best to distinguish who exactly you were face to face with. You forget if it was Arryk with the longer beard or Erryk. You mumble as you make a face, "Erryk?"

"Yes," he nods, feeling stomach rolls, "how are you, my princess?"

You grin, squeezing his steel clad arm as much as you could, "oh, how good of me to get it right. I am glad to have guessed well."

Erryk chuckles under his breath, "you wound me. Am I not set apart in your eyes?"

You stiffen at his expression. You mistake the softness in his eyes for hurt, which is why you release his arm and begin to apologize, "oh, ser. I do not mean to offend, I-"

Erryk raises his hands, "no, my lady. Twas a jest."

Your eyes widen at the clarification. You laugh awkwardly, "ah... apologies."

"Nay," he shakes his head, "I apologize. I do not wish to cause you discomfort."

You huff and give a curt nod, "then," you take his arm again, "I ask that you humor me today, ser Erryk."

His brows furrow. He is intrigued.

"I..." you trail off, gathering your resolve, "wish to go out and pick flowers today." you profess with a soft smile. You raise a finger, "I am not a fussy passenger. I do not mind sitting in front or behind you on horseback, but I fear I do not know how to control a horse on my own very well," you look away in thought, "we do not have to go very far out of King's Landing, so if it is not possible to get a horse, I will not complain if we walk."

Erryk finds himself smiling as you continue to justify yourself.

"I would not take very long to pick flowers, but if I do," you turn back to him, "I would not refute you if you think we must away."

He nods at your words, "have you broken fast yet?"

You both walk off. You shake your head, "I have not. But I will be quick!"

He shakes his head, "my brother mentioned that you do not like eating alone. If it be agreeable with you, we can break fast together."

You stop in your tracks upon hearing this, "ser Arryk mentioned this?"

Erryk simply nods.

The thought pinches your heart, "it... it was a passing comment. I did not think it noteworthy."

His brows knit at your expression, "do not be so surprised. It is our duty to care for you."

Care for you. You turn to your feet, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. It takes a moment for you to comport yourself, but then you manage turn back at him and smile, "how the gods have blessed me."

His gut reacts to your smile. He releases a breath to calm himself, "we can pick flowers after breaking fast, my princess."

You gasp, "so you agree?!"

Erryk face falls in confusion.

"You would allow me to pick flowers?!" you pull away, nearly jumping up and down in excitement.

"I..." his mouth hangs low, "I do not allow you."

You tilt your head, chuckling in confusion.

"If you instructed me to bring you the moon, I would do my best to claim it for you."

You laugh. You laugh because you miss his sincerity, for it is unfamiliar. You laugh because you only know the kindness of your brother, who cherishes you dearly, yet ridicules you in the same breath. This is why you say, "do not mock me, ser. It is not a crime to enjoy picking flowers."

You expect him to reply the way your twin does: 'I did not say it was a crime,' but you are taken aback by the novelty of his response. Erryk says, "the crime lies with whom would mock such a gentle soul."

You are glad he does not wait for you to respond, because you did not know if you had anything to respond with.

Erryk is silent as you eat in the solar. At first, it was because he second guessed his offer to break fast with you, as it felt so obvious that he was overstepping. But then it was because he was enamored by you and the great many tales you share of eating with your family, picking flowers with your siblings, swimming in rivers with your brother. He did not expect such a temperate outpour from you. He tells himself that he must do all he can to preserve it.

He is selfish in wanting to forfeit a horse. He knows soon enough his brother will come to have his shift, and he wants to keep all your stories to himself; walking will make his time with you longer. At the same time, he fears your body might give in if you were to walk very far, so he settles that you ride on horseback and that he lead your horse on foot.

He is glad of his choice, for had he been on horseback with you, he would not have seen the way your face shone at the sight of the meadow upon reaching it. The moment is quickly fleeting however, and he soon jolts to catch you when you nearly leap off the horse.

Erryk helps you down and is soon forgotten as you run off to gather flowers.

He follows after you with no sense of urgency. He allows you to frolic to your hearts content while he slowly leads the horse towards your general direction.

"ERRYK!" you gasp in horror. It is so sudden, he releases his reins and runs towards you.

"My prin-"

"We do not have a basket!" you slap a hand on your forehead, "I am doomed."

He freezes at your words, debating if that is truly the cause of your distress.

"I am doomed to pick flowers only until my hands are full," you sigh and shake your head. You frown at him and point, "but just over there I see a hundred flowers I wish to bring back home with me."

Erryk's forehead curls but then he realizes you were serious. He finds himself chuckling before sighing in relief.

You scowl, "and you mock me again"

He chuckles louder, placing a hand on his breastplate, "I do not mock! I merely find amusement in such an issue so easily solved."

You scoff, "pray, tell how would you solve my issue, ser knows-a-lot?"

Erryk belly laughs. He shakes his head and offers his hand, "I will hold your flowers for you."

Any trace of offense instantly disappears. You perk and step forward, "oh! I have been blind!"

He tries to take the flowers from you but then he's frozen in place as you suddenly begin tucking in his beard.

"Indeed," you snicker, "blind as a bat."

You are both covered in flowers when you return to the Keep, him more than you, for Erryk's skill in securing flowers in people's hair was not nearly as good as yours. Most of what he had put in your brown hair had fallen when you reached the gates. The rest are threatened off by the wind as he helps you down the horse. His on the other hand—

You chuckle, catching a flower that slipped from your head, placing it by Erryk's ear, "they should call you the knight of flowers, ser."

He bows, "I would be honored to be known as such."

"Oh, gods."

You both turn upon hearing the voice.

Gwayne looks at Erryk as though he was stabbed on the side, then turns to you, "you've victimized the poor man."

You roll your eyes.

"-held him captive and tortured him with pretty things," your twin points a finger as he walks towards you, "no wonder you could not be found. You were doing evil things."

You shove your brother, but he dodges.

He makes a face, "laggardly fellow."

You turn to Erryk then point at your brother, "why do you delay? Seize him at once!"

Gwayne gasps, placing a hand on his chest, "behold: the cruel princess."

Your upper lip curls, "the ugly thing insults your lady," you shoot Erryk a look, "apprehend him!"

Erryk watches the two of you bicker, unsure if he should, in fact, apprehend Ser Gwayne.

When he does not, your brother says again, "behold!" the auburn haired man gestures vaguely, "your cruelty inspires no loyalty from you— aw!"

You snatch your his ear and pull him down. You drag your brother all the way to a crate and force him down, "I'll show you cruel."

"Do not think— AW!" Gwayne clutches his cheek when you slap him.

"Silence or your torture will be more severe," you hiss, promptly placing flowers you still had on hand on his head.

Though Gwayne grumbles the whole time, he makes no attempt to save himself from the proclaimed torture. Very truly, he loathed it so when you made a dolly out of him, but after you sobbed so bitterly when he fled you one instance when you were still children, he could never stomach the thought of attempting such a thing again.

And— he catches the way your lips tug upward, you only ever smiled the way you did now when you were torturing him. Still, he cannot help his scowl when you grin at him to behold your work.

You pinch his cheeks, "my lovely twin."

Gwayne groans and swats your hands away, glaring as he stands, "I abhor you, sister."

You giggle and take his arm, "and I do so love deeply, my brother."

"Unhand me," he says flatly.

"You cannot command a princess, you lowly lord," you snuggle into his arm.

Gwayne turns to Erryk, "retrieve your thing."

Erryk opens his mouth, but then catches the look on your face. He is powerless against your pup-like expression. He clears his throat, "my shift has ended, ser. I will notify my brother at once to see what can be done."

Gwayne's jaw drops.

You throw your head back in a laughter.

He scoffs, turning to you, "how uselessly loyal you've made him."

"What is the meaning of this?"

You three turn. You pull away from your brother upon seeing Daemon. He is covered in dirt, and blood, and anger.

He glares at you, "why is it I find you here twice, wife?" He scrutinizes the flowers on Erryk's beard and hair, then quips harshly as he turns to your brother, "should you not be waiting on me?"

"Why do you think I am here?" you mutter, not missing a beat. You walk over to him, and he tries to intimidate you with his expression.

Gwayne and Erryk are ready to act but then Daemon's face falters when you grab your skirt and try to wipe some of the dirt off his face.

The truth, of course, is that you were not waiting on your husband; him finding you here was simply a coincidence, but the genuine concern that clouds your features makes it the lie indistinguishable.

He is so wholly bewildered by your gentle touch, he is unable to react.

You release your skirt and wipe his cheek with your long sleeve, "I shall have a bath drawn for you." You take his hand, "come, I-"

He pulls out of your grasp.

You expect him to lash out on you. He does not.

"I have a council meeting to attend."

A line forms between your brows when catch the blood on his armor, "but you are hurt."

Daemon is stoic. He stares at the lone flower by your ear, "it is not mine."

You release a soft breath and nod. A gust of wind makes you aware of the bud by your temple. You pull the flower out of your hair and stare at it for a moment. You show it to Daemon, who spares but a moment's glance at it. He involuntarily pulls his head back when you place the flower in his hair.

You are unfazed by the look he gives you. You secure the flower then swipe the dirt off his chin, "I will make sure your bath is finished after your meeting."

It is your turn to be taken aback. You freeze when he catches your wrist before you pull away. "Wait for me," he mumbles.

You raise your brows.

He does not repeat himself.

You nod slowly, "I shall... after having the servants dra-"

"Your princess requires you to accomplish a task for her," Daemon looks past you, looking between Erryk and Gwayne. He grits his teeth, pulling you toward him, "do it."

You look over your shoulder, "please inst-"

"They know what to do, wife," Daemon blocks your vision, "tis I your attentions must be fixed upon."

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shiny-jr · 13 days ago

Text

THE CREATOR: chapter two

– Summary: In the Land of Rune, an emperor is unmatched in magic. In a world where one's survival and standing were dependent on magic, you had gotten accustomed to being at the very bottom of the food chain. For being a magicless servant, you could not expect change.

That is, until you discover you are a creator. The rarest type of witch that was previously hunted to near-extinction. The power comes with the ability to create life itself, but it comes at a great cost.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Female reader.

– Note: New feature for this series: the taglist. Hopefully it works?

– Pages: 7

chapter i | chapter ii | chapter iii

TWO BLOODIED HANDS

Mondays were for bedrotting. Instead of the sound of sizzling eggs and the aroma of bacon wafting through the air in the humble little two-story abode where (Y/n) and her parents lived, there was the scent of freshly picked blossoms and clicking of clear glass vials. Which is why (Y/n) openly preferred the small yet private lodgings she claimed as a privilege of being the personal servant to Emperor Desire’s student.

Usually Monday was the one single day she had free of duties, however, today she held herself in attendance. It was the first Monday of the month, just after Final Sunday. The halls were filled with palace staff running about their errands. As she walked at a brisk pace, through the long vertical windows she could spot a number of nobles still lingering about since yesterday. Although they really should’ve gone home by now.

The chatter floating throughout the halls was exactly what every conversation was on the first Monday of the month. The main event of every Final Sunday, but it wasn’t like just any other Final Sunday, the latest one had the magic prodigy that dwelled in this very palace.

“I don’t know what they were thinking putting him up against Cenra of all people!” A maid with a familiar face but a name she couldn’t be bothered to remember, sniffed in disdain as she carried about a basket filled with sheets to be washed. “If he had been against any other, he would’ve won and been an excellent knight.”

(Y/n) paused, stopping behind a corner beside servants quarters where she was out of sight. On the shelves were various ointments and gauze. Carefully she rummaged through the bottles, checking the printed labels and ingredients to pinpoint the most useful one. The tips of her pointed ears were perked, listening to the uninterrupted conversation.

There was the rustle of blankets being folded, and curtains being brushed by feather dusters. “Well, she was merciful and let the boy live. So he has another chance. Although it will take him at least a year just to get back on the roster. He did deserve a spot, I can picture him as a Black Knight…”

“Hm, well, if the invocationer boy was trained by Emperor Desire himself, he would’ve no doubt been last night's victor, not the human.”

The human. They said it as if it were a derogatory insult, and in their mind it likely was. It was easy to pick on the outliers, the magicless servant who aided the only human in the realm. “Cenra deserved that spot more than anyone else, and would’ve defeated anyone they threw at her. Not like you useless bunch would ever understand.” (Y/n) muttered underneath her breath.

When she walked past the corner with the supplies in arm, the gossiping bunch had stopped to stare at her. They heard her, hadn’t they? Their fists clenched, and the magicless servant merely held the bottles tighter to her chest. It dawned on all of them, what they could do when the hallways were vacant of any witnesses. It had been years since any palace staff or other personnel could get within reach of her. Maybe a few bruises would remind her of old times, when she had no one to protect her and anyone could get away with tormenting her.

(Y/n) leaned her head back, hoping to avoid any marks that would mar her flesh where it was visible. No one would notice if the blemishes could be hidden by the collar of a shirt or the sleeves over her arms. After a few knicks and scratches, they’ll get bored and leave her alone. Really, she should’ve known better by now. The last time this happened was two years ago, and she got a burn for not keeping her mouth shut.

“Loitering about during shifts?” A familiar voice scoffed. Their gazes traveled over, spotting the one who dared to encroach. Cenra must’ve seen them from across the hall and silently teleported to them in an instant, or she could’ve been lurking about nearby listening closely. Any of those appeared plausible. “The Emperor doesn’t take kindly to those wasting his resources. He doesn’t pay you to gossip all day long and intimidate staff members who are actually pulling their own weight.”

The two maids backed away, eyes wide and mouths open as they fumble for excuses or apologies. It wasn’t entirely clear upon hearing the incoherencies tumbling from their tongues. While she was used to her liege’s appearance, it was entirely possible that this was the first time either of them had ever been in the presence of a creator witch. Considering the fact that the witch was last publicly seen nearly killing a powerful invocationer wizard and in her training uniform, she would come across as extra terrifying.

Cenra promptly ignored your presence, scrutinizing the two unfortunate maids who now looked rather pathetic and no longer so intimidating. In all black from neck to toe with a vest of sable dragon scales, the knives strapped to her hips ready for disposal seemed to gleam just a little brighter. Irked by their sad excuse for words strung together to form attempts at a sentence or two, she interrupted, “You’re getting on my nerves. Drop your tasks, leave them for someone else to complete, unless you want to become the next moving targets in my training.”

“Y-Yes, young Uza.”

“Right away, ma’am…!”

The two scattered like flustered fowl flying away in a panic. The last time someone had attempted such intimidation on her was roughly two years ago around the time she was promoted to the position of personal servant of Emperor Desire’s sole pupil. The incidents were common, until the head of staff was torn down and demoted to the very bottom rank. Why? She had no idea, but she always suspected that it was due to the very person currently less than five feet away.

When Cenra’s gaze traveled over to her servant and friend, instantly she brightened up. That cold piercing gaze became a warm delighted one as her lips curved up into a grin. In a sing-song voice, she greeted, “Hiii. I’ve been looking for you all morning!”

“That was almost enough to scare me.” (Y/n) admitted with awkward laughter. The interaction she just witnessed would be further proof as to why the human was most deserving of the title of knight, perhaps even as a Black Knight. “Almost as scary as a Black Knight.”

Raising an amused eyebrow at your words, she actually managed to laugh in turn while her shoulders slumped with her lowered guard. “Those uptight losers? Please. You are looking at the newest knight of the guard! I’m a creator! I’ll be much more important than them.”

Black Knights were some of the most feared figures in the entire land, directly behind the Advisor, the General, and the Emperor himself. These particular knights were distinct by their black armor and robes that mirrored the appearance of Desire. They were something of a myth, only spotted in the throne room. Even if they were not visible, they were always lingering in the shadows around the Emperor. It’s said that to be one, candidates are trained from childhood and picked off one by one. Their order has been around for longer than anyone can remember. It’s said that a team of Black Knights can take on an entire army and win, although that’s only hearsay. Not that Emperor Desire required special protection anyways. Everyone knew that.

Cenra would eventually move past that. Yesterday she was a witch in-training, but today she was officially a knight of the royal guard. It was only a short matter of time before she ascended once again, and where did that leave (Y/n)? Continuously stagnant. Destined to remain at the bottom as a servant for all time. If she were lucky, Cenra would bring her along for the journey. People would travel far and wide to see the creator witch at work. (Y/n) would fetch the tools and ingredients along with any other necessary supplies, but her liege would be the one making the real magic happen. Cenra will bring about a new wave of creations for the Land of Rune.

(Y/n) readjusted the vials and jars in her arms as she resumed her walk, this time with Cenra beside her. The duo kept pace, matching each other’s steps. The magicless with lengthy strides to keep up and the human taking care to do short steps.

“You really should stop letting them walk all over you.” The witch said, disrupting the peaceful silence they had. Occasionally they bumped shoulders, or rather, (Y/n)’s shoulder bumped the center of her bicep. The black leather boots that matched her training uniform only added to her height. “As much as I’d like to be around you all the time to protect you, it’s just not possible. You know that, right?”

Pursing her lips, (Y/n) was desperate for a change of topic. Not this, anything but this, because she knew she would just get scolded once again for something that was beyond her control. A glimmer caught her eye, the light reflected off an extra ear piercing she must’ve added recently. The human trait of round ears allowed her to easily wear more rings piercing the shell. Silver curled around her ear like a swirling dragon, each metallic bit shaped with the intricate scales and wings. “You have a new piercing. That’s cool! Let’s try to get matching ones next time––”

“I’m serious, (Y/n).” Sliding one of the heavier jars out of her arm, she freed up the space so their arms could intertwine as both carried a bit of the burden. Their steps continued, matching pace as they approached the chambers where the new knight dwelled.

(Y/n) nodded slowly, managing a small smile while she murmured, “I just didn’t want to make a scene. It’s not exactly like I could do much anyways.”

The sore subject, her lack of abilities. The witch knew this and instantly her expression softened with remorse, the hand of her intertwined arm gently tapped the servant girl’s forearm. “No, no, that’s not what I meant, you know that. I’d never mean it like that! It’s just…”

“I’m okay, really.” Somehow, (Y/n) managed to keep the smile plastered over her face. The lack of skill was something she normally didn’t discuss often, for obvious reasons. Even in conversations with her parents, the topic was a sore subject. However, with Cenra, it wasn’t as bad. The witch never poked and prodded like she was attempting to find the cause of such a fatal flaw. She could just be content to listen to pointless hour long rants, and be entirely attentive and understanding the entire time. That was the best part. “Besides, it’s not like it matters right now. I’m sure you’ve scared them off, so I won’t have to worry for at least another few years.”

Cenra barely gave anyone the time of day. Their unexpected friendship might’ve begun back when (Y/n) was first assigned to serve her needs. It was a reluctant relationship, and the witch was cold to just about everyone. It took months before the icy exterior began to melt. Every time they met, her eyes looked just a bit brighter and her tone a bit louder. Everyone else did not warrant her attention unless they were her superior.

Briskly entering her private chambers, she set the jar down on the counter after pushing aside books and scrolls scattered across the hardwood table-top. A sigh escaped her lips. “Fine.” When she stood up, she placed her hands on her hips. “Next time, as in tomorrow, you should definitely come to my training session. You don’t even have to do anything! Just hand me some water every time I sit down or something. I don’t really care what you do, honestly. But it would be nice if you were there. So, want to come?”

When (Y/n) set all the items on the table, she reached over to place a hand on the witch’s shoulder. Cenra tensed up, going still as she was steadily pushed back into a seat while her friend took the one directly across from her. Their knees were nearly touching. She scowled, “You smell like sweat and dirt.”

“Duh, I just got back from training! What did you expect?” With a roll of her eyes she grinned in amusement, not moving an inch and letting her do whatever she pleased with her body. “You’re avoiding the question though.”

“No, I’m not…!” With one glance at the array of tools and glass containers, she rolled up the witch’s black sleeves. Deciding to put off changing the gauze from yesterday’s battle for now until after she bathed, it seemed wise to check for extra damage. The dirt smeared on parts of her uniform was a sign as to what her day’s training must’ve looked like. There was a high likelihood she obtained additional injuries, bruises and scratches and the like. Yet somehow her hair and makeup were always impeccable afterwards. The magic of incredible sorcery. “Will the Emperor be there teaching you?”

Purposefully avoiding eye contact, her eyes honed in on apparently something very interesting like the wallpaper above her bed. “... Yeah.”

That was all the answer needed. Shaking her head, (Y/n) applied a damp towel, wiping off the dirt and speckles of dried blood from her brown flesh. “Mm, hard pass then.”

That was one of the very few things they disagreed on: Emperor Desire. Cenra looked to him as if he were her own father, her only teacher, and a god walking among simple mortals. To most, he was just that, like a god. Those heavenly powers he was gifted with defied the very laws of nature, for he was the same just as Cenra Uza, a creator. However, the Emperor had no desire to forge new life. Desire proclaimed that creators were dangerous, which was why there were only four remaining. In the history books, Desire was said to have overthrown the tyrannical empress a century ago, and ordered a mass execution of his own kind, an event merely referred to as Lethiferous. Creators had grown wild, selfish, and cruel to the point they thought themselves as the superior with only their precious creations deserving of life. At least, that’s what the textbooks preached, but (Y/n) wasn’t convinced. It was why the magicless servant was never too keen on seeing him. Not that he was around much to actually be seen by her anyways.

“But (Y/n)...!” Cenra complained, pouting as she groaned in utter disappointment. Neither mentioned the Emperor.

“But nothing. I’d rather be doing your laundry and sorting out your spell books than watch you get hurt.” Upon turning over her hands to wipe her palms clean, (Y/n) furrowed her eyebrows at the sight of multiple gashes from her thumb to her pinky in shaky lines. These cuts looked intentional, not caused by training and definitely not by Final Sunday. She had been wearing gloves yesterday.

Snatching her hands away, Cenra’s eyes were wide as she realized that she was caught. Tightly she clutched her fists, holding them against her chest.

“... What was that?”

“Nothing!”

“No, that was something.” Outstretching her own hand, demanding to see her palms. (Y/n) watched as the witch quickly looked away, the most obvious sign that she was lying. “Liar! You’re hiding something. Let me see. You’re hurt. I’m the only one that can treat it because we both know you’re trash at first-aid and too stubborn to let anyone else help.” When there was no movement from her, no sign she was willing to give in yet, she sighed. “You can tell me about it? I won’t tell. Or don’t. But just give me your hand so I can treat your wounds. It’ll be quick, I promise. I always saved my mom’s specialty elixir here in case you ever needed it.”

A few seconds passed before Cenra begrudgingly gave in, slowly uncurling her fingers from her fist as the back of her hand lowered onto the outstretched palm in front of her. Her palm faced up, revealing deep red cuts that stretched across the flat surface. Her eyes were glued to the ground, and her voice was like a fleeting whisper, “I can’t…”

Pausing with the towel and elixir in hand, (Y/n) echoed in confusion, “You can’t…? What?”

The entrance of her chambers were thick wooden doors sealed shut, the windows were locked. Carpeting over the floors saved the glass bottle containing the elixir, cushioning its fall when the magicless one dropped it upon hearing the witch’s next words.

“I can’t do it! My blood was supposed to guarantee the ritual worked, but it didn’t! I can’t create!”

Taglist: @spiderfly-tree-rat

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere series #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #the creator

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levigarden999 · 8 days ago

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adopting a kitten ₍^. .^₎⟆ olderhusband!levi x reader

‎♡‧₊˚ theme : you and your husband!levi adopt a cat

”is it here?” levi asked, pointing at the older building situated near the city center. there was a few pictures of cats on the display window, with the text ’braus’s kennel’ on the top.

”yup. this is the one” you confirmed as you glanced down at the location google maps was showing you from the phone screen.

you had been talking with a man called artur braus through email for a few months now, he was the person who owned the cat kennel apparently with his wife. you had agreed that you and levi would buy a newborn cat from the newest litter of kittens which had been born a few weeks ago.

of course, before this, you had to make levi agree to have this new member in your family of two. you knew your husband was a cleanfreak, which meant that he didn’t exactly approve of animals that could risk the hygiene levels in your shared home. however, you compromised. you promised to take care of brushing the cat and cleaning its’ litter box, while levi promised to feed it and train it.

levi was actually very determined to tame and train the cat, saying that there was no way that a ’ball of fur’ would be able to disobey what ever things he wanted it to learn. you disagreed – cats could get quite selfish if they wanted to.

you and levi walked into the kennel, firstly met with the scent of animals and dust. there was mostly different cat supplies and food on the stands on sale there, but you didn’t need to buy anything, since you had already bought everything necessary for the new member of the family.

”mrs. and mr. ackerman, i presume?” a male voice asked kindly, both of your heads turning to the direction of a hallway which was in the back of the room. there stood a brown haired man with a stubble, friendly brown eyes looking at you both curiously.

”ah, yes! we came for the kitten” you chirped back with a smile and walked up to him, levi trailing behind with a suspicious look. the smell of the kennel didn’t charm him.

”excellent. i’m artur braus, please follow me. we usually keep the cats down this hallway in a separated room, since they can get quite loud if they get bored” he chuckled, while leading you through the corridor.

you all walked into a large room. you quickly noticed that almost the whole room was surrounded with a cage, and there was an open door leading to the backyard behind the building. there were tall fences as well and a caged roof, which apparently allowed the cats to freely move outdoors without having the chance to escape. it seemed like they had a large space for them, which was a good thing for the well being of the animals.

however, you quickly got distracted by the adorable sight in front of you. there stood three, only a few weeks old kittens on the floor, all of them having orange and black round marks scattered over the white fur. there was also a bigger adult cat, laying on its’ stomach on the side with a satisfied look on the face. probably the mother of the babies.

”oh, my god..!” you gasped and crouched down, trying to get to the same level as the kittens. you turned around to look at levi, who was still standing with his arms crossed. however, he was eyeing the kittens as well with a sharp yet curious look. you had known levi for a long time at this point and you knew what the look on his face meant – silent affection.

you slid your hand over the cage and allowed the three kittens to smell you, before you softly scratched and petted them behind the tiny ears. you nearly felt your heart burst out from your chest at the sight of the dark doe eyes curiously eyeing you.

surprisingly, levi settled down next to you and followed your lead. he allowed the kittens to smell his hand as well, even though you could tell he was still a little on edge.

”they’re so cute. i can’t believe something alive can be so tiny” you cooed, while rubbing the soft fur of one of the kitten’s.

you looked at levi, whose greyblue eyes were softly eyeing one of the cats specifically. this cat was currently purring and rubbing against his fingers – which looked like they were the size of the kitten’s mere head.

you giggled. ”it likes you” you teased him. the kitten in question let out a small, high pitched meow.

mr. braus laughed. ”oh, that one’s usually quiet as heck, unlike her brothers. she really seems to like you, mr. ackerman”

"what's her name?" you asked.

"oh, she is petra. her brother's are oluo and gunther. they're a handful"

levi huffed, but couldn’t help but subtly smirk. he gave you a knowing look, before he turned to braus with a slightly raised eyebrow.

”how often can you wash cats?” he asked simply.

mr. braus let out a hearty laugh. ”well, it depends. usually around four to eight weeks is a good amount of bathing, but cats do clean themselves every day as well” he said with a hint of a friendly tease.

levi nodded, before looking back at the kitten, petra. she was currently nibbling levi’s calloused hand, as if trying to act like a wild beast even though her fangs were nearly impossible to even see.

”let’s make it four weeks, then. should we get her?”

you squealed, grin of happiness curling on your lips. ”yes!”

as you two walked down the street back to your home, the sun felt warm against your skin. petra was currently inside a cat carrier, which was held by levi. he didn’t carry it with one hand, no, he had the whole damn box in his arms, because he wanted to make sure the cat was well and that it wasn’t afraid or anything. petra seemed calm though, she was just laying down in the carrier and licking its’ tiny feet.

you were definitely curious to see how levi would act around your new kitten. but you definitely had your thoughts about what could happen – he would become a cat daddy, someone who at first finds the animal disturbing but later becomes more attached to it than anyone. no, actually, he seemed to already be attached to it by the way he was constantly checking on her through the caging of the carrier.

"don't spoil her too much, you know" you teased him with a smirk.

levi only huffed and gave you a fond roll of his eyes.

"never. she has to be a good girl before she deserves any treats" he replied with a half serious, half joking tone. "just like you" he smirked.

part of this au ୨ৎ

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p0orbaby · 2 months ago

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Oh so exciting about the currently working on!! Is there any chance you could do another like seperate universe where ale is a provider of some sort like that I love the way you write that dynamic - like she’s sort of mean but also whipped af

context: so they’re together romantically but ale gives reader like a monthly allowance

also @wosospacegirl wrote a similar trope here so go check it out!

You don’t ask for the money this time.

That’s what makes it worse, apparently.

“You’re getting clever,” she says, not looking up. She’s reapplying lip balm with the precision of a sniper. Her eyes are flat and reflective, like polished stone, like there’s something buried behind them—something untraceable, long dead and vacuum-sealed. “Which is dangerous. For you.”

She transfers it anyway.

You hear the low, satisfied thrum of the Monzo notification against the marble kitchen counter. Your phone doesn’t unlock—Face ID can’t identify you under the sulphur clay mask you put on half an hour ago, the one that smells faintly of wet pennies and promises a brighter complexion in twelve uses. You got it free in a PR package you never posted. The other items still sealed under your bed, probably expired. You liked the name of the brand—RUIN, all caps—and their slogan: deconstruct your skin. Thought it was funny.

You pick up the phone with a slow sort of reverence, like you’re checking exam results you already know are excellent. “Three days early,” you say, not bothering to keep the smile out of your voice. “You feeling generous, or just reckless?”

Alexia doesn’t reply. She lifts her glass of Verdejo—chilled exactly to ten degrees, the way she insists, the way you now recognise by tongue alone—and takes a measured sip, like it owes her rent. Her expression is dry and remote. Old-money disdain tempered by post-sex warmth. She’s wearing a floor-length robe in ivory silk, Valentino, vintage. The hem nearly touches the floor but never quite does—like even the fabric’s been trained not to presume.

The neckline is low enough that you catch the edge of a missed tan line, a delicate crescent just under her collarbone. A soft curve of pale skin that makes her look human, briefly. Unfinished.

You wonder, not for the first time, who left the mark. Herself, or someone else.

She sits. She always sits like it’s a statement. Like the air parts for her. The robe falls open just slightly at the thigh, enough to derail your thoughts mid-sentence. It’s not a mistake. Alexia doesn’t do those.

“You think this is a game,” she says, calmly. “It’s not Monopoly, guapa. You don’t get to collect two hundred euros for passing go.”

You tilt your head. “No, but I do get to stay in the hotel suite and wear the jewellery and get absolutely railed against floor-to-ceiling windows. That’s kind of the same thing.”

She sighs. It’s not exasperated. It’s theatrical. Composed. Like an aria just before someone is stabbed. Her toenails are painted a lurid, almost hostile shade of coral. New. You stare at them. You know her taste well enough to know she’s trying something different. A softness she hasn’t earned, or maybe a protest in disguise.

She once told you—after two negronis and a very slow orgasm—that she didn’t wear warm tones because they made her look “Mediterranean in a vulgar way.”

You’d blinked at that. “You are Mediterranean.”

“I’m Catalan,” she’d corrected. “There’s a difference.”

You’d let it slide. You’re used to her taxonomy of the self.

“You’re intolerable,” she murmurs now, almost affectionately. She’s swirling the wine with idle menace, not drinking it. “A charming parasite. Like toxoplasmosis. Very bad for pregnant women.”

You grin at her, wide and deliberate. She hates when you do that. It makes her want to ruin you. “Still keeping me around, though.”

“I don’t keep you,” she says, sharper now. Like a shard of glass wedged under skin. “You’re not a pet.”

You stand. Take the wine glass from her hand like it’s legally yours. She doesn’t stop you. Never does. She watches as you drink, watches the lipstick smear on the rim—Hermès, shade Rose Boisé, which she bought you last month in a silence that felt like penance.

“I’m not a pet,” you say, easing yourself onto her lap like you’re made of something softer than you are. She’s all tension and cheekbones and proprietary rage, but she smells like cedarwood and powdered sugar and some French brand that doesn’t even have a website. “But you do pay me. And feed me. And fuck me. So, if it quacks…”

She kisses you before you can finish. It’s brutal. Less affection, more obedience training. It makes your teeth knock a little. You like that. She doesn’t.

After, she touches your cheekbone with her mouth. It’s almost tender. Almost.

“You’re very lucky I like you,” she says, like it hurts her.

You hum into her collarbone. “Like me? Or love me?”

She doesn’t respond. But you feel her reach for her phone. She scrolls with surgical detachment, then taps something. The coat arrives two days later. The one you sent her a screenshot of at 2am, with the caption I want this like I want God to apologise.

You told her you’d forgotten about it.

She didn’t.

You don’t say thank you. You just press your mouth to her jaw, just where it starts to go sharp. You whisper, “You’re such a melt.”

Alexia exhales like she’s surrendering. “I really am.”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso x reader

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invinciblerodent · 5 months ago

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i had to step away from this entire goddamn website for a few days (it's not a good sign when you open an app and immediately feel the dread creeping up the back of your neck)(and it's not even my banking app, badum-tssh), but i just remembered that this is my private/public diary, and I can say whatever the hell I want, even if it means descending into beaver-madness. so.

this is not personal to OP or a commentary meant for them (which is why I'm not commenting on their post or going to them directly), it's not even about this game in particular, this is more just the clearest recent example I have of this wide, general (I might even get naughty with it and say global) phenomenon that I keep seeing, and it was the proverbial straw that broke my back.

Notice that in this poll, OP elected to pose a question as a closed, binary choice, yes or no... except the "yes" (and only the "yes") gets a qualifier tacked on top of it, as if to add a little asterisk, a footnote, a little "terms and conditions apply" acknowledgement.

And it's making me break out in fucking hives.

I'm beyond certain that I've said this phrase before to cushion an opinion (though in the past few months I have been purposefully trying to weed it out of my vocabulary), but I feel like I'm beginning to actually develop some sort of an allergic reaction to it.

These "even if I may have some criticisms/problems/gripes/complaints/etc." type filler-phrases, I hear them every single day, and I swear, nine times out of every ten, they mean nothing.

It's nothing. It doesn't move any conversation forward. It doesn't inspire a discussion, or add an avenue for engagement. Those who say it don't even tend to bother, more often than not at any point whatsoever, to say what those criticisms are. This phrase, it means about the same as saying that something is "problematic" without elaboration- a phrase so broad as to be rendered void of meaning.

What it does however do, is that it attempts to atone in advance for the speaker's ~mortal sin~ of admitting a positive opinion of something imperfect- which is all things in the world ever created.

All art has its flaws. One can have issues/complaints/problems with all art. That's like half the fucking point of it.

This empty slogan of a phrase, it's no more than a disclaimer- a complete nothingburger of a statement that might as well just be warm air escaping your head.

It's a yes or no question.

My answer is yes.

I want to be able to say yes.

Not only because I feel no shame over enjoyment and see no reason to qualify my words, or feel like I need to indirectly ask for permission to have a positive thought, but also because the thoughts I have about any of the art that I engage with, I express without also feeling a need to temper them by reaffirming the subject's natural imperfection.

I don't want to insist every time I open my mouth that, make no mistake, I do have some nonspecific negative thoughts and issues and nitpicks, I just won't say them and let them be judged based on their own merits (because god forbid I do, people might find them baseless or wanting!), but I still need you to know that I have them, because that's the best sign of intelligence, right??? Complaining about things???? Is that it??????

There is a lot more to go into when talking about this tendency for cynicism and this faux-intellectualism that's actually masking almost an anti-intellectualist sentiment, and I could go on for hours and hours. But at the end, my point will always come down to this: when we analyze art, we don't need to begin by apologizing in the same breath.

When I talk about my "criticisms/problems/gripes/complaints", I try to do so clearly and honestly, with concrete thoughts that I believe to be rooted in the source material rather than conjecture (hence why I insist on supporting my points with quotes from the source), and I do not feel shame or guilt for it. And I sincerely believe that if this was what we all did, even this fandom could be the powerful and inspiring place to be people love to say it is, instead of this feedback loop of hatred that hunts motivation for sport.

Yes. My answer is yes, and it comes with a period at the end.

Anything else I deem worthy of being said is also deserving of its own breath.

One of these days, the beaver dam of my self-control is going to break, and I won't be able to pull myself back at the last moment from going on a rant about why I fucking loathe the phrase "I have my issues, but", and I can only hope that it'll be in a controlled environment (an original post) and not some hapless someone's reblogs.

Like at some point it's that, or viciously tearing into packs of frozen fries with my teeth right in the middle of the supermarket freezer aisle. One or the other.

#squirrel speaks #fandom critical #also the original post has an excellent blocklist in the comments #i just scrolled through and blocked a handful of fucksticks #and it honestly felt kind of cathartic but #sigh. i don't know how many more “how about i do ANYWAY”s i have left in me scoob #i stopped posting fic years ago because it started to feel like i was putting all this energy into screaming into the void for no reason.#fairly recently i all but stopped interacting with most aspects of the fandom at large because it began to feel too depressing.#and this might just be beginning to seem like what will ultimately chase me off the public side of the RPG train altogether #when you look out the proverbial windows and see the gorgeous vistas of La Brea around you; that feels like a sign #(this. this is a half-hearted joke about the tar pits.)#(i know it's a joke only for me. i know it needs workshopping. let me have this.)#at the end i might just become a fucking crochet blog at this point

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kenzdolls · 2 months ago

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OBLIVIOUSNESS . 5.8k

𖤐 synopsis: you’ve just arrived as the new student of ua, and kirishima and bakugou have grown a liking to you. but, you’re very oblivious to their feelings.

𖤐 pairing: katsuki bakugo + eijiro kirishima x fem! reader

𖤐 sent in by: @cosmopretty

𖤐 trigger warnings: mild violence, mild swearing [katsuki duh]

𖤐 side note: this has some ooc of the quirk for reader.

you took a deep breath as you stared up at the imposing gates of ua high school. after your family's unexpected move to japan, you never imagined you'd end up transferring to the most prestigious hero school in the country. yet here you were, your quirk—the ability to temporarily absorb and redirect kinetic energy—deemed impressive enough to warrant a mid-semester transfer to class 1-a.

"you can do this," you whispered to yourself, adjusting your new uniform one last time before stepping through the gates.

the school was even more impressive on the inside than you'd imagined. massive hallways lined with windows stretched before you, and students with incredible quirks milled about, chatting and laughing as if attending the top hero academy in japan was completely normal.

"are you the new transfer student?" a friendly voice called out.

you turned to see a tall boy with glasses approaching you, his movements almost robotically precise. he adjusted his glasses with a crisp motion.

"i am iida tenya, class 1-a representative! it is my duty to escort you to our classroom and ensure your integration is smooth and efficient!"

his enthusiasm made you smile despite your nerves. "yes, that's me. i'm y/n. thank you for the help."

"excellent! follow me, and i will explain the essential protocols of ua as we proceed!"

as iida led you through the school, practically speed-walking while delivering an impromptu lecture on ua's rules and schedules, you tried to absorb as much information as possible. but your mind kept wandering to what your new classmates would be like. would they accept you? would your quirk measure up?

——

"class, we have a new student joining us today," aizawa-sensei announced in his usual monotone voice, barely looking up from his papers. he looked tired, wrapped in his yellow sleeping bag despite standing at the podium. "please introduce yourself."

you smiled nervously as twenty pairs of curious eyes fixed on you. the classroom fell silent, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

"hi everyone! i'm y/n. i just moved here from overseas. my quirk is energy redirection—i can absorb kinetic energy and release it when needed. i'm really excited to train with all of you and become a hero!"

as you scanned the classroom, your gaze lingered momentarily on two boys sitting near each other. one had spiky ash-blonde hair and intense crimson eyes that seemed to be studying you with unusual interest. his posture was confident, borderline arrogant, with his feet propped up on his desk despite iida's obvious disapproval.

the other boy had vibrant red hair styled in sharp points and a friendly smile that instantly put you at ease. unlike the blonde, he was leaning forward in his seat, looking genuinely interested in your introduction.

"you can take the empty seat behind kirishima," aizawa pointed to the red-haired boy, who immediately turned around and flashed you a sharp-toothed grin.

"hey there! i'm kirishima eijiro! your quirk sounds super manly!" his enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile back.

"thanks, i'm still working on controlling it completely. sometimes i absorb too much energy at once and it's hard to regulate the release."

"that's so cool though! my quirk is hardening," he demonstrated by hardening his arm, which turned jagged and rock-like. "not as flashy as yours, but it gets the job done!"

"i think it's amazing," you replied honestly, impressed by the transformation.

"tch, another extra joining the class," the blonde boy grumbled, though his eyes never left you. there was something about his gaze that didn't match his dismissive tone—he seemed to be assessing you, calculating.

"don't mind bakugo," kirishima laughed, nudging the blonde's shoulder with surprising familiarity. "that's just his way of saying hello. he's actually really awesome once you get to know him. best explosion quirk in the school!"

bakugo scowled but didn't correct him. "if you're going to be in the hero course, you better not slow the rest of us down," he said to you, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes that belied his harsh words.

"i'll try to keep up," you replied with a small smile, refusing to be intimidated.

something like approval flashed across bakugo's face before he turned back around in his seat.

"all right, enough socializing," aizawa called out, fully emerging from his sleeping bag. "let's begin today's lesson."

——

your first week at ua was a whirlwind of new faces, challenging classes, and grueling training sessions. you quickly learned that ua's reputation for excellence was well-earned—every student was pushed to their limits daily.

to your surprise, you found yourself frequently in kirishima and bakugo's company. it started during your first practical training session when all might paired you with kirishima.

"young y/n! let's see how your energy redirection works with young kirishima's hardening! a fine combination of offense and defense!" the legendary hero boomed.

you and kirishima clicked immediately as training partners. his hardened body could deliver powerful impacts that you could absorb and redirect, multiplying the force. by the end of the session, even all might was impressed.

"excellent teamwork!" he announced, giving you both a thumbs up.

"that was amazing!" kirishima high-fived you, his sharp teeth gleaming in a wide smile. "we're like the perfect combo!"

"not bad," came a gruff voice from behind you. bakugo stood there, arms crossed but eyes attentive. "your quirk might actually be useful in a real fight."

coming from bakugo, you quickly realized this was high praise.

"thanks," you replied, genuinely pleased. "i saw you training too—your explosions are incredible."

"hell yeah they are," he said with a smirk, but there was less hostility in his tone than before.

"hey, y/n!" kirishima chimed in. "a bunch of us usually study together at the library after classes. you should join us!"

"really? that would be great, actually. i'm still catching up on some of the material."

"awesome! bakugo comes too—he's actually super smart, even if he pretends not to care."

"shut up, shitty hair," bakugo growled, but there was no real malice behind it.

you noticed something then—a certain softness in bakugo's eyes when he looked at kirishima, a subtle shift in his perpetually angry expression. and the way kirishima could touch bakugo's arm or shoulder without getting blasted across the room… it spoke of a closeness that went beyond ordinary friendship.

——

over the next few weeks, you found yourself spending more and more time with both kirishima and bakugo. what started as kirishima offering to help you catch up on training quickly evolved into the three of you studying together, having lunch together, and even hanging out after school.

one afternoon, you were studying in the library with them when you noticed bakugo uncharacteristically helping kirishima understand a complex hero law concept.

"no, hair-for-brains, the liability statute only applies if the civilian was already in danger," bakugo explained, his voice softer than usual. his shoulder pressed against kirishima's as he pointed to a passage in the textbook.

"ohhh, i get it now!" kirishima beamed, practically glowing under bakugo's attention. "you explain it way better than the book, bakugo!"

"that's because the book was written by idiots," bakugo muttered, but a small, proud smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

you watched this exchange with growing realization. the lingering touches, the softened voices, the private smiles—they weren't just close friends. there was something more between them.

"y/n, you okay?" kirishima asked, noticing your thoughtful expression.

"oh! yeah, i'm fine," you replied quickly. "just trying to understand this material."

"want me to help you too?" kirishima offered eagerly. "bakugo just explained it really well!"

"sure," you smiled, sliding your chair closer to theirs. as kirishima launched into an explanation, with occasional corrections from bakugo, you couldn't help but feel a warm sense of belonging. these two boys, as different as they were, had somehow made room for you in their world.

what you didn't know was that the two boys had been dating quietly for a few months before your arrival. and now, they both found themselves increasingly drawn to you, a development that surprisingly didn't cause jealousy but rather mutual understanding between them.

——

"i think she's amazing," kirishima confessed to bakugo one evening as they walked home after parting ways with you. the sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over them. "the way she handled that simulation exercise today was incredible."

"she's got good instincts," bakugo grudgingly admitted, which was high praise coming from him. "and she doesn't take shit from anyone."

just that afternoon, you had stood your ground when monoma from class 1-b tried to belittle your quirk. your calm but cutting response had left him speechless, and bakugo had actually laughed out loud.

"you like her too," kirishima nudged him, grinning knowingly.

"shut up, hair-for-brains." bakugo shoved his hands in his pockets, but he didn't deny it.

they walked in comfortable silence for a few moments before kirishima spoke again.

"you know, we could…"

"could what?"

"tell her. about us. and how we both feel about her."

bakugo was silent for a long moment. "you think that would work? us and her?"

"i don't know," kirishima shrugged, reaching out to take bakugo's hand. "but i think it's worth trying. the way she looks at you when you're training… and she always sits next to you at lunch even though you pretend to be annoyed."

"she sits next to you too, idiot."

"exactly," kirishima grinned. "i think she likes both of us."

bakugo squeezed kirishima's hand, his expression thoughtful. "let's give it a few more days. make sure."

——

meanwhile, you remained completely oblivious to their feelings. to you, kirishima was just being his usual friendly self, and bakugo's gradual softening around you seemed like normal friendship development. you didn't notice how kirishima always found excuses to sit next to you during class, or how bakugo's eyes followed you during training sessions.

you also didn't see how the rest of the class had started to notice the dynamic between the three of you.

"y/n is so clueless," mina whispered to uraraka during lunch one day, her yellow eyes darting toward where you sat between kirishima and bakugo. "those two are practically tripping over themselves for her attention."

"wait, i thought kirishima and bakugo were together?" uraraka asked, confused. "i've seen them holding hands when they think no one's looking."

"they are," tsuyu joined in, her finger on her chin thoughtfully. "but they both seem to like y/n too. kero."

"that's… actually kind of sweet," uraraka smiled, watching as kirishima offered you some of his lunch and bakugo pretended not to notice but still pushed his dessert toward you when he thought no one was looking.

"i wonder if she knows," mina mused.

"i don't think she does," todoroki unexpectedly joined the conversation. "she looks at them the same way they look at her when the other isn't watching."

the girls turned to him in surprise.

"what?" he shrugged. "it's obvious."

——

the next day, you were paired with kirishima for rescue training. the scenario involved rescuing civilians (represented by weighted dummies) from a collapsing building.

"ready for this?" kirishima asked, flexing his hardened arms with excitement.

"born ready," you grinned, feeling a surge of confidence. over the past weeks, your control over your quirk had improved immensely, partly thanks to kirishima and bakugo's help during extra training sessions.

as you entered the training zone, the simulated building began to crumble around you. kirishima immediately hardened his body and shielded you from falling debris.

"thanks!" you called out, already moving toward the first dummy.

"no problem! that's what heroes do!" he replied, his smile impossibly bright despite the chaotic environment.

working together seamlessly, you began evacuating the "civilians." kirishima would break through obstacles while you used your absorbed energy to clear paths or boost your speed to reach stranded dummies.

at one point, a particularly large piece of concrete came crashing down. kirishima hardened just in time, catching it inches above your head.

"that was close," you breathed, finding yourself suddenly very close to him, his face just inches from yours.

"i'd never let anything happen to you," he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. for a moment, time seemed to stand still as you stared into each other's eyes.

the spell was broken by aizawa's voice over the intercom. "five minutes remaining."

you both snapped back to the task at hand, but something had shifted between you and kirishima—a new awareness that hadn't been there before.

from the observation deck, bakugo watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, not out of jealousy but with growing certainty. the way you looked at kirishima… it was the same way you sometimes looked at him when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

——

the breaking point came during a joint training session a few days later. you were paired with bakugo against kirishima and todoroki in a capture-the-flag style exercise. the objective was to either secure the opposing team's flag or immobilize both opponents.

"don't hold me back," bakugo warned as you took your positions, but there was no bite to his words.

"wouldn't dream of it," you replied with a smirk. "i've got a strategy if you're willing to hear it."

bakugo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "let's hear it."

you quickly outlined a plan that would use his explosions and your energy redirection to create a diversion while also setting up a powerful combo attack. to your surprise, bakugo actually listened without interrupting.

"not bad," he admitted when you finished. "let's do it."

as the exercise began, you and bakugo moved with surprising synchronicity. you flanked todoroki and kirishima's position, with bakugo launching calculated explosions that you partly absorbed, building up energy for the decisive moment.

when todoroki created an ice wall to block your advance, bakugo blasted through it, creating a shower of ice fragments that momentarily distracted them. in that perfect opening, you released all your stored energy in a concentrated wave that knocked todoroki off his feet.

kirishima, hardened and prepared, charged toward you. bakugo moved without hesitation, positioning himself between you and kirishima.

"now!" he shouted.

understanding instantly, you placed your hand on bakugo's back, absorbing the kinetic energy as he created a massive explosion directed at the ground. the force would have thrown both of you backward, but you channeled the energy and redirected it forward, propelling bakugo like a missile straight into kirishima.

the impact was calculated perfectly—strong enough to push kirishima back but not enough to hurt him seriously through his hardening. the momentum carried bakugo and kirishima tumbling to the ground, with bakugo quickly pinning the red-haired boy.

"gotcha," bakugo grinned triumphantly.

meanwhile, you dashed for their flag, snatching it just as todoroki was getting back to his feet.

"victory to team bakugo and y/n!" all might's voice boomed over the speakers.

you ran over to where bakugo still had kirishima pinned, both boys looking up at you with expressions of admiration—kirishima's open and bright, bakugo's subtle but unmistakable.

"that was fucking amazing!" bakugo exclaimed, finally releasing kirishima and grabbing your shoulders with an excited gleam in his eyes that you'd never seen before. "the way you redirected my explosion—nobody's ever synchronized with my quirk like that!"

"we make a good team," you laughed, slightly breathless from the fight and his unexpected praise.

"hell yeah we do," he agreed, still holding onto you, his crimson eyes locked with yours. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something more, but he released you and stepped back, a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks.

"that was amazing you guys!" kirishima jumped up, seemingly unbothered by his defeat. "even though you beat us, the way you handled bakugo's explosions was incredible, y/n! and bakugo, dude, that strategy was genius!"

"thanks," you smiled, accepting the water bottle kirishima offered you. "though i think bakugo did most of the work."

"no way," kirishima shook his head, his eyes sincere. "you two were perfectly in sync. you know, he doesn't work well with just anyone."

"really?" you looked over to where bakugo was now arguing with todoroki about something, gesturing wildly. despite his confrontational stance, you could tell he was more animated than angry. "i feel like i've known you both forever, even though it's only been a few weeks."

kirishima's expression softened. "i know exactly what you mean."

across the training ground, bakugo caught kirishima's eye over todoroki's shoulder. something unspoken passed between them—a silent agreement.

——

later that afternoon, you were in the girls' locker room changing after training when mina sidled up next to you.

"sooo," she drawled, her yellow and black eyes gleaming with mischief. "you, bakugo, and kirishima, huh?"

"what about us?" you asked, genuinely confused as you pulled your uniform shirt on.

"oh come on!" mina groaned dramatically. "the way they look at you? the way you look at them? it's the juiciest drama in class right now!"

"i don't know what you're talking about," you insisted, though you could feel your cheeks warming. "we're just friends."

uraraka joined the conversation with a gentle smile. "y/n, kirishima literally gives you his jacket whenever you say you're cold. and yesterday bakugo yelled at mineta for staring at you for too long."

"that's just kirishima being nice and bakugo being… bakugo," you replied, though a strange flutter was building in your chest.

tsuyu tilted her head. "you really don't see it? kero."

"see what?"

"that they're both totally into you!" mina exclaimed. "and from what i can tell, you're into them too!"

"but they're together," you blurted out before you could stop yourself. you'd never spoken this observation aloud before, but you'd been increasingly certain of it.

the three girls exchanged knowing glances.

"so you've noticed that much at least," mina said. "yes, they are. but that doesn't mean they can't also like you."

you stood there, uniform half-buttoned, mind racing. could it be true? had you been completely missing the signs?

"think about it," uraraka said gently. "how often do they both just happen to be wherever you are?"

"how bakugo is almost nice to you when he's a jerk to everyone else," mina added.

"how kirishima always saves you a seat," tsuyu finished.

as they spoke, dozens of little moments flashed through your mind—bakugo's lingering glances, kirishima's casual touches, the way they always included you… had you really been that oblivious?

"i… i need to think," you mumbled, hastily finishing changing and grabbing your bag.

as you left the locker room, your phone buzzed with a text. it was from kirishima:

hey! bakugo and i were wondering if you could meet us on the roof after school? there's something we want to talk to you about. no pressure though!

your heart skipped a beat as you read the message. after your conversation with the girls, the timing seemed almost too perfect. you hesitated for just a moment before typing back:

sure, see you there.

——

the rest of the day passed in a blur. you couldn't focus on any of your classes, your mind constantly drifting to what kirishima and bakugo might want to talk about. by the time the final bell rang, your stomach was in knots.

you made your way slowly to the roof, each step feeling heavier than the last. what if the girls were wrong? what if this was about something completely different? or worse, what if they had somehow found out about your growing feelings for both of them and wanted to let you down gently?

the sun was setting as you pushed open the door to find both boys waiting, looking uncharacteristically nervous—even bakugo seemed on edge, pacing back and forth while kirishima leaned against the railing.

"hey," you called out softly, causing both to turn toward you simultaneously.

"y/n! you came!" kirishima's face lit up, though you could see he was fidgeting with the hem of his uniform jacket.

"of course," you replied, walking over to join them. "is everything okay?"

the boys exchanged a look, some silent communication passing between them. finally, bakugo took a deep breath.

"y/n," he started, uncharacteristically using your actual name instead of some nickname. "we have something to tell you."

"first," kirishima jumped in, "we want you to know that there's no pressure here. whatever you decide is totally cool."

"decide about what?" you asked, heart hammering against your ribs.

"shitty hair and i have been dating for a while now," bakugo stated bluntly, watching your reaction carefully.

even though you'd suspected it, hearing the confirmation still made your breath catch. "oh! that's great! you guys make a really cute couple." you meant it sincerely, even as part of your heart sank at the confirmation.

"there's more," kirishima continued, his cheeks almost matching his hair as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "we both… really like you. as more than a friend."

"a lot more," bakugo added, his eyes intense as they fixed on yours. "and it's not just physical or whatever. you're strong and you don't take shit and you're… you."

you blinked, processing their words as your mind raced to catch up. "wait… both of you? like me?"

"yeah," kirishima nodded, looking both hopeful and terrified. "i know it might sound weird or complicated—"

"it's not weird," you interrupted, a slow smile spreading across your face as relief and joy flooded through you. "i like both of you too. i have for weeks. i just never thought…"

"are you serious?" bakugo looked genuinely shocked, which was rare for him. "how could you not notice? i've been less of an asshole to you than to anyone else in this entire school!"

"and i've been finding every excuse to be near you," kirishima added incredulously. "i literally gave you my favorite hoodie last week!"

"oh my god," you laughed, suddenly seeing all those moments in a new light. "mina and the girls were right. i am oblivious."

"no shit," bakugo muttered, but there was no real heat behind his words. in fact, you could swear you saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

"so…" kirishima took a step closer to you, hope shining in his eyes. "would you want to… be with us? both of us? we've talked about it a lot and we both want this—want you—if you're interested."

your answer was to close the distance and take both their hands in yours, kirishima's calloused from his hardening quirk, bakugo's warm from his explosions. "yes. absolutely yes."

the smile that broke across kirishima's face was blinding, all sharp teeth and pure joy. even bakugo couldn't maintain his scowl, a genuine smile softening his features in a way you'd rarely seen.

"can i…" kirishima hesitated, looking at you with such tenderness it made your heart ache. "can i kiss you?"

your answer was to lean forward and press your lips to his. the kiss was sweet and gentle, everything you'd imagined kissing kirishima would be like. when you pulled back, his eyes were wide with wonder.

"wow," he breathed.

you turned to bakugo, whose eyes had darkened as he watched the two of you. "your turn?"

for a moment, he didn't move, and you worried you'd misstepped. then he cupped your face with surprising gentleness and pulled you into a kiss that was all passion and barely restrained fire—completely bakugo.

when he released you, you were breathless.

"damn," kirishima whispered, watching both of you with undisguised admiration.

the three of you stood there as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the rooftop in golden light. kirishima's arm slipped around your waist, and bakugo's hand remained intertwined with yours.

"so," you finally asked, "how does this work exactly?"

"however we want it to," bakugo replied with unexpected wisdom. "no rulebook for this shit."

"we'll figure it out together," kirishima added, squeezing you closer. "that's what heroes do, right? face the unknown."

standing there between them, feeling bakugo's steady presence on one side and kirishima's warm enthusiasm on the other, you had never felt more certain of anything in your life.

——

the next day, the entire class 1-a froze in collective shock when the three of you walked into homeroom together. bakugo had his arm casually draped over your shoulder, while you held kirishima's hand on your other side. the three of you had talked late into the night, figuring out the beginnings of your relationship, and had decided there was no point in hiding it.

mina was the first to react, letting out an excited squeal that made jirou wince beside her. "finally!"

"wait, are all three of you…?" kaminari pointed between you, his face a mixture of confusion and awe.

"got a problem with it, dunce face?" bakugo challenged, pulling you slightly closer in a protective gesture.

"n-no! it's cool!" kaminari quickly backed down before breaking into a grin. "actually, it's kind of awesome."

"i'm so happy for you guys!" uraraka beamed, giving you a thumbs up.

iida adjusted his glasses, looking momentarily flustered before regaining his composure. "while this is certainly an unconventional arrangement, as long as it doesn't interfere with your studies or hero training, i see no reason to object!"

"thanks, class rep," kirishima laughed, squeezing your hand.

as you took your seats, you could feel the curious glances of your classmates, but they were largely supportive—or at least interested rather than judgmental. even todoroki gave a small nod of acknowledgment as you passed his desk.

during lunch, the shock value had still not worn off as you sat between the boys in the cafeteria, kirishima feeding you bites of his food while bakugo's leg pressed against yours under the table.

"i still can't believe she didn't notice we liked her," kirishima chuckled, his arm draped comfortably across the back of your chair.

"oblivious as hell," bakugo agreed, but his tone was almost affectionate as he reached over to brush a strand of hair from your face. the gesture was so casual yet intimate that several nearby students did double-takes.

"hey, i got there eventually," you protested with a laugh.

"yeah," kirishima smiled, resting his head on your shoulder while bakugo's hand found yours under the table. "you did."

across the cafeteria, the rest of class 1-a watched in amazement.

"i've never seen bakugo so… calm," midoriya whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from the unusual sight of bakugo showing affection openly.

"love changes people, i guess," uraraka replied with a smile.

"it's manly as hell," tetsutetsu commented from the class 1-b table. "they're not afraid to be who they are."

as if hearing them, bakugo turned to glare in their direction, but when you leaned in to say something to him, his expression immediately softened as he turned back to you.

"so, training after school?" you asked both boys. "i want to try this new move i've been thinking about—combining bakugo's explosion with kirishima's hardening."

"hell yeah," bakugo nodded, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "i've got a few ideas too."

"count me in!" kirishima added enthusiastically. "with the three of us working together, we'll be unstoppable!"

watching them together—bakugo's fierce determination and kirishima's unwavering positivity—you couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, the three of you really would be unstoppable. not just as heroes in training, but as partners supporting each other through whatever challenges lay ahead.

some things would never change completely. bakugo would always be explosive, kirishima would always be enthusiastic, and perhaps you would always be a little oblivious. but that was perfectly fine with the three of you.

after all, it had led you exactly where you were meant to be—together.

taglist: [open]

mutuals: @https-bakugo @haikyuubby @va-3 @lotusstarr @tulippanes @gh0st-g1rll @luvseraphh

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rangerbarbz · 11 months ago

Text

Study Sessions

“Study Sessions”

Author’s Note: Had some time to start another blurb! (After reading Book of Bill I’m thinking about writing about Ford possessed by Bill idk) I hope y’all enjoy this one! Let me know what you think lovelies <3 EDIT: OH MY GOODNESS I DID NOT SEE ALL THE INBOX REPLIES I HAD I AM SO SORRRYYYY I HAVE SOME REQUEST IDEAS IN THERE I’D LOVE TO DO

You had conquered every single class at Backupsmore with either an A or a B as your final grade. You wouldn’t say you were a genius by any means, but you took pride in your schoolwork and wished to graduate as soon as possible. This changed when you began taking physics. You had never been so stumped by a subject. The equations, the laws, and the Godforsaken labs were the bane of your existence.

Your determined nature refused to let you fail, so you decided to ask your professor for help. He began doting on his star student Stanford Pines who had taken his class the previous semester and was excelling through the upper level classes. Your professor suggested reaching out to him because he had recently become a S.I. for the introductory physics and chemistry courses. He handed you a Post-It note with his name and the hours when he was going to be in the library.

After your last class of the day, you strolled over to the library on campus, nervous for your first session. He was so smart and you were afraid that he would get frustrated with how little you understood this subject. You made your way to the S.I. lab on campus and tapped your knuckle on the wooden door that was open. There was no one at any of the tables, but there were scattered notebook paper scribbled on and a textbook open.

“Hello?” you called, looking around for a sign of anyone. Suddenly, a head popped up from underneath the table. He had ruffled brown hair and black, square glasses.

“Hello!” the man replied, getting up from the floor. “Sorry about that. I had dropped my pen before you walked in.” He then sat on the rolling chair and scooted it closer to the table. “I’m Stanford, but you can call me Ford. I assume you’re here for physics help?”

You smiled. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Ford. Yes, I am here for physics. My professor recommended you to me.” You placed your backpack on the floor and sat in the chair beside him. “I just want to go ahead and warn you, I’ve had trouble in this class. I hope I don’t frustrate you too much.”

Ford chuckled. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know you’re a smart girl. Do you have any homework that needs to be completed?” You felt your face become warm. Smart girl. You enjoyed him calling you that. There was nothing quite like academic praise to a scholar.

“Uh, yes I do actually,” you answered, not letting your train of thought derail. You pulled your binder from the first pocket of your backpack and set it on the table in front of you two. “It’s ten problems, so if I miss more than three of them that means I have a D,” you continued as you removed the worksheet from the rings. “I am shooting for at least a C in the class overall.”

He grinned at you like he was happy about doing physics. “Well, I believe you’re going to get no less than an A in that class.” You laughed at his confidence in you.

“I don’t know about that, but I appreciate it, Ford,” you replied, twirling your pencil between your fingers. You gazed into his eyes; the sunlight from the window brought out hints of gold in his dark brown irises. Wow, they were so pretty.

He then cocked his head to the side. “Pardon? Did you just say ‘pretty?’” he asked with a smile tugging at his lips.

Your face immediately became hot. Oh my God you spoke out loud not meaning to. Okay how do you save this conversation. You laughed nervously. “Pretty excited to start learning that is! Ha! Let’s get started, please. I can’t wait!” you exclaimed, all in one breath.

Ford nodded. “What a great attitude to have, Y/N!” He then picked up his pencil and began to explain the first problem to you. He was so good at going into detail about every little thing. He was patient with you as well which was good because he kept on distracting you.

The more you focused on him, the more features you noticed. His glasses had scratches on the wire rims, he had a prominent, square jaw, and he had unkempt sideburns. He was so damn good looking it made you want to study thermodynamics forever if it meant you got to look at him.

You had actually gone through the homework quicker than you thought you would, so Ford asked if you would want to practice some extra problems on the blackboard. Of course you agreed. You walked up to the board ready to write whatever he threw at you but feeling self-conscious about being the center of his attention like this. He was still sitting at the table reciting the equation back to you while you stood out in the open. You then pushed your insecurity to the side in order to show him you had actually learned something today. He carefully observed you as you wrote, watching the cogs in your brain turn. He also was watching the way your face contorted in concentration and the way your fingers tapped against the chalk tray.

“Alright. I think I’m done, Ford.” You moved to the side so he could see your final answer.

He smiled at you, putting his hands on his knees to get up. “Let’s see what ya got,” he responded, walking over to stand beside you. You didn’t realize when he was sitting how tall he was compared to you or how broad his chest was. He began to mumble under his breath, making sure there were no mistakes present. “Everything looks good Y/N!” He then turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours.

“You know, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Look at what you accomplished in just this short amount of time! If you keep on coming to my sessions, I know you can get through this class without worry.” Ford paused and looked back at the board, hands held behind his back. “It would make me happy to see you succeed.”

You beamed back at him. Would it be inappropriate to kiss him right now?

You (obviously) continued going to Ford’s S.I. sessions because your grade improved with each one you went to. You had also spent some time outside of the library together by doing some photography of the wildlife around campus while Ford doodled in his sketchbook. People usually clocked him as an introvert, but he was not like that with you. He had opened up quite a bit to you about his past and what he wanted to do in the future.

Today, you had met Ford on a bench outside his dormitory after your physics class had let out to share some good news with him. “Ford!” you called out. He looked up to see you waving a paper marked with an A+ in red ink. “Guess who got the highest grade in the class on the test last week?” you squealed.

“Yes!” Ford said triumphantly, standing up quickly to pump his fists in the air. His sketchbook fell to the ground with some of the loose papers coming out. “I’m so proud of you!” You put your hands on his strong shoulders and jumped up and down.

“Thank you thank you thank you! I’m just tickled pink right now,” you responded happily, bending down to pick up his drawings before the wind caught them. Ford’s face suddenly fell.

“Oh here I’ll get that,” he started, kneeling down on the concrete beside you. He was trying to pick up the papers that fell out as fast as possible, but you were faster.

Your eyes grew wide as you picked up a paper with drawings of a woman reading a textbook, in a tree taking a picture of a bird, and one where she was just laughing. They were all you. Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked at them. They were so beautiful.

“Y/N I’m so sorry. I- I can explain,” Ford stammered. “I- I have…liked you for a while now. You just are always on my mind, so I end up drawing you sometimes.”

“I like you too,” you cut him off.

His face was flushed beyond belief. “I, well, uh-”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you stated. Ford’s eyebrows lifted as you closed the gap between you with a sweet kiss. He let out the tiniest sigh at the contact, his eyes fluttering close. You held his face in your hands and separated your lips from his to see his reaction. He was still blushing with a goofy smile on his lipstick stained face.

“That was nice. Should’ve done that sooner,” he joked. You giggled and began to kiss him rapidly on his cheeks and forehead. You had left red stains of your lips with each smooch you gave him.

“Yeah, you should have, smart guy.” He rolled his eyes and held your chin between his thumb and index finger to pull you in for another kiss. You smiled against his lips.

“I can’t wait to tell Fiddleford about this,” Ford murmured.

“ And I can’t wait to see Fiddleford’s reaction to my assault on your face,” you laughed.

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