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dyaz-stories · 4 months

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in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

#sweet home #sweet home x reader #sweet home netflix #sweet home season #park chan young #chan young #chan young x reader #park chan young x reader #sweet home imagines #park jinyoung #my writing

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pursuitseternal · 5 months

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“Persuade Me,” Ascended Astarion tells you, a sub!Astarion, all tied up for you in “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 3.9K persuasive dom/sub bdsm smut

Summary: He’s so terribly stubborn, it will take a lot of persuasion to get him to come around. All tied up, it should be easy, but no matter how *hard* it is, it will be… delicious for you both…

CW: bondage, sub!Astarion, tender confessions, possessive and stubborn Ascended behavior, persuasive bedroom techniques so effective, he tells you the reason he can’t let you out of his sight, why you are not just… some… spawn…

Based on “Just A Drop🩸”

Read on AO3 | Astarion fic Masterlist

How will you persuade him…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen Lord Astarion all morning,” you give your most convincing look of worry, of concern and confusion. Eyes wide and brows furrowed, painted lips pouting as you close your dressing gown tightly around your body. “Perhaps try the grounds? Everyone knows he enjoys a good stroll in the dawn…”

And with that you shut the door in the poor trembling servants face. A brief flash of relief on their fearful countenance that dismissing them and shutting the door on them was the worst you did. You hear their poor feet skitter away. And then, you turn with a deep, contented breath to view the sight stretched in your bed.

Yours. And his.

He’s waiting. Patiently. Spread wide and tethered to the four posts of your bed frame, and most of all, your mouth waters to see that hardened, twitching, eager cock proudly erect.

Just as you left him.

Only now, his eyes are drawn, half-lidded, his tongue licking his lips.

“They will get suspicious eventually, darling,” he croons, all the tones of confidence as you draw alongside the bed, dropping your thin, little dressing gown to reveal you pale figure again.

“Let them,” you purr right back. “They wouldn’t dare enter without my permission,” you cock your head flirtatiously, “or yours. But since you are… tied up with other matters…”

“Puns, darling,” he groans, face twisting in a sour show of distaste.

“…they will just have to take my word for it.” You laugh slowly, sitting yourself beside his hip, a single finger tracing through the ridges of his stomach. Ignoring his little taunt, savoring his submission as your willing plaything for now.

“Liar,” he croons rolling his body to press against your ass, where you are perched almost out of reach. “You said Lord Astarion isn’t here,” he’s growling. Provoking. Straining against his binds that are restraining both him and his ever-growing magic.

You give him that wide-eyed innocent look, scanning the room, a show of searching, a pantomime that only makes him sneer playfully and shake his head. “All I see is my lover, my Vampire Rogue, who is being rather stubborn about all this,” you sigh as you swiftly roll to brace yourself above him, perched on your hands and knees to hover over his taught form. Tantalizingly close.

He groans, trying to lift himself to touch any part of you. But you are clever, you’ve played enough games on the receiving end of such pleasurable punishments to know just what you wish to do.

“I am allowed to be stubborn when what you ask for is reckless… painful… dangerous…” he’s snarling below you, his chin jutting up to make his shining fangs all the more fearsome.

“It has been months since the end of our adventures,” you reply in calm and steady tones, “months of solidifying our power, of eliminating the traces of our enemies and assuring alliances, even with old friends…” you think of Wyll, new Duke Ravenguard, and the tenuous agreement to turn his literal blind eye on most of what Astarion does. Trusting you to be the one to keep him in check from anything horribly nefarious.

“You think my consort… my queen… should wander the streets of Baldur’s Gate alone? Unguarded? Like some….”

“Adventurer and hero?” you interject.

“I was going to say commoner…” he sniffs, disgruntled.. “You’re so much more than that now, my love. Let me free and I’ll show you just how special you are… how regal and unique…”

You skate your fingers down the hard lines of his stomach, barely ghosting their way towards his straining erection. “Mmmmm my love, you’re always so good at persuading with your body, I’d like to give it a try.”

“You can try, darling…” he swallows his grunt as you finally touch him, just the pads of your fingers tracing up the underside of his cock. “But you’ll find my tongue is better suited to other… pursuits… than merely trying to give you my word.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you simper, you pout, lowering your head to place a gentle kiss at the joint of his hip. “I think all you need is the correct incentive… the sweetest persuasion…”

“What you ask will certainly take a lot to persuade me, darling,” he groans. “If you think I’m about to allow you to go without an escort around the streets of Baldur’s… hngf…”

You suck him hard, taking in as much of his straining, painful erection as you can until it jabs at the back of your throat and makes you gag. But that’s it. You release him with a deafening, sloppy pop. Meeting his eyes, they are glassy, his teeth bared in a grimace of pain. Or pleasure.

“Hells,” he whines, bucking his hips erratically off the bed, even with his legs tethered and spread as they are.

“You want to rethink that assertion, my love?” you preen, crouched beside him, nested in the bedcovers.

“Never,” he growls, a playful smile on his full and pouting lips. “But I’ll join in your game all you want, darling. You’re burning for my cock as much as I am for you and all your deliciousness.”

“Is that so?” You simper, slowly lowering your mouth back down to hover above his aching erection. The closer you get, the more he betrays his anticipation as it twitches. You barely run the tip of your tongue around that ridge of its head. “Just a simple acquiescence to the little thing I ask of you… just to walk beyond our palace…”

“Not without me,” Astarion’s eyes flash, his fangs glinting in the morning light that seeps through the window. “Never alone, my pet…”

You take him in mouth lips again, loose and sloppy, just a bit of wet and warmth to tease him before you dodge away, avoiding the thrust he attempts to make for some relief. “Ah, ah,” you scold with a simpering pout, “we ask first before we start fucking faces, my love.”

“May… I…” he clenches his beautiful white teeth, forcing his words through them, “fuck… you?”

“No, but thank you for asking,” you taunt, running your tongue up that grooved underside, letting it linger along the intricate map of veins that weave around that hard, throbbing length. “Once you agree, then I’ll be more than happy to let you in… somewhere…”

He lets out a ferocious growl, a smile still playing around his lips, eyes craning above his head to inspect your bindings. Even as they tingle with a little magic, a little extra assurance against all his mighty vampiric powers now. “I swear, if I could shift into my newest form…”

“Your cute little bat?” you grin, laughing loudly as you take him deep enough into your throat to feel the vibrations of your throat. Then, you release another strong suck with a pop. “What would you do, make a nest in my hair?”

He laughed at that, low, dark, and rolling. “Tempting,” he hissed back, “nothing short of what you would deserve, darling.”

“To wander without needing to wait for you to be free from your rule… your duties?” you return your attention to that glistening cock with a hungry grin, “I’ll take my chances again.”

He squirms as you barely graze it with your lips again, just little nipples of that smooth, stretched skin up and down its shaft. “Please, darling, please,” his voice grows desperate, edged with need, “give me just a little of your body.”

“And in exchange?” you croon, gracing him with one last lingering suck and swirl around that blunted tip.

“I will take you where you wish to go,” he groans at the continued release, your little reward of rhythmic bobbing over his length as you take him satisfyingly deeper. “To hells with duties, if that is your wish.” Tone softening, he bucks into your mouth, his timing as always impeccable, jamming that slick hardness down your throat as you lower. You sputter and gag, your throat closing around him before you can lift away.

“Naughty,” you chide him gently, frowning with a hint of a smile as you creep to dangle your body over him, all hands and knees and swinging breasts. Breasts he’s licking his lips for as you draw nearer.

“Just a taste, darling,” he flashes those wide, pleading eyes up at you, “I swear I only need a little…”

“Mmmm, I’ve heard such beautiful lies before,” you raise yourself onto your knees, straddling those clenching muscles of his belly. A single one of your finger slips inside your own folds, and you let him hear just how wet you are. It squelches, sloppy and thick as you tease yourself. You ride over his belly, locking your half-closed eyes with his, wide and burning and dilated as they are. “Good rogues get the spoils,” you pant, letting yourself thrust those fingers into your dripping folds harder, faster. You spasm, riding your own hand, feeling his belly rise and fall against your thighs and cunt as you pleasure yourself.

You can hear the bed groaning, the wooden frame creaking loudly as he pulls at every binding. It makes you lick your lips, eyes fluttered shut to savor the way he’s writhing between your thighs, shaking as he comes undone to watch you panting. Always watching as you begin to come, trembling and moaning as you shatter, your arousal pooling over his belly. As you try to catch your breath, you let him look into your gaze, that feral, barely-bridled glow of red in his eyes. You feel his cock throbbing against your ass, twitching as you make the slightest of contact with where his is in deepest agony.

It makes you smile wickedly, leaning forward to proffer your slick and dripping fingers for his lips. You need not say a word, not when he opens, straining against his tethers to suck you clean. Every lap and lick of his tongue, he feasts on your cum, little noises of feeding in his throat, the same he has always made, lips bruising your neck in the wee hours of night.

You tug them roughly from his mouth. “Enough of that from you,” you chide, smiling. Taunting. “I give you a little, and you still have yet to give me my due, my love.”

He grins, licking the corner of his lip. “You still haven’t figured it out yet, have you, my darling… my treasure…? Have you stopped and thought, perhaps, why I won’t let you wander aimlessly into the open, outside of my protection?”

“Because you just can’t bear to be without me…” you tease him, a wicked smile on your face as you place a quick kiss on his insolent lips. He fights for you not to break away, his teeth biting into the swell of your lower lip. “Selfish lover that you are…” you mumble as he tries to devour you all the more.

“Naturally, my little love,” he pants as you raise up, a hand firmly pushed on the base of his throat. “Has it not always been so, darling? Your ferocious rogue always at your side? But now, my sweet consort, have you ever wondered why I can’t resist being just oh.. so… possessive of you?”

You pause, tilting your head, considering. You wait for an answer, but those full, smirking lips of his just press silently together.

“Oh, you wish for me to draw out your answer,” you needle him, an edge of irritation in your voice now.

“Isn’t that the point of your charming, little game?” he presses, tugging at his bonds to make them snap with tension.

“Then let’s play,” you smirk, neck taut as you cock your chin, posturing with all the dominance you can muster.

“Anything to get some wet part of you on my cock, my love…” he arches his body as you slide off his belly. “If you please,” he adds, extra silken temptation in his tone.

“You haven’t been good, but I suppose you require more persuasion,” you hum, “and perhaps you could use a more convincing sight. Until you tell me exactly why you insist on being my constant escort, at least.”

“You’re clever,” he hisses as you begin to turn your back to him, hand gripping that throbbing shaft, his pulse pounding beneath that smooth skin. “If you can defeat the Absolute, the Netherbrain, it should be easy for you to puzzle out why your vampiric lover can’t let his consort out of his sight for a moment…” He groans as you straddle those narrow hips of his, one hand sweeping his cock through your drenched folds. “No matter how powerful… or insolent she may be…” he adds, a deep-throated growl on every word, a snap as he taunts you.

You let him dip slowly inside you, barely taking more than the ridge of his tip between your thighs. Hands gripped on his knees, you feel his legs shaking, trembling to finally find some relief as you fuck him leisurely. A gentle sway, an agonizingly slow riding. And never enough to let him sheath inside you fully.

A mischievous smirk on your lips, you glance over your shoulder. His teeth are grit, his eyes darkened with lust and wide as he cranes to watch your ass, the gradual, rhythmic rise and fall as you pleasure him with total control. “Powerful, am I?” you gloat, taking him just a little deeper.

It makes him hiss, his eyes shutting as sweat begins to dampen his forehead.

“More than you realize,” he gasps, voice grating as he forces his eyes open to drink in the sight of you. “More than I have ever admitted to anyone… to you.”

“Tch,” you suck your teeth in that way he always has, “how sweet, my love. Is that why you keep me here, keep me at your side always? For my power?”

“Don’t forget your beauty that would launch nations into battles for you, my treasure…”

That makes you smile, makes your stomach flutter in expectation, and for your own sake, you take him in, all the way, until you feel the slap of his thighs between your legs.

He roars, pulling on his binds on this hands and feet to make the wood of your bed groan almost as loudly. “Please,” he spits, “do that again, darling.”

“Tell me more reasons, and I just might,” you toss over your shoulder at him, making him feel only the tip of his cock piercing you again.

“Why don’t you think, clever girl?” he hisses, trying to buck into your cunt, to reclaim that little hint of wet and pressure you gave him.

“Because I am your equal?” you grind with every thrust, letting your walls clench as you take him just a bit deeper.

“Yes…” he pants.

“Because you just can’t bear to be so far you can’t smell just how aroused you make me…” you giggle, splaying a hand behind you, over his navel, pressing against those hardened muscles of his belly as you sink all the way down.

“Gods, yes…” he’s groaning, licking his lips as you let him fill you at last.

“Because you’ve given me your power, extended your blessings…” you cant your hips slowly, still drawing him along, but he can only sigh, at last feeling the tightness, the wetness he’s sought for so long now.

“Not just my blessings and power, darling,” he cranes his head back into the bed with a sated sigh as you ride him. Even slowly.

But you pause. Clambering over his hips you spin around to face him, cock still sunk inside you, a hand gripped around the lines of his jaw, his chin, to make him look at you. “What do you mean?” you bite.

“Don’t you recall, clever girl?” He’s laughing under your hold. “That night, your final night… what more did I give you?”

Your mind races, your hips grinding, that need now built inside you too, finally feeling filled to bursting, his cock twitching as it drags right over that perfect, secret spot between your walls.

“Free me, if you please, so I may remind you…” he’s crooning, purring as you fuck him. “Please,” he adds, a little extra seductively, his face twisting in that way that makes your stomach knot as it always has. You spread your hands beside his head, eyes narrowed to see him gloating so smugly under you. His little order sends ripples of anticipation down your spine to pool even hotter where your bodies join.

Your hand shakes, your body now riding him of its own accord, even as you reach for the binding around one wrist to slip it off his pale skin. Instantly, his hand grabs your wrist, pulling it to his mouth as he sinks his fangs into your flesh. You groan, the wave of painful pleasure tearing through you hard enough to make you come. All you feel is his lips drinking you in, his cock throbbing as you spasm and ride him still through the clenches of your orgasm. You’re so full, so taken, so overwhelmed.

And he’s laughing, swirling his tongue over your dripping blood.

“Blood,” you breathe through your climax.

“Not yours,” he growls before biting into his own wrist in the same way. Then, he proffers that flow of his blood for your own lips to taste. “I gave you mine… I made you mine.”

You suck your fill, the tingle of his power, the rush of all that he is, all that he has always been, filling your belly.

“You are not some spawn, darling,” he smirks, that secret dancing over the full pout of his lips. “Your vampire lord gave you his own blood.” His words reach your ear through the euphoria of drinking him in. Suddenly, his hand pulls from your hungry mouth, fingers clawing around your throat. He presses, just enough to make your eyes wide as you swallow under his strength, his hold pulling you down so close to his handsome face. “Even a drop given to you, to turn you, it makes you mine… my consort, my bride, my vampire lover forever, beyond the touch of time itself.”

“Not spawn?” you rasp through his hold on you, a pleased, pleasured smile flickering around your lips as he stares with such longing and adoration up at you.

“No,” he purrs, “but it means I will never let you out of my sight, my power, my protection, so long as we walk this earth. I would rather burn the world to keep you with me forever than risk losing my bride for an instant….” You tremble, you gasp at the ferocity in his gaze as he pulls you down by your throat until your lips crash into his. He feasts on your mouth, groaning at the taste of how your bloods mix and mingle into an intoxicating flavor. Rich. Powerful. United.

Inseparable.

“What a good, good master,” you simper into his kiss. “You shall be rewarded��” You touch the binds again, they all go limp as he shakes them off. He growls his pleasure. He touches you everywhere, fingers sliding from your neck to claw into the hairs at the nape of your neck, nails grabbing for your hips. Legs now liberated, the muscles of his thighs bunch as he starts to fuck hard into you from beneath, feet planted firmly on the bed at last.

“Thank you, my dearest love,” he grins widely, wickedly at you. “I hope I need not persuade you to trust me. Never again forget what it means to be mine…”

“Your bride,” you simper, tasting the title on your tongue, face quirking in a slight and knowing smile. “And that makes you my hus-”

“Your master,” he lifts his head, the weight of his hand at your nape pressing your mouth back down, barely brushing his taunting smirk. “Your lover… your mate or spouse or what have you behind closed doors only.” Then he bites into your neck, fangs piercing like the razors they are. A loud moan slips from your lips as you shiver and shudder in orgasm again from the pain and pleasure. His voice cuts through just as sharply, “And you may only call me husband… three times… for all eternity…” His tongue laps the blood that spills from your veins and down your shoulder now. “Choose wisely, my dearest darling.”

You fight the pull of your pleasure, the need to go limp and just let him fuck you. Not after your hard won victory. So you pull from his mouth, pushing that controlling hand at your neck back down to the bed. “Of course, darling,” you give a naughty smirk, a defiant rake of your brows and flutter of your lips as you press to whisper against his neck instead. “Whatever you say, husband,” you hiss with pure, delightful insolence before you bite him back. Now it’s your mouth that makes him squirm, your control that makes his shudder and hitch as he chases his climax, seeking with reckless abandon the thing that you have kept just tantalizingly out of reach.

“You fuck me like this, my love, and you just might persuade me to get used to it…” he rasps, hands grasped at your hips to keep you steady so he can pummel you mercilessly.

“Ah ah,” you tut your tongue to chide him. “Remember, good masters ask before they come inside their brides,” you gloat, feeling that truth, that connection of your blood and your undead hearts beating all the stronger for it.

“Please,” he begs harshly through gritted teeth, his fucking undeterred as he waits for your word.

He slams up into you with all the more force, his face already screwing and twisting with how close he is.

“Yes, my love,” you acquiesce with a dramatic lilt. It doesn’t take long, not after he watches you smile and feels you clench your walls around him with all your strength. He roars, writhing and spasming as he empties inside you. Buried so deep you feel the tip of his cock twitching against the end of your channel.

You gasp, your sweat dripping down your temple as you watch him begin to still and relax beneath you. But you stay, cock deep and warm inside you, his thighs beneath you soaked with your mingled juices.

“So,” you pant, letting your own body respond with its own basking in the glow of your pleasure, as you slowly lower your body to blanket him. His hand strays absentmindedly through your hair, fingertips softly brushing your cheek with each pass. “You must have lots of ruling to attend to now that you’ve persuaded me,” you murmur, nestled against the hard bone of his jaw, tracing your finger through the pooling of his blood from your bite. You bring that finger to your mouth to suck it clean. “I’ll wait for you before I wish to venture out for the day.”

“Oh,” he grips into your hair, raising your head to look at him again, and your smile widens to see the intensity, the possessive glint in his crimson eyes. “I think all that can wait. Right now, you can choose, venture out and then fuck again until you’re begging me for more? Or fuck first and then venture out into the day, my love?”

You giggle, a grind of your hips to drag over his still hardened cock inside you. “Hmm, a tough choice,” you grin, scoring your own fingers through his hair, “perhaps you need to persuade me this time…”

356 notes · View notes

dontexpectmuch · 3 months

Text

part 2 - [Lost in Madrid]

author note: jude is annoying but whats new + im too lazy to proofread. hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think about it!!

series.masterlist // part three

“but, how do i know what participle form to use?”

you turn around to face adriana, one of your students in this course, “well, unfortunately you actually have to learn those.”

at your response, you could see hear shoulders sack a bit, muttering a spanish curse word under her breath.

“but,” you speak up again, hoping to lift up her spirits, “you’ll know them in no time, they’re easy to remember.”

nodding, she smiles at you before continuing to work on her report that she needs to wrote by the end of the month, something to monitor her progress in class.

sighing, you look around the class room, eyes focusing on the windows. it has been almost a month of you being here, teaching and helping around the center, and though it’s still a bit slow, you surely find different aspects to nite down for your thesis.

“hey, pretty teacher!” a voice appears by the door, making you tear away your eyes from the trees outside to look at the person.

“ah, lorenzo, buen día.” you smile at lorenzo, a new friend of yours.

you guys have been introduced to another by hernan, who claims that since you are in the same age range, you would get along even better than with others in the center. and he wasn’t wrong. even if you haven’t known lorenzo for a long time, you still find yourself enjoying his presence quite a lot, feeling comfortable enough to talk about various things with him during your lunch break. however, señor lagarde is still your favorite person, him giving you the feeling of an uncle that is also a father figure.

you walk up to him, looking at your students briefly before placing your attention on him.

“are you done with your group?”

lorenzo nods, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms in front his chest. they looked bigger this way, really good even, you admit. but you try to focus on his brown eyes instead, which are already looking at your face.

he turns his head to the side, smiling slightly, “i only had the younger ones today, they work fast. how about you, linda?”

you mirror his smile, “yeah, almost. they started their reports today, that is why it’s taking a bit longer.”

your gaze moves up to the clock on the wall, eyes widening as you see the time, “guys! you can already pack and leave for your practical lessons, the coaches wanted to start earlier today!”

choruses of “sí”s and “gracias”s are heard throughout the class, everyone is packing up and leaving the room, but not before wishing you a nice day.

“shall we go home together?” lorenzo pushes his body off the door frame, hand going through his dark hair to push it out of his forehead.

you move back to your desk, quickly packing your stuff, “can’t, i promised señor to watch his team play today.”

“want me to stay with you?”

smiling at his offer, you shake your head, kindly declining, “it’s fine, señor and i get along really well.”

“pero, what if that guy bothers you again?” his eyes sharpen and his lips are drawn into a straight line, though you can’t help but chuckle a bit at his behavior.

“no one bothers me! it was an accident!” you explain, putting your bag on your shoulder and walking out the room.

lorenzo is hot on your heels, not satisfied with your answer, “was that thing during lunch also an accident?”

thinking back, you pause a bit, unsure of what to say, “well, i don’t know? maybe he didn’t see me.”

scoffing, he shakes his head, “if you say so, but let’s get lunch outside next time, yes?”

“yeah, we’ll see.”

you bid your goodbyes and start to walk to the open field, thinking about the situation lorenzo was referring to,

“it’s so hot today.” you groan, moving along the line with your plate at hand.

“wait til it is august, it’s even worse then.” lorenzo replies, a smile dancing on his lips.

as you move up to the place for your drinks, you get yourself a coffee and some fruit, balancing them on your way to your seat.

but, right before you arrive at your table, someone bumps into your shoulder, causing the hot coffee to spill over your hand.

“ow, fuck. shit shit shit-“ you quickly put the coffee and plate down, shaking your hand for some relief.

“didn’t see you there.” a familiar voice behind you says, making your eye twitch.

“usually,” begin, turning around to face the british footballer, “one would apologize, instead of saying something like that.”

however, jude just nods, eyes focused on something else as he already begins to walk away, “yeah, ‘m sorry.” is all he says before he moves to the table to sit next to his friends.

scoffing, you looking down at your hand, which still feels hot, “stupid fucker.”

that trip down memory lane makes you scoff and you try shaking your head to get out of it.

but you also didn’t want to think too badly of someone you didn’t know, because who knows? maybe he has had a bad day that day? maybe he wasn’t feeling well?

instead of focusing on that, you try to focus on your view ahead, a happy señor lagarde that was explaining something to the players lined up in front of him.

in order not to bother him, you quietly move to your seat, a bit further away from the field than last time, just to be safe. you put your bag on the ground and rest your hands on your hips, eyes still looking at the people on the field. this time, there are more players than before, from different age groups and all of them play professional football here in madrid.

everything goes according to the schedule for a while, nothing too exciting. the sun is still high up in the sky, its rays heating up the entire place, resulting the players to sweat excessively during their training. you try to stay professional, you really do, but seeing some of the elder players running around the field, their shirts clinging onto their body and the sweat rolling down their neck, just makes you appreciate you internship a little more than necessary.

your daydreams come to an end when you hear someone call out your name, making you tear away your gave from the grass on your feet.

“can you bring us some water bottles?” you hear the british player - what was his name again? - yell at you, voice booming over the entire pitch.

you open your mouth, wanting to yell back, something along the lines that you aren’t some water bottle holder or whatever. but, you hold back, deciding on being mature about it and doing what he asked [demanded] you to do.

you get up, grab the bag with water bottles and start walking towards the group of people. opening the bag, you let each of them grab out a bottle, hearing small “thank you’s” as you pass them. as you turn around to walk back, you feel something around your foot, causing you to slightly trip, though it is nothing major and you catch yourself immediately. you turn around, looking at your feet first before your gaze moves up, staying locked at the face of the british player, whose eyes look everywhere but your direction.

you bite your tongue, trying your best not to say anything you might regret later. you continue your way back to your seat, leaving the now empty water bag next to it.

as practice slowly comes to an end, you start to pack up your book and pen, thinking about what you could cook for dinner when you arrive home.

“are you a new coach here?”

looking up, you see jaden - at least that is what you think his name was - looking down at you, a towel slung around his neck and hands resting on his hips. his dark eyes look directly into yours, creating a weird feeling in your stomach.

are you getting sick? due to the weather changes perhaps?

“no,” you shake your head amd get up from your seat, his eyes never leaving yours and watching every movement from your side, as if you’re some kind of prey.

weirdo.

“i do an internship here, something with languages.”

the expression on his face morphs into one of enlightenment, “yeah, makes more sense.”

offended, your eyebrows draw together, getting ready attack this guy in front of you, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“nothin’” he throws his hands up in defense, “but, like, c’mon, y’know what i mean.”

“no, no i do not know what you mean,” you take a step forward, “why are you so rude?”

“‘m not rude! just trying to start a conversation.”

“well, you suck at that.”

now, he is the one offended, mouth open in shock, “no i don’t?” his accent was thick, maybe because he was getting worked up, “you suck at getting a conversation going!”

“no, i don’t!”

“you do, though.”

rolling your eyes you move away, making your way to the exit, “go away, jaden.”

he follows you, “it’s jude.”

“that’s what i said.”

“wow, you’re rude.” jude says, coming to a halt when you arrive at the door.

“me?” your eyes widen in anger? or is it frustration? you aren’t sure, but this guy surely knows how to awaken these emotions in you, “you’re the rude one! you never properly apologized for what happened during lunch!”

“i did!”

sighing, you close your eyes for a second, your nerves running thin, “listen, i gotta go-“

“want me to come with you.” his smirk makes you want to crave out his eyeballs, though you hold yourself back.

he is just a boy, he is just a boy, he is just a boy-

“woah, are you that happy that you forgot how to talk?” he speaks up again, smirk widening.

“have a nice day.” you monotonously reply, opening the door and closing it abruptly behind yourself.

———————————————————

you always liked to say that fate was mostly by your side due to your positive thinking and avoidance of negative attitudes. but that luck must have come to an end.

after that talk with jude - not jaden, you really have to start remembering names better - you hoped to avoid being around him as much as you could, not because he did anything wrong, but just to safe yourself from another [annoying] conversation with that guy.

as already mentioned, however, fate seems to enjoy to throw you into situations where avoiding him was nearly impossible.

whenever you walked onto the pitch during your weekly practical classes, he was already there, yelling inaudible things at your direction and laughing at every mishap that happens to you. whether it was spilling the water because you got scared by a loud noise, or because your phone slipped out of your hands.

during lunch breaks, he seems to make it his very own mission to stand in your way, taking away the last piece of cake or taking extra long to choose a meal option, and what not.

at first you thought that he might just want to tease his teammates, they have always had a playful relationship amongst themselves, not a second passing without a laugh or giggle. but every time he did something that annoyed you, his eyes were already focused on yours, teasing smirk almost inviting you to punch it away.

“i just don’t understand what he wants from me.” you decide to rant to one of your colleagues during your break, expression sour.

“well,” she begins, chuckling a bit, “maybe he wants to get to know you?”

you feel like laughing, not believing the words coming out her mouth.

“yeah? and that is why his shots always ‘accidentally’ hit my legs?” you point out, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your chair, “i just want a relaxing internship, dealing with a child was not on my bingo card.”

amanda, your colleague, laughs at your comment, leaning against the table, “that is how footballers flirt! you should give him a chance-“

“give whom a chance?” lorenzo interrupts your conversation, taking a seat next to you, his arm behind the back of your chair.

“no one.” you answer, looking at amanda knowingly, “i was just telling her about some dude.”

“who?”

“irrelevant.” you dismiss the topic and look at the time, eyes widening when you register what time it is. “i have to go, señor lagarde needs my help today.”

as you leave the room, you hear amanda shout at you, something along the lines to enjoy your time.

“ah, linda! great timing!” you are greeted by señors deep voice as soon as you step onto the pitch, your bag now left by the benches.

“i’m here to help!” you reply, laughing as he puts an arm around your shoulder.

his eyes focus on the players on the field, all of them shouting something in spanish, sometimes more curse words than actual commands.

“so,” señor begins, bending down to grab a football, “all you have to do is throw the ball and they pss it back with their head, yes? and i will tell them to either go high or low.”

nodding, you take the ball from his hands and walk towards one of the cones that are spread on the field.

blowing his whistle, señor gathers the players around you two, explaining the next exercise in spanish.

“i will do the younger ones, you have older.” he tells you, also grabbing a ball.

“okay, sure.” you look up, though your smile immediately vanishes are you are met with a smiley jude at the beginning of the line.

“miss me?” his teasing made your ears bleed - not really, but you are pretty sure that it would happen soon enough - and you bite back a groan.

“alto.” your voice is low, eyes focusing on throwing the ball the way you need to.

and of course, of course, jude has no problems with passing it back, his technique almost flawless.

this routine goes on for another ten minutes, with jude always throwing sneaky comments in between the times when it is his turn.

at one point, he even stops standing in line, deciding to stand next to you and criticize the way you throw the ball, your pronunciation, the way you stand and you are pretty sure that if he could, he’d also criticize the way you breathe.

“no, no, that was too low, how is he supposed to get that?” - “higher, you gotta go higher!” - “why would you round your back like that?”

you are about to open your mouth, or maybe throw the ball against his face, but fate seems to favor him these days, since your thoughts are interrupted by señors final whistle.

“finally.” you throw your head back and begin to walk to your bag, the heat of the sun finally getting to you.

or maybe it was your nerves that are on the brick of giving up if you have to hear judes horrendous accent any longer.

“we should totally do that again!” jude jogs up next to you, matching you pace as you continue to walk.

you - sarcastically - smile at him, shaking your head, “no need, thanks.”

“no, but, you are shit at throwing the ball properly.”

“or,” you are getting provoked, you knew it, but it was so hard not to, “or maybe you just suck at passing the ball back? maybe you should be the one practicing your technique?”

lies, lies, lies, no matter how awfully you threw the ball at him, jude never made you even take one step to the side, perfectly delivering the ball back into your hands.

he chuckles, “you know that ain’t true.”

“you ain’t true.” your reply is dry, but you couldn’t help yourself.

today was exhausting and judes annoying comments didn’t help either.

“what are you? a kid?” he asks, not getting the hint of leaving you be.

you side eye him, “i’m older than you.”

“yeah i can tell.”

mouth open in surprise, you do the first thing that comes to your mind, which is hitting his back with your flat hand as hard as you could.

jude just giggles, though, finding amusement in your behavior.

“asshole.” is the last thing he hears you say before you walk out the door, not bothering to say any kind of goodbye to him.

“don’t miss me too much, yeah?” he shouts after you, the only reaction he gets is your middle finger, triggering a laugh out of him.

————————————————————

the sound of a spanish pop song softly playing through the speakers is heard through the entire store, accompanied by the sound of your sneakers rubbing against the ground.

saturdays in madrid are definitely your favorite, you think, the heat of the sun, the sound of children playing on the streets and the shouts and cheers from your neighbors around your block all contribute into that homey feeling you have gained during your first month here. you still struggle to speak the language, the different dialects around town not really helping, but so far you have only met people that are kind enough to offer you their help, regardless of their level of english skills.

the sun starts to set outside, aurora rays shining through the windows, creating a calm and relaxing atmosphere in the store.

you hum along the melody of the song, eyes going through the different snacks that are being displayed in the aisle.

bending down slightly, your finger finds it ways to your lips, tapping it lightly, “where is it?” your voice is low, only for you to hear - or that is what you think.

“you should try the olive oil chips, absolutely slaps.” his voice booms from behind you, startling you and ruining the current vibe.

you turn around, frustration slowly creeping onto your face, “what are you doing here?”

“wow,” jude puts his hands on his hips, teasing smile already present, “not even a hello? how are you?”

“are you stalking me?” is your second question, but you have to admit that it is really childish of you. he might be here to get some snacks, just like how you are. but his presence just triggers something inside you, something you couldn’t explain even if you wanted to.

jude scoffs, smile never leaving his [annoying] face, “you wish i was, huh?”

“i’ll sue you, or whatever!” you threaten, already getting worked up.

“for what? being too handsome?” a smirk dances around his lips, a kind of smirk that you want to slap out of his face [do you really?]

“is said handsomeness with us in the room right now?” your voice is monotonous, making judes eye twitch at your comment.

“maybe get some new glasses, grandma.”

you open your mouth for a comeback, but are interrupted by a new, soft voice.

“honey, did you get the snacks?”

judes eyes move to your face, “‘m tryin’” he winks at you - at least he tries, but it mostly looks like him blinking in a weird way.

you focus on the lady coming up behind judes right side, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this woman is his mother. jude looks like her a lot, and without wanting to compliment him in any way, you have to admit that she is beautiful. kind smile, warm eyes and beautiful aura surrounding her, you would entrust her your deepest secrets without a second thought.

“mum, this is my friend.” jude tells her your name, repeating the same process of telling you her name, denise. you want to tell him off for calling you his friend, but leave it out for another time.

you smile, stretching out your hand to shake hers, “it is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

she shakes your hand, smiling at you, “no need to be so formal, dear, denise is enough.” she tells you.

she turns to face jude, giving him her wallet and telling him something you can’t really make out. facing you once more, denise tells you goodbye and adds that she would like to have you over for some dinner sometime, you can’t really resist and tell her, yes, you’d love to come over and eat dinner. she walks off, disappearing behind another aisle without another word.

now, you focus on the guy in front of you again, his stupid smile making your eye twitch this time.

“why are you standing there?” well, maybe you are rude, and shit do you hate this feeling. jude never did anything too bad for you to treat him this way. you can’t even explain your dislike towards him, it is just something you can’t control, like when you start to dislike a person before even meeting them, not bothering to get to know them anyway. maybe because he made your first few weeks at the center harder than necessary, ticking you off for no reason.

with his mothers wallet in his hand, jude steps closer to you, picking up a snack that is on a shelf behind you, kind of caging you between his body and the shelf. you hold your breath, but his parfume still manages to find its way to your nose. his eyes stare at your face, and though this moment does not last longer than a few seconds, it surely feels like hours, everything going in slow motion.

“we should hang out sometime.” is the first thing he says after he takes a step back, now snack at hand and smile back on his face.

maybe he means well, genuinely interested in a friendship with you, however you still feel the need to get away from him as far as you could, a weird feeling spreading in your stomach after that little moment the two of you had. so you do what you have always done so far, pushing him away.

“not interested, thanks.”

you try to step forward to another aisle, but you way is being blocked by judes body, “no, but like, i am quite fun to be around, maybe you’d finally get a good humor yourself if i influence you enough.”

you roll your eyes, distaste not in the dark, “you? showing me how to have a good humor?”

he nods, a small agreement leaving his lips.

“and, your humor is what? bumping shoulders of others, hitting their legs with footballs,” you pause, recreating a think pause, “hm, what else?”

chuckling, jude mirrors your pose, “well, i think also being a smooth talker?”

that statement tickles a laugh out of you, the sound spilling from your lips clear. your eyes are closed, you won’t see it, but hearing you laugh causes judes smile widen, his cheeks even start to hurt. your smile brightens up your face, your cheeks look full and your pearly whites are present, all an addition to your radiant prettiness.

the warmth he feels is short lived, though, you calm down and simply tell him to get going, starting to walk away yourself.

you hear his footsteps follow you, but decide to not say anything anymore. there is no point of arguing with him any longer, he will be the same annoying jude that you have got to know over the past month. you won’t let him ruin this beautiful evening, everything has been going way too good for that - well, until you met him in the store.

“so,” jude is now walking beside you, grabbing some snacks and drinks on his way, “my place or yours?”

“i don’t want to fuck you, jude.”

“no, no!” he quickly denies, eyes wide, “i mean, we should definitely hang out more, y’know, strengthen our friendship.”

“no, thanks.”

“c’mooon.”

you open your apartment door, frustration painted on your face.

“just,” you take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. “just take off your shoes and put them next to mine.”

you turn to face the footballer standing behind you, excitement vivid in his face. you don’t know how, or when he did it, whether he just followed you here, but before you could notice it you have had led him to your home. he is just so annoying, winding you up at any given chance, that is why you didn’t notice that he followed you home - or this is what you’d like to tell yourself.

you walk into your kitchen, watching jude who follows you put your groceries onto the counter.

“you still didn’t have to carry them, y’know.” is all you say, a silent ‘thank you’ in your unique way.

jude simply smiles, “my mum would’ve make me sleep outside if i’d let you carry ‘em.”

you push yourself off the counter, moving to sit on your couch as you look up at him, “well, now that you’ve seen my apartment, you can go now, right?”

“no way!” jude decides to take a seat on the other couch, “we still have to eat the snacks i bought and play games!”

you lean your head back against the couch, sighing, “jude, c’mon. ‘m tired.”

“don’t care.”

he gets up again, and you hear some rustling from the kitchen, assuming that he is probably getting the snacks from the bags. you don’t bother to open your eyes when you hear him put bowls onto the coffee table, he will do whatever he wants anyway.

you decide to lift your head up to look at jude, only to find his face inches away from yours.

“what the fuck!” your instincts kick in and you do what first comes to your mind, you, well you slap him, hard.

his face flys to the left, eyes wide open in shock as he stands up straight, his left hand now covering his cheek, “bro, what the fuck is wrong with you!”

“with me!” you put your feet onto the couch, pressing your upper body against its back, “what the hell is wrong with you! why would you even be so close to me!”

“you had something on your face!” is his excuse, scoffing as he sits back on the couch, grabbing a drink from the table.

you shake your head in disbelief, not even bothering to answer him. you grab a bowl and put one of the chips into your mouth, testing the ones jude bragged about when you were still at the store.

“does your mother know that you are currently sitting on the couch in the home of a stranger?” you ask, looking at him.

“wait til she finds out you slapped her precious son, no more dinner for you.” he responds, taking a chip from your bowl even though there is a second one on the table.

“boo-hoo, cry me a river.”

“well, did you know that we live pretty close to each other?” jude skillfully changes the subject, taking another sip from his drink before setting it down, “we should definitely go home together after the practice sessions.”

your eyes wander around your living room, going over the different pieces of furniture around, “another friend of mine already walks with me.”

“ditch them.”

“no? why would i do that?”

“to hang out with me!”

“nah.”

jude crosses his arms in front of his chest, lips pouting slightly, “it’s always the elder ones that are so rude.”

“and you expect me to be friends with your childish self?” with how you much have been rolling your eyes ever since you met jude, you’re scared that they might get stuck one day.

“at least i’d keep the spirit of our friendship alive!”

“i pass.”

and though you don’t notice it, a small smile creeps its way onto your lips, gradually growing the more time you spend with jude sitting in your living room, eating snacks and listening to the different stories he has to tell. you didn’t think that you would spend your saturday evening sitting in your home, listening to some guy with a horrible accent talk about whatever came to bis mind, but it feels relaxing, not having to use your brain for something.

you also don’t notice your eyes feeling heavy, slowly but surely falling shut as you continue to listen to jude, his voice deep but softly telling you about his time in germany and how the people there would treat him.

as soon as he sees your eyes shut and head leaning against the back of the couch, he slowly gets up, careful to not make a sound, and grabs a blanket from the chair in the kitchen, draping it over your sleeping figure. he takes the bowls and drinks, leaving them by the kitchen counter before he moves to the door, putting on his shoes. he looks back one last time, just to check if everything is done, his eyes staying longer on your face than necessary. after a final look, he turns the doorknob and leaves your home, carefully shutting the door behind him.

#jude bellingham #football one shot #football x reader #x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #football #jude bellingham fluff #LostinMadrid

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certifiedwhore4slashers · 11 months

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Death Follows

pairing(s): dark!harry potter x reader, ron x hermione

summary: harry, your best friend, has been acting odd lately, very odd, deciding on one occasion to follow him, leads to your demise.

warnings: obsession, yandere, implied murder, blood, manipulation(slightly), perverted behavior(not from Harry), possessive!harry, toxicity, etc…

reader is pretty much gender neutral since I don’t describe any feminine pronouns or masculine pronouns, or feminity.

also this au has been in my mind a little bit lately lol. obviously everyone is 18+ in this. keep that in mind. dark themes ahead.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were so worried for Harry. He was your best friend and nonetheless, something obviously was going on with him.

“Y/n, calm down, Ron said.”You’ve been worried this whole week.” “Look, haven’t any of you noticed that he is well, distant? Doesn’t tell us much? You ask. “I have but, maybe he’s going through stuff and coping with the whole dark lord thing, having to defeat him is a lot, Hermione pointed out.

“True, You say.”I guess. But, I still-“ Ron groaned, you couldn’t help but form a smile as it was kind of funny.”I’ll shut up now, Ron. At least about Harry.”

“Good, Ron replied, wrapping his arms around Hermione, they had been dating for four months now. You couldn’t be more happier for them.

“Where are you going? hermione asks. “Nowhere! You lie. Hermione rolls her eyes. “He said not to talk about it anymore! You say, outsmarting Ron.’

You walk a bit louder than you should have. At Hogwarts, Quietness was rare, and noise was frequent. Also a lot of chaos.

“Where is he? You murmur, trying to find Harry. You were so in love with him you’d be willing to do anything for him.

Sure, this could be because of the amount of pressure he has to stop Voldemort. But there had to have been something else.

Harry, was a introvert indeed, but this bad and distant? That didn’t seem like himself. When you spot him, You secretly follow. Maybe this was stalking or out of pure obsession, you weren’t obsessed with him, just in love, that was all.

You only followed his footsteps as you went to see where he went. Maybe you shouldn’t have. After all, curiosity kills the cat. But this was out of concern for your best friend, who you’ve grown up with pretty much.

You were doing the right thing weren’t you? Harry suddenly turns around and you hide. You almost had been caught. Almost. You were scared of what would happen if you were caught by Harry. Especially since he was more aggressive. That wasn’t like him. This whole situation was odd itself.

You probably would find that it wasn’t as concerning as you thought it was, or completely different to the scenario in your mind. You hoped it wasn’t the scenario you pictured in your mind.

Calm down, you’re overthinking, You thought. And yet, I feel drawn to this whole thing. What’s wrong with me? Am I truly becoming obsessed?

You were more than filled with self doubt, but you prioritized helping Harry with whatever he needed. Of course, only if it was good. Not if his intentions were corrupt.

You weren’t like that at all. And when you finally stopped where Harry stopped, but hiding a bit further so he didn’t see you, you didn’t find anything interesting, much to your dismay but relief as well.

You chuckle softly, for a moment you thought he was working with Voldemort. How silly of you to think such things.

You begin walking back to your dormitory, it should’ve been a short and swift walk, if you didn’t bump into someone.

“I’m so sorry, You apologize. “Don’t be, He winks, and in a suggestive tone. Already, making you feel uncomfortable.”Where did you come from?”

“Um, I was just looking for my friend, couldn’t find him, You lied. “What a shame, The ravenclaw said. You would’ve been surprised if it had a hufflepuff.

Truthfully, Every house had bad people in it. “I better get going…. You say. “I recognize you, He says.”Y/N right? The chosen one’s friend?” He said that as if you were more than that. Which you weren’t, unfortunately.

“Yes, now can I get through? You ask, a bit more sternly and assertive. You weren’t going to get out of this mess unless you did something. And you normally didn’t like doing that. You hated confrontation.

“Oh sure thing, can I walk you to your dorm? He asks. “Sure, I guess, You say nervously. He says his name and you say yours. As awkward as it is, maybe the feeling of someone actually being into you was nice.

Though, you knew his motives were anything but nice. Still, you’d never let it take that far. “Here is my dorm, You smile.”I hope I see… you around.” “You definitely will, He winks, leaving you to your dorm.

It wasn’t a good way either. He’d probably ask you out on a date eventually. “y/n, what did you find? Hermione asks. “Not much, You say.”But, before you say I told you so, I know he is hiding something.”

She sighed.”You are too in love to think logically, Y/N.” You scoff.”I’m not in love with him! I found someone!”

“You did? Both Ron and Hermione say in unison. The common room was empty somehow, making things better.

“Mhm, that ravenclaw guy or something, said his name was Bastian or something.”

Hermione groaned.”Y/n, he’s an asshole who’s only using you for sex!” “I know, and I’m not letting him use me, U just met him, doesn’t mean anything, You defended.

“Thank god, Hermione said. “I heard he’s hot though, Ron said. “Not the point, You say. Ron laughed and so did you.

“Ron, you have something to say? You joke. Hermione looks over, smirking. Ron blushed.”I’m not gay! I love ‘Mione!”

“Cute nickname, Hermione smiled, sitting beside him. “To be fair, he didn’t come up with it first, You smiled.

You looked proud and smug, as you had come up with it in Year 1. Hermione loved it and it stuck ever since. Though, it was a nickname only her closest friends, you, Ron(her boyfriend now), and Harry.

It got darker, and by the time you were in bed, you hear noises coming from the Common Room. So, much to your curiosity, you go downstairs to the common room. Relieved, You say,”Merlin, Harry, I thought you were something else.”

“No, just me, Harry said calmly.”You thought I was Voldemort or something?” “No, you laughed.”You came in really late. Won’t you get some sleep?”

“I’m not that tired, Harry assured you.”You don’t have to worry about me, Y/N.” “I think I do, You tease.”You need someone to look after you, Harry.”

He smiles.”Always putting everyone’s needs over your own, typical of you.” “It’s kind of how you are, You say.”Selfless, caring…” He sighed, plopping himself down on the couch.

“Harry, I’m worried for you, okay? You say, sitting beside him.”What’s going on?” “It’s nothing, he says. That’s a lie, you knew.

“Harry, I know that’s a lie, You say.”And…” you stop, looking down to see blood all over his clothes. You stand up.”Harry, what did you do?”

Confused, He asked,”What do you mean?” “Did you fall or something? Hurt yourself? You’ve got blood all over, You say nervously, about to pull your wand out when Harry took action quicker.”Expelliarmus!”

He disarmed tour wand, making you taken aback. Why did he do that? You weren’t a threat by any means. Pulling out your wand he probably assumed you’d hurt him or something.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I… I’m just a bit scared, okay? I need my wand to-“

He grabs it before you do. His demeanor, you just knew changed. “I’m not giving it back until I can trust you, Harry said sternly.

“God, you sound like my father, give it back! You say, reaching out for it but not succeeding.”And what makes me untrustworthy?”

“The fact you’re questioning me, and immediately go to your wand! Harry said. “Shh! They can hear you! You say, when he grabs your wrist, making you jump.

“You really want to know? He asks, his tone angrier than you’ve ever heard from him. You nodded nervously, more so afraid. This side of him you’ve never seen before.

Pulling you closer to him, Harry whispers in your ear,”I killed that creep.” “No… You say.”He wasn’t a creep. And how did you know?”

“I knew you followed me, and I saw it, Harry added.”I’m not as stupid as you might think, y/n.” “Okay, then what were you doing? You ask.”I know you’re hiding something, Harry.”

“Feeling bold, aren’t you?”

“Maybe, You reply, your voice filled with venom and a bit more confidence as you spoke. You never felt so confident in your life. But you had to hide your fear and intimidation of Harry.

“Alright then, Harry smirked.”I didn’t exactly lie about defeating Voldemort.” “Okay… You say. “I already killed him, he continues.”Which that makes me the new Dark Lord.”

“What? You say.”Okay, Maybe your trauma made you-“ His hand was wrapped around your throat, not choking you but he could.”I’d rather you keep your mouth shut about this.”

You somehow whimper and nodded. He lets go.”Good.” “I have a feeling there was more to murdering that ravenclaw, You whisper.

“The fact is, you’re mine, and I just made sure he knew, Harry said possessively. This side of him scared you.

“What are you going to do as the Dark Lord?”

“Destroy those who wronged me and the people I love, obviously.”

#harry potter x reader #yandere harry potter #dark!harry #dark!harry potter #yandere #yandere x reader #tw obsession #tw yandere #ronmione #harry potter au

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galdra-studios · 26 days

Text

Hi everyone!

Spring is here! Which of course in Denmark means it's time for the last annual snow storm ahah! Our poor flowers... Hopefully they will get the sunshine they deserve soon.

With a Kickstarter campaign looming on the horizon, most of our efforts right now are focused on putting together a great demo for everyone to enjoy. We've been working on the game for a while now and created a lot of content, but it’s when you connect all that content together to make something playable that the struggle truly begins xD

Here’s a little game development fun fact: There’s a saying when you make games, that making the last 20% of a game takes as much time as the first 80%, which is why you end up cutting 10% ^^0 We’re still only making a demo, so the things we cut now might still make it into the final version.

However, since we’ve already done this once before, we’re a lot more conscious about rating tasks as essentials and nice-to haves in case we don’t have time to finish everything. For example, a pretty CG image showing a scene can-be temporarily replaced with descriptive text and the story will still make sense, but a character needs to have at least one sprite, otherwise it will just be empty air talking - not ideal ^^

One of the most time-consuming art tasks we have is creating the player character sprites. As the player’s representation in the world, they are basically on-screen in every scene, and therefore need to be of the highest quality.

For the original Arcadia Fallen, we ended up redrawing the female body type three times to make it perfect, but that was also because my art skills improved while we were working^^0 This month, I’ve drawn expressions for the androgynous body type and I fear I might repeat the same pattern again, because I still think I can improve them. That will have to wait until after the Kickstarter though.

For now, the sprites are in the game, which is a good milestone to be at. I’m not sure we’ll have all three body types ready for the demo, as there are other tasks that have higher priority, but the plan is to have the same three body types with two hairstyles that we had in the first game by the time we’re ready for launch!^^

Another cool thing we worked on this month is the player’s dorm room. Josefine did a wonderful job designing a room that changes depending on who you choose as a roommate. Can you guess which one is Soren’s and which is Nina’s? :P

Jesper is in full swing composing music for the demo, so here’s a sample with this month's header image speed paint!

That’s about it for this month, so we’ll just leave the pre-launch page for our Kickstarter here if you still haven’t seen it. We’re almost at 200 followers!^^

Thank you so much for following our journey! And we’ll see you in May for another DevLog!

Cheers!

- The Galdra Team

#arcadia fallen #visual novel #kickstarter #indiegame #vndev #vn development #indiedev #galdra studios

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coltermorning · 3 months

Text

Of Love and Loss Ch. 11 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: After narrowly escaping with your lives, the trip goes on without further trouble as the weeks begin to add up. To pass the time during a snowstorm, you and Arthur exchange questions over a bottle of gin.

Author’s Notes: Nothing like a little alcohol to make you admit your feelings to yourself :) Arthur and reader both get drunk in this one. Chapter eleven of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Eleven: The Gentle Act of Teaching

Word count: 5574

It has been a month since we started this journey and, as I assumed it would, it has come with no shortage of setbacks. Rambling like we do, I have seen a lot in my time and maybe even grown used to the pointless violence of it all. The wilderness is unkind and man more so, but I haven’t given it much care or thought until now. Now it seems I’m only leading a woman just to show her how cruel this world can be. That haunted look on her face will stay with me for the rest of my days.

Arthur rolled his shoulders, trying to undo the persistent ache that tightened them. Riding three days without much of a break to speak of had worn on his body, his mount, you and yours. In fact, it was so wearying you hadn’t said a word to him since the night before.

Your grief seemed to come in waves. This time it was pulling you back down into that shell of yourself you had been, unspeaking, unreacting, seemingly doing all you could just to make it another day. It was tough to watch, but Arthur didn’t have it in him to cheer you up. He was too worn down himself. That, and there was another nagging reason in the back of his mind he hardly let in for fear of letting it eat at him—that this was all his fault. He couldn’t do a thing about what else had happened to you, but he’d lost his head in that town. The mere thought of that slimy bastard calling you out like that had him bristling even now, fingers twitching with the need to shoot something. That nasty little look in his eye had been why Arthur had drawn iron in the first place, so fast it was more instinct than any sort of decision. That same look that had said plenty without words, that said the man felt he was owed something from you which warranted him following you out of town. Arthur didn’t care to ponder whether the man would have followed had he not threatened his life. It didn’t matter now anyhow. He had killed them all, exposed himself for what he really was. All because he saw red at the mere suggestion of someone wronging you. For protection’s sake, he had done his job. But it was obvious that you needed more from him than that. Your near silence since his shooting those men was plenty proof of that.

The truth was, Arthur suddenly felt that the side of him that town had revealed was glaringly wrong. It was a strange feeling, like denying the truest part of himself. But it gnawed at him now, that who he was did not have to be defined by his talent with a gun, but by the possibility of being something more. That the man he wanted to be became something he actually pondered. Things used to be about survival, about protecting those he held dear and nothing else besides. When had that changed?

As Arthur looked sidelong at you riding beside him, the empty stare on your face like that of a corpse, he knew. He had never had someone pure-hearted enough to warrant the believability of some better version of himself. With the gang, with Mary, there had only ever been a separation of good and bad, white and black, and he was always caught on the latter side of those things. But you made him think he could push beyond that, into some unknown middle ground. That look on your face was making guilt curl low in his gut for the first time in a long time at the act of taking lives. So he would push, do his best to shield you from it all. For you were good, and you deserved to remain so, lest he die trying to make it truth. If he didn’t try, no one would. Then you would be left like this—empty. And he knew enough about that to be determined to keep you from it.

The fourth day riding away from that terrible place and those terrible people, Arthur finally relented his pace. You had stopped here and there in the meantime, but never for a full night. The tiredness threatening to roll your eyes shut was testament to that.

Before the sun had even set and Arthur had finished with the tent, you laid back on the hard, thankfully snowless ground and fell asleep, the empty bliss of it like a gift.

When you woke, the sky was already lightening above you. You’d slept the whole night through, mercifully dreamless.

You looked down, curious over the warmth surrounding you despite the cold air, then remembered the bison coat. It was doing its job. The wind could hardly touch you with it on despite your poor judgement in sleeping outside the tent. And, like a pair of fools, it seemed Arthur had done the same. He sat against a nearby tree with his knee up, a gun in his lap and his head lolled down in sleep. Like he had every intention of standing guard but had let his exhaustion get the better of him. You couldn’t blame him.

No, the past few days had been anything but easy. You had been so plagued with guilt and worry and shame and regret the whole time it was a wonder you hadn’t given up. Given Arthur your mule and laid down and died right there in the dirt. In fact, the mule had been the only measure of happiness tethering you to the world at all. She still was. Though, sleep had helped clear your helplessness some. Instead, you were left feeling like you could go on but that there wasn’t much point in doing so. There was only brutal, unknown life ahead of you. And just like every interaction with strangers on this trip, that terrified you. The only comfort you’d known since losing your parents had been Arthur’s steady company. But that wouldn’t always be there. And, it seemed, you weren’t cut out for simple comforts anymore. It was time to grow up and see the world for what it was—unforgiving.

After plenty of rest, the pair of you packed back up and set out again. This time, you went two weeks without a break in routine. You passed over into Nebraska in the meantime, plenty of snow and cold following you in. You finally admitted to Arthur just how far you had left to go, nearly midway into the state, with no small measure of annoyance resulting on his part. But he agreed nonetheless, saying he had come this far. At least the railroad would tie into the trail soon, and he could take it back down to Denver instead of riding all the way back alone to join up with his gang.

His gang—you still hadn’t grown used to that. You hadn’t brought up the subject of his killing those five men, though it often crossed your mind to. The only thing stopping you was the fact that he didn’t owe you a thing, squeaky clean reputation included. In fact, his killer instinct had probably kept you alive thus far. Your judgement would be no help. If anything, it would just set you two to arguing again, as you often found yourselves doing. And the fact of the matter was you were tired of arguing. You were tired of a lot of things.

When the trees finally seemed to give up their steady growth, leaving behind nothing but wide open plains and brutal cold, Arthur stopped midday for the first time in a long time. The snow was blowing in sideways, and you nearly groaned in relief when he stopped his horse and swung off of her, saying, “Forget it. I ain’t freezing my balls off just to wait ‘til nightfall to do it again.”

You gave a pitiful laugh and dismounted, your legs like ice picks themselves when the pain of reaching the ground shot up them.

You and Arthur cleared a circle of snow for your camp, then built the tent and the fire. Arthur had been carrying kindling and a bit of wood for miles considering there wasn’t much of it to come by anymore, and you were impressed with his campfire skills when he got the thing burning despite the pelting snow. He had built it on the far side of the tent so that the canvas was blocking the weather, and when the flames began small then built, it took all you had not to shove your gloved fingers and your booted feet right into them.

You were both huddled close enough to the fire that Arthur suddenly took to laughing, calling you both idiots for being out in this kind of weather.

You managed a faint smile. “Montana got a lot colder than this, but…cold is cold.”

“Cold is cold,” he agreed. “How was it up there anyway? In the winter.”

“Brutal,” you admitted. Lots of days spent inside, chores finished as quickly as possible, week-long stretches where you didn’t know if the food would last. But it always did. Lucky you and your father were good hunters, your mother a good motivator.

“It wasn’t always like this,” you went on, having to raise your voice to talk over the wind. “It was sunny and pleasant some days. But still cold. The snow never left.”

Arthur just hummed his acknowledgment before holding his hands out to the fire, black gloves and harsh light eating up the reflection of the flickering flames.

After long enough, he reached around to his satchel and pulled out a box of cigarettes. Not a day went by he didn’t do this, whether for habit or enjoyment you couldn’t tell. You didn’t have the experience of smoking one to know. But when he lit one, the butt smoldering to life beneath his inhaled breath, it suddenly seemed like just the thing to warm your bones. So when he offered, as he always did regardless of how many times you turned him down, you took one.

“Well,” he said with a drawl. “Finally become a bad influence, have I?”

You didn’t respond, sticking it in your mouth, rolling it over your tongue. It was faintly earthy. Bitter.

You watched him light a match, touching it to the end of his own. Then he brought his hands over to you, cupping them around the flame to keep the wind from snuffing it, touching the match head to your cigarette.

You didn’t know what you expected to happen, but nothing did.

He grinned at you. “You gotta breathe in. Just- small breaths-” he added, but too late. You had taken in such a large breath that your lungs crumpled beneath it, burning from the inside out. You took the cigarette away and coughed and coughed, the feel of it like hellfire trapped inside your chest.

He was laughing at you, but you couldn’t quit coughing enough to berate him for it. You did hand it to him, the disgusting taste and the horrible feeling enough to convince you that it wouldn’t be your new pastime. Then the cold set back in, frosting over your throat and combining with the burning feeling in your lungs. All in all, it only served to make you feel worse.

Arthur’s chuckling finally tapered off. “At least you didn’t get sick on yourself.”

“Does that happen?” you asked, hoarse.

“Sometimes.”

“Lovely.” You wrapped your hands around your knees, scooting closer to the fire, glad for your shaggy coat. It was nearly unbearably cold, but your only other option was inside the tent, and without the fire it would only be colder.

You watched Arthur smoke both cigarettes with ease, one after the other, like he needed their smoke to breathe.

“Why do people do that anyway?” you asked, still miserable from the rawness in your throat.

“What, this?” he said, putting the one that had been yours to his lips and taking a long drag. He blew out of his nose like a dragon would, smoke billowing out of both nostrils.

You didn’t answer, knowing he was just trying to show off or work you up or both.

He finally turned to you. “Calms you down. Takes the edge off.”

The first time he’d offered you one, he’d said the same thing. What edge had he been so desperate to dull back then? And each day since? It wasn’t hard to figure now—cold like this could drive any man to madness. It was certainly making you want to run circles around the camp like a crazy person.

“Same as anything I guess,” he went on, blowing more smoke. “Why does anyone do anything? Alcohol, sex, drugs, they’re all the same.”

You didn’t quite understand the sex part but let it pass. One conversation with him about it was enough to last you a lifetime. But the mention of alcohol had you suddenly desperate to try that too. You had before, what little you’d been able to get your hands on up in the mountains, but it was never enough to take much effect.

“Would alcohol warm me up?”

He eyed you, that boyish gleam returned. “Not necessarily. Though it can make you too busy thinking about other things to remember how cold you was before.”

Anything would help at this point. “You got any?”

He huffed a laugh and stood, walking over to his horse. The poor animals were both standing with their backsides to the wind, close enough to share body heat. Arthur pulled a small glass bottle from his saddle bag and shuffled back over, kicking snow as he went. He tossed you the bottle, and you caught it, flipping it. It had no label.

“What is it?”

“Gin. ‘Fraid I drank all the whiskey.”

You eyed it. “How can you tell? There’s no label.” The liquid was clear, tinged green due to the tint of the glass.

“I can tell,” he said with amusement. “Can’t afford the labeled stuff.”

You eyed him for that, wondering about your saddle and bridle and the mule standing beneath them. He was either exaggerating, or you owed him more than you thought you did if one bottle of good gin would put him out. He just inclined his head toward the bottle in your hand with a slightly upturned mouth, not giving whatever worry you had about owing him a moment’s thought.

You uncorked the top with stiff, numb, gloved fingers then lifted it to your lips. The burn of it was immediate. Almost as bad as the cigarette. You forced yourself to drink it down but let out a wincing cough after you did.

“Christ. Are all the vices so terrible?” you asked, wiping the excess off your mouth and handing the bottle back to him. It had to be a punishment, for people to drink that. Addiction born of the need to punish one’s self.

Arthur was snickering again, but this time you joined him in it.

“Tastes smooth to me,” he said, lifting it to his own mouth. You watched him drink it down with near reverence, his eyes half-closing as he did. Savoring it. He brought the bottle down and examined it. “Shitty, but smooth.”

You leaned over and snatched it from him. Like hell was it smooth. It was as cutting as swallowing ice. But the aftertaste wasn’t near as bad as the cigarette had been, so you took another sip, letting it cut all the way down.

Arthur took it back. And after some back and forth, minutes passed and enough swallowed to dull its burn, he stopped you from taking it again. “Slow down there, or it’ll come right back up. I ain’t letting you put out the fire with your own sick.”

You cringed at the thought but felt that familiar defiance within you stand up at the challenge. You went for the bottle, but he snatched it away before you could grasp it.

“Don’t be dense,” you spat, going for it again. He again held it out, far enough you couldn’t reach it. And the resulting smile curving across his face was making you mad enough to tackle him for the damn thing.

You were about to lunge for it when he stopped you with a hand held out. “All right, all right, quit it. I’ll make a deal with you.”

You already didn’t like where this was going. To hell with the gin. Now you were just angry. You crossed your arms at him.

He grinned then said, “You answer a question, I’ll give it back.”

As annoyed as humoring him made you, you just shrugged.

“Agreed?”

“Go on,” you snapped. Better to get it over with, get the bottle back and walk away so as not to have to deal with him anymore.

He thought on it a moment, taking another sip as he held your gaze, an amusement lighting his eyes you didn’t much care for. Then, “What’s something you never told anyone?”

That you still wished you had died with your parents. That life didn’t feel like it had much meaning after their deaths. That one of the sole reasons you went on was because the man staring back at you had given a damn at the right moment. But you didn’t want to go down that slippery slope, not right now and not with him. So you reverted back to your younger years, to the girl who was full of life and grit and the ability to get her way. What had you kept hidden even from your parents?

You landed on it then hesitated, heat staining your cheeks from embarrassment.

“Spit it out,” he said accusatorially, sensing that hesitation.

“I…” How to word it and not sound ridiculous? “When I was a kid I…fancied the postman.”

Arthur burst out laughing.

“Shut up,” you said miserably.

“That’s your deepest, darkest secret?”

The deepest, maybe. Certainly not the darkest. But his laughter was slightly contagious given how stupid the confession had sounded, so you just said with a laugh, “I was little! He was handsome!”

“I’m sure he was,” Arthur said, tilting his hat to you in obvious sarcasm, his grin never leaving.

“And I never got to go to the post office,” you went on, unsure why you were explaining yourself. “So when Pa let me come with him, the hours that it took to get there, it was…it was just nice to see the man is all!”

Arthur was veritably howling with laughter now.

“Shut up!” you said, leaning over and shoving him. “Like you never had an infatuation with a girl.” This did seem to sober him some, and that gave you an idea.

“Give me that,” you snapped, yanking the bottle away. “And it’s your turn for a question.”

“Well, I never said-”

“Yeah, and I don’t care. You’re answering one.”

He settled back with a sigh but didn’t protest. So you took a swig of gin for courage and looked him straight in the eye. “Who taught you to shoot so well?”

Surprise crossed his face, lining every inch of it. He had obviously assumed you were going to ask about said girl, whomever that may be. But no, you wanted to know how he had taken down five men in a matter of seconds.

His face turned contemplative. Then, “No one, I guess. I always had a good eye. Good aim.”

“That aim was better than good,” you admitted. And the reference to what had happened back in that town seemed to sour his mood. He snatched the bottle back and took a long pull from it.

“Yeah, well, you’re either a decent shot or you get killed pretty quick in my line of work.”

His line of work. On the opposing side of the law, where bullets were aimed at you as often as a dirty glance.

“Do you ever get scared?” The question pushed out before you could stop it.

Arthur just looked at you, face tinged with mild curiosity.

“Not really,” he said. “Not anymore. But—” He tipped the bottle at you. “It ain’t your turn.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back, looking into the flames instead, knowing he would fire off another stupid question whether you got on to him for it or not.

Sure enough, he spoke, the amusement in his tone not lost on you. “You ever get into trouble up in them mountains?”

“What kind of trouble?”

You shouldn’t have asked. The smirk he shot back was enough for you to know he didn’t mean the kind where you got lost in the snow, where your life was in danger.

When he didn’t answer, you sighed like he usually did, drawing it out. “A few times. Once for this,” you said, taking the gin from him.

“What, getting drunk?”

“No, they caught me before it got to that point. I raided the liquor cabinet. It wasn’t much, a bottle of whiskey and some wine. But I was trying both when Momma and Pa came back from town early. They gave me hell for it.”

Arthur snickered. “How old were you?”

“Twelve,” you answered. “But it’s not your turn,” you said sweetly, making him shake his head, though his smile never left.

You took a sip of gin, wondering what it took to be drunk. But you wouldn’t waste a perfectly good question asking Arthur about it. Instead, you asked him something you had wondered since the night after leaving that trading town.

“Why didn’t you buy another bedroll? At that trader stall.”

Again, Arthur seemed surprised by the question. He took some time to answer, gesturing for you to hand him the gin. You did so, and he took another long pull of it. Long enough that you wondered how often he did this, drinking his thoughts away.

“It honestly didn’t cross my mind,” he muttered, staring into the fire. “I was trying to keep an eye on you when I was talking to that old croak. Weren’t thinking about it.”

You let out a breath of relief at his response. You had assumed he’d spent all his money and resources on you, that he couldn’t afford one. And, as it stood, he had been using the very edge of your bedroll ever since, both of you colder than you cared for but too prideful to cling together for warmth like you had that night after the wolves. So you had thought all this time another bedroll had been neglected at the cost of the coat on your back. But now that you knew otherwise, you didn’t feel quite so shameful. And you were grateful, too, that it had been because Arthur had kept such a watchful eye on you.

He took another long drink from the bottle, and you watched him, watched his throat work and his mouth purse with the harsh liquid. This man who you thought you knew—you didn’t really know him at all.

Arthur looked over and caught you staring.

“What?”

You shook your head, pushing the thought from your mind. Not because it scared you, but quite the opposite—you always assumed he was bad, that he was the low-down outlaw, and at every turn, he proved you wrong.

“Nothing.”

He chuckled lowly. Then, “You ever kissed anyone?”

“Excuse me?” It was all you could manage through your embarrassment. Not this again.

“Couldn’t ask it any clearer,” he said, about to take another drink. But you snatched it away before he could, taking a long pull yourself. Drunk. You needed to be drunk.

“How much of this do I need before it blocks out the sound of your voice?”

“So, no then,” he said with that god awful smirk.

You drank again.

He laughed. “Easy there.”

“I told you,” you said, voice hoarse from the harsh liquor. “There wasn’t anyone up there to kiss.”

“Not even the postman?”

You could have hit him. Instead, oddly enough, you laughed at that stupid smile on his face. “No, not even the postman. He was twice my age. Maybe more.”

“Hm.”

“What?” you fired at him, the bottle clutched tightly in your hands.

“Nothing, just…” He smiled again, his teeth showing. “Imagining it, is all. That life you led.” He pried the bottle from your clawed grip, smiling as he brought it to his lips. “Sounds…boring.”

You tried not to think about his mouth kissing the bottle, his mouth kissing anything, as you replied, “It was what you made of it. I enjoyed it.” At your nerves, you reached over and took the bottle away before he was even done drinking. He made a noise of protest, but it didn’t register before you had the bottle at your own mouth, trying desperately not to think of how his lips had just touched the same spot.

When you brought it away, you looked at him. Really looked at him, all notion of it being improper to do so suddenly lost. “There are other ways of enjoying yourself, you know.”

His brows rose high, either at the way you were looking at him or at the implication in your voice.

After long enough, he said, “You plan on enlightening me?”

“I…” Your eyes dipped to his mouth before you took another long pull, the bottle blocking your view of him. Shaking loose the thought that began to plague you. The urge to experience something new, something you were afraid would be addicting in its own right, alcohol aside.

When you didn’t respond, just pulled the bottle back down and looked to the fire, Arthur said, “I can’t imagine it would be much beyond snow sledding or the like all the way up there. You telling me that’s the secret to happiness?”

There it was, an out. A diversion to the path this conversation had led you down. And in anything other circumstance, you would have taken it. But for some reason, you were starting to believe that drunkenness snuck up namelessly after all, a haze of intuition lost.

You looked to Arthur, to the soft amusement on his face, to the casualness that seemed to always weigh on his shoulders and make its way to his mouth.

“You could teach me.”

“Come again?”

Your eyes dropped to his mouth again, seemingly of their own volition. Then words spilled out of you like gin from a bottle.

“Kiss me. Show me how.”

His face softened. Surprise, realization, a bit of embarrassment. Then deflection as he chuckled, his face tingeing redder in the gray light than the cold could account for. “Nah, you don’t want that,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself. “Not your first-”

“Kiss me,” you said again. You couldn’t imagine it being anyone else in the world. There was no one else you trusted. “I wouldn’t ask if that were the case.”

He looked at you then with such raw surprise you wondered when the last time anyone had shown him such affection was.

He stared at you, and you stared at him, and before you could ask if his brain had shut down entirely, he looked to the fire and said defiantly, “No.”

You scoffed. “Come on. It’s not that big a deal. Just think of it as teaching me something new.”

“But it ain’t that,” he fired back. He still wouldn’t look at you. “It’s…kissing someone to learn something and kissing someone because you want to are two different things.”

“Exactly,” you said, taking another sip of gin. “If it‘s just for learning’s sake, what’s the problem?”

He shook his head, disgruntled. “Forget it. I ain’t doing it.”

You groaned aloud, unbelieving he was being the stick in the mud for once. “You know, for an outlaw,” you said, standing, pointing the bottle at him. “You’re awfully honorable.”

He let out a barking laugh like he didn’t believe that in the slightest but still didn’t take the bait. The stubborn fool.

The ground swayed a bit beneath you as you added, “And cowardly.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, the question poised somewhere between annoyance and a threat. But he had finally looked at you at least.

“Woman asks you to kiss her, and you won’t even consider it.”

He stood now, swiping the bottle from your hand. “You’ve had enough.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” But you couldn’t have pried the glass from his grasp if you wanted to, your vision starting to swim. “You don’t want to kiss me that’s fine, but don’t tell me what to do.”

He laughed that annoying laugh again. “I ain‘t kissing someone who can barely keep her feet.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, stepping over to him to prove a point. Close. You could have leaned over and kissed him yourself you were so close. In fact, the thought was a breath away from being turned into reality when he lifted the gin to his own lips, blocking you, his eyes catching on your mouth. Or maybe that was your shoddy vision making things up.

When he brought the bottle away, he was grinning. “Real impressive, being able to walk.”

“Shut up,” you said, but didn’t shove him like you wanted to. His closeness was…distracting you. And any forceful movement would likely land you on your backside.

“Tell you what,” he said, shifting his weight so that he stood even closer. Not backing down from you in the slightest, that cocky grin lighting his face. “You answer one more question, and I’ll kiss you.”

Your face burned with those words, like your body was realizing this might actually happen.

When you didn’t respond, his grin went wider. Feral. Then, “Tell me your name.”

Damn him. Because he knew it was the one thing you wouldn’t give him.

“That’s not a question,” you said simply, holding his eye.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Why don’t you want me to know it?”

Now it was your turn to grin. “Because they were the last people to call me that.”

Arthur was confused by your smile despite your words, his brows pinching together. And you said without hesitation, “And I just answered your question. So kiss me.”

Realization hit him again, and he immediately let out an unbelieving laugh. “You’re a damn sneak, you know that?”

When his eyes met yours, his gaze shifted the slightest bit toward serious in the harsh daylight. And he definitely eyed your mouth this time. Alcohol or no, you could see it plain as day. Then at last, he groaned his annoyance, or tried to shake how flustered he was, and said, “All right then. You win.” He dropped the gin and stepped toward you.

All you had ever known of this suddenly became futile, juvenile, worthless in the eyes of him bringing his gloved hands to the back of your head. Your scant knowledge couldn’t hold a candle to the gentle way he brought your mouth to his, meeting you at last in a kiss so tender it sobered you. This was happening. Arthur was…

All thought was lost when his mouth pressed against yours a second time. Slow. Caring. You let him be, forgetting entirely what this was supposed to be about, instead navigating the newness that was kissing someone back.

The kiss went on for an eternity, the effect better than any cigarette, any gin, anything in the world. There was no snow, was no cold, was nothing but the way his lips parted. You did as he did, and soon your mouth was at his with a fervor, his tongue warm against yours, the taste of gin and tobacco all you knew and all you ever wanted again.

Then he was stepping away, letting his hands fall, his gaze shy as it hit the ground.

“Was that…what you wanted?” he asked softly, meeting your eye as his hands fell a bit nervously onto his gun belt, fidgeting.

You just stared at him. Dove deep inside yourself to remember your words, to remember your circumstances and who you were supposed to be to each other. Because it was certainly blurring as the warmth of his mouth lingered.

After long enough that he kept shifting his weight, you spoke. “I understand it now. Why people…enjoy that.”

You thought you saw the smallest softening of his gaze before the mask returned, his teasing smirk back in place. “You really don’t know nothing, do you?”

You couldn’t even be bothered to chide him. Not after what he had just given you.

You pursed your lips like you could hold that kiss forever then looked at the bottle at your feet. You knelt and picked it up, pushing it into his chest. He grabbed it. And you wouldn’t meet his eye for fear of wanting him to kiss you all over again as you said with a giddy smile, “Thank you for teaching me,” and stepped around him. Aimed for the tent. Focused on keeping your feet beneath you, keeping your head somewhere inside reality, keeping your thoughts away from the man at your back. Away from just how much you truly felt for him, your fondness veiled like the unfamiliarity of a kiss until now.

_________

Chapter twelve is here.

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

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selarina · 9 months

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Ghosts in Love

-> Suna Rintaro x Reader

Chapter 1: In the Meat and Dairy Isle

Summary: Amidst shared streets and familiar alleys, chance encounters with your ex at grocery stores or parks evolve into shopping together and sharing park benches.

Loosely inspired by the poem "Ghosts in Love" by Carl Sandburg

Chapter Warning: exes, domestic angst lmao

Words: 1k words

Taglist: Open

Read on AO3 | Series Masterlist

You and Suna Rintaro have purchased tickets for a concert that is almost a year away.

Neither of you have canceled the booking for those tickets. Neither of you have tried to sell it off. It just lies there in the pile of your dusty emails. No attempt is made to delete it. You just let it make a home there, catching dust until you decide to reopen and read it again. And again.

It’s been 7 months since the two of you have broken up and you're wondering if you really need to get rid of them. You only mean, things have significantly mellowed down to a point where you go grocery shopping together, in a manner of speaking.

You still live in the same neighbourhood as him, so days of running into him at the grocery store, the park, or the laundromat have turned into days of shopping together, sharing a park bench, or using the same washing machine if there’s room. Cheaper that way, the two of you reason out.

So you've decided to bring it up at your next weekly run-in.

Except, you don’t see him all week. Or the week after that.

It’s odd but you don’t ruminate, you don’t have the time to. It’s the end of the month and you have deadlines that keep swamping up all over your calendar. And you also have a company ball to prepare for.

"Hey," he says, bopping your cold nose. You think that must have been instinct, because he brings his hand back down almost immediately at the touch. Like it stung to you, or that he's simply repulsed.

But you see him again, on a gloomy day. It’s raining on and off and everything is sticky. You’re sweating but you’re also cold as you stand opposite him in the meat and dairy aisle of the grocery store. His hair has grown a little, and it cascades across his face like a flood of dark water.

Your gaze is now drawn to the yogurt section as you look for the brand you usually use. A soft pink package. He lingers behind you through this, and you’re conscious of his movements. You wonder if he can see right through you, but it's a thought that only lasts for a split moment. He never really did understand you that well, you think.

"Haven't seen you in a while," you remark glibly as you toss a can of milk into your basket.

But it's a lot more intense in your head, and you find that your defences are back up. Why? You aren't sure, but you strongly believe that you will find out today.

“Yeah,” he says. You wait for a moment until you realize he isn’t going to explain himself. He doesn't have to after all.

“How have you been?” you try to change the topic.

“Fine, a bit restless. We haven’t had practices for a while,” he says. You proceed to basket the yogurt, along with some cheese.

You’re both sitting in a park now, just about to part ways before he says, “I went on a date.”

You hum in response.

—

The evening passes by as the two of you slip into the inevitable flow of a conversation.

You’re finally grateful you braced yourself for the inevitable.

You can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but it only hurts like a sting, rather than a typhoon. Right now, you’re too muddled with questions. Questions you don’t have the right to ask.

You don’t say anything.

A beat later, you ask, “Why are you telling me this?”

“I–I really don’t know actually,” he chuckles, and for the very first time, you hate it.

You hate the way his cheeks hollow into soft undefined dimples, you hate the crinkle at the edge of his eyes, and most of all you think you hate him in this moment.

“What?” It comes out before you can stop it, and nurture it into something more mellow — but right now, your anger seeps through your mouth and spits onto his face.

“Okay. Um, I really did need to leave so,” you say, and with a swoop you push yourself up.

This time you move quicker, walking away to leave but he stops you. His hand comes up to clutch your wrist. It's not tight enough for you to not walk away but you stop.

“I’m sorry,” he says and he seems genuine, which makes you hate him even more.

“It’s okay, Rin.” You say, because you could nurture your anger into something different. You’re definitely not okay, but you can pretend you think. For a bit, until you no longer have to pretend.

“Please, ca—just sit with me.” He says, and the wind blows, sending a chill down your back but you sit down anyway because you’ve never truly been good at telling him no. Not when it mattered, at least.

“Thank you,” he mutters.

You don’t speak for the rest of the time. The two of you just sit there, and your anger dies and it dies, and you almost forget about all of it, because this is nice right?

This is comfortable and familiar, and it makes you wish you could turn time back, at least in your head. But it’s abruptly met with a stop, when he speaks again, “It was bad.”

“I figured,” you say.

You hum, urging him to continue. Reluctant but ready.

“The date, I mean," he elaborates.

“I don’t think I’m over you yet,” he says. “It’s killing me just a bit, I think.” He tries to soften the sentence with a chuckle.

“I think that would kill me more,” he says soft as a whisper, you could barely hear it. It almost made you assume it was just the wind playing tricks on you.

“Want me to change neighbourhoods so you can move on then?”

Your words come out sounding a bit condescending but you have a soft edge to your voice, a lilt of humour if you will, like it’s amusing that you would ever do something like this for him. Would you?

“Anyway, it should be you if one of us is moving,” you say.

“Well, I was here first. It’s only fair,” you say, firmly.

“Me? No way,” he says, his pitch rising. “It’s closer to practice, and the home office."

He doesn’t say anything for a bit. You were here first, you were more in tune with this area than he was. Most of his favourite things about this neighbourhood are borrowed, he realizes. They're all yours.

At that, he feels a bit empty, “That’s actually fair.” He adds, “I’d rather neither of us have to move. I’d rather us be friends.”

“Me too, Rin.” You smile at him.

Only you can’t help but think about how it sounds like a distant fantasy, reminiscent of dream-addled childhood dreams where you thought of driving yourself across the country. You reassure yourself because you can drive now at least.

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rollingaroundin-bread · 10 months

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Hi 🥺 what if they- 👉👈 what if they got mawwied???? 💕💕💕

Okay hi I’ve been working on these on and off all month (mostly off I got really busy whoops) and I have A LOT of thoughts about a Legbone wedding (ft. the drawtectives cause they really are my blorbos)

Anyways here’s a list of headcannons that I didn’t get to draw:

So right off the bat let’s talk OUTFITS

To me Legzi and Ryjinah had gone looking for dresses but Legzi wasn’t really pumped about any of them

So maybe they went on a road trip (because ladies bookclub road trips my beloved) to either go look in a different boutique or to do other wedding related shenanigans

And on the side of the road Legzi spots this rag

And of course it’s a torn up wedding dress and suddenly she has a Vision^TM

Just Legzi being more excited about fixing up this dress than anything she could have just bought up to that point

Because to me Legzi is someone who loves to feel like a part of the process and having all her random skills she picked up from Darkmouth

Then design wise I wanted something puffy so I could hide how much taller I made her

Because personally I think her using the leg stilts on her wedding day is not only very Legzi^TM but I also made myself laugh with the concept :)

And florals because those are fun, green, and easy to make by hand (as someone who’s made a lot of ribbon flowers)!! The vines were places where the dress was really torn and needed more structural stitching

Ryjinahs dress on the other hand I wanted to take some inspiration from her season 1 design (even though I haven’t seen it)

Also I love a chance to draw some boob

so anyways York’s invitation

I’ve said it before but “artists draw fan art of each other’s art” where Karina drew Ryjinah, York, Rowan, and Jacob horse all hanging out is CANON TO ME

Which is why all of those characters were invited!! :)

Anyways I imagine all the invitations had your standard stuff- names, dates, rsvp section

But where it would’ve said +1 I think Ryjinah scribbled that out and hand wrote “+2 ;)”

Which of course Grandma would be slightly flustered by meanwhile York is like “AWESOME you guys can come!!!”

I believe in drawtectives polycule supremacy and also York is aroace

Which also lead to my miniature leg wrestling joke :)

Oh but the second York and Rah’ōxah lock eyes they’re going to leg wrestle (Pokémon rules)

Then they can become friends too and we can make Julia’s drawing in “pro artists redraw their old OCs” canon!!!

Rah’ōxah is both Legzi and Ryjinahs maid of honor :)

She’s awesome of course she can do both!!!!!!

I wish I had drawn this but to me Parker the cat officiated :)

Maybe while standing on top of Parker the horse

Ryjinah was not pleased with this but also couldn’t say no to the combined force of Legzi and Rah’ōxah’s puppy dog eyes

Plus Parker the cat is the only person (cat) they know who’s ordained

Oh last thing I wanted to but didn’t draw was a Rosé & Rowan interaction

Or not even so much of an interaction but they catch each other’s gaze from across the room and freeze

Oh more headcannons but they’re siblings to me

I mean dyed hair? Knives? Mysterious pasts? Color schemes?? Attracted to himbos???

Anyways they both have moved on from their family in different directions

So to suddenly meet again even from across the room

Then York or Gramdma calls for Rosé and she looks away and they’re gone

But I digress

Tbh for everyone’s outfits I kinda just went “you know what would be cute???”

So floral dress for grandma (obviously)

Jumpsuit + long gloves for Rosé because vibes

Unbuttoned shirt and double breasted vest for York so he doesn’t have sleeves

Similar thought process for Rah’ōxah because they give off similar vibes BUT I made Rah’ōxah’s the same colors as Ryjinah and Legzi so she could match both :)

Then a demon Johnny button on her outer vest kinda like the pin/broach she has in Julia’s drawing in pro artists redraw old OCs

Rowan I just wanted to look swanky and what’s more swanky than a tailcoat?

And for everyone but Rah’ōxah I tried to keep to their normal color schemes!! :)

Are all these outfits practical for what I made a beach wedding on a whim? Absolutely not

I gave pretty much all of them some sort of heels even if they are technically wedges which is better but STILL

Beaches are fun and easy ish to draw and I never do backgrounds anyways give me a break lol

But anyways I think that’s all my thoughts!!!

So Legzi & Ryjinah ride into the sunset on their noble steed Jacob Horse :)

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subwaytrainrat · 4 months

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I haven’t drawn my Doctor Submas AU in a while… so I did! Here are the boys! 🩷🩵

So happy with how they look! I’ve improved a lot since the first (and last) time I drew them, haha!

More cool stuff under the cut!

And here’s the twins desperately, each with their partner Pokémon from this AU:

This is the old piece I made a few months ago of them:

I’ve been thinking about possibly making a blog where you guys could ask some questions about the AU, or ask the twins some questions too! They’d be more than happy to answer! And as I introduce everyone to more characters, then everyone would be able to ask them, too. I’m so excited!

Until then, I hope you guys like this redraw! Yippee!

#pokemon #submas #pokemon submas #subway boss ingo #subway master ingo #submas ingo #my art #subway boss emmet #subway master emmet #submas emmet #doctor submas #docmas au #docmas #doctor submas au #doctor ingo #doctor emmet #AAAAA GUYS #I’M SO PROUD WAHAHAAAA #I wanna draw them more 😔🩷 this was so fun aaaaa especially all the pinks and blues~

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alangdorf · 2 months

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Welp, the ref lineup still isn’t done cause I haven’t drawn Shion yet, and the belated valentines I’ve been working on are gonna be like at least a month late cause I just planned three more, but what I did do these past couple weeks is start writing a fanfic and then immediately abandon it to go draw a bunch of only tangentially-related suzutsubas (except for that first pic; that’s a scene from it, albeit one I haven’t written yet), only half of which are fit for public posting (one of ‘em I could make a few edits and feel ok about posting sometime; it’s not that out there, it’s just, y’know. Hamal Cine Bad End Hyperbolic Torture Chamber. I’m usually very “whatever happens happens” about my art but if I don’t show some restraint I know I’ll end up stuck in there forever), but hey, since I’ve been teasing them for ages and finally have some finished stuff with them, take a couple Suzumii! Also gonna ramble abt headcanons under the cut (and it will be LONG)

To begin, a note abt my Len’en gender/pronoun headcanons: as a they/them preferrer myself, I’m thrilled that most people just stick with those for everyone, but I’ve developed some more detailed headcanons as I go through working on designs and I’ll generally be using those. Don’t worry though, most of them are still nonbinary and basically all of them are trans/gq. Relevant ones for this post are Tsubakura: they/them nonbinary (transmasc to some degree) and Suzumi: cis female, question mark?? (to be elaborated on); for clarity’s sake I usually use she/her for Arde and Hamal Cine individually and plural they for the system collectively (also I don’t usually use their nicknames, dunno why), but singular they for Benet (the wiki says Benny is probably short for Benetnasch so I’m assuming that’s their actual name) for reasons which will also be elaborated on (sort of).

Aaalso this clearly isn’t autobiographical or anything but I think I’m subconsciously putting a lot of myself into Suzumi because 1) we do look pretty similar (brown wavy bob + blue eyes) and 2) given their current status as both the main antagonist and the most well-known plural Len’en character (I get the impression that Hooaka also being plural isn’t super common knowledge; I mean it took me several read-throughs of their wiki page and their dialogue with BPoHC Secret Team to get what they were getting at lol) I am probably way too anxious about doing a bad stereotype. Just an observation and also probably partially why I’ve even ended up with so much headcanon for them in the first place

And before I get into the thick of it, notes on derivations from canon: I’m running with the assumption that Suzumi being a system is a relatively recent development tied to whatever incident it was that caused the falling-out, since Tsubakura is like the only person who seems at all familiar with Hamal (including Mitori/Chouki/Fumikado, but they’re more easily explained away as just having met with one of the other alters the few times they’ve interacted) even though she’s supposedly usually the one fronting. They don’t seem to know the mechanics of it though, judging by their confusion when Arde implied that she and Hamal are different people. So basically, I’ll be referring to pre-incident Suzumi as a different character from any of the other three. (Ngl I am very influenced by Dissociation Constant on that and just in general [when will my wife The One and Only Suzutsuba Fic return from the war…..]) I was also debating whether to have Suzumi have any history with the gang before starting to work at the lab/whether stuff would happen around high school or college age, cause they keep referring to everything happening “a long time ago” and I know I, a 24-year-old, feel like stuff that happened five years ago was like yesterday, but I do have the pandemic and not really doing much of anything for most of that time to reckon with so like, eh. College age makes more sense in my head and so does the dynamic of like, Suzumi was only introduced into the friend group (she was acquainted w Hoojiro and Yabu already though bc lab) because she was dating Tsubakura and since that ended, and badly (understatement of the century), they have extremely little reason to be civil with each other and also interacting at all is really awkward.

Ok now on with it! Either end of high school or beginning of college, Suzumi ends up interning at Tsubakura’s lab for college credit (Tsuba’s already practically a department head despite being like 17 or something because. Idk. Who even knows what’s up with them) and she’s like. Only wears t-shirts and jeans (bought a bunch of khakis for this job though), [reading] glasses from the men’s section, hates leaving her hair down (it’s lab safety anyways). Repressed queer in denial, you know the type. Starts interacting a lot with Mx. Tsubakura “wears short shorts that everybody thinks are actually a skirt and also uses ore and omae almost exclusively” Enraku who seems to have everything all figured out and is immediately starstruck (GIRL WHY?? they are such a mess). Lots of “do I want to date them or do I want to be them” confusion (this will be relevant later); eventually evolves into the “am I trans or just a lesbian” question (not that they would need to be attracted to women to be into Tsubakura but you get the picture), which never quite gets answered.

In any case, they do eventually start dating (Tsubakura thinks she’s cute and smart so they reciprocate), and they’re not like super great together cause Tsubakura is emotionally constipated at the best of times (Suzumi’s into that though) and neither of them are the most mentally/emotionally healthy people even back then and also Tsubakura is more or less Suzumi’s boss which is weird, but they’re kind of ok??? Tsubakura’s mom dies at some point, also they move in together (college housing is expensive), the rest of the crew at the very least tolerate Suzumi, etcetera.

And then…! [insert catastrophic event here]!! I don’t have a shot to call on this yet cause I have no idea what it could’ve been (and I’m sure it’ll get revealed at some point anyways); I’m just banking on it being something extremely not mundane and something where you could reasonably set the blame on either (or neither) party cause they sure both seem convinced the other is way worse, huh! In Tsubakura’s case at least, blaming Suzumi is partially a defense mechanism so their self-loathing doesn’t get the better of them over it (guess what the fic was supposed to be about, lol).

The worst part of all this business though is that they DON’T break up over it immediately and it just makes everything orders of magnitude worse for everyone involved. Tsubakura and Arde have hate sex MORE THAN ONCE………… they would both really rather forget about it. Hamal thinks it’s hilarious, ofc, but the less said about her, the better. And Benet… exists??? The only idea that I’m running off of for them atm is the observation that I think they’re the only character with flat black eyes other than Tsubakura/Tsurubami and the subsequent idle thought, “hey if someone malded so hard about a breakup that they ended up with an introject of their ex would that be messed up or what?” So make of that what you will. (Oh and it may have been obvious that this is what I was going for but Hamal is femme and Arde is butch and they’re constantly squabbling abt aesthetic presentation. Having Arde be straight-up male would’ve been too straightforward of an interpretation and I think it’s funnier this way)

The canonically mentioned murder attempts start taking place and I’m leaning towards Tsubakura eventually being convinced to move out even though it was originally their apartment, albeit mostly just because the wikipedia page for house sparrows mentions that they’re known to take over swallows’ nests, usually after they’ve been abandoned, but they will sometimes drive away or kill the current occupants, and that was a very fun fact to come across when specifically doing research for Len’en but idk how else to incorporate it lol. And so on and so forth up until the present time.

Uhhh is that all I have atm? I think so! Anyway, I think I finally shook out all my suzutsuba doodles (and rambling, though I do still have that fic to work on. idk whether I’ll be able to finish it though; I started strong with an extended metaphor in the middle but Iiiii’m not sure if I can successfully write my way up to it while making it make sense. Also I may draw pretty slow but I write even slower!! Eh I’m sure I’ll post some of it sometime) for the time being so I should theoretically be able to finish up my bigger projects now. Maybe I’ll have the valentines ready in time for white day? We’ll see!

#art #len’en #tsubakura enraku #suzumi kuzu #suzutsuba #btw sorry if that’s like not the right ship name lol I saw like one person use it but there’s not much in the tag but that might just be #bcuz ppl don’t seem to make much for it anyways #digital #I should probably ask for len’en discord recommendations sometime soon just given the Circumstances #namely if tumblr actually goes down the drain but also so my little sister doesn’t have to keep watching me have a mental breakdown live #(hi Val!!)#briefly looked into the wiki’s server but that has A THOUSAND MEMBERS?? scary…..#ough FINALLY this post took me like a full day to write #also of note: these are essentially silly little doodles and I got kind of lazy with them #and I still don’t know how to draw Tsubakura’s hat or hair…..#idk why I’ve been having so much trouble differentiating how I draw Suzumi and Tsubakura’s hair but I have and it’s weird

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em-prentiss · 2 months

Text

I didn’t know if you’d care if I came back (I have a lot of regrets about that)

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“You didn’t call. You didn’t text.” Her voice cracks and she shuts up, swallows until the shakiness in her throat disappears. Her whole body is jittery, trembling as she looks at him. Her pulse roars in her ears, drowning out the soft justifications that try to fall from his lips.

Aaron wets his dry lips. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He steps forward to close the distance between them. Emily looks away. Step back, she tells herself, but she can’t. She’s spent so long craving his presence, and now that he’s here her feet are frozen in place.

Scratch is finally down, but Aaron doesn't come home. Not until Emily runs into him by accident.

Word count: 6.8k

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He doesn’t call, doesn’t reach out. She tries to be understanding as the days pass by, weeks blurring into months and until it’s almost half a year of radio silence. His old phone number blinks up at her accusingly, but even if it worked she knows she wouldn’t have called. Her dignity wouldn’t allow her that, at least.

It doesn’t stop her from poking around.

One day the question bubbles out of her throat before she can stop it. “Have you heard from Hotch?” She asks Dave in what she hopes is a casual manner.

Dave looks up. She’s looking down at her case file, bitten lip held hostage between her teeth. Emily feels his gaze on her and reluctantly looks up. “It just—seems weird that he wouldn’t reach out,” she shrugs carelessly, feeling unusually pinned down by his gaze.

She looks back down. “You would think at least he’d tell us he’s okay,” she mumbles softly, and if he didn’t know her as long as he had, he never would’ve heard the bitterness in it.

He feels something in his heart crack at her forcefully nonchalant manner. “Not since Scratch was down.” He had been the one to call and be the bearer of good news, let Aaron know that he could come home now. But he never did. Not to them, anyway.

Emily almost laughs. At least you had that.

“I can give you his phone number,” Dave ventures cautiously.

She scoffs, though her heart races. “No, thanks.” I’ve run after him enough times. If he wants to get back in touch, that’s on him.

****

It’s so hard to stay away.

He watches her pop up on tv, head high and shoulders back as she delivers profiles to the press. He scours the news for mentions of the BAU and frequents the places around her apartment in hopes that he would see her, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Not after everything she went through for his sake. But he can’t help it, so slinking around like a stalker is his only choice.

So really, it shouldn’t have been surprising when she sees him in the parking lot of the grocery store.

Emily blinks at the silhouette of a large man loading groceries in his trunk. His hair is dark, strong muscles moving easily under his thin gray shirt. Her mind immediately jumps to Aaron, though she’s seen nothing but his back.

Her heart starts to pound.

It’s not him, she tells herself, desperately trying to ease her racing heart. Move. Go home. You haven’t slept properly in days.

So she tightens her grip on the few bags in her hand—some milk and eggs, just enough for the week because she’ll probably be gone by the end of it—and walks to her car, just a few paces from the man’s.

Her eyes are still drawn to him as she walks closer. She tries to ignore him, but the line of his shoulders is unmistakable; she’s stood behind him so many times, offering backup and protection without second thought. He closes the trunk, turns his head slightly in her direction as he moves to open the door, and Emily could swear her heart stops in her chest.

She bypasses her car without feeling it. “Aaron?”

He freezes. Her voice is sharp, louder than it should be at this time of night. There’s no hesitation in it, only anger he can hear a mile away.

Aaron turns around. “Em,” he tries to smile but the sight of her makes his heart clench painfully in his chest. It starts to race as she looks at him.

At first she’s shocked, her face frozen and her mouth dropped open as she stares at him, still not quite believing he’s here. He’s close enough to touch; if she’d just extend her hand she’d feel the soft fabric of his t-shirt beneath her fingers, the harder feel of his chest underneath. The shock disappears in an instant, her brows knotting together as the hope climbing her throat is replaced with anger.

“Don’t you Em me,” she hisses, tightly fisting the bags in her hand. She feels her nails cut through the plastic. “Where the hell were you?” She demands, hot tears rising in her eyes. She breathes in deeply and shoves them down, swallows the lump in her throat as her eyes take him in.

He’s the same but he’s not. Gray hairs shine at his temple and fine lines mar his cheeks, the delicate skin next to his eyes. The line of his shoulders is slumped, relaxed, as if in six months he could’ve erased the tension decades on the job had cost him.

“You’re sorry,” she scoffs at the lamppost ahead of her. She shakes her head as he inhales sharply. His chest just barely brushes hers; a quick touch, there one second and gone the next.

Aaron swallows. He never liked it when she was angry with him. Her rage is a tangible, physical thing he knows all too well, laying waste to anything that comes near. It blocks him from her, keeps him on the edge until she eventually calms down enough to talk to him again. Or he faces it head on and risks getting singed in the process.

Either way, he can’t back down now.

Her jaw is tight as she looks away from him, lashes fluttering as she blinks rapidly to dispel the tears from her eyes. His heart twists.

“Look at me, please?”

Emily closes her eyes. If it were any other day he’d have found it funny, how she immediately did the opposite of what he had asked. But a tear rolls down beneath her closed lid and instead he wants to punch himself. It catches the street light as it travels down her cheek, drips off her chin.

Aaron’s throat goes dry. “Please, Emily.” He begs, his voice ragged and torn.

She opens her eyes and tilts her head back to face him. Brown eyes meet hazel, both of them shiny. “I can explain.”

He really can’t, not in a way that will make her less angry, but he has to say something. He can’t stand it, the accusation in her gaze, the hurt, and knowing he caused it is a hot knife straight through his heart. It makes him wonder if staying away meant anything in the end.

He reaches forward to take the bags from her fist. Emily stares at him as he tugs on the plastic, the warmth of his finger touching hers enough to jolt her into letting go. “Come home with me and I’ll explain,” he whispers.

She wants to rage and scream and pound her fists against his chest. She’s got work tomorrow, she hasn’t slept properly in days, her car is still in the lot. But he’s right there, and she knows if she goes home she won’t sleep anyway, her head clouded with thoughts of him. She shouldn’t drop everything and follow him wherever he asked. But the truth is she’s always done it; it’s instinct by this point. She can’t stop herself even now.

“Fine.” Emily says hoarsely, as if she wasn’t doing this for herself as much as him. She turns on her heel and gets in the car, slamming the passenger door shut behind her. She can hear her loud breaths in the quiet space, Aaron still standing frozen near the trunk.

He stuffs her bags with his and gets into the car, turning it on and quickly pulling out of the parking lot before Emily can change her mind. As if he can’t reach her if she does, as if she was the one hiding from him this whole time.

It’s silent and awkward and everything they haven’t been in years—a decade, really. The air between them is thick with tension, buzzing with her rage and his anxiety. She can smell his cologne, hear his nervous breaths. Emily picks at her cuticles, her nail instinctively catching on the skin at the tip of her finger. Her heart is jittery, racing, and she wonders if Aaron can hear it.

Aaron. Is he really here or is this just another one of her dreams?

But no, he always embraced her tightly in those, held her in his arms as he pressed his lips to her skin, profusely apologizing for his absence. He came to her office, her apartment, peonies in hand and a desperate look in his eye. They always left her aching when she woke up, her heart longing for the comfort he could no longer provide.

She tilts her head the slightest bit and looks at him from the corner of her eye. One of his hands is on the wheel, the other on his thigh as he repeatedly rubs his thumb over his index finger; his tick.

She finds herself talking before she can stop herself. “Did you ever even think of calling?”

Aaron stifles a humorless laugh. “Every goddamn day.” He turns to look at her, her hard stare making his skin itch. He wants it to soften, wants to see the familiar warmth back in her eyes. “You can’t think I’d just want to cut you off, Emily.”

“Well that’s exactly what you did,” she snaps. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Aaron. You..” She shakes her head, still in disbelief even now, “You didn’t even bother to tell us you were okay. Didn’t it occur to you that we’d want to know? That maybe we’d have liked to hear from you, see how Jack’s doing?” Her voice cracks as she says his son’s name.

His breath catches. Aaron digs his nails into his thighs and forces a deep breath through his nose. Now that he’s seen her, seen her hurt right in front of him, he can’t help but wonder if he did more harm than good by staying away.

Emily turns away. She looks out the window, fixes her gaze firmly on the passing streets and digs her nails into her palms. She feels his gaze on her, warm and familiar, but she doesn’t turn back, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes.

“He’s doing good,” Aaron says quietly. He misses you, he doesn’t tell her. He doesn’t understand why he can’t see you anymore and I think he resents me for it.

Emily doesn’t reply. Aaron pulls into the parking lot of an apartment building a few minutes later. The roads are still familiar, places she recognizes just a few blocks from her own home. She waits for him to unbuckle his seatbelt before she finally turns to him, her body jittery with the shock of it all. “All this time,” she grits out slowly, “you were living ten minutes away?”

She shakes her head as she climbs out of the car. “God fucking damn it, Aaron.” She looks around at his building, at the street around them. She passes this road every day on the way to work, and for all she knows he could’ve seen her one day while she was driving past, her head in the clouds as she wondered why he still hasn’t come back home.

This time she can’t stop them. Emily presses her palms into her eyes, feels the hot tears soak her cheeks as she finally lets go. Her body shudders as she tucks her elbows into her chest, trying to make herself smaller, trying to disappear.

Fuck. His heart drops to his feet when he sees her. “Hey, hey,” he shushes as he pulls her into his chest, wraps his arms tightly around her back. His stomach roils with nausea at the sound of her sniffles, her breathless gasps.

“Why?” She cries hoarsely into his neck, her body trembling as he holds her to him. “Why would you do this? I waited for you. God, I waited months and you didn’t even bother-” She cuts off as sobs rack her body.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. Aaron tightens his grip on her, desperately presses his lips to her hair. “I’m so sorry, Emily.”

It’s all he can say. He repeats it like a mantra, desperate and pleading against her ear. She doesn’t even hear him, only feels his hand through her hair as she shakes against him, her tears overflowing like a broken dam. He holds her so hard it hurts, as if forcibly trying to press his apology into her skin.

Time blurs as they stand there, outside his apartment building in the dead of night. Her tears slow, her body stiffens, and for a moment he thinks she’ll shove him off her.

“I waited for you to come home,” Emily clutches his shirt in her fist, briefly worrying she’d tear the fabric from her grip. “Why didn’t you, Aaron?”

God, he wishes someone would just kill him. He takes a shaky breath and swallows against the lump in his throat. “Let’s go inside, Em,” he rubs her back and gently pulls away.

She ducks her head as she wipes her cheeks, as if her tears aren’t staining his shirt. As if she hadn’t cried countless times in his arms after she came back to them, guilt twisting her gut because nothing feels the same.

He tentatively places his hand on her shoulder as he leads her into the building. Emily hates herself for not pulling away. She crosses her arms and looks around at the hallways they pass, taking note of the 206 on his door as he pulls out his key. He opens the door and walks in, turning around and holding it open for her.

Emily forces her feet across the step and into the threshold of his apartment, her eyes instinctively flitting over the space and cataloging it in her memory. It’s similar to his old apartment; plain and basic, Jack’s chaotic presence known in his schoolbag dumped next to the couch, his shoes haphazardly toed off at the edge of the carpet. Schoolwork litters the coffee table, instead of the colorful toys he’d scatter everywhere. Her heart squeezes at this tiny, insignificant difference in his life, the passage of time making her press her palm against her eyes again.

Aaron stands uncertainly, watching her take in the details of his new life. The life he excluded them from.

She sniffles and he jolts into action, moving to the kitchen to grab her a glass of water. His hands shake as he fills it, his heart racing as he hears her quiet footsteps on the hardwood floor. Aaron sets the glass on the counter and clenches his hands into fists. He exhales roughly and tries to steel himself for the inevitable conversation they’ll have, a conversation he hid himself so he wouldn’t have to confront.

Get it together. She’s here and she’s not going away, not until she gets some answers. He owes it to her, he knows he does; it’s the least he could do for all the pain he’d caused. So he picks up the glass and walks back to the living room.

Her back is turned to him as she observes the pictures on his shelves. Pictures of them; Reid’s birthday, Henry’s baby shower. Her. Her and him and Jack, on Saturdays in the aquarium and afternoons in the park, ice cream in one of her hands and Jack’s jacket slung over her arm. There’s no pictures of him on his own, only in group settings with Rossi's arm around his shoulders, her cheek pressed to his. She tries not to profile what that says about him.

She doesn’t turn around when he stands next to her, keeping her eyes on the pictures. Haley holding a tiny Jack, a serious looking game of chess between Reid and Garcia.

“Here,” he extends the glass to her. Emily doesn’t take it.

“So you keep our pictures on your shelves, but you don’t call,” she muses, her voice raspy. She raises her brows as she turns to face him. “Even as a profiler I don’t know what that means.” Her bloodshot eyes bore into his, sharp and demanding.

Aaron sighs. “It means that even though I stayed away, I missed you. But I can’t go back to the BAU. I can’t go back to the way it was.” It’s a half assed answer and he knows it. He shrugs as he sets the glass down. “I…I deserve this.” He whispers.

The quiet life, the normalcy. Being home for dinner and bidding his son sweet dreams every night. He does deserve it, more than anyone.

“I know you do.” Emily hisses. “No one’s asking you to come back to the BAU. Just come back to us,” her voice breaks and she looks away, refusing to let more tears fall.

She clears her throat. “You don’t work with us anymore, so what, we’re nothing to you now? We don’t deserve a ‘Hey, I’m doing alright, how about we meet up for dinner?’”

Aaron looks away when she glares at him. His skin feels hot, itchy, as if he were one of the suspects she interrogated. “I couldn’t stay, either,” she reminds him sharply. His gaze snaps to hers. “But I didn’t cut everyone off. I called, I visited when I could. And you? Radio silence.”

The silence is deafening as she waits for him to say something. He runs a hand through his hair as he blows out a breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. His hair falls into his face softly, hanging over his eyes, no longer neatly parted and held down with gel. Her heart twists again.

His mouth opens and closes, the words stuck in his throat. He tries to force them out, say I couldn’t. I wanted to but I couldn’t live with what he did because of me, but when he opens his mouth again a choked sound leaves him.

Emily speaks instead. “Do we just…” she shrugs and licks her lips, “mean nothing?”

No. Aaron meets her gaze. The desperate look in his eyes takes her aback. “You mean everything,” he says quietly.

Emily throws her hands out in frustration, “Then why? Explain it to me, Aaron.” She walks closer to him until they’re close enough to touch. “I would’ve understood it for a few weeks, hell even a month. But six months? And it would’ve been longer if I hadn’t seen you tonight,” she crosses her arms.

His tongue darts out to wet his dry lips. His heart starts to slam against his ribcage, so forcefully his ribs ache. Aaron knows this is it; he can’t hide it from her any longer. He heaves a shaky breath. “It was all because of me.” He says, his voice low.

Her brows lift in confusion. “What was?”

“What he did to you.”

Shit. Her whole body freezes, her muscles locking tight with tension. She doesn’t even need to ask to know what he’s talking about.

Emily swallows hard. “You know about that?” She whispers. Her voice is strangled, desperate.

Aaron huffs out a pained laugh. “Yes, Emily, I know about that.” He watches her eyes widen, panic settling over her as her shoulders stiffen.

No, no, no. She never wanted him to know. Emily runs a frantic hand through her hair, bile rising in her throat. “How?” She chokes out.

Aaron remembers all too clearly the way his stomach had dropped when Dave called, his relief at Scratch being gone short lived when he told him Emily was in the hospital. When he told him why she was there to begin with.

“I saw you.”

Emily heaves in a breath. “No.” She shakes her head, her lip trembling. “No you didn’t. You didn’t.” She rambles as she steps away from him, her thumb between her teeth as she paces.

Aaron nods even though she’s not looking at him. “I came to visit you in the hospital. I saw you lying there in that bed, bruised and drugged,” his voice shakes as tears finally roll down his face. He can still see her, spidery lashes casting shadows on her bruised cheeks as she slept, her skin gray from dehydration.

“I know that even though they gave you stuff to sleep, you woke up hours later, still thinking you were caught up in the hallucinations,” he chokes out, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Emily stops moving. She sees the splatter of his tears on the floor, so minuscule they could have been rain drops. She looks up at him, her eyes burning as she tries to hold back tears of her own.

“I know that every time you tried to sleep you’d hear his voice in your ear. I know the scent of sage wouldn’t come out of your hair no matter how many times you washed it.”

Sometimes she still hears him. Low and raspy in her head, making a shiver go down her spine. The glint of the mallet when she closes her eyes, the white hot pain that rushed through her whole body. The poles sticking out of her legs.

Aaron watches as her eyes grow shiny again. God, how many times is he going to make her cry in one night? His gut lurches but he knows he can’t stop now, he’ll never say it otherwise. “I know you pretended you were okay, but it took days for the self doubt to fade. You couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.”

He knows. He knows exactly how she felt because he felt it too. And she only went through it because of him.

“Stop.” She whispers, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Stop it, Aaron.”

“I was going to see you, I swear I was, Emily,” Aaron pleads. “But I couldn’t do it.” His voice breaks and he looks away from her. “How…how could I sit there next to you knowing I’d done this?”

Emily licks her dry lips. “You didn’t,” she croaks out.

He shakes his head and she lurches forward, her hands naturally cupping his face as if she’d done it a hundred times before. “Look at me, Aaron,” she begs. She gently tilts his face toward hers. “Please.”

He can’t. He’s the sole reason it happened; why else would Scratch have kidnapped her, strapped her to a table and drugged her until she was delirious and hallucinating? He knows the pain of it, knows exactly what she went through, and the thought of her going through it after everything she survived makes him want to scream into the void.

He closes his eyes and drops his head on her shoulder, his hot tears soaking her neck. “It’s all my fault, Emily.” He sobs. “I’m so sorry,” he gasps breathlessly, his hands tightly gripping her shirt in his fists.

“Don’t say that,” she whispers. Her hands are tangled in his hair, holding him close to her just as he’d done for her outside, not even an hour ago. The sobs coming out of him make tears of her own rise in her throat. They spill out of her quietly as she holds him, trying to provide comfort for the both of them. Emily swallows thickly. “It’s not your fault, Aaron, stop saying that. Please.”

“I couldn’t come back,” he garbles, the words flowing from him now that the dam broke. He’d caused her so much pain. The best thing he could do was stay away from her, even if it killed him. “I couldn’t look at you knowing I was the reason it happened.” He gasps into her neck, her skin shiny with his tears.

“I’m sorry, Emily, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

She pulls back and holds his face in her palms. “Hey. Stop it,” she says firmly as she wipes the wetness off his cheeks. It’s replaced immediately, his hot tears soaking his skin, all the guilt he’d bottled up overflowing from him now. “You didn’t do this.” She meets his gaze and tries to smile. “Unless your name is Peter and you didn’t tell me.”

“Don’t fucking joke about this, Emily,” he says hoarsely. Aaron closes his eyes. “He did this because of me,” he whispers.

Emily shakes her head as she pulls his face back into her neck, his chin snug on her shoulder. “No, Aaron,” she soothes, rubbing her palm over his back. “He did this because he’s a psychopath. I set up the bait, I knew the risks. And I’d do it again.”

“You and Jack are safe. That makes it all worth it,” she says as she leans back, wiping away more of his tears. I’d do anything for you, she thinks as she gently combs her fingers through his hair.

Aaron stiffens. “Don’t say that, please.” He rasps, his hands tightening on her back.

“Sorry,” she whispers as she rises on her tiptoes and loops her arms around his neck. Her head falls on his shoulder, his arms wrapping around her waist. They both breathe a little easier, tension leaking out of Aaron’s shoulders because he finally told her and Emily’s slumping in relief because she finally saw him.

He breathes her in, feels her relax against him as they slowly rock back and forth. His tears start to slow as she soothingly rubs between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Aaron mumbles into her skin. He tightens his hold on her to remind himself she’s safe, Scratch is gone.

Emily smiles sadly. “Yeah. I’m sorry you had to go through it, too. Guess we’re even now.”

Aaron pulls back to look at her, “Can you stop joking about this?” He scolds quietly.

“Sorry,” Emily huffs. “Coping mechanism, force of habit.” She lets go of him and grabs the glass of water he’d poured for her.

“Drink.” She presses it into his hands. Aaron obliges as she grabs him by the arm and pulls him to the couch. Emily sinks into it with a sigh, accepting the glass when Aaron hands it back half full. She drinks greedily, the water soothing her throat, parched from all her crying.

She places it on the coffee table when she’s done, turning back to find Aaron looking at her. “I didn’t want to stay away,” he whispers. “But I had to, Em.”

“No more of that now,” Emily grabs his hand. “It didn’t happen because of you, okay? It happened because of a deranged psychopath.” She says softly. “You’re not going to put us in danger by coming back and you’re not going to cause us any ‘hurt’,” she tells him, all too familiar with the way his mind works. The corner of his lip tilts upward.

“We just want you back,” Emily runs her fingers over the back of his hand. She squeezes lightly, smiling when he squeezes back.

“I missed you,” he admits softly. He links their fingers together and rubs his thumb over the back of her hand, her skin silky beneath his touch.

“I missed you too,” she whispers.

He reaches out to tuck some of her hair behind her ear and gently brush the bangs away from her eyes. His gaze travels over her face, taking her in properly for the first time in forever. He looks at her still wet lashes and her reddened eyes, his eyes slipping down her cheeks and lingering too long on her lips.

Emily stops breathing for a second.

His hand is still in her hair, tangled loosely in the dark strands. He leans forward and she thinks he’s going to do it, her heart racing as his hand gently cups the curve of her neck. Aaron leans in closer and presses his lips to her forehead.

Emily exhales slowly, shakily as she wraps her arms around his waist, her head slotting into his neck. Her heart still beats wildly in her chest as he kisses her hair again and tightens his hold on her.

“Where’s Jack?” She asks softly, pretending to be unaffected though she’s almost sure he can feel her heart racing.

Aaron says something about Jessica, how Jack spends more nights there than usual, but Emily’s not listening. She’s lost in her thoughts, Aaron’s close proximity and the scent of his cologne trudging up an old—definitely not forgotten—memory.

He kissed her, once. Before it all went to shit. Before Foyet tore through their lives and Doyle came back to haunt her.

It was a soft, sweet thing outside his office door, hesitant until she kissed him back. She had dug her hands into his hair, felt his large palms encircle her waist. It held the promise of more, made her smooth her thumb over her lips when she was back in her car, her head still clouded with thoughts of him. She had smiled at him the next day, her cheeks blush pink before he got a call about a strange situation in Canada.

She suddenly aches for it; the feeling of his lips against hers, his hand tangled in her hair as she presses herself into his skin, as close as she possibly could.

Emily leans back. His hands fall from her body as she shifts away and nervously tucks her legs beneath her. “What?” Aaron asks when she lets out a deep, slow breath, steeling herself. Emily smiles slightly; apparently that’s her tell.

She holds his cheek in one hand and feels the slight stubble under her skin. Aaron swallows as she leans closer to him, her fingers warm on his jaw. “I think we owe it to ourselves to finally do this right,” she whispers. He only sees a sparkle in her eyes before she presses her lips to his.

He immediately slides a hand into her hair, the other gripping her waist tightly. Her lips are just as soft as he remembers, slotting against his and tasting of salt. Emily hums as she feels the warmth of his palm through her shirt, the heat of it traveling to her cheeks. She feels him gently nudge her into his lap, pulling her into him until her knees are on either side of his waist, trapping him.

Aaron pulls back slightly so he can breathe. He settles his hands on Emily’s waist, smiling when her own reach up to play with his hair. “That was bold of you,” he murmurs as he kisses the hard line of her jaw. Her skin is warm and smooth under his lips, smelling faintly of her familiar perfume.

Emily smiles and shrugs nonchalantly. “Not like you haven’t done it before.” She grabs his face and kisses him again, feeling him sigh when she gently grazes his bottom lip with her teeth. In a lot of ways it’s similar to their first; slow and unhurried, only it’s missing the hesitance from both of them. She kisses him until she’s breathless, only pulling back when the need for oxygen overwhelms them both. Emily bites her lip as she cups his jaw, his familiar hazel eyes making heat race through her veins. Her thumb digs into his dimple when he smiles softly at her, a gentle thing that makes her heart beat faster. She inhales sharply. Here goes nothing.

“I love you.”

Whatever he expected her to say, it wasn’t that. His breath hitches. Emily chews on her lip, her hands warm on his chest as she looks at him tentatively, as if he could do anything but reciprocate his love for her.

Aaron eases her lip from the tight grip of her teeth. He smooths his thumb over her bottom lip, pink and slightly swollen from his kisses. “Again?” He whispers, the sound rough and thick as it leaves him.

Emily relaxes. She smiles at him softly, takes one of his hands off her waist to link their fingers together. “I love you, Aaron.”

He thinks his heart stops. That warm, soft look is finally back in her eyes, her hard glares nowhere to be found. Aaron huffs out a laugh and hugs her tightly. He feels her giggle lightly into his neck, the sound muffled into his skin.

“I love you too, Em. So much,” he kisses her forehead and closes his eyes, just taking in this moment with her. He feels his heart racing, the weight of her body on top of him. Her hair tickles his cheek and her knees dig into the sides of his waist.

“Promise me you won’t leave again,” she says quietly.

He laughs lightly. “I think you’ll have to promise that first, Emily,” he squeezes her waist as she looks up at him. “Are you leaving again?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “After all, you’re not coming back to the BAU, who else would run it?” She shrugs lightly, as if that’s the whole reason, as if she hadn’t been aching to come back anyway.

“Well then, I can promise I won’t leave,” he kisses her forehead and pulls her back into him. He can’t get enough of her, the feeling of her skin like a drug to him. He doesn’t think she minds, what with the way she tangles herself around him like a vine, curling into his chest as if she belongs there. She does, he thinks as she burrows into his neck and plays with his fingers idly, listening to him breathe until her eyes start to droop.

“I have to get home,” she sighs heavily, dreading leaving his arms. He wants to protest, but something in his gut tells him they should take it slow.

“Come on, I’ll drive you to your car.”

Emily gets off his lap with a hum, tucking her hair behind her ear as he stands up and holds her hand. “You agreed to that far too quickly,” she arches her brow as he opens the door for her.

The street is deserted when they leave the building, the deep silence of the night permeated by the sounds of their footsteps. Emily doesn’t even know what time it is, doesn’t know how long they spent inside his apartment.

“I just want to do this right.” Aaron kisses her lightly before opening the car door. He places his hands on her waist, lightly thumbs at her skin over her shirt. “After all, you’re not leaving and I’m not leaving, so we should take this slow, right?” He murmurs.

Emily smiles, feeling her heart race as he looks at her tenderly, his dimple casting a shadow on his cheek. “As long as it’s not too slow.” She agrees as she gets into the car.

Aaron laughs. The ride back to the grocery store couldn’t have been more different than the ride from it. His hand is on her thigh, their fingers linked as they catch up softly; she asks about Jack, he asks about the team. She makes him promise to visit the BAU and he readily agrees, not just because he wants to see her name plate on his desk.

He programs his new number into her phone and hands her the grocery bags he’d stuffed into his trunk.

“Drive safe, sweetheart,” he murmurs against her lips, the edge of her car door digging into his skin as he leans in through the open window. Emily blushes and nods. “You too.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks hopefully.

Emily smiles regretfully. “If we don’t have a case. But we just came back from one, so,” she shrugs.

Aaron nods. “I’ll call you anyway,” he says, his heart squeezing when she smiles brightly at him. Her smile morphs into a yawn and he laughs. “Bedtime, I think,” he teases. Emily swats at his hand and he grabs it, pulling her close to kiss her again. It still feels surreal, something warm and golden fluttering in his chest when she sighs into his mouth.

“I love you.” He whispers. It’s new on his tongue—for her, at least—and they’re both intoxicated by the sound of it.

“Love you too.” She pecks him lightly before leaning back. Aaron steps back and she pulls out of the parking lot, giving her a small wave as she drives away.

****

It’s no surprise that he doesn’t sleep well. This time, though, it’s because he’s thinking of her like some lovesick teenager while she probably sleeps soundly in her bed—like he should’ve been doing.

She’s awake when he texts her at 8:30—the privileges of walking into work ten minutes before briefings are nonexistent now that she’s Unit Chief—so he gets out of bed and into the shower, agonizing for more than he’d like about what to wear.

He’s never been more glad for Jack being at Jess’ as he picks up coffee for the both of them, snagging a cinnamon roll on instinct because he knows she won’t have eaten breakfast.

The bullpen is quiet when he walks into the BAU, the team still not there because of the early hour. He sees her through the large window of his former office, affection burning in his chest at the sight of her bent over a stack of files. Only a few agents mill around, none of them paying him any attention as he walks up the stairs.

He knocks on her door, a grin breaking out on his face when he sees her name on it. “Come in,” she says softly.

Aaron walks in and shuts the door. Emily looks up and beams at him, her eyes sparkling when she sees the coffee in his hands. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says as he sets the coffee and the cinnamon roll down on her desk, leaning forward to give her a slow kiss. She smiles into it and places her hand over his, unconcerned with anyone seeing them through the window.

Aaron pulls away with a quick kiss to her cheek and sits down, sliding the treats into her hands. “For me?” She asks coyly as she leans forward on her elbows, resting her chin on her hands.

“Ah, no actually, these are for Unit Chief Prentiss, have you seen her?” He teases, jokingly reaching for her cinnamon roll. Emily swats his hand away and rolls her eyes.

She splits half of her roll with him and they talk as they drink their coffee, Emily’s paperwork long forgotten. It feels abnormal, that he’s the one distracting her from her work for a change. He can think of so many nights spent just like this, with her curled in the chairs or the couch, talking on about something that would steal his attention, leaving his paperwork unfinished.

Neither of them notice when the team starts walking into the bullpen, both of them occupied with each other as they make plans for her to see Jack again.

Penelope gasps when she sees the two of them. “Is that Hotch?” She grasps JJ’s shoulder with a tight grip. Tara turns to her curiously, looking around for her previous boss at Penelope’s words.

“About time,” Rossi mutters as he walks past them.

Penelope and JJ shoot off to Emily’s office, grinning when they see Emily laugh. “I don’t think this is their first time getting reacquainted,” JJ nudges her friend with a smirk.

“Sir!” The door to Emily’s office slams open.

Emily laughs as Aaron grimaces. “You don’t have to call me sir anymore, Garcia.”

She envelops him in a hug, a flutter of blonde hair and sweet smelling perfume. “Oh, we missed you so much, sir, how’s the little Hotchner doing? Are you coming back to us, is the-”

JJ hangs back, instead approaching Emily and not so subtly eyeing the coffee cups and empty bakery box on her desk. She blushes furiously when JJ raises a blonde brow.

Not a word, Emily mouths to her.

JJ mimes zipping her mouth shut. But Emily knows better.

��Hey, is that Hotch?” Reid sticks his head in, quickly followed by Rossi and Luke, Tara trailing in behind them.

Emily stifles a smile into her palm. For the first time in months her heart beats contentedly, and when she meets Aaron’s alarmed gaze over Penelope’s pink cardigan, she gives him a wink.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #criminal minds

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lumibye · 4 months

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˗ˋ ୨ - 𝒏𝒆𝒘𝒔 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒑 𝒖𝒑 : 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 - ୧ ˊ˗

holidays are my only opportunity to be unapologetically sappy on this blog , i think . . . . ( /j ) and since it’s going to be 2024 in like 20 minutes here in australia i wanted to get this out before it gets too late into the night hehe also ! i have a lot i want to say

( also comm showcase because i thought that'd be cute )

so it’s almost been a year since i properly ( there's no way to properly do it but you understand . . ) started self-shipping , i think ? and it's ( in all honesty ? ) helped me through much of the year i started this blog back in march i believe , but i consider our anniversary to be in may ( i thought it was august but a very silly girlie got dates mixed up with lore if you could believe ehe ; ) which . . is five months off but it still feels pretty close ! he’s become such an intrinsic and important part of my life now that it feels as if it’s always been this way i guess . i’ve said it before but his character is just so kind and gentle and caring but also he’s reminded be how lovely it is to actually romanticise life a little bit and how good it feels to embrace your passion/s i um . . i love him very much ? 🩵🥺

he’s such a genuine source of comfort and so very dear to my heart , and I truly think he’s going to be my love favourite forever and i can't wait to do more ship stuff in the coming year hehe ! i’ve been with this series for sixteen years now . because i'm old . ( /j ) it was such a huge staple of my childhood and maybe i’ll talk about it someday - i'd like to ! - because many of my dearest memories are centred around this franchise. perhaps this blog was always inevitable in that way , i like to joke about self shipping with him is like a long term membership bonus . . but either way , in a sense i feel so lucky i get to express my love for it in this way if that makes sense ?

marianne ( having been made this year ) is also important to me in a way that’s . . come to surprise me , honestly ? i haven’t had an ‘ oc ‘ in a very long while so perhaps i just forgot about how emotionally attached you can really become . it’s probably also no shock that despite being a self insert, she’s very personal to me . . as someone that admittedly struggles with quite a bit of negative self talk, being able to say i like these parts of myself that i implement into her character has been quite healing for me as well ! and being able to rediscover my love for collecting flowers and coffee was also something really fun to do ! to the person that designed her ( you know who you are hehe ) I’m so incredibly grateful you bought her to life. It truly does mean sm . . as well as to everyone that's drawn her of course hehe , im always so giddy to see my little beloveds drawn so prettyful !

i really can’t emphasise enough just how grateful i am for both the community and all of my really lovely moots. i’m rather quiet so i don’t talk a lot but the interactions i’ve had on here are soso special to me and i really do cherish them so much no matter how small . . i have so many fond memories this year of that alone and it makes me tearyy happy happy 2024 to you and your beloveds hehe - if you actually managed to sit through all this I’m actually spinning you around so so much you very lovely and sweet . I hope the new year is everything you want it to be ! sending you each and every one of my best wishes your waaay mwah mwah !

#: charm's chatting ✦#⊱ long post ⊰#⊱ gush post ⊰#( art creds in alt txt )#font sizing wont cooperate again ;

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myzzjolanda · 1 year

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Date?

So uh. I might have written something. Something small, something fluff. I haven’t written something in a while, so it’s not thé best, but it ís cute.

Wordcount: 804

Paring: Larissa Weems x Reader

Warnings: none

You cursed. Not for the first time in the last 15 minutes. You were trying to put on a bracelet for at least the last 15 minutes and you just couldn't do it. The opening where the lock was supposed to go in to wouldn’t stay in it’s place. It doesn’t really help that the bracelet is quite short as well. You sighed and decided to try five more minutes before giving up. Usually, you would’ve given up sooner, but this was a gift from Larissa last Christmas, and simply because Larissa gave it to you, it had a special place in your heart. It was a really simple, small silver bracelet with a tiny heart on it, but you still loved it. It could go with practically every outfit. You still smile when you think back of Christmas. It was just over a month ago, but your heart still feels warm when thinking about it. You and all the other teachers of Nevermore celebrated boxing day together with tons of food, drinks and presents. A few weeks earlier you had drawn lots with names. Everyone bought a small gift for the person who’s name was on their lot. You had drawn the new botanical teacher and gifted him a small cactus. For some weird reason, he chose cactuses as his favourite plants so this seemed like a perfect gift for him. And then it turned out Larissa draw your name. You had tried not to blush, but to this day you still didn’t know whether you succeeded or not.

Just like the other presents, it was a small present, a square one in this case. You slowly opened, trying hard not to look clumsy. Underneath the wrapping was a little black box. You opened this as well. You gasped. Probably you stayed silent a bit to long to Larissa’s liking. “Do you like it?”, she asked you. “Yes… Yes, I love it.” Larissa smiled. She took a few steps closer to you and took the bracelet out of the box. “Which wrist do you want to have it on?”. You felt your body starting to glow. You noticed a while back that this was an effect your boss had on you. You just hoped you could hide this well enough. “My left wrist, please.”. Again, she stepped a bit closer and put the bracelet on your wrist. You felt your heart beat faster. When she was finished, you beamed up at her. “Thank you. It’s really beautiful.”. Larissa smiled back at you. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”.

Just when you wanted to give up, you heard a soft knock on your door. You sighed. “Come in!”. When the door opened, you saw it was Larissa. Trying to not let your jaw drop, you greeted her with a simple ”…Hey.”. She grinned. “Hi. I heard some… heavy words coming from your room and I just wanted to check if you’re alright.”. You felt your cheeks go red. You hadn’t realised you’ve been cursing that loud. “Yes, well… I tried to put on the bracelet you gave me for Christmas, but it seems like I can’t even accomplish that.”, you said, with an innocent grin on your face as well. Larissa smiled at you and then started walking towards you. She took the bracelet out of your hands. “Your left wrist was it, wasn’t it?”, she asked with a soft voice. You just nodded to answer her question. You stood there in silence while she locked the bracelet around your wrist. “There, done.”, Larissa told you. “Thanks, I’ve been struggling for a while before you got here.”, you answered. Larissa smiled at you. “Well, now you know who to go to when you need help again.”. She turned around, ready to walk out of your door again. You felt a knot forming at the place where your stomach was supposed to be. “Wait!”, you almost yelled at her, hoping she didn’t hear the panic you felt through your voice. She turned around again with a surprised look on her face. You tried to find the right words, but couldn’t find them yet. “Date?’, you asked after a few moments. “…31st of January.”, Larissa answered with a confused look on her face. You giggled and slowly started to feel more relaxed. “No, Rissa, that wasn’t really what I meant.”. Larissa’s eyes turned bigger in surprise when she realised what you díd mean by your weird question. You took in a big amount of air, before you asked her, again: “Date… me. Please?”. Larissa’s eyes started to sparkle and she started to smile. “I’d love to. Dinner and movienight tonight?”. Your heart started to feel even warmer. You smiled back to her. “Sounds lovely.” “Good. Meet me at 5pm at my office… Please.”

#Wednesday #wednesday adams #Larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #fluff #Gwendoline Christie #writing #fanfic

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arkhamsrevenge · 1 year

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Dent's Daughter

Jason Todd x Reader

Harvey Dent was a good man, he cared about me in a “daughter” kind of way. Mr. Dent was an amazing parental figure, I liked playing the daughter, but nothing lasts forever.

I’m curled into myself on my bed with my book, “Grim’s Fairytales.” Seemed fitting since I felt like I was in on currently. The curtains were drawn so no one could see in. The door to my room was open and I could hear the voices of Nightwing, Red Hood and Red Robin all muttering about me and Harvey. The police commissioner had left about an hour ago. Harvey escaped custody and because of that I was dragged out of my home and into a strange ass apartment to be I “protective custody”. I didn’t want to think I needed protection from my adopted dad but the nervous feeling that bubbled in my stomach said otherwise. Tears gathered in my eyes for the 16th time today, but I refused to let them fall.

You should have pushed harder. Should have forced him to get the help he needed. I swallowed dryly. I knew of Harvey’s mental health problems yet; he assured me and everyone else they were under control.

“Hey.” My eyes torn from my book to see Nightwing in the doorway. “How are you feeling?” I blinked.

“Spectacular.” He bit back a smile.

“Right sorry. I didn’t know what else to lead with.” I stayed staring at him. “Robin and I are going out to patrol while Batman continue to look for Two-Face-” My temper flared.

“Dent.”

“What?”

“His name is Harvey Dent.” I saw Nightwing take a step back as if embarrassed. He then cleared his throat.

“Right. Uh yeah, we’re going but Hood is here to look after you. So just holler if you need anything.” I nodded then went back to my book. Nightwing hovered for a moment looking like he wanted to say more but didn’t know what, so he just left. I wanted to shut my door but that was against the rules. The rules of Red Hood.

“No open windows, no phone access either. It can be traced.” I begrudgingly gave up my phone in exchange for some books that Red Hood got from Harvey’s house. “You're into reading about those twisted fairytales?” I looked up again to see Red Hood towering over me.

“How the fuck, did your big foot ass come in here without making any noise?” Red Hood snorted.

“Trained by the world’s greatest detective and mask of shadows.”

“Sherlock Holmes isn’t real.” I muttered only to get a sharp laugh out of him.

“Funny. I see why Dent picked up to be his “daughter.” Your funny.”

“Well, it wasn’t for my gusto and good looks.” I said sitting up. I felt like a small animal next to him, but I didn’t want to let my fear show. Hopefully he can’t smell it like Batman can apparently.

“I made Chilaquiles if you want any.” I raised my eyebrows.

“You cook?”

“How do you think I’ve been surviving all this time?” Red Hood asked. I shrugged.

“Take out.” He shook his head.

“Take out isn’t the best around here. Plus, I’m picky where I eat. I usually make all my meal myself-”

“Since it takes a village to satisfy your hunger?” I interrupted. Red Hood crossed his arms.

“Something like that. I only really get takeout at Bat Burger though.” I hummed getting up from the bed. I placed my book down but made sure to doggy ear the page.

“I have about every bat family figure from those special meals. Only one I’m missing is you.” I said walking passed him and making my way out to the living room/kitchen area. I saw the Chilaquiles on the counter, half was already eaten. “You left me half? Are you going to starve tonight?” I asked, taking a bite. Damn. That’s surprisingly good.

“Yeah. I’ll swing by a village when Nightwing and Robin come back.” I barked out a laugh.

“Fairy enough.” I sat at the small kitchen table and ate the rest of my food. It was very good, and I haven’t had a real home cooked meal in about six months

“Damn it. Sorry kiddo, I didn’t have a lot of time to make anything so are frozen chicken nuggets, ok?” Havey asked.

“With Tator tots?” I asked smiling.

“Of course. I’m not an animal but carrots will also be attending.” Havey said laughing at my eye roll.

“Yes, parental figure.” I giggled.

“Can I ask you something?” Red Hood’s voice pulled me back to reality. The one where I’m not living with Harvey. I swallowed.

“Depends on the question.”

“Did Dent show any signs of-”

“Disassociate identity disorder? Yeah.” I mumbled. If anyone asks me that question again, I might have to kill them.

“That’s not what I was going to ask. Did Dent show any signs of violence towards you?” I shook my head. Liar. He can see through you.

Red Hood didn’t say whether he knew I was lying or not. Guess he didn’t want to push any further, afraid I’d shut down. I put my plate in the sink without a word and headed back to my room.

“Keep the door open!” Red Hood called after me. I rolled my eyes.

“Will do!”

“She didn’t say anything about it. Do you think-?” Red Robin’s voice carried through the quiet apartment. So, I guess he and Nightwing are back. I had crawled into bed after dinner and fallen asleep shortly thereafter. My eyes were closed by my ears picked up everything.

“Shh! Quiet down. She’s asleep last time I checked.” Red Hood scolded

He’s checking up on us?

“Her life was flipped upside down in a matter of 24 hours. Yes, Dent had his..outburst but I don’t think he ever got physically violent with her. She knows his mental illness, but she also tells him as a parental figure. She’s mourning or in denial or both.” I smiled slightly hearing Red Hood defend me. Hopefully they won’t ask me any questions in the morning or ever if I’m lucky. Though I had a feeling the young Robin wasn’t going to take my reluctance to answer questions for long.

“Good morning, Gotham. I’m Vicky Vale with the 8 o’clock morning news. The search continues for the villain Two-Face who escaped police custody two nights ago.”

Wonderful way to wake up.

“There has also been no word on where his adapted daughter as she is in witness protection. We have, however, found where she is being held. Sources say it’s in the downtown area.” I opened my eyes. I’m not in Gotham territory technically. I’m right outside the city I think, maybe further but Vicky’s source is wrong...or they were trying to lure Harvey to them.

“This is a bad idea.” I heard Red Hood grumble. “There's no way he’s going to fall for that. Dent knows the commissioner would never allow a witness’s cover to be blown.”

“Yeah well, apparently Ms. Vale wanted to “help” with the capture of Two Face.” Red Robin’s voice entered my ears. I felt my blood pressure rise when he called Harvey by the villain name the media gave him. My heart broke a little more and my chest felt like it was caving in. Still, I took a deep breath and sat up in bed thinking of what to do at this point. The Bat Brigade isn’t going to let me out of their sight, and I can’t even look out the window.

“Do I have to go to another one of your rally's?” Harvey laughed as I pulled at my tight skirt his publicist made me wear. “You don’t really need me there and these heels are gonna kill my feet.”

“Come-on kiddo. I need you there! You’re the charmer that everyone wants to talk with.” I rolled my eyes.

“They only want to talk to me about you. They want me to slip and say something dark about you so they can take it and run.” Harvey straightened his tie.

“You’re right. But you don’t and you make them laugh on top of it.” I sighed and smiled.

“What can I say? I’m adorable.” Harvey threw his head back and laughed.

“OH!” I jumped and turned to the doorway where Red Robin was standing. “YOUR AWAKE!” I covered my ears and flinched. “Sorry! I might have had too much coffee this morning.”

“Might of?” I grumbled. He laughed at that

“HEY! HEY HOOD! SHE IS FUNNY YOU WERE RIGHT!” I kept my hands in my ears.

“Dude!” Robin caved back to himself.

“Sorry! Again, do you want breakfast?” I nodded, uncovering my ears. “Ok good! I made pancake batter.” I gave him a weird look. “I didn’t know how you liked your pancakes. I like them pretty dark.”

“Same.”

“CO-uh-cool. I’ll get those ready. There’s a bathroom down the hall if you want.” I nodded as he left. Maybe I should at least shower. I grabbed clean clothes and quietly made my way to the bathroom across the hall.

“Just asked her!” Robin’s hush voice snapped.

Ask me what?

The show was good for my tense muscles. Once I was done, I dried it off and put a purple tank top and black sweats on. I then towel dried my hair and braided it. I then exited the bathroom and headed to the kitchen where pancakes were waiting for me. I felt all three of their eyes on me as I sat down and started eating.

“Stop starting and ask me already.” I snapped and turned towards the three men. Nightwing and Robins faces were red and Red Hood...he’s always red.

“Guess we aren’t that desecrate huh?” Nightwing asked with a small smile.

“Nope.” I answered flatly. I could see the question they wanted to ask was making them uncomfortable.

“You told Red Hood that Two-uh Dent never got violent with you. But we have a couple police reports that say otherwise.” The eyes burned into to man questioning me. So much so that he almost seemed to squirm.

“He lashed out a few times.” I finally said. Nightwing nodded and waited for me to continue. “It wasn’t him though. Every time he lashed out, it was like another person had entered but as quickly as it happened, he stopped. Like at once. I asked him to get help, or more support or something but he said it was just stress. Then apologized and that was that.” I trailed off. “Why’d you go digging?” I ask.

Robin jumped in. “Uh we can’t tell you that.” I laughed in annoyance.

“Right. You hero types are all the same.” I snapped getting up from the table and headed back into my room. This time I slammed the door shut. I knew it was childish, but I was angary. At myself, at them, at Harvey. Everyone and everything were pissing me off. I realized Red Hood never told me to keep the door open. Good. I would have really blown my lid if he did. I took a second to breathe in and out then dug through my small pile of books until I picked up one that wasn’t mine. It was by Jane Austin. Odd, but ok, maybe it was one of Harvey’s? Either way, I curled up on my bed and started reading.

TW: Violence, Injuries

“I would never hurt you.” Fear was making my body numb. Harvey stood in front of me, scared and all. But that’s not what scared me. I’d never look at Harvey differently no matter what he looked like. It’s the fact that he shot Robin in the chest. His armor protected him from any real damage but...Havery shot him. We were moving to safe houses because Batman got intel that Harvey knew where I was. Someone snitched or saw one of his proteges leave the area constantly. Robin was going with me when Harvey came out of no one and short Robin and dragged me into a random warehouse where I’m currently looking down the barrel of a gun. My heartbeat quickened.

“I know you wouldn’t, but they don’t. And they’ll be coming soon so can you put down the gun?” I asked, trying not to have my voice crack. Harvey seemed to have mulled it over. Thinking of his best options. “H-Harvey?” I stuttered. His eyes widened into this look I’ve never seen before. I then realized I wasn’t talking to Harvey anymore. I was talking to him.

“I am not Harvey.” He growled. I backed up. “I’m NOT HARVEY!” He screamed and jumped at me. Screaming, I dodged him and started running towards the exit. I suddenly felt like I got hit by a truck as I made contact with the concrete floor. My jaw scraped against it making my face sting. I struggled to get up when Harvey pulled me back down and climbed on top.

“HARVEY DOSNE’T NEED ANYMORE DISTRACTIONS. HE NEEDS TO FOCUS ON THE WELLFARE OF GOTHAM.” He screeched wrapping his hands around my throat. I tried to scream and claw at his hands, his face, his arms, anything to stop him but nothing did. My lungs started to burn, and tears flooded my eyes, warping my vision. I continued to try and fight back until my vision started forming black spots. My body started to go numb. The feeling in my arms turned nonexistent.

“Havery.” I strained letting my arms fall to my side. Then the pressure around my neck was off. I sucked in the air and started to cough. It felt like I was choking all over again. I was taking sharp breaths, as my body started to get feeling back. I rolled onto my side still coughing and wheezing. The tears were finally clearing up when someone brought me upward. I swung my elbow around as a poor attempt to defend myself.

“Woah! It’s me!” I turned around to see Red Hood holding my elbow, making it so it didn’t connect with his face. “Stop. Stop it’s ok.” I was still breathing heavily when Red’s gloves started to go towards my neck. “Can you speak?” My throat went up in flames when he asked that. I shook my head ‘no’.

“Ok. Just focus on breathing. I’m gonna get you outta here.” I nodded as one arm went under my leg and the other supported my back. I instinctively wrapped an arm around the back of his neck as we made our way towards the exit. I didn’t look back to see what they were doing to Two Face. All I knew was that Harvey was gone.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason peter todd #red hood imagine #red hood #red hood x y/n

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